#plot chaos

[xyymath]

Polar Graphs: When Math Decided to Flex Its Artistic Side

The Polar Rose (r = asin(nθ))

2. The Lemniscate (r² = a²cos(2θ)) : It’s like infinity had a baby with a pretzel

3. The Cardioid : r = a(1 + cos(θ))

4. The Spiral of Archimedes (r = aθ)

5. The Butterfly Curve :

[nondelphic]

writing? oh, i’m definitely writing. in my head. during the most inconvenient times. like in the shower or when i’m about to fall asleep. actual typing? no, no, we don’t do that here.

[xyywrites]

The Power of Silence in Dialogue

We often think of dialogue as something that’s just about what characters say, but let’s talk about what they don’t say. Silence can be one of the most powerful tools in your writing toolbox. Here’s why:

1. The Unspoken Tension

When characters leave things unsaid, it adds layers to their interactions. Silence can create a tension that’s so thick you could cut it with a knife. It shows things are happening beneath the surface—the real conversation is happening in what’s left unspoken.

Example:

“So, you’re leaving, huh?” He didn’t look up from the table, his fingers tracing the rim of his glass, slow and deliberate. “Yeah.” “Guess I should’ve expected this.” (Silence.) “You’re not mad?” “I’m not mad,” she said, but the way her voice broke was louder than anything she'd said all night.

2. Building Anticipation or Drama

Sometimes silence can heighten the drama, creating a pause where the reader feels like something big is about to happen. You don’t always need words to convey that sense of dread or anticipation.

Example:

They stood there, side by side, staring at the door that had just closed behind him. “You should’ve stopped him.” She didn’t answer. “You should’ve said something.” The room felt colder. “I couldn’t.” (Silence.)

3. Creating Emotional Impact

Sometimes, saying nothing can have the biggest emotional punch. Silence gives the reader a chance to interpret the scene, to sit with the feelings that aren’t being voiced.

Example:

He opened the letter and read it. And then, without saying a word, he folded it back up and placed it in the drawer. His fingers lingered on the wood for a long time before he closed it slowly, too slowly. “Are you okay?” He didn’t answer.

TL;DR

Silence isn’t just a pause between dialogue—it’s a powerful tool for deepening emotional tension, building anticipation, and revealing character. Next time you write a scene, ask yourself: what isn’t being said? And how can that silence say more than the words ever could?

[seekerknight557]

i think it is a very powerful thing when the story inside you is so loud that you are forced to relearn how to draw, write, and talk to people to get it made into a real thing

[chaos-bringer-13]

Vlad, Dan and Dani move across dimensions to Gotham because of some bad stuff happening in their own dimension. Vlad has a lot of his money with him in cash, and they quickly get themselves fake id's as father and his two children. Vlad's plan is to keep low profile, wait it out and then return. Dan and Dani don't care about Vlad's plan.

Vlad is shady, Dan and Dani are causing shenanigans, and a bunch of coincidences leads to people believing that they're some sort of mafia family.

Some idiots try to rob Dani and she blurts out "Do you know who my dad is?". Dan emerges from the shadows, sends Dani off and makes extremely specific and detailed threats of slow and painful death to the would-be robbers. He finishes the speech by adding that they would be wishing for him to do all of that if his and Dani's father found out about the robbery.

Then Dan accidentally recruits a group of goons by beating up their boss and feeling kinda responsible for the henchmen.

Then Dani steals the talons.

Dan has a fight over territory with one of the smaller rogues.

Dani steals Scarecrow's chemicals.

All the while they keep convincing people that this is all a part of some bigger plan of Masters family. First it's just a misunderstanding, then they keep doing it to annoy Vlad. Some people think that Masters is just a surname, some think that Master is a rogue's name. After a while everyone knows that there's an up-and-coming crime family.

Vlad is entirely oblivious. He doesn't know shit. He ends up making a small organisation (restaurant? car repair shop?) to hire people who keep coming to him. He's not sure why his children tell all these people that he can help but they are in trouble, so he helps. And then helps again, and again. All the places he opens look like crime fronts.

Vlad is still unaware that he's a mob boss.

Maybe at some point Dan and Dani think that Vlad figured this out (because its obvious) but doesn't say anything because the police has bugged their house or because he wants plausible deniability.

Obviously all of this ends with the Bats deciding to confront Masters. It's also the perfect moment for Danny to enter.

Here, have a shitty meme showing the moment.

Danny: I left you here fOR ONE MONTH

Vlad: It's not my fault!

