Character Personalities - Tumblr Posts

I’m very quickly realizing that I struggle with making a hateable character. Or even just a character you’re kind of annoyed with in general, because then I get annoyed with them and I want to make them say something nicer or have a more kind minded perspective of everything. It’s such a bad habit, like NO, make the character who they are, they’ll grow later if they ever get the chance to.

Malik is supposed to be this arrogant, kind of cocky Captain, don’t get me wrong he’s not incapable of being kind or respectful, but I still want that attitude to be even subtly given off. Like you just feel that, “you’re still beneath me but I guess you’re not so bad so I’ll play nice”, kind of attitude. I just haven’t written enough I think, so I’m rewriting lines and inside thoughts differently every time I think it’s “too much” when it should be okay that it’s too much.

I don’t know if there’s tips on how to do that or if I just have to keep writing until it sounds right. “Practice makes perfect”, but I don’t want to practice, lol.

- 🪻

An random note on perfectionism.

Not that I've seen any recent examples, but I was thinking about this and wanted to share.

In most stories, when characters are perfectionist, it's always written in a way like the end of their world is not finishing a project or work with everything perfectly done so they have to settle for less. But, there's another form I barely see people write about.

Perfectionism can be your inability to finish anything if it's not perfect.

Take me for example.

I've been turned into a perfectionist from several things, but most importantly, from the lack of support on anything I ever did.

Then, when I got older, that turned into me never finishing anything because I assumed it wouldn't work anyways.

Now as a fully grown adult, I will actually not do something if I feel it isn't going to be perfectly the way I want it to. As if having things done perfectly is the guage for people caring about something.

Now, I've become a slacker.

So, next time you write a perfectionist, you can write a slacker perfectionist who will not do any work because they know they can't get it perfect. That is also valid.

🍂

And from I, to You

[Summary: It’s the day after the ball—the one where the Prince Charming picks his cinder-bride by her shoe size. Absolute insanity, yes, and Anastasia Tremaine knows of it. But she also knows a lot more other things, such as her gone-mad mother and the thoughts of oh-so-silent Drizella, her older sister. Holding the only slipper in existence, Anastasia also knows who the shoe fits exactly, but since when was she a good girl?]

It would not fit.

The glass slipper just wasn’t right.

It didn’t seem like it’d be a matter—at the time.

Now, Ana had chosen to help Mother slice Drizella’s heels off to fit.

“It’s only a little, Anastasia. Help your sister. Now.”

She was always helping. Surprised no one when she gave a curt nod, soon retreating to her room. The silent walls welcomed no one when she entered. Hadn’t this been Cinderella’s room before Mother took over? Even now, the room rejected her, as the slipper did.

The glass slipper was fortunately larger than her foot, so  she hadn’t had to slice her heel to fit.

Perhaps Drizella’s heel would be the finishing touch, and she would go live with the prince after all; abandoning her mother and her duties, helping no one no more. Well perhaps she could help the prince, after all, she had a many ideas of how to be the perfect princess. Balls, curtsies, you could name whatever it was, and Ana would be there. She was the helper—the only helper around these parts. Even then, as it was, rejected her too.

The happy memories with little Drizella and sane mother seemed to coerce her back into the depths of her both internal and external cocoon. She let out a short, deprecative chuckle. Ana was out of it, that or more. Thinking about it, she reached a conclusion. If Drizella had just let her be oh-so-nice to Cinderella at least once more, she thought, maybe she would spare a thought of whisking them away from Mother once and for all.

Alas, Drizella would never allow that, with her enormous pride, and so-so, ruling out fleeing to another continent. Plus—if it was possible to reach heights of peak intoxication before dropping dead, it would not hinder Mother before she walked up and bashed both Ana’s and Drizella’s skulls with her leather slipper. The poets speak about it, but experience is never the best teacher.

And if you’d ask her how she knew the slipper would fit on Cinderella’s dainty feet, she would’ve mumbled an incorrigible set of words and slumped on her prep-table, as she did now. Occurrences fit of insanity always seemed to happen to Cinderella. Drizella had joked of it being some kind of curse following the time Cinderella’s cursed birds had bit her nose, but Ana knew it was more.

