#constancy and chaos

[rtc-incorrectquotes]

Constance: Sleep is the body’s best safety mechanism.

Misha: How so?

Constance: It keeps me from screwing up for 8 hours.

[baddingtonbitch]

Unfaithful (2002)

[milbroom]

There’s always Crackles at Cackle’s

please i cannot stop editing this silly little show <3

[fruitytulip]

Constance and Sq being chaotic cousins

[ask-the-cyclone]

I am bored, *plops a voodoo doll of ocean (suffer)* enjoy

-👑

WHA- WHY DO YOU HATE ME?!

Don’t worry, Ocean! It tickles!! *pokes doll in the side*

Owww Mischa!

Ooh thisll be fun…

CONNIE HELP

No stabbing or throwing Ocean!

DAMN IT

You’re the one who threw Mischa last time!!

IM SORRYYYY T-T

[I don’t think the voodoo dolls are the best idea… maybe leave off on those for the time being?]

NOEL COME BACK WITH THAT!!

NEVER.

[tmbsincorrectquotes]

Constance: *throws a frisbee into the traffic* Kate: What the fuck, Constance

[dumvixerum]

okay okay, hear me out

An AU where all the kids from the choir are Janes/John's Doe ? And like, their memory wouldn't be completely erased (bc Jane had her head chopped off so kinda radical) and like, with the thing they remember, they sing their song.

And it would be interesting to have the wounds that caused death also involved in the loss of memory. Because the original jane knows how she died, the kids would also know. And each wound would be related to the characters : like Noel would die with a lot of burn marks (because fire is usually the element of passion) and so his memory would progressively burn too (at the start, he would remember a lot of things and look a bit human, before slowly degrading), etc

For the wounds I thought :

Ocean would have perforated eardrums (because as a leader, you're supposed to listen to the others but she didn't)

Noel would have the burn marks

Mischa would have scrap perforating his heart (I think this one is pretty obvious, but it's bc he's very emotional)

Ricky would have his vocal chords completely wasted by the smoke (because on zolar, his capacity to sing very high is important I guess ?? and also because when you want peace, you need a voice)

Penny/Jane would be disfigured (do I really need to explain why ?)

And Constance would have a problem with her eyes, I don't really know what exactly. Perhaps she could have her eyes uh- you know, gone (i'm trying to keep this family friendly 😭😭) or maybe the smoke or maybe the sparks, I don't know (this one is bc in sugar cloud, she refer a lot to the vision so yeah)

And like at the end they still didn't understood wtf they needed to do so Karnak dies and like

They stand here

And happy ending : they see the light and are like "ooh fancy" and go in it or bad ending : they stand so still that they slowly become ruins, not dying completely, just here, standing, without any will to live

Yeah imma make a second post bc I like this a lot 🗿🗿

[aflawedfashion]

I wonder if the gang comes together in the finale to print Richie's photos of cops targeting gay men, and they all decide to blow up absolutely everything because they have nothing left to lose now that Constance has control and they choose do the right thing

That would be a good ending

[flaviathebibliophile]

Chaos by Constance Fay (ARC Review)

Title: Chaos Author: Constance Fay Type: Fiction Genre: Adult, Science Fiction, Romance Publisher: Bramble Date published: March 11, 2025 Complimentary physical and digital copies of this book was kindly provided by Bramble in exchange for an honest review. Engineer Caro Ogunyemi thinks she has everything in control. Sure, she has a dark secret in her past and aim so bad that she can’t shoot the…

[nzbookwyrm]

March 2025

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

🧪 Character Arcs 101: what they are, what they aren’t, and how to make them hurt

by rin t. (resident chaos scribe of thewriteadviceforwriters)

Okay so here’s the thing. You can give me all the pretty pinterest moodboards and soft trauma playlists in the world, but if your character doesn’t change, I will send them back to the factory.

Let’s talk about character arcs. Not vibes. Not tragic backstory flavoring. Actual. Arcs. (It hurts but we’ll get through it together.)

─────── ✦ ───────

💡 what a character arc IS:

a transformational journey (keyword: transformation)

the internal response to external pressure (aka plot consequences)

a shift in worldview, behavior, belief, self-concept

the emotional architecture of your story

the reason we care

💥 what a character arc is NOT:

a sad monologue halfway through act 2

a single cool scene where they yell or cry

a moral they magically learn by the end

a “development” label slapped on a flatline

─────── ✦ ───────

✨ THE 3 BASIC FLAVORS OF ARC (and how to emotionally damage your characters accordingly):

Positive Arc They start with a flaw, false belief, or fear that limits them. Through the events of the story (and many Ls), they confront that internal lie, grow, and emerge changed. Hurt factor: Drag them through the mud. Make them fight to believe in themselves. Break their trust, make them doubt. Let them earn their ending.