Danny: I figured. Dani, if I give you a candy, will you tell me what the hell you've done?

Dani: What kind of candy?

Danny, handing out a Yellow Lantern ring: A Ring Pop.

Dani, snatching it: We accidentally started a mob family :D

[gale-force-storm]

Thinking about the fact that, to pull Gale from the stone and get him in the game at all, you have to decide to try to touch an extremely dangerous looking swirling mass of unstable magic. Something that is, objectively, a terrible idea

Like, the options it gives you are to either touch the sigil or leave, and if you leave you just... don't get Gale in the party

You have to take the risk. You have to let your curiosity override your common sense. You have to look at this unstable, possibly dangerous malfunctioning magic sigil and go "...Ok, but what if I poke it?"

In short, to get Gale in your party, you have to do exactly what he would in that situation, and indulge in a moment of reckless curiosity. And I just think that's delightful

[lilydrafts]

We are writers my love. We don't cry. We bleed on paper.

[seaside-tropical-sun]

I am CONVINCED that if sj had won 1 (one!) of their fights it would’ve permanently rearranged lqg’s few brain cells into mad puppy love

[pininghermit]

Source of Chaos

Request: Hi, I just saw that you had this Tropesvania dynamic and I wanted to try it. My request would be for the witch dynamic, I don't know if you're still taking requests but I wanted to try. It could be Alucard x female reader ^_^

AN: Thanks for requesting! I hope you enjoy this :)

Genre: fluff

Pairing(s): Alucard x Witch Reader

Summary: “ABSOLUTELY NOT!” He shoots up from the chair, stepping back as if distance alone can save him from the nightmare unfolding before him. “You cannot mean that! Surely there’s another way!”

“Witch.”

“Dhampir.”

You both stare at each other. Or at least you try to.

Your eyes flit anywhere but his face, and Alucard resolutely looks away, his eyes darting to the far corner of the room. Both of you are steadfast in ignoring the very obvious elephant in the room.

Or rather, the bright red mane.

Alucard fidgets, his hand twitching as if to pull his hood back up, but he resists. He has to endure this shame if he wants to find a cure. Still, his fingers itch with every passing second, and the weight of your silence is becoming unbearable.

On the other hand, you can barely summon the strength to keep yourself from bursting into laughter. Habanero, your mind screams at you. No, that doesn’t quite fit. Tomatoes. He looks like a giant, sulking tomato.

“How did you...get hexed this badly?” you ask, turning your back to him under the guise of gathering ingredients from your shelves. In truth, you’re trying to compose yourself, furiously pressing your lips together to suppress the laughter bubbling inside you. The mental image of a soaking-wet, bright-red-haired Adrian is burned into your mind.

Behind you, Alucard narrows his eyes, watching your shoulders shake with barely concealed mirth. His jaw tightens, but cornered as he is, he reluctantly answers.

“I... may have pissed off a druid,” he admits, his voice clipped and forced. He folds his arms across his chest in an attempt to preserve the last shreds of his dignity. “Can you undo this?”

You risk a glance over your shoulder, and it’s a mistake. A catastrophic mistake. The stark contrast of his usually demeanor with his ridiculous hair is too much. Your lips twitch dangerously.

“A druid?” you repeat, trying and failing to keep your voice neutral. “What exactly did you do to make them this angry?”

“That,” he replies stiffly, “is irrelevant.”

“Oh, I think it’s very relevant,” you counter, turning back fully now, your grin barely held in check. You’re holding a sprig of rosemary and a jar of salt, you are dangerously close to losing the precious herbs to the fit of laughter knocking on your doorstep.

Alucard sighs heavily, running a hand through his absurdly red hair, the crimson strands glowing obnoxiously in the lamplight. “Trevor pissed on their grove and blamed it on me,” he huffs, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “And now I’m stuck with this monstrosity.”

You freeze. “Trevor… what?” you manage, your voice trembling.

“They assumed it was me!” Adrian snaps, pacing now, restless and agitated. “And apparently, this,” he gestures furiously at his hair, “is their idea of retribution.”

“Oh, dear,” you mutter, stepping closer to inspect the damage. You lean in, catching a faint whiff of something that makes you recoil instantly. “Oh, no. They even cursed the scent? Adrian, your hair smells like… rotting onions.”

Adrian stiffens, his scowl deepening as his cheeks color faintly, matching the cursed shade of his hair. “Do you intend to help me or mock me?” he bites out.

