Tears are powerful, but do you know what's more impactful? The struggle to hold them back. This post is for all your hard-hearted stoic characters who'd never shed a tear before another, and aims to help you make them breakdown realistically.
Heavy Eyelids, Heavy Heart Your character's eyelids feel weighted, as if the tears themselves are dragging them down. Their vision blurs—not quite enough to spill over, but enough to remind them of the dam threatening to break.
The Involuntary Sniffle They sniffle, not because their nose is running, but because their body is desperately trying to regulate itself, to suppress the wave of emotion threatening to take over.
Burning Eyes Their eyes sting from the effort of restraint, from the battle between pride and vulnerability. If they try too hard to hold back, the whites of their eyes start turning red, a telltale sign of the tears they've refused to let go.
The Trembling Lips Like a child struggling not to cry, their lips quiver. The shame of it fuels their determination to stay composed, leading them to clench their fists, grip their sleeves, or dig their nails into the nearest surface—anything to regain control.
The Fear of Blinking Closing their eyes means surrender. The second their lashes meet, the memories, the pain, the heartbreak will surge forward, and the tears will follow. So they force themselves to keep staring—at the floor, at a blank wall, at anything that won’t remind them of why they’re breaking.
A Steady Gaze & A Deep Breath To mask the turmoil, they focus on a neutral object, inhale slowly, and steel themselves. If they can get through this one breath, they can get through the next.
Turning Away to Swipe at Their Eyes When they do need to wipe their eyes, they do it quickly, casually, as if brushing off a speck of dust rather than wiping away the proof of their emotions.
Masking the Pain with a Different Emotion Anger, sarcasm, even laughter—any strong emotion can serve as a shield. A snappy response, a bitter chuckle, a sharp inhale—each is a carefully chosen defence against vulnerability.
Letting your character fight their tears instead of immediately breaking down makes the scene hit harder. It shows their internal struggle, their resistance, and their need to stay composed even when they’re crumbling.
This is written based off of personal experience as someone who goes through this cycle a lot (emotional vulnerability who?) and some inspo from other books/articles
╰ Let their intelligence show in how they notice things
Smart people aren’t always the ones talking, they’re the ones observing the tiny detail that everyone else misses. They connect dots faster. They clock micro-expressions. They’re already ten moves ahead while everyone’s still arguing about step one.
╰ Don’t make them know everything
The smartest characters have gaps. A genius hacker who can’t do small talk. A professor who’s never seen Shrek. An expert in ancient languages who has zero street smarts. Give them blind spots, and suddenly they feel real—not robotic.
╰ Let their intelligence shape how they argue
A clever character doesn’t always win by yelling louder. Sometimes they cut deep with one sentence. Sometimes they bait someone into proving their point for them. Or smile while delivering verbal chess moves that leave everyone stunned two scenes later.
╰ Smart doesn’t mean wordy
Sometimes the smartest thing your character can say is nothing. Sometimes it’s “Huh.” Or one line that lands like a hammer. Intelligence isn’t just about complexity, it’s about clarity. Bonus points if they say the thing everyone else was dancing around.
╰ Show them solving problems, not just explaining them
Whether it’s picking a lock or defusing a political standoff, let them act. Watching them think on their feet, adapt, and surprise people is way more compelling than giving them long-winded monologues about the history of poison.
╰ Let them struggle with being misunderstood
A smart character might say something that’s totally logical but lands like a slap. Or they assume people see the obvious when they don’t. Intelligence can be isolating. That tension makes them human.
╰ Don’t make them the author’s mouthpiece
If your “smart” character exists to deliver the moral of the story, they’ll feel like a soapbox in a trench coat. Let them be flawed, biased, wrong sometimes. Let them learn. Otherwise, they stop being a character and start being an essay in disguise.
╰ Make their intelligence emotional, too
Book smart is one thing. Emotional intelligence hits differently. Maybe they’re intuitive. Maybe they know how to read a room. Maybe they see through someone’s bravado in five seconds flat. Brains plus empathy? Lethal combo.
╰ Smart doesn’t mean nice
Intelligence can be cruel. Calculated. Detached. Don’t be afraid to let your clever character weaponize their smarts if that’s who they are. Sometimes the coldest characters are the ones who know exactly how to hurt you—and choose not to. Or do.