Ana considered shattering the glass slipper—watching the pieces break into completely immeasurable shards of her glass and glass, thorough. She hoped it might help her, but it wouldn’t, really. She stared at the slipper in her grip, the familiar sound of glass cracking.

Mother often got violent with Cinderella, and sometimes, Ana would pause outside Cinderella’s door, hoping she was alright and well. It was just her inner desire—to make sure that even with the chaos and their desire not to let any of it change, they would at the least be alive to relish it.

She remembered the time Cinderella caught her, her face bruised and tired. In Ana’s hands were several bandages, and she placed them down. They stared at each other for a long time before resuming to their duties, fractures of both their words hesitant to make the step. Cinderella had signalled to speak first.

Ana remembered a short conversation they had, where Cinderella relayed her fears and wants. It seemed like they weren’t from separate worlds, just two girls, having a chat despite their differences.

Cinderella had talked and talked, oh-so-long, desperate for Ana to listen. It seemed like she was concerned with her own significance in the eye of it all. Mother’s violent tendencies would definitely impact any sane person’s health, but it had completely pushed Cinderella to a conclusion where she felt like she didn’t understand why she was there, then and why. Her father was dead, her mother was dead, and her stepsisters treated her as close to horse-dung as possible. And horse-dung just... stank.

But one of her stepsisters was there, listening intently, so she had toned the abrasiveness of her words. Still, it stung. Under normal circumstances, Ana wouldn’t have condoned her actions toward Cinderella, but she had no excuse. She could speak days of what Cinderella really meant under her subtle glances and rushed words, but Cinderella had tried to be acceptable towards her. Cinderella had isolated her identity from the world under the pain, and she really did not seem to attempt speak of herself as in the ways of any normal person.

To her, she was lowly and confused, and it was integrated oh-so-deep. She had lost everything. She blamed herself for everything. For... every single of the things. Ana could see how withdrawn she was from both the world, and her true self, and it disgusted her so much she felt direly uncomfortable in her own skin. Why had she let this happen? She ached and ached to reach out to Cinderella and help her realise that she just understood, to tell her how much she cared for her wellbeing and safety, and how much she resented and realised how much her actions hurt Cinderella. But ultimately, she could not. She didn’t know why, but she knew how much it felt—and she hated it.

Anastasia hated every fibre in her being. It was not pleasant. She had the flesh, but her body would not call it hers. She despised herself, and even Mother and Drizella were not to be free from her seemingly endless refusal-to-blame.

Years of Mother’s and Drizella’s repression could not be erased by one simple girl. Ana knew that, oh-so. She tried. Cinderella got more dependent on Ana as the times went and passed, aching for the instability that Ana seemed to emanate. Ana’s complex feelings and the overwhelming betrayal she could’ve caused her sense of morality to fluctuate wildly, and along with her muddled blame, continuing to bring out the absolute worst in her.Cinderella should not have wanted that discord so strongly that she did. It was the only thing she had, but it wasn’t... right. It wasn’t just, and to that, it wasn’t right. Cinderella deserved better. She did.

Weeks of mood swings and migraines had, of course, alerted Mother and Drizella, and one evening, while strolling through the garden, Mother had noticed the two girls chatting. It had been the last straw. For some reason unknown to man, she exploded. There was to be a ball to display eligible girls for the prince, and even though Ana found it quite distasteful, she agreed to go. If she was some kind of runner-up, at least it would be bountiful news. It upset Cinderella when Mother ordered her not to go, among other things, and Ana was pleasantly surprised to see that she wasn’t the slightest bit bothered by it after.

Nevertheless, it wasn’t a competition.

Ana sighed, stepping out from her room. It seemed like everything wasn’t going right. The prince had been with a seemingly ghost throughout the ball, never pausing to entertain another noble lady. Her thin, small frame glided through the corridors, stopping at the stairs. Mother had already shattered the other shoe. Who was to say they had another replica at their disposal? She closed her eyes and pursed her lips.

