And Last But Not Least, My Beloved Abel, The Ghost

How to Write a Character

↠ Start with the basics, because obviously. Name. Age. Gender. Maybe even a birthday if you’re feeling fancy. This is step one because, well, your character needs to exist before they can be interesting. But nobody cares if they’re 27 or 37 unless it actually matters to the story.

↠ Looks aren’t everything… but also, describe them. Yes, we know their soul is more important than their hair color, but readers still need something to visualize. Do they have the kind of face that makes babies cry? Do they always look like they just rolled out of bed? Give us details, not just “tall with brown hair.

↠ Personality isn’t just “kind but tough.” For the love of storytelling, give them more than two adjectives. Are they kind, or do they just pretend to be because they hate confrontation? Are they actually tough, or are they just too emotionally repressed to cry in public? Dig deeper.

↠ Backstory = Trauma (usually). Something shaped them. Maybe it was a messy divorce, maybe they were the middle child and never got enough attention, or maybe they once got humiliated in a spelling bee and never recovered. Whatever it is, make it matter to who they are today.

↠ Give them a goal. Preferably a messy one. If your character’s only motivation is to “be happy” or “do their best,” they’re boring. They need a real goal, one that conflicts with who they are, what they believe in, or what they think they deserve. Bonus points if it wrecks them emotionally.

↠ Make them suffer. Yes, I said it. A smooth, easy journey is not a story. Give them obstacles. Rip things away from them. Make them work for what they want. Nobody wants to read about a character who just gets everything handed to them (unless it’s satire, then carry on).

↠ Relationships = Depth. Nobody exists in a vacuum. Who do they love? Who annoys the hell out of them? Who do they have that messy, can’t-live-with-you-can’t-live-without-you tension with? People shape us. So, shape your character through the people in their life.

↠ Give them a voice that actually sounds like them. If all your characters talk the same, you’ve got a problem. Some people ramble, some overthink, some are blunt to the point of being offensive. Let their voice show who they are. You should be able to tell who’s talking without dialogue tags.

↠ If they don’t grow, what’s the point? People change. They learn things, make mistakes, get their hearts broken, and (hopefully) become a little wiser. If your character starts and ends the story as the same exact person, you just wasted everyone’s time.

↠ Flaws. Give. Them. Flaws. Nobody likes a perfect character. Give them something to struggle with, maybe they’re selfish, maybe they push people away, maybe they’re addicted to the thrill of self-destruction (fun!). Make them real. Make them human.

↠ Relatability is key. Your character doesn’t have to be likable, but they do have to be understandable. Readers need to get them, even if they don’t agree with them. If your character never struggles, never doubts, and never screws up, I have bad news: they’re not a character, they’re a mannequin.

↠ You’re never actually done. Characters evolve, not just in the story, but as you write them. If something feels off, fix it. If they feel flat, dig deeper. Keep refining, rewriting, and letting them surprise you. That’s how you create someone who feels real.

Now go forth and write characters that actually make people feel something. And if you need a reminder, just ask yourself: Would I care if this person existed in real life? If the answer is meh, start over.

This piece is really lazily done haha, just drew over the og screenshot as you can tell and i didn't intend for it to look any good, but lol its a crime i haven't drawn smt like this already <3

Anyway, this is Magpie! She is basically the main character of the latter half of Calctons story

Reference image bellooww :]

Our third member, January, the Hollow

Fourth up is the Werewolf, Daisy

This is a uuuuuuuuh recreation of Bacchus by Caravaggio, for a Uni assignment, except with one of my ocs yippeeee yippeee!!

This is Darner, i feel like he has a similar vibe to the basic caricature of Dionysius/Bacchus, sooo I chose him

Um, hi tumblr, it's me, ya boy, dropping off an art piece that I hope someone will be able to see and enjoy.

This shows a key scene in the overarching story I've been working on for 7 years, and I'd love to start sharing this world I hold so dear with people who may love it as I do <3

Abels death in comic format tehe <3

An alternative of previous post

YESSSSSSSS I LOVE THIs STUFF i've got a bunch of planets with all of these traits and i adore them rnhhhrrhggg weird societies my beloveds <3

Small fantasy worldbuilding elements you might want to think about:

A currency that isn’t gold-standard/having gold be as valuable as tin

A currency that runs entirely on a perishable resource, like cocoa beans

A clock that isn’t 24-hours

More or less than four seasons/seasons other than the ones we know

Fantastical weather patterns like irregular cloud formations, iridescent rain

Multiple moons/no moon

Planetary rings

A northern lights effect, but near the equator

Roads that aren’t brown or grey/black, like San Juan’s blue bricks

Jewelry beyond precious gems and metals

Marriage signifiers other than wedding bands

The husband taking the wife's name / newlyweds inventing a new surname upon marriage

No concept of virginity or bastardry

More than 2 genders/no concept of gender

Monotheism, but not creationism

Gods that don’t look like people

Domesticated pets that aren’t re-skinned dogs and cats

Some normalized supernatural element that has nothing to do with the plot

Magical communication that isn’t Fantasy Zoom

“Books” that aren’t bound or scrolls

A nonverbal means of communicating, like sign language

A race of people who are obligate carnivores/ vegetarians/ vegans/ pescatarians (not religious, biological imperative)

I’ve done about half of these myself in one WIP or another and a little detail here or there goes a long way in reminding the audience that this isn’t Kansas anymore.

