Writing

Hey guys. This is just my little writing blog. I mostly write fiction, so sorry for anyone looking for anything else.

[sandydragon1]

Things to Consider when Creating a Magic System

What are the drawbacks of using magic? Does it have mental, physical, and/or emotional consequences for the user?

What tools are needed to harness magic? Wands? Spells? Magical artifacts?

How do people learn magic? Instinct? In school? From family members?

Can everyone use magic or are only certain people capable of using it?

Is the capability to use magic hereditary? What about different ways of using magic (transformation powers, teleportation, etc.)?

What is impossible for magic to do?

How long does it take to master different magical skills?

Can creatures other than humans learn magic? Are different creatures better at using different kinds of magic?

Does it require spells to be spoken, written, or thought?

Is it possible for someone to lose their magical abilities?

How do characters’ emotions affect their ability to use magic? Do their emotions affect the magic’s intensity or controllability? 

How does the strength of a person’s magical abilities change as they age?

Can people normally perform any kind of magic or can they only perform things that fall under their specialty? Are their exceptions?

What rules restrict magic use in society?

How do people’s magical abilities impact their career prospects?

What kinds of magic are the most feared or seen as the most powerful? Which are seen as mere jokes?

How do people use magic to help with everyday tasks?

Can magical energy be stored for later use?

What objects or other factors can amplify someone’s magical powers?

When do magical abilities initially manifest? From birth? At a certain age? Under certain conditions?

What is the first spell a character is likely to learn?

What happens if a spell is performed incorrectly? Nothing at all? A weaker version of the intended results? Pain?

Can different spell casting methods be used to obtain the same result? What are their advantages and disadvantages?

[mauriacs]

mr darcy lived in derbyshire so he sounds like. lizzeh. ah lov yew moost ahhdentleh

[quasarkisses]

wait the places in pride and prejudice are real?

[metapianycist]

england is indeed real

[kipplekipple]

Crying

[cosmog]

fucked up if true </3

[bey]

i wish i had a window seat with lots of pillows that i could sit in and drink tea and read books in and watch the rain in

[toboldlywrite]

I know adverbs are Controversial, but “said softly” means something different than “whispered” and this is the hill I will die on.

[castledock]

Honestly as a blind person I’m so tired of seeing fictional blind characters who don’t use white canes or other guides. “They have special powers so they know what’s around them” or “they’re confident enough to not need a guide” are common tropes, and I’m tired.

Are people scared that using a white cane will make their blind character seem weak? They can’t use a cane because they’re so special that they already know what’s around them, and other blind people who use guides are inferior because they’re not special?

I’m tired. Give your blind characters white canes and other guides. Let them hold onto their friends, let them have guide dogs. Don’t make white cane users feel ostracized for not being “strong enough” to go without.

Another thing that pisses me off is when a sighted character comes up with the fantasy equivalent of braille and teaches it to the blind character. Braille was invented by Louis Braille, a blind man, in 1824. The blind character should be the one coming up with it.

Tldr I’m blind and tired of sighted people lol

🔪 Sighted People MUST Reblog This 🔪

[joanneswritings-blog]

In the beginning⁣

⁣

I was wholeheartedly⁣

pure. Untainted. Innocent. ⁣

I was a healer, of⁣

mind, body and spirit. ⁣

I had different masks;⁣

Wife, Mother, Sister. ⁣

I was all of these, ⁣

and now I feel like none. ⁣

Who am I?⁣

I am the Healer, ⁣

the Enchantress, ⁣

the Seductress. ⁣

But I am no longer⁣

the once pure Healer;⁣

I now bewitch the innocent, ⁣

condemned as I am to⁣

follow the path set out for me -⁣

I beguile the weak, the⁣

ones who cannot resist, ⁣

and I use them for my own ends. ⁣

I plot and plot⁣

to kill my sister by marriage, ⁣

and overthrow the brother⁣

I once held dear. ⁣

Did I bear him a⁣

traitorous son, ⁣

or was I conflated with⁣

someone else?⁣

I commit treason, ⁣

and betray everyone else. ⁣

I no longer have the⁣

goodness I was once known for. ⁣

But in the end, don't I⁣

still have that one⁣

redeeming quality?⁣

After all, I led my brother to⁣

the Isle of Apples⁣

when he had been⁣

mortally wounded. ⁣

And it was there⁣

he was finally able to rest, ⁣

waiting for the day when⁣

he could rise again -⁣

when Albion's need is greatest.⁣

So I had been good;⁣

pure, untainted, innocent. ⁣

I had been a healer, but⁣

now an enchantress, ⁣

a seductress, a⁣

leader to Death. ⁣

What am I?⁣

Beautiful evil. ⁣

But I was good, in⁣

⁣

the end.

