Guys, Guys, Guys, Guys 🗣👨🏻‍🤝‍👨🏼👨🏼‍❤️‍💋‍👨🏻‼️

i read this for my writing and ended realized something for myself instead 🙁

Ways I Show a Character is Emotionally Burned Out (Before They Even Realize It Themselves)

I love writing characters who think they’re fine but are actually walking emotional house fires with bad coping mechanisms.

They stop doing the things they used to love and don’t even notice. Their guitar gathers dust. Their favorite podcast becomes background noise. Their hobbies feel like homework now.

They pick the path of least resistance every time, even when it hurts them. No, they don’t want to go to that thing. No, they don’t want to talk to that person. But whatever’s easier. That’s the motto now.

They’re tired but can’t sleep. Or they sleep but wake up more tired. Classic burnout move: lying in bed with their brain racing like a toddler on espresso.

They give other people emotional advice they refuse to take themselves. “You have to set boundaries!” they say—while ignoring 8 texts from someone they should’ve cut off three emotional breakdowns ago.

They cry at something stupidly small. Like spilling soup. Or a dog in a commercial. Or losing their pen. The soup is never just soup.

They say “I’m just tired” like it’s a personality trait now. And not like… emotionally drained to the bone but afraid to admit it out loud.

They ghost people they love, not out of malice, but because even replying feels like too much. Social battery? Absolutely obliterated. Texting back feels like filing taxes.

They stop reacting to big things. Catastrophes get a blank stare. Disasters feel like “just another Tuesday.” The well of feeling is running dry.

They avoid being alone with their own thoughts. Constant noise. TV always on. Music blasting. Because silence = reckoning, and reckoning is terrifying.

They start hoping something will force them to stop. An accident. A missed deadline. Someone else finally telling them, “You need a break.” Because asking for help? Unthinkable.

I have the urge to draw Joe Black in a Czech folk costume (some Moravian one probably) carrying out Morana (something like a scarecrow symbolizing slavic goddess of death)

Making up stuff like this makes me kinda forget about the fact that the film is 3 hours long and about painfully rich Americans.

Yooooooo

So update on the Marauders x Ocean’s 11 (i tried to do only girls but this line up just worked so well)

James as Danny Ocean

Lily as Rusty (we know who the real brain is)

Sirius as Ruben

Mary as Saul

Dorcas as Frank?

Marlene as Basher

Pandora as Yen?

Regulus as Linus

Evan and Barty as Virgil and Turk

Lily as Livingston

Peter as Tess (no romantic Prongstail)

Voldy as Benedict

(Obviously it’s their global role, they won’t be exactly them)

You seemed interested: @braddicted

oh.

i have to write one bout Rusty Ryan soon

10 Quiet Ways Your Character Is Breaking Their Own Heart (And Pretending It's Fine)

These are the betrayals that aren’t loud. They don’t come with fireworks or screaming matches. These are the small, slow deaths. The ones that your character lets happen... while smiling politely.

» They say yes when they desperately want to say no. Every. Damn. Time. They show up when they're exhausted. They agree to things they hate. They make themselves smaller, softer, easier, because "good people" don’t make waves, right? (Spoiler: they're drowning.)

» They keep chasing people who only love them halfway. It's not even subtle anymore. They know these people leave them on "read," show up late, make them feel like an afterthought. But they cling anyway, spinning every scrap of affection into a story about hope. (It’s not hope. It’s hunger.)

» They refuse to believe good things are meant for them. They’ll hype everyone else up. They’ll believe in everyone else's dreams. But when something finally good lands in their lap? They’ll panic. Push it away. Tell themselves it was a fluke. (Because being disappointed feels safer than being lucky.)

» They’re waiting for closure that will never come. An apology. An explanation. A miracle where someone says, "You were right, and I was wrong, and I’m so sorry." They wait years. Decades. Lifetimes. But deep down, they know: some people never come back. Some stories just end without punctuation.

» They’re hoarding all their "almosts" like treasures. The job they almost got. The love that almost worked. The version of themselves they almost became. They replay those maybes like a greatest hits album. (Meanwhile, real life is slipping by while they mourn possibilities.)

» They’re performing a version of success they secretly hate. Look at the Instagram. Look at the LinkedIn updates. Look at the shiny exterior. It looks like winning. But every trophy they collect feels heavier, not lighter. Every promotion tastes a little more like ash. (Turns out, chasing someone else's dream is still losing.)

» They forgive people who aren’t sorry. Not because they’re enlightened. Not because they’ve healed. But because it’s easier to pretend it didn’t hurt than to sit with the fact that it did—and that the person responsible doesn't care. (Some wounds scar better when you stop pretending they were accidents.)

» They punish themselves for still being soft. The world told them, again and again, that soft things get broken. And they believed it. So every time they feel too much? Every time they cry or hope or trust? They tell themselves they’re weak. Stupid. Embarrassing. (They're not. They're just still alive.)

» They downplay their own magic. They call their talents "lucky breaks." Their beauty "average." Their intelligence "no big deal." They shrug off compliments like they're dangerous. Because deep down, they've been taught that being remarkable makes you a target.

» They cling to the idea that if they just work harder, they'll finally be enough. They believe in meritocracy like it’s a religion. That if they hustle hard enough, self-sacrifice deep enough, burn themselves to ash perfectly enough, someone, somewhere, will finally say, "You're worthy now." (They were always worthy. The system is just broken.)

Everybody's making Rusty Ryan a dog. A fucking DOG.

No, ofc he's not a dog. But he's a dog.

In the back of my mind, I've always somehow knew that he's Danny's no1 loyal dog.

And now everybody's giving him dog manners.

And I fucking love that (sorry not sorry).

if we weren’t supposed to think they’re in love why do they literally always look seconds away from fucking eachother??

Omg fuck plotholes.

I can't even make Seth and Jerry meet in peace.

I've rewatched From dusk till dawn 1996 and The mexican 2001 for the nth time to write this bs

How do they even use swearing words, I keep asking myself

oosp

right 😩🤌

there is just something so old hollywood about them

no this so so randomly funny

I had a most heinous thought today.

I was walking from house to class, and I passed this guy who was eating a sandwich while he was walking.

And in my stupid little brain, I thought, "Man, that guy eats like Brad Pitt!"