Magnamon (X Antibody) BT16-102 Alternative Art by Tonamikanji from BT-16 Booster Beginning Observer
My favourite thing about Netflix mobile is that every so often it glitches and—
Jonny McKenna
“nothing tastes as good as skinny feels”
damn you must suck at cooking. check out some youtube tutorials man. i believe in you.
Alex Ortiz
10 Subtle Ways a Character Reveals They’re Emotionally Unstable
╰ Inconsistent Eye Contact. Sometimes they stare too hard, too long. Other times they can’t hold it for more than a second. It’s not shyness—it’s internal chaos spilling out through their gaze.
╰ Changing the Subject Too Fast. They joke, deflect, or pivot conversations like their life depends on it, because maybe it does.
╰ Hyper-Fixation on Routine. If they can control the little things (folding towels, organizing pencils), then maybe their brain won’t cave in on itself.
╰ Forgetting to Eat, Then Bingeing. Not just about food. It’s about how they self-regulate (or fail to).
╰ Over-Apologizing. “Sorry” becomes a reflex, not a thought. It’s how they keep themselves from being abandoned.
╰ Picking at Skin, Biting Nails, Scratching Scalp. They call them habits. They’re not. They’re silent screams.
╰ Contradictory Stories. Sometimes they say they’re fine. Sometimes they hint at something darker. Sometimes they say both in the same sentence.
╰ Sleeping Too Much / Not at All. No middle ground. Just escape or overdrive.
╰ Flinching at Loud Sounds or Touch. Even if they don’t know why. The body remembers before the brain admits it.
╰ Sudden Emotional Shifts. Laughing, then snapping. Smiling, then withdrawing. Their emotional current runs wild beneath a crumbling dam.
Some characters don’t collapse in a blaze of glory. No, they disintegrate politely, with color-coded planners and a frozen smile that says, "Everything’s fine, Susan, stop asking."
They cling even harder to routines. Morning jog, 5 a.m. journaling, bullet-journaling their dog’s bowel movements. Because if they just keep checking boxes, they can pretend nothing’s crumbling underneath.
They hyperfixate on weird tiny details. The report can be on fire, but by god, they will die on the hill of choosing the right font. ("If I find the perfect serif, maybe my life will stop feeling like it's slipping through my fingers!")
They say "I'm just really busy!" like it’s a badge of honor, when it’s actually a giant red flag made out of calendar invites and suppressed emotions.
They can't finish anything anymore. They start 14 different projects, convinced each new thing will "finally get them back on track"…and end up ghosting every single one like a bad Tinder date.
Their compliments to others are laced with self-hate. "You’re so talented, I could never pull that off" they say, smiling while beating themselves bloody on the inside.
They apologize. For everything. Late by two minutes? "I’m so sorry." Sent an email? "Sorry if that’s annoying!" Existing? "Sorry for breathing the same air!"
They're "fine." Always "fine." It's said with the same energy as someone duct-taping a broken chair and inviting you to sit on it.
They self-medicate with "productive" coping. Organizing their spice rack at midnight? Totally normal. Redesigning their resume for no reason while crying into a box of crackers? Absolutely fine. Nothing to see here.
They get defensive about the dumbest things. “Of course I’m okay! Look at my to-do list!” (Sure, babe. Tell that to your bloodshot eyes and the way you just called your boss "Mom" on Zoom.)
Their version of self-care is making another list titled “How to Fix Myself” and then immediately feeling guilty for needing it.
When writing relationships between characters, one of the best things you can do as a writer is master the art of platonic relationships. Not every relationship has to turn romantic—and when done right, platonic bonds can hit harder than love stories.
But writing them well? That takes a lot of intentionally-written cues and dialogue. Here are just a few tips:
Platonic doesn’t mean distant. Let them see each other. Let one character be the first person the other calls when things go wrong. Show moments of vulnerability, casual care, and trust without flirty undertones. Let them have traditions, inside jokes, or quiet routines together.
If you’re going for a purely platonic vibe, don’t toss in romantic tension as bait. It cheapens the relationship. Let them have chemistry that’s based in compatibility, not attraction. Not every deep bond needs a romantic subplot. Avoid unnecessary lingering glances or “almost touch” moments unless it’s 100% platonic context (e.g., comforting after a trauma).
Platonic duos feel real when we see how they’ve been through things together. Maybe they survived something. Maybe they just grew up side by side. What matters is that their connection isn’t shallow. Flashbacks, casual references to “remember when,” or unspoken teamwork go a long way.
One character leaning on the other’s shoulder. Braiding hair. Holding hands in a high-stress moment. All of this can be platonic when framed right. Normalize physical affection without romantic framing. You could show how each character interprets the touch. If it’s comfort or instinct—not attraction—it’s platonic.
Have others in the story acknowledge the bond without assuming it’s romantic. It helps the reader accept it as non-romantic, too. Maybe someone can say, “You two are like siblings” or “You always have each other’s back.” Reinforce the type of love.
Don’t make it perfect. Platonic love, like any bond, includes disagreement. But when they still come through for each other, that’s what makes it powerful. Maybe one apologizes without ego. The other forgives without resentment. That’s platonic strength.
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Platonic relationships aren’t the backup to romance—they’re their own kind of energy. They don’t need to be slow-burn romances in disguise. Let them be bold, soft, loud, or quiet—but most of all, real. Because at the end of the day, platonic love deserves to be written with the same depth, stakes, and tenderness as any love story.
Fortune