Cinderella’s calloused fingers shook her out of her thoughts, her hand resting on Ana’s bare shoulders. She didn’t say a word. Cinderella didn’t have to. Ana... knew. Her eyes had inevitably found hers at the ball. Poets would argue it was because of their common insanities. Ana didn’t know of any poets. Still, Ana forced herself to turn away from the inevitable. Now, it faced her on all sides.

Ana handed her the slipper, but Cinderella’s hands didn’t leave her shoulder. Her mind drifted. Sometimes, she didn’t think. Her mind was blank, and her eyes only focused on the girl before her.

“And from I, to you,” Ana smiled, her words hazy. “Be alright, cinder-girl.” 

“Am I fine in thinking you would not want to come with me?” Cinderella inquired. There was no malice, no silently laced words. There was only Cinderella.

And she knew that by leaving everything Ana ever wanted—someone to truly love her as her, and not by obligation—there was no second “Oh, have you been faring well?” This was the end.

“Yes. I’ve realised some things,” she sighed, a sad smile on her face. “Half of those, I have no idea what are. But I understand the thoughts behind those things. Mother—Drizella—I can’t leave them.” 

“I know. Will you stay?” The word hanged in the air, but Cinderella refused to say them. Ana smiled, the edges of her eyes crinkling.

“Forever...? I need to, Cinder. I’m not so sure it’s a question. They’ll run themselves mad. Mother probably would, at least.”

They shared a chuckle. Setting the slipper down, Cinderella hugged Ana, squeezing her tight. She attempted one, but the air felt too heavy for any goodbyes. Instead, she waved awkwardly and set downstairs for her prince.

She deserved him, after all. Ana wasn’t so sure if he did, though. She laughed at the thought. Clutching the banister, Cinderella turned one last time.

“Thank you.” 

Turning to their duties, they both returned to their worlds. As different or similar they might’ve been, none mattered now. It was the end, and that was true and true. 

• i wanted to integrate some character personality stuff i learned of recently,, but... i was too lazy to do anything since i wanted to focus on the characters, and not the setting, so i... did something.

• it is rushed, yes, and in the—as some published writers like to call it 😔—the horrible rough draft phase. there is no plot, as many as my works are going to be. i do not confine myself to pains of plot elements till the third date draft :D

• i really really love character psych!! that’s it!! (disclaimer: if the writing does not meet up to your standards i’m an amateur writer, so you can go ahead and tell me  “oh iu, this stuff is really good omfg!! you should publish it!!!”) ;D

• not all of this is actually right. since i barely focused on some other aspects i choose to focus on one part of my characters, and not everything, so there will obviously be some lack. i also loooove minimalistic writing and will shorten sentences like crazy and have many people weirded out because of it but i just like to play around (there’s not a lot of it since my auto correct kept being trash) also it’s not spell checked

• don’t own any of these characters, they belong to disney. i just wrote the wrote! ty for reading

I have an autistic level one (low support needs) character that doesn’t speak, but physically can. Just finds it painful (emotionally? not physically) and hard. He was mute before I decided he was autistic, and I want to know if it can be the sole cause for it? I’ve seen a lot of contradicting opinions on what being nonverbal means. He used to speak bc he is physically capable but he got comfortable w himself and others and doesn’t do it anymore, or very rarely. Can this be solely autism-related? I feel like it is not selective mutism because not speaking is simply what they prefers, not something caused by any particular emotion or anxiety. I experience that sometimes and would like to know if it can ever be permanent/full-time and in that case if it can be considered being non-verbal.

Hi,

Autism is definitely a common reason for people to not speak, or to previously have been able to speak but no longer being able to do so, either at all or consistently.

Here's a blog post from Assistiveware, an AAC company, explaining intermittent, unreliable, insufficient, and expensive speech! It has its own resources. To me it seems like your character experiences intermittent or expensive speech — I hadn't heard of expensive speech before, but I knew of the other three — and is therefore semiverbal.

Nonverbal is more for people who don't speak (whether it's because they never do, or cannot), and people can become nonverbal without having been so their whole life. Sometimes it's extended to people who have maybe a couple words, like 1-5.

You could potentially describe your character as 'doesn't speak,' or 'rarely speaks,' and those are perfectly acceptable descriptions, too.

Hope this helps!

– mod sparrow