Sweet Like Cinnamon

i love you all and i need you to stop writing trauma as a single breakdown scene in the rain after which the character is Healed and Ready to Love Again. that is NOT trauma :(

⊹ Trauma doesn't announce itself. it shows up as your character suddenly not being able to eat a specific food, or going very quiet in a loud room, or laughing at the wrong moment because their nervous system decided that was the appropriate response. it's mundane and weird and it makes no sense from the outside. the dramatic flashback sequence is the least realistic part. the most realistic part is your character suddenly needing to leave a grocery store for a reason they can't articulate.

⊹ The body keeps score and it keeps it in the strangest places. a particular smell. the quality of light at a certain time of day. a tone of voice that sounds like someone who hurt them. your traumatised character doesn't think "this reminds me of the bad thing." their heart rate spikes and they don't know why. they feel wrong and they can't locate the feeling. they're irritable for three days and only later, if ever, do they make the connection. write the disconnection. it's more honest.

⊹ trauma also does not make people universally sympathetic and wise. it makes some people controlling. some people funny at inappropriate times. some people very good in a crisis and completely unable to handle a normal day. some people are generously kind to strangers and absolutely terrible to people they love. trauma shapes behaviour in contradictory, inconvenient ways that don't resolve into a lesson. your traumatised character can be difficult to like. that's not a flaw in the writing. that's the WRITING.

ugh he doesn’t play abt her i love it

“Tie them up” excUSE me 😩😩😩😩😩😩😩

I also made a TTS / Sha playlist if anyone wants to maladaptive daydream alongside me https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6kUqKncsATiZIFImTKMzj1?si=I91eTF25SSyb5YNAjIXQ8w&pi=ebCxht9gSTOFT

Airbnb dismissed my appeal & sided with the host, so on top of having the study loan debt, I now also have this debt.

Speaking of the study loan debt, I'm trying to work out with that government agency if there is a scenario where I can continue to study & get funding from them, despite having this debt towards them. I think it's highly unlikely, but it's worth a try to see if it's possible!

We had another burglary in my building, yay! The third (3) one in the span of one (1) month & the second (2) one where I got hit. This time they only took two pairs of shoes, but guys, I'm tired...

I currently have no luck when it comes to finding a job. My one (1) victory was having someone reach back out to me, saying they would save my CV for future opportunities. It's like the Hunger Games out there, guys. If you have a job, please hold onto it!

It's more or less set in stone that my landlord is planning on evicting me; I just haven't found out by what date I need to be out. But even if that wasn't the case, I'm set on moving asap *points towards the burglary mention* However, I have a dog, which makes it really difficult to find a new place to stay. Plus, can someone explain to me why private landlords have such a difficult time opening & responding to messages? Like, isn't it in their interest to respond to potential tenants?

The social services/financial aid have dismissed both my applications for September & October. So I'm not getting any help from them at the end of this month, which sucks because there is rent & bills to be paid & I currently have... 469 SEK on my account... (that's the equivalent of 40 Euros or 46 USD) The application for November opens tomorrow, but I've already warned them that due to my current situation, I'm going to have to postpone bill payments now in October, which means that my costs in November will be higher due to interest on those postponed bills.

As for Ana's vet appointment, I talked with the vet & we rescheduled that from the end of October to the beginning of December. Hopefully, I've managed to sort out at least something by then so that I have enough money to pay for that because she really needs to see the dentist & I don't want to postpone/reschedule this for a third time.

Prompts for writing dark eyes like that

✧ Her eyes weren’t black, they were midnight fields, starless but infinite, swallowing distance and silence whole.

✧ His gaze was earth-dark, not empty but grounding, like soil that could grow anything it chose.

✧ Eyes so deep you couldn’t tell where the pupil ended, only that they were watching more than you wanted them to.

✧ Her eyes looked like spilled ink, not clean or neat, but raw, staining, impossible to erase once you’d seen them.

✧ His gaze was night itself, not quiet, not calm, but vast, alive with everything hidden inside it.

Prompts for writing eyes like that

☆ Her eyes burned violet, the kind of color that didn’t belong in this world but refused to fade anyway.

☆ He had amethyst eyes, sharp as cut crystal and just as dangerous to look at for too long.

☆ His eyes were violet pools, shifting between twilight shadows and lightning sparks.

☆ He had eyes like crushed violets scattered on snow, strange and unforgettable.

☆ Her gaze was a deep lilac, almost luminous, as though it held its own hidden light.

☆ Her irises shimmered in shades of violet, layered like bruised petals under moonlight.

On writing settings as characters

Okay listen. If you’re treating your setting like a flat backdrop, you’re cheating your own story. A setting isn’t wallpaper. It’s not just there to stop your characters from floating in the void. Your setting is an active participant. It does THINGS and It leaves SCARS.

I mean, think about it. When you go back to your childhood bedroom, do you just see four walls and a bed? Or do you see the exact spot where you cried in eighth grade, the corner where you hid your journal, the way the wallpaper has yellowed like it’s aging with you? That’s not “background.” That’s a living, breathing presence... and it shapes you whether you want it to or not.

Here’s how I think about it (notes incoming)...