“Both,” you admit cheerfully, wiping at your eyes as tears of laughter threaten to spill. “But mostly help. Unfortunately, this magic is twisted into a riddle… and I’m pretty sure there’s only one way to undo it.”

Adrian slumps into a chair, fingers rubbing his temples. “And what is that?” he asks, his voice already laced with dread.

You hesitate, pursing your lips as you brace for his inevitable reaction. “To undo the spell,” you begin cautiously, “we’ll need the very thing that caused it in the first place.”

Adrian blinks at you, the confusion etched on his face almost endearing. But then the meaning of your words dawns on him, and his entire body goes rigid.

“ABSOLUTELY NOT!” He shoots up from the chair, stepping back as if distance alone can save him from the nightmare unfolding before him. “You cannot mean that! Surely there’s another way!”

You shake your head in resignation, though the corners of your lips twitch despite yourself. “There’s not, Adrian. I’ve checked twice. We’re going to need…” You pause, biting back a laugh before finishing. “Trevor’s urine sample to brew the counter-spell.”

For a moment, the room is silent except for the howling wind outside your cottage. Adrian stares at you, wide-eyed, as if the very idea has physically wounded him. “You’re joking,” he says flatly, though the note of desperation in his voice betrays him.

“I wish I were,” you reply, holding up the jar of salt like it’s somehow relevant to your case. “But magic like this is annoyingly stubborn. The spell was triggered by an offense, and we need to balance it out by using the, uh… offending source.”

Adrian groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I refuse. I refuse to beg that idiot for… for…” He can’t even finish the sentence, his shoulders slumping as the weight of his predicament settles fully on him.

“Well,” you say lightly, “If you’d prefer to keep the hair and the smell…”

“Enough!” Adrian snaps, his voice louder than intended, though the tips of his ears burn with humiliation. He takes a deep breath, visibly trying to compose himself. “Fine. But you’re the one asking him.”

“Of course,” you agree, smiling far too sweetly for his liking. “I’m sure he’s heard me ask for weirder things.”

Adrian arches a brow at that but says nothing, letting your words hang in the air.

“We’ll make this better,” you promise softly, cupping his cheeks and squishing them between your palms. “I promise, darling.”

You lean in slightly, but the pungent scent hits your nose with renewed vigor, and you scrunch your face, pulling back with a wince.

Adrian doesn’t let you escape so easily. With a mischievous glint in his eyes, he tugs you back into his embrace, holding you close in a tight grasp. “Why yes,” he murmurs, his deep voice practically dripping with mock sincerity. “I would love some affection after this long.”

Before you can react, he purposefully rubs his cursed red hair into your cheek.

“Adrian!” you yelp, flailing against him as the acrid scent of onions assaults your senses. You hold back a gag reflex, though it takes considerable effort.

“Revenge,” he states simply, his smirk widening as you push against his chest in protest.

“First of all,” you grumble, finally pulling back and holding him at arm’s length by his shoulders, “you smell awful. And second, I believe procuring ingredients is in order before I suffocate.”

Adrian chuckles softly, stepping back and crossing his arms. “Fine. But you’re still the one asking Trevor. I’ll wait, far away from him.”

“Gladly,” you shoot back, wrinkling your nose as you grab your bag of supplies. “But if you rub your head on me again, I’m letting you keep the hair.”

His laughter follows you as you stride toward the door. No wonder the druid cursed him.

[tio-trile]

Anyways, happy Chaos Theory trailer day (inspired by that one image from Veil by Kotteri)

[may12324]

did you miss my sketch dumps? I have been reading A Day of Fallen Night, ohohohoh boy. so many hot ladies in this book. Also Canthe is terrible but I love hate her <3

[nondelphic]

sometimes the best writing advice is "just let it be bad." revolutionary. terrifying. but it works.

[xyywrites]

Pacing Through Sentence Length in Writing

You ever notice how a scene can feel like it’s dragging or speeding up based solely on the length of the sentences? Sentence length isn't just a technical detail—it’s a pacing tool. When used right, it can control the speed and tension of your story. Here’s how:

Short Sentences = Speed, Tension, Impact

Short, snappy sentences are like quick breaths, instantly pulling the reader’s attention. They mimic fast action, nervous energy, or urgent thoughts. They create momentum. Think of action scenes or emotional moments—often, less is more.

Example: The door slammed shut. His heart raced. She was gone.

In just three sentences, you feel the urgency, the chaos, and the emotional weight of the moment. It’s all about breaking up the narrative with these quick hits to keep the reader on edge.