R E B I R T H

a ttrpg oc backstory :)

Abel Weiss grew up the first son to a wealthy couple in a nice neighbourhood, he was never a popular child, friends weren't something he ever found ease in making, but he got by.

When it came to late secondary school he met Emeliana, a new girl in town who'd quickly hit it off with most of her classmates, quite the charismatic type. She approached Abel, and a strange relationship spiralled from there.

It was always clear they weren't quite right for each other, they'd constantly spend time together but never seemed that interested in each other. They'd go to parties as a happy pair, but then Abel would sit in the corner grumbling about not wanting to be there, and then Emiliana would bicker back.. and then they'd both be storming out.

It was a hot October evening, the sun sinking behind the canopy of the forest near Emeliana's home, they found themselves curled up in the warmth of her room, and soon disagreeing yet again…

“just- just LEAVE Abel, fuck off"

“I didn't do anything Emile, what the hell is your problem?”

She was antsy, eyes darting to the window and door.

“I said, LEAVE, ABEL”

“... fine, whatever, but I can't keep dealing with your anger issues every five minutes! I love you with everything I have and you treat me like shit.”

“Liar.”

“What?”

“You're a liar…”

“Oh for fucks sake shut u-”

“Get out”

The door slammed, and he left, trotting along the dark street, huffing and kicking at stones, hands buried in pockets, the moon hung low, fog clung to the shine of lamp posts as moths flitted blindly in the distorted rays.

The air wasn't right.

Dread pricked needles deep into his shoulders.

The roads weren't empty.

“Emile are you seriously going to demand I leave then fucking follow m-”

His mouth contorted as his body swirled and laid eyes on her twisting form, tufts of fur pushing through, a painful growl escaping and golden eyes piercing into him making his chest ache, stealing his breath.

“Emile?” He choked on the word, stumbling up the pavement into the grass, backing mindlessly towards the lying shelter of the towering Scots pines and fir plantations.

There was a fear in his words, a genuine longing and worry as her body cruelly shifted and shunted awkwardly toward him, nothing but a snarl matching his cry.

Nails became claws, teeth became fangs. He turned, and ran.

The woods were pitch dark, the only sound his own heartbeat in his ears and howls close behind, the moon's glow through occasional gaps in the branches a respite.

An opening, feet fumbling down a slope barely keeping their placement, the cold glow of water spreading out around him, pebbles crunching under foot fall, teeth sinking, driving, another step denied, the ground and sharp rocks coming up to meet his skull.

Searing pain burning and sizzling, flowing fiercely under piercing panicked eyes, limbs weak and shaken, cut and bruised.

The lick of lips and sniffing of acrid red iron, blood, pooling and mixing.

He pushed himself helplessly to his knees, hands were soaked, skull itching with fiery pain, crimson ichor flooded his fading vision, memories flickered. He swung his head around, almost throwing up from the awful motion, meeting the face of a beast with eyes so familiar.

“Emeliana… please..”

His voice was waning, ached, as he dragged himself against the stones onto his feet, stumbling like a wounded lamb into the ice cold of the lake.

Nowhere to go.

She followed, gaze unbreaking, intently watching his sad attempts. Her form contorted once more as she wadded into the ripples, ratty wolven fur gave way to hazel locks and tear dribbling eyes.

Her brows furrowed, a snarl persisted, his terrified gaze locked with hers of pure yellow rage.

Desperate nails clawed at him, finding hold in wet cloth and skin as balance failed and his form dropped into bloody water.

Hands grasped and pulled, finding purchase around a gasping throat, pushing and squeezing against a flailing expiring body.

His eyes blurred and squinted against pond water as air left him in jittering bubbles, a final search for love and regret in her eyes. Naught remained. Writhing limbs became decadent, hope lost, eyes rolled, the last gasps of life lost under the water.

Light glowed down on her verdant painting of liquid sunset, she stood tall and raised her tainted palms to the moon, rising from the lake onto the stony reed lined banks, trailing her bloodshed into the grass.

Not an ounce of true regret persisted, only gratefulness to the silent drifting corpse.