𐙚 A hometown is NEVER neutral. It’s either the place they’d do anything to stay in or the place they’re desperate to escape from. Sometimes it’s both, which is honestly the juiciest tension of all. A hometown isn’t just “Main Street and a bakery”, no one cares about your generic boring set. It’s the shame of being known too well, of walking into the grocery store and running into someone who still calls you by your middle school nickname. It’s also the ache of being invisible in the one place that should have noticed you. That sting when the teacher, the neighbor, your parents, treated you like background noise. Hometowns are loaded. They are identity cages. They cling to your character like smoke, even when they’ve “moved away.”

𐙚 Forests aren’t just TREES. C’mon guys. Don’t you dare write, “they walked into the forest, it was dark.” No one cares. The forest is wet hair sticking to your forehead, it’s your shoes making that squelch sound because the ground is trying to eat them, it’s the way your brain won’t stop whispering fairytales about witches and wolves the second you lose cell service. The forest is a liar. It looks quiet but it’s crawling, breathing, alive. When your character steps into a forest, they should feel small, or watched, or weirdly welcome. But it should be SOMETHING.

𐙚 Cities aren’t just crowded. Stop writing them like postcard skylines. Cities are mean. They flirt with you one second and rob you the next. They chew you up, spit you out, then give you one shining night on a rooftop that convinces you maybe you belong here. Cities seduce you. They trap you. They raise you faster than you’re ready to grow. They’re the messy roommate you can’t get rid of (loud, exhausting, always in your space) A city has moods, okay? Monday at 2pm feels nothing like Friday at midnight.

𐙚 Weather is not filler. Stop skipping over it like it’s boring. Rain is grief, not cute drizzle, but heavy, relentless grief that soaks into your clothes. Heat is anger, sticking, suffocating, relentless. Snow is silence so suffocating it makes you feel like you’ll never speak again. Weather is mood. Weather is memory. Weather does things.

𐙚 Weather is NOT filler. I will scream this until I die. Stop writing weather like it’s boring small talk. Weather is mood. Rain isn’t just “wet,” it’s grief. Heavy, relentless grief that soaks your socks and makes you smell like mildew. Heat isn’t just “summer vibes,” it’s suffocation. It’s sweat dripping in your eyes and anger simmering because everything feels too much. Snow isn’t “pretty flakes.” It’s silence so loud you can’t breathe. Weather presses on your characters. It sets tone without a single line of dialogue. Stop wasting it.

𐙚 Your setting raised your character. I mean it. Don’t fight me. If you grew up near the sea, you can smell storms before anyone else. If you grew up in the suburbs, you know the exact second the streetlights flick on because that was your curfew. If you grew up in a high-rise, you move differently, you’re used to cramped elevators and neighbors on every side. Architecture leaves fingerprints on you. You can’t write a character in a vacuum, their environment literally raised them.

𐙚 Battlefields don’t forget. Sure, your character survived the war, but the ground didn’t. The soil is still soaked. The air still stinks of rust. Even decades later, the land remembers. Don’t write it like it’s been scrubbed clean just because your character wants to move on. The land is another witness and it carries scars too.

༒ that awkward shuffle before the first punch, where both fighters are waiting for the other to move first, and it looks like bad dancing.

༒ the first hit hurts both of them... knuckles split, ribs bruise, and nobody looks cool.

༒ someone tries to say a badass line mid-swing and it comes out as a grunt. intimidation ruined.

༒ the sting of sweat in your eyes when you least need it.

༒ missing a punch so badly you almost knock yourself off balance.

༒ that sharp gasp when someone actually connects with your nose. instant tears. instant rage.

༒ ugly sounds: wheezing, choking, gagging, a squeaky “oof.” it’s never cinematic.

༒ realizing halfway through that you’re more tired than you thought. your arms feel like bricks but the fight isn’t over.

༒ hair-pulling. shirt-grabbing. someone’s jacket becomes a chokehold tool.

༒ the raw panic when you hit harder than you meant to and wonder if you went too far.

༒ improvised weapons: a broken bottle, a rock, a chair, hell, even a shoe. survival invents fast.

༒ someone slips on gravel or their own blood. comedy in the middle of chaos.

༒ headbutts hurt both people.

༒ that terrifying half-second of silence when someone doesn’t get back up right away.

༒ biting. spitting. scratching. fights are dirtier than anyone admits.

༒ the crowd (if there is one) gasping louder than the fighters themselves.

༒ your lungs burn, your hands shake, and you realize adrenaline tastes like metal in your mouth.

༒ punches that land on bone make an awful sound, dull, wet, final.

༒ the aftermath: shaking so hard you can’t light a cigarette, tie your shoes, or even text straight.

༒ bruises blooming in real time, like ugly little flowers.

Prompts for writing eyes like that

⊹ Her eyes weren’t just brown, they were honey caught in shadow, glowing when the light touched them.

⊹ Her gaze was warm, the color of autumn leaves when they’re just starting to crisp.

⊹ Her gaze was the color of chestnuts, shiny and alive.

⊹ She blinked, and it was like sunlight filtering through amber glass.

⊹ Her gaze was the color of melted caramel, sticky, warm, impossible not to taste with your thoughts.