Negative Arc They begin whole(ish) and devolve. They fail to overcome their flaw or false belief. This arc ends in ruin, corruption, or defeat. Hurt factor: Let them almost have a chance. Build hope. Then show how they sabotage it, or how the world takes it anyway. Twist the knife.

Flat/Static Arc They don’t change, but the world around them does. They hold onto a core truth, and it’s their constancy that drives change in others. Think: mentor, revolutionary, or truth-teller type. Hurt factor: Make the world push back. Make their values cost them something. The tension comes from holding steady in chaos.

─────── ✦ ───────

🎯 how to build an arc that actually HITS (no ✨soft lessons✨, just internal structure):

Lie they believe: What false thing do they think about themselves or the world? (“I’m unlovable.” “Power = safety.” “I’m only valuable if I’m useful.”)

Want vs. need: What do they think they want? What do they actually need to grow?

Wound/backstory scar: What made them like this? You don’t need a tragic past™ but you do need cause and effect.

Turning point: What moment forces them to question their worldview? What event cracks the surface?

Moment of choice: Do they change? Or not? What decision seals their arc?

🧪 Pro tip: this is not a worksheet. This is scaffolding. The arc lives in the story, not just your doc notes. The lie isn’t revealed in a monologue, it’s felt through consequences, relationships, mistakes.

─────── ✦ ───────

🛠️ things to actually do with this:

Write scenes where the character’s flaw messes things up. Like, they lose something. A person. A plan. Their cool. Make the flaw hurt.

Track their beliefs like a timeline. How do they start? What chips away at it? When does the shift stick?

Use relationships as arc mirrors. Who challenges them? Enables them? Forces reflection? Internal change is almost never solo.

Revisit the lie. Circle back to it at least three times in escalating intensity. Reminder > confrontation > transformation.

─────── ✦ ───────

🌊 bonus pain level: REVERSE THE ARC

Wanna make it really hurt? Set them up for one arc, and give them the opposite. They think they’re growing into a better person. But actually, they’re losing themselves. They think they’re spiraling. But they’re really healing. Let them be surprised. Let the reader be surprised.

─────── ✦ ───────

TL;DR: If your plot is a skeleton, your character arc is the nervous system.

The change is the thing. Don’t just dress it up in trauma. Don’t let your character learn nothing. Make them face themselves. And yeah. Make it hurt a little. (Or a lot. I won’t stop you.)

—rin t. // thewriteadviceforwriters // plotting pain professionally since forever

P.S. I made a free mini eBook about the 5 biggest mistakes writers make in the first 10 pages 👀 you can grab it here for FREE:

[darling-dearest-emi]

Emi couldn't help but laugh a bit at the observation. "Are we listing known facts?" She mused, glancing at the other woman with a glint of conspiratorial amusement in her expression. "Because we could go straight into discussing their willingness to only base their decisions on the wrong head entirely."

"Men really are senseless creatures aren't they,"

[bruisedswan]

PLANET DISCORD'S 𓊰 DEAR SAINT.

fear is the little death... ✹⃟ that brings total obliteration

8teen. she / they. pansexual / polyam

WHO IS ... YOUR SAINT?

██ defying the fundamental laws of reality is the star bestowing vitality & chaos to our beloved planet, dear saint yen/yenna mayhem of planet discord. i am the kwisatz of this little pocket of space, the prophet shaping my own destiny, making the fates fall and thus taking their place as mother, maiden, crone. this mighty storm of an 8teen year old is made of steel, overwhelming finality, sweet cinnamony melange, rotting willows, azaleas, and orchids.

୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀*♱

...this aries born being believes no other being but herself. they've come to recognise their primordial nature, how they've sewn every single thought, every memory, and every bit of flesh and bone they choose to reside in. think of her as a weaver, the lone enigmatic tailor on the far end of the valley who resides in her own little world — except the loom is her thoughts and the thread little strings of reality and matter, malleable in her fingertips. the sybil is esoterica in human form.

...kin :: alia atreides, mel medarda, princess irulan, bonnie bennett, rochelle zimmerman, maren yearly

ART IS ... LOVE.

██ film / tv :: the substance, dune ( part 1 & 2 ), the love witch, arrival, sleeping beauty ( 2011 ), kill bill, the craft, bones & all, everything everywhere all at once, lucy, possession, the colour of pomegranates, atsv, black swan, love death & robots, arcane, adventure time, killing eve, steven universe, black mirror etc...

୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀*♱

██ books :: the dune books ( specifically dune messiah ), the folk of the air, iron widow, the wheel of time, hunger games, percy jackson & the olympians, game of thrones ( ty constance ) etc...

୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀*♱

██ on rotation / music :: nicole dollanganger, ethel cain, crumb, fka twigs, poison girlfriend, deftones, blood orange, men i trust, eye dress, frank ocean, the cranberries, björk, fiona apple, strawberry guy, la femme, the smiths, alex g

[rinkaitoons]

Team Kakashi🐶

I selected flowers not only by color, but also based on their symbolism. Each picture has a description and explanation attached🍒

Naruto - Sunflower

Almost everywhere, sunflowers express joy, hope and friendship. They also represent longevity, adoration and strength. Additionally, sunflowers are a symbol of peace, brightness and acceptance.

Sasuke - Camellia

Since ancient times, camellia has been considered in Japan as a divine and noble flower, symbolizing, on the one hand, dignity, longevity and constancy, and on the other, sadness, coldness and insensitivity. In ancient times, the red camellia was a symbol of the sun goddess Amaterasu.

Sakura - Lotus

Opening at dawn and closing at sunset, the lotus represents rebirth, renewal of vitality, return of youth, immortality.

The lotus combines solar and lunar principles; it is equally close to water and fire, the chaos of darkness and divine light.

Kakashi - Forget-me-not(myosotis)

In many cultures, forget-me-nots are a symbol of fidelity despite separation and other difficulties, memories of past loves, unbreakable bonds and precious memories.

[gingerteafairy]

mascara - deftones. ▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။|||| |

𝖘𝖎𝖓𝖐 𝖎𝖓𝖙𝖔 𝖞𝖔𝖚 (𝖙𝖆𝖙𝖊 𝖑𝖆𝖓𝖌𝖉𝖔𝖓 𝖝 𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖗)

"You have weak wrists, but I'll keep you. 'Cause it's something about her long shady eyes"

tags n warnings: smut/mdni, song!fic, dubcon, slut shaming, degradation, dark content, rough sex, family issues, hurt no comfort. word count: 1.4k. masterlist

Tate kicked the table hard, the crash echoing across the wooden floor before he grabbed your hand and pulled you up the stairs, not caring whether Constance was still shouting something downstairs. His steps were rushed, almost stumbling, as if he needed to escape his own skin. 

Once you entered the bathroom, he carelessly threw off his shoes, tossing them into a corner as you turned on the shower. The hot water began to pour, filling the space with steam. You knew this was the only way to calm Tate during his breakdowns.

Without hesitation, he stepped under the water, fully clothed—head, clothes, everything—like nothing else mattered in that moment. The drops ran through his golden curls and soaked into his deep dark circles, washing away the remnants of the mask that still stained his face. The black strands clung to his pale skin in dramatic trails, and deep down, Tate liked this. He liked the intensity, the chaos.

His eyes were filled with something between fury and despair as he ran his hands down your back and pulled you close, without ceremony. The impact of your bodies was immediate, and before you could process it, his lips collided with yours. It was an urgent, rough kiss, where pain and need mixed in every movement. His hands tightened around your waist as if he wanted to fuse you to him, as if you were the anchor that kept him from sinking completely. The taste of salt—tears or shower water, you couldn't tell—mixed with the bitter taste of that night. He had gone too far at the family dinner, mocking every word his mother said, teasing as if he didn't care. But Constance never let it slide. Her words still echoed in your mind, sharp as blades. 

"You're like a disease to my son!"

 Tate's grip on you tightened, his fingers digging into the wet fabric of your clothes. He gasped against your lips, his chest rising and falling too quickly.

“She always does that.” His voice sounded hoarse, as if something was stuck in his throat. “She looks at you like you’re… dirty.”

You ran your fingers through his wet strands, pushing his hair away from his face and feeling the subtle tremor in his body. Tate wanted to pretend he didn’t care, but every word Constance said left invisible marks, opening wounds that would never heal.

It was your turn to pull him, slipping your hands under his soaked shirt. He broke the kiss, running his own hands over his arms and head to throw them on the floor, while you did the same with your shirt. His eyes roamed over you, your bra black as his eyes, you looked magnificent. Your soaked hair was grabbed by his thick fingers before he pushed you against the wall, your body shaking from the cold of the ceramic.

“Stay like that, I’ll kill you if you scream,” he threatened, squeezing your neck, pulling down his pants with his underwear with his free hand, his cock throbbing with excitement in front of you. You quickly got rid of your pants, watching Tate masturbate in front of you.

There was no preparation, calm or sentimentality. Pulling your panties aside was enough, as was putting your leg around his waist. Covering your mouth with the palm of his hand, he inserted himself into your entrance in one go. It was raw like the hatred that boiled inside him.

“You’re such a good slut, willing to be my relief,” he growled, clenching his jaw, the rough, snapping rhythm of his hips, along with the water making a sinful sound against the bathroom walls. “I’m gonna kill that bitch. She keeps wanting—fuck—to get into my life. That bitch doesn’t know how to live without a dick and wants to judge you. I’m gonna kill—shit.”

“Tate—my love, no,” you stuttered, unable to say anything at that moment. You bit your lip until it bled to hold back your moans.

“Moan louder.” He ordered with his lips on yours, increasing the pace of his thrusts. “Don’t hold back, I want the bitch to hear everything from downstairs. I wanna ruin her stupid little family dinner.”

It was embarrassing, but you were also angry with her, not exactly that, but hurt. Tate knew, he would never let that happen again if it were up to him. Soon, Constance would see that little show. She was too curious not to see it.

He pulled out of you, turning your body to face the wall. He spread your legs before penetrating you, holding your hips to set an even stronger, almost painful pace. It was time to pull your hair back, your back arched, your head on his shoulder. This position made you scream, your nails marking Tate's arm.

“What the hell is this?” Constance arrived, opening the door, taking steps back when she saw the scene of you surrendering to pornographic moans in Tate.

He smiled at her, laughing like a maniac at his mother crying at this. She couldn’t take it, much less you, who collapsed in his arms, your pussy squeezing him almost made him cum. He pushed you away, you fell to the floor without holding on to anything.

“Turn over for me,” Tate shouted and you turned around, feeling him grab your face violently and direct it towards his cock. “Now. Suck it, I’m close to cumming.”

“Tate, no. Please, this is too much,” you begged, but it was in vain. Tate was out of control, forcing your mouth open by the jaw and pushing straight into your mouth.

“Tate, stop!” Constance growled, broken by the tears, her muscles tense as if a shock ran through her entire body. You were shaking uncontrollably, your breath coming in short gasps, as if your own chest was collapsing. Tears were streaming down hotly, mixing with the water still running down your face.

Then, in a sudden rush, Tate was pushed away. The impact made him stagger back, hitting the tiled wall with a dull thud.

"Go away!" Constance stood in front of you in a protective gesture, holding out a towel to cover your trembling body. Her embrace was tight, fierce, as if she wanted to protect you from something much worse than just Tate. He laughed. A dry, bitter laugh, dripping with venom.

"Here comes the good samaritan," he mocked, quickly pulling his pants up to cover himself before looking at his mother. His gaze was seething, a mix of pain and cruel sarcasm. "Now do you think she's good, Mom? Now you feel sorry for her?"

Constance's fingers slid through your hair in a motherly touch, the gentle movements contrasting with the rigid tension in her shoulders."Go away now, Tate." Her voice was firm but quiet, as if she was holding herself back from exploding.

He stood there for a second, his eyes shining with something between anger and hurt. He sniffed, his nose red, his lips twisting into a mirthless laugh.

"I thought you were mad at her," he hissed, his gaze falling on you one last time before he left the room and slammed the door shut. The sound reverberated off the walls like distant thunder.

Constance's chest rose and fell rapidly, heaving unevenly. Your ear was still resting against hers, and you could hear your heart faltering, stumbling over its beats. She bent her face, placing a soft kiss on the top of your head before rocking you slowly, like a lullaby.

Your body gave in to fatigue. Your mind sank into a fog and, without realizing it, you blacked out.

When you woke up, the first thing you felt was the throbbing pain in your head. Tate wasn’t there. But Constance was. You blinked a few times, your blurred vision adjusting to Tate’s room. The dim morning light filtered through the curtains, and the smell of something fresh and citrusy invaded your senses. Constance was sitting next to the bed, a plate balanced on her knees and a glass of juice in front of her.

“I didn’t know what I wanted, so I made the classic.” She smiled slightly, trying to be comforting, but you noticed the slight tremor in her hands as she placed the tray in front of you.

Guilt, maybe.

You didn’t want to think about it.

“Thanks,” you murmured, picking up a piece of toast and taking a hesitant bite. It was good—Moira had probably heard everything and made a big deal of it. The silence between you stretched for a few seconds, until Constance cleared her throat. Her voice came out low, almost a whisper.

"Honey, I have to apologize to you. I overreacted, you are not a disease." His cool fingers rested gently on her hair, stroking it as if he wanted to ease an invisible weight. "You are the only cure we have for our Tate."

[milbroom]

the teachers in this series were actually on crack hjsjsjsjjsksks

"Eee" 😍