Long Sentences = Build-up, Reflection, Depth

On the flip side, long sentences slow things down, adding complexity, reflection, or tension. They’re great for moments of introspection, world-building, or setting a scene in rich detail. These sentences create a flow, pulling the reader into the character’s headspace or the atmosphere of the moment.

Example: The wind howled through the narrow alley, carrying the distant sounds of a city that never seemed to sleep, never seemed to rest, and in that eternal hum, he wondered, not for the first time, if he would ever find peace here or if, like everyone else who tried to escape the shadows, he would simply become another part of the city’s endless noise.

Here, the length of the sentence mimics the complexity of the thoughts—heavy, reflective, almost hypnotic. It builds tension not with action but with an overwhelming feeling of being stuck or trapped in thought.

Combining Both = Dynamic Flow

The real magic happens when you mix short and long sentences. This creates a rhythm—suddenly, a break in the flow, a quick shock, and then back to a longer, more drawn-out moment. It reflects real life: quick bursts of action or emotion followed by moments of pause or thought.

Example: He reached for the door. It was locked. His heart pounded, each beat a reminder of how badly he needed this. There were no other options. There was no way out. The key could be anywhere. And he could not afford to wait any longer.

TL;DR:

Long sentences = build tension, create depth, set mood. Short sentences = ramp up urgency, show action, make an impact. Mastering this flow is a game-changer for pacing!

[seekerknight557]

Just write the thing. for 5 minutes. If there's more than 5 minutes of work, great. If not, you had the 5 minutes

[chaos0pikachu]

"so what is word of honor about"

chepie I don't fucking know, like legit I could not tell you what the Actual Plot as intended is something about a glazed donut that got the whole sword society in a tizzy b/c some dead dude a decade ago tweaked out from mercury poisoning and all his secrets were kept in the burn book locked away in elsa's frozen palace.

the bits that anyone actually cares about are two bottom-4-bottom retired villains, one an ex assassin with martial arts cancer and 8 nipples who wants to drink and die in peace, the other one of the most dramatic men you will ever meet who sprouts corny ass poetry and lines with negative shame cause why be ashamed baby we all die sometime and they become soulmates [censored] raise 3 kids together until one of their ex's comes back for a 2 episode sub plot like a mid-season love interest in a sitcom that got kicked off the show quick b/c everyone hated their ass and then the sword society shows back up b/c the prettiest assassin you will ever meet with the biggest daddy issues you will ever see didn't listen to his fucking lesbian girl gang and drop his broke ass daddy who never ONCE complimented his banging eye makeup and hair decided to Make Plot Shit Happen b/c it's like episode 34 and we gotta wrap! this! shit! up! and then someone sneezes so the show reenacts the scene where Mulan took out the Huns and then our bottom retired villain husbands get to ACTUALLY fucking retire and one of them gets a new sesshomaru wig and it's glorious

[deikshen]

Shen Qingqiu decides that in order to avoid becoming a human stick... He should just become a woman and take a wife plot!! There are HUNDREDS of wife plots in PIDW, and well, Shen Qingqiu can become a woman and fall into one, become Luo Binghe's wife after the regulatory papapa, and be forgotten in the harem. It's not a bad idea.

(Shang Qinghua keeps his comments to himself, extremely amused by Cucumber-bro's mental gymnastics. Heaven save him.)

So, Shen Qingqiu bites the bullet and gets himself a rare flower that transforms his body into a woman body, with tits and... bottoms. He makes it look like an accident, which, combined with the effect of Without-A-Cure, has no immediate solution. Mu Qingfang is jaded but not skeptical, so they just let it be. Shen Qingqiu is still Shen Qingqiu, Peak Lord and resting bitch face™, only now he must wear robes that do not squeeze his grown chest so much and a belt that fits tighter around his waist.

Shen Qingqiu still thinks of himself as a man, the other Peak Lords and disciples still refer to him as Shixiong and Shizun, as the immortal master that he is, and more than that there is not much to say. Shang Qinghua occasionally makes a comment about him having nice tits and earns a couple of fan blows to the head, but it's not really too different from before.

He hasn't decided yet what wife plot he will use. Maybe the flower that sex-pollen-poisons him but makes him irresistible to any demon around him? It would tempt Binghe's demonic side a bit, and secure him the papapa. Or the water from that spring that would make the typical fuck or die plot only solvable with the Heavenly Pillar? Shen Qingqiu believes that he has time to think about it further; after all, there are still years to The Moment, right?

The plague of Jinlan City and Luo Binghe's unexpected and early return throw him into absolute chaos. Fuck! He still has nothing ready! Not even a flower of pollen on him that would make Binghe spare his life!

Well, Shen Qingqiu will have to cope with only the experience of trashy romance novels, improvisation and his arduous desire to survive.

...

When Luo Binghe arrives at his room, demanding answers from the elusive Shizun who hasn't even shown himself to him... Shizun only has inner robes. There's... Blush on his cheeks? Wet lips and bitten? The tunics open at the subtle curve of... Breasts? A tiny waist - even tinier than before, Luo Binghe is confident he can hold his hands around it without any problems - and wide hips where the fabric of his inner tunics almost seems transparent. Luo Binghe falls silent, his brain boiling in five different temperatures.

"Binghe?" asks his Shizun, who somehow seems to have been... cursed with this form? He looks vulnerable, a sweet fawn with huge eyes, a blushed face, and a sweet half-open mouth. "Is it really you?"

His Shizun looks big eyes on the verge of tears. He approaches, not caring about the ill-fitting tunics, not caring that one of his shoulders slides, revealing white skin, a stretch of cleavage. And his Shizun holds his face, hands cold and almost trembling, as if he were seeing a dream come true in front of him.

Luo Binghe... wonders if Shizun ever dreamed of that. If his Shizun ever dreamed of seeing him come back to now react in that way. Because now tears are streaming down Shen Qingqiu's face, and he is holding Binghe's face so lovingly in his hands that Luo Binghe can only melt into his touch.

"Shizun," he says, because it's all he wants to say, it's all he can say. His anger is a chaos that spirals out in all directions, but how can he let it out there? In front of the vulnerable Shizun who cries for him? There must be an explanation, Luo Binghe tells himself. He needs to hear that.

But he also needs Shen Qingqiu not to cry.

"My Binghe" his Shen Qingqiu says, his own heart racing. Luo Binghe lets Shen Qingqiu move him, pulling him, wrapping him in a hug. Luo Binghe must lean down to be hugged tightly by his Shizun, but there... There is a stretch of white throat exposed. There is so much soft skin exposed in every direction. He can see the pronounced curve of his cleavage, but he can feel almost beneath his mouth the throbbing in his throat, the scent of his hair, the perfume of his skin...

And Shen Qingqiu squeezes him tighter, almost making him bend over him, holding him as if he never wants to let go. And Luo Binghe can feel every curve of his body pressed against him, he can lose himself in the scent of his skin, in the strong grip of his arms. His own body is awakening irrationally and embarrassingly, but if Shen Qingqiu notices it, he doesn't say anything...

No, in fact, Shen Qingqiu is getting closer to him?

Is Shizun poisoned? Or something? Some pollen? Some flower? What's going on?

"My sweet disciple," Shen Qingqiu says, and as much as Binghe wants to pull away to see his face, Shen Qingqiu holds him against him. Luo Binghe believes it is because, despite everything, his Shizun's face is still so thin... "This... This Shizun has missed his good boy Binghe so much..."

Luo Binghe feels his own rational brain shutting down. Oh well. He'll figure out what needs to be figured out later. His cock will be taking control of all the blood in his body now.

(When Shen Qingqiu is pushed against a wall and roughly kissed, he restrains himself from pumping a fist in the air in celebration. YEAH!!! HE DID IT!! HE'S GOING TO SURVIVE THAT AND WITHOUT BECOMING A HUMAN STICK!!)

...

(Papapa - about five to six rounds, Shen Qingqiu lost count at some point - later, Shen Qingqiu is not too sure that he will actually survive. His little blackened lotus has a lot to learn. Ah, where did he learn to be so rough? Those kisses seemed more like bites than kisses. Lots of teeth, lots of teeth. And his touch is rough and not gentle at all, and Shen Qingqiu is more in pain from his clumsy fingers than from the Heavenly Pillar. Did the demon jiejie in the Abyss they hadn't taught him anything? At this point in the plot Luo Binghe should know at least something on how to be a good lover!!

Or was Airplane's poor writing now reflecting on the Protagonist!? Oh, Shen Qingqiu hoped not, because otherwise Airplane was going to pay for it with his blood.

Ah well. Once a Shizun, always a Shizun. Shen Qingqiu is going to have to teach his cute Binghe a little about this too. And sleepy after a some orgasms, the truth is that he doesn't object at all.)