[joanneswritings-blog]

The Winter and the Spring

You condemn me, ⁣

and curse me, and⁣

spurn me. For I am⁣

that first bite of Winter, ⁣

that first fall of snow, ⁣

that first morning frost. ⁣

I am the chill seeping in⁣

through the crack under⁣

your door, the ice that⁣

oppresses the Earth, the⁣

night that eats away⁣

the daylight hours. ⁣

I am the one you warn⁣

your children about;⁣

bundling them up to⁣

keep them warm, to⁣

keep them safe. ⁣

⁣

You commend him, ⁣

and bless him, and⁣

accept him. For he is⁣

that first warmth of Spring, ⁣

that first sprout of flower, ⁣

that first ray of Sun. ⁣

He is the kind breeze⁣

teasing your hair, the heat⁣

that melts the snow, the⁣

day taking back its time. ⁣

He is the one you allow⁣

to watch over your children;⁣

wrapped within the warm⁣

rays of the Sun,⁣

free to frolic, and untamed⁣

in their laughter. ⁣

⁣

But you forget that⁣

Winter gives way to Spring. ⁣

You forget that with⁣

coldness, there is warmth. ⁣

You forget that with⁣

decay, there is regrowth. ⁣

You forget that with⁣

Life, Death with always follow. ⁣

But there is no Death⁣

without Life. ⁣

There is no good⁣

without evil. ⁣

There is no knight⁣

without a villain.⁣

There is no him⁣

without me. ⁣

⁣

There are no legends⁣

of Arthur without⁣

the shadow of Morgan.

[joanneswritings-blog]

Winter - Hellebore

Like a poppy you look,

but flatter, less cup-like.

But they call you

‘Winter Rose’,

though you are not

a rose at all.        

I can see the appeal,

nevertheless,

for you are just as

pretty, just as beautiful

though you bloom

in the Winter months.

However, every rose

has its thorns,

and yours lie in the

poison you create.

I do not blame you

for it is your nature,

pleasant as you are

to look upon. But it

makes me wary

of your duplicitous

ways, My Rose,

though blooming in

Winter shows your strength.

It is a harsh season to survive.

You are sweet, dainty, exquisite.

A Winter Rose indeed.

[joanneswritings-blog]

Winter - Holly

I guess I am

the counterpart to

Mistletoe. I am

red instead of white.

I have my own tree,

instead of living off

others. I do not

need to rely on

anyone else to survive.

You harvest me to

make wreaths, but

invite me into your      

home before

Christmas Eve,

and I will bring bad luck.

My thorns ward children

away no matter how

tempting I look, for my

berries are poisonous

to those who want

to try me.

Try me, and you will

be poisoned. But

harvest me, and I will

make your door look

festive. I can always

be seen in Winter.

I can always

be seen at Christmas.

[joanneswritings-blog]

Winter - Mistletoe

You call me a

parasite, simply

because I cannot

survive on my own.

I am carried by birds

and grow on treetops.

I feed off the trees

I live on, stealing

their water, their

energy. I weaken

them, all to make

myself stronger.

But you hang me up

in your doorway.

Get caught under me,

and you have to kiss.

You actively avoid me,

in the name of fun.

You kiss as you stand

beneath me,

in the name of tradition.

You only love me                                            

during the festive

season, but any other

time of year,

I am known as a

parasitical plant.

[joanneswritings-blog]

Autumn - Hesperantha

Little snowflakes, ⁣

though you arrive⁣

in Autumn. Delicate, ⁣

fragile, though you⁣

do not melt. ⁣

You are red,⁣

much unlike a snowflake, ⁣

come to think of it. ⁣

But your shape... ⁣

Your shape is that⁣

of a snowflake.⁣

⁣

Fairy wings, ⁣

though you flutter⁣

in the wind. Dainty, ⁣

graceful, though you⁣

do not fly. ⁣

You are iