#fantasywriting

----( Recommended reading music: Baki OST - Determined (Extended) On Youtube )----

Book 1. Chapter 1: Part 2 The Tide of Tydius Flow 1. The next day

A tall adult male was sleeping shirtless on a futon. Coiling-tossing. On the Temple's third floor, which belongs to the masters as their shared bedroom space, 5 large futons lying on hard wooden-boards. All 4 futons looked used recently, besides 1 futon clean and dusty closer to the southwest wall—5 meters away, from the tall animal—in morning grey. The buff animal starts to make noise, waking up in the morning, slowly transitioning from yawning, lying-stretching, bed-stretching. Then slowly—standing, walking over and looking out the south window, finally-muttering gibberish. Stretches right arm to the sky, left on elbow. Yawns, at the same time his mundane morning turned to thoughts = "Training brats. {A smirk forms as it fades.}. The rice rats is rewarding.. {His arms dropped, as he stood tall.} Mountain sword. {He looks over and behind his right shoulder, to the northeast corner, a large war coffer—eight foot long—four feet tall—six feet wide, old wooden box decorated with orange, yellow, and light brown fabric—falling off.} Sword mastery going—{His head slowly turned forward then stopped half way.}—nowhere. {He faced out the south window.} innovating my stylish style.. Is almost a fantasy..!" For a fraction of a second his lips shook. He then gave a tired smirk. Then he said in a low quiet voice = "Well! Time for morning sword training. {His smirk to a smile.}. His muscles blooming under the sunlight, waking with no shirt—and thin light PJ-pants. A man with long straight black hair, just past his shoulder blades, white with dark blue eyes. 5'11 tall, well-shaved face from heaven, presence from hell, for he had, like us all, a story to tell..!

The-Waking-Master slouched—walking almost stumbling, muttering morning frustrations over towards the war coffer. He then bent over, and unlocked the four-number combination lock on the war coffer. He gently opened the box, his right knee to floor. Beneath a sword and shield, his right hand reached for a mountain sword in its sheath. 165cm end to end. The Blade length was 120cm. At the base of blade 2.7 inches wide. Near the tip 1.65 inches wide.

The-Waking-Master turned and walked to his futon—Then faced north wall. He sat criss-cross applesauce, sword in the sheath—a-blade's buried teeth, leaning like an embrace—resting across his right shoulder—hilt at soul ease on the ground, between his right leg. pounds to hold material felt whole, cold steel as warm. Indexes and thumbs in a circle. He closed his eyes.. To meditate...

Silence!

No will release. To self appease.

In the silence

----(Recommended reading music: Japanese traditional metal — Gakusaku Shiki On Youtube )----

Inside eyes open! A world for his demise! A pitch-black-world in smoke. An elevated circular arena barely visible, embraced haze, for his scream without a sound! Surreal, locked, focused, seen through eyes. The-Waking-Master felt-saw shadows pulling. From all around. The emanating smoke! Forming! A man, an enemy slightly shorter yet buffer—vapors rising to sky—crawling down low, a wish—warrior to-test war of the soul.

The shadow of h-a-z-e, had two one-handed swords, each about three feet long in blade, blades four inches wide at hilt... A thick slash-and-slide!

In deep focus, his sword of choice a sword held past the wish, through meditation in embrace, in both hands. His mountain sword. In hand now he stands. Facing his enemy.

The shadow enemy circles, crouched over—mist vapor trailing to skies, motions-to-ties. The-Waking-Master stands his ground on guard, facing down the shadow—leading stream of steam. A planet's pull does not orbit—the moon; a shark swims around its prey—in battle, too soon to know the cascade—of the winning blade! Focused like his soul only sees, feels, body-mind-relives, flow, motion, emotion-of-instinct, ocean-of-truth!.. I write philosophical essays, hypotheses, and fantasy fiction book Crownose Chronicals.

Greetings, Tumblr.

I am Sir Reginald Bonesworth the Third. Skeleton. Knight. Candle shop proprietor. Victim of tutorial screens and cruel stat balancing.

I was told this was a place for weird frogs, cursed fonts, and niche gothic yearning. So I have arrived.

I bring with me:

Scrolls

Complaints

Bone fragments (literary, not medical, unless you’re a necromancer)

I also hear there are frogs. I like frogs.

Listen up fellow writers! aggressively slides into your dashboard with chai in hand Let's talk about one of the most CHAOTIC yet FUN parts of writing - naming your precious book babies!

👀 First things first - throw out everything you know about "normal" naming conventions because honey, we're going WILD today!

Here's the tea: Your character's name is literally their FIRST impression on the page. It's their brand™️, their essence, their whole vibe condensed into a few syllables. And in fantasy? The rules? We don't know her.

🔮 Non-Basic Methods for Name Creation:

The Vibes-Based Approach

Close your eyes and picture your character

What color are they giving off?

What texture?

Now translate that into sounds

Example: A character who feels like liquid silver might be named Sylthra or Mercurine

2. The Meaning Mashup Method

Take 2-3 words that represent your character

Break them apart

Frankenstein them back together

Example: Brave (Fortis) + Storm (Tempest) = Fortempest

3. The Aesthetic Alchemy Instead of just picking random syllables, think about:

How does the name look on the page?

Does it have strong consonants or flowing vowels?

Would it look good written in blood on a magical contract? (IMPORTANT)

🌙 Pro Tips That Nobody Talks About:

Test Drive Your Names

Write them in different fonts

Yell them dramatically

Whisper them mysterously

If you can't dramatically whisper "Lord Xylophone the Terrible" without giggling, maybe reconsider

2. The Name Evolution Game Your character's name should have:

A formal version

A nickname

What their enemies call them

What their mom yells when they're in trouble Example: Theodora → Thea → The Midnight Witch → THEODORA BLACKTHORN GET DOWN HERE THIS INSTANT

3. Cultural Consideration (but make it fantasy)

Create naming patterns for different regions/species

Maybe elves use lots of 'ae' and 'th' sounds

Perhaps dragon-folk names always start with a hiss

Desert dwellers might have names that sound like wind through sand

🔥 Advanced Name-Crafting Techniques:

The Emotional Echo Method

Write down the key emotion of your character

Find its opposite

Create a name that somehow bridges both Example: A character who's both gentle and fierce → Lysander (means "liberator" but sounds soft)

The Musical Approach

Names have rhythm

They have melody

Try singing your character names

If it sounds like a spell, EVEN BETTER

💫 Remember:

Names can be weapons (looking at you, True Name magic systems)

They can be prophecies

They can be curses

They can be LIES

🚫 What to Avoid (but like, in a non-basic way):

Names that look like you headbutted your keyboard

Names so complex your readers need a pronunciation guide every 2 pages

Names that are just regular names with random 'y's thrown in (looking at you, Kathryn → Kathyryn → Kathyyryn)

✨ Final Thoughts: Your character's name is a spell you're casting on your readers. Make it memorable. Make it meaningful. Make it YOURS.

And remember, if all else fails, you can always name them after what they had for breakfast. (Looking at you, Toast the Dragonslayer 👀)

sips chai aggressively

That's all for today's chaotic naming advice! Drop a 🌟 if you're gonna rename all your characters now! - Rin T.

[Note: Feel free to reblog and add your own chaotic naming methods! Let's build this resource together!]

✨ If you enjoy:

Gothic/dark fantasy

Complex characters

Family betrayal & power struggles

Atmospheric, historical settings

…you might enjoy reading this.

I’m mainly looking for:

What hooked you / what lost you

Which characters stood out

Any places where the story felt unclear or slow

If you’re interested, DM me and tell me a little about what you like to read. I’ll send you the first few chapters (PDF).

Thank you—it means the world to me to share this story outside my own head. 🖤

***

Journey to Bugo is a fantasy story filled with ancient powers, forgotten secrets, difficult choices, and characters struggling to survive in a world that refuses to stay at peace.

Every journey begins with a single step.

Every legend begins with a single survivor.

And every secret in Bugo comes with a price.

📖 Currently working on and expanding the world of Journey to Bugo.

Castlevania

Hector x vampire!reader

She loved to peek into that room, shrouded in darkness. She would watch him in secret as he brought to life another hellish creature, which writhed at his feet with a cacophony of noise. She observed his face—focused, grim, and gray.

No human had ever been so close to her, even though they hadn't spoken much. Yet he fascinated her to the point where she could watch him for days. He was proud, intelligent, a creator... No king or monarch, willing to give up their treasures for a mere glimpse of her attention, could compare to him. He had no wealth, only talent. Oh, but what talent it was.

"You are magnificent," she finally spoke, seeing Hector set down the hammer on the stone table and straighten himself with a heavy movement. She stepped deeper into the room, and he gave her a tired glance. "I didn’t mean to interrupt, but truly, you are fascinating. What you do is fascinating."

"I saw you watching me," he replied at last, crossing his arms over his chest. He leaned against the stone counter and measured her with his eyes, from her feet to the top of her head. She wore a purple gown that shimmered faintly in the moonlight. Her hair, partly styled in intricate braids at the back of her head, partly flowing down her shoulders, framed her pale face. Her lips were accentuated by dark lipstick, which emphasized the whiteness of her sharp, dagger-like fangs—something that had caught his attention when she had laughed with a delicate, pearly sound at his words.

"I must admit, I thought I could get away with it," she shook her head as if somewhat embarrassed by the fact she had been caught in the act. "But why didn’t you say a word?"

The man lowered his gaze from her and fixed it on the stone floor. A silence settled, interrupted only by his steady breathing and the rustling of her precious gown. She studied his pale hair, simple robe, calloused hands, and couldn’t escape the thought that they were so very different from one another.

"Your gaze flatters me," he admitted in a soft, deep voice, and she felt a sudden shiver run down her spine. She smiled instantly and walked even deeper into the room, maneuvering between the patches of dried blood staining the floor.

He saw her figure glide toward him like a swan over the calm surface of a lake, but she only seemed real when he felt her presence beside him. Usually, vampires stirred feelings of unease and disgust in him, maybe a specific kind of fascination, but she was different. Just one of her glances, sent through a small crack in the door, could give him so much confidence and spread through his body a warm, unexpected wave of safety and love he had never felt before. He wasn’t even sure if it was love or if he simply didn’t want to name that feeling.

"You’re kind to me," she suddenly said, placing her cool, delicate hand on his rough, warm one. He looked into her dead eyes, noticing sadness and worry in them—feelings he hadn’t expected. She was a cheerful soul, which was rare in their times. That made her even more special and fascinating to him. "Know that I know very well what Carmilla advised you to do. I knew from the very beginning."

He didn’t know why he was surprised. Her and Carmilla were sisters. They ruled together in Styria, came to Dracula’s castle together, made decisions together, and planned every step together. He realized that she must have known about the dishonorable proposal that Carmilla had made to him and that he had been pondering so intensely.

He was surprised, however, that she had also brought up this topic with him. He couldn’t reconcile her delicate, pleasant nature with betrayal, war, and death.

"If you ask me, I will agree without hesitation," he whispered at last, confessing all the feelings he carried inside him, feelings he hadn’t dared name. He felt her slender fingers tighten on his hand and sensed her exhale heavily as she traced her thumb along his wrist.

"Don’t agree, Hector," she finally said, closing her eyes. She released his hand and sighed deeply. "Carmilla is an excellent strategist and a woman of great intellect, but her heart is as hard as stone. Beware, she will use you without mercy and treat you like a dog when the time that favors her comes. Don’t let her deceive you, and leave this castle as soon as possible. Flee the land of Wallachia."

Her words seemed not to reach him. How many times had he thought about how he could start a new life, with her by his side? Maybe it was naive thinking, but that hope was the only thing that could bring even a shadow of a smile to his face.

"And forgive me," she sobbed, swaying on her feet. Hector caught her almost limp body and held her tightly to his chest, not letting her fall. "Forgive me for agreeing to be a part of this plot. Carmilla was my whole world, I knew nothing but her. This may not be an excuse, but know that I wish neither anger nor death upon you. So I advise you to flee, and it would be better if fate never brought you across my path again."

Her despair seemed almost theatrical, but he knew it was sincere. He pulled her tighter to his body, squeezing almost all the air out of her. The woman breathed heavily again and quietly cried, pressing her hands to her chest.

"Run away with me," he suddenly proposed, pushing her away from him by the length of his arm. She staggered in his still strong grip like a doll, struggling to regain her balance. "I know you don’t desire war and conquest. I know you don’t need fame and power. So run away with me."

She heard footsteps on the stairs and immediately broke free from his embrace. They both carefully watched the entrance to the room, expecting the appearance of an unexpected guest or someone who, with ill intent, had overheard their emotional conversation. And it didn’t matter whether it was someone connected to Carmilla or Dracula, in both cases, they would be deprived of their lives.

"What part of your story came first?"

Not the title.

Not the genre.

Not even the plot.

The very first thing.

Was it a character?

A scene?

A line of dialogue?

A setting?

A random "what if" question?

It's always fascinating to me because two people can end up writing completely different books from ideas that started in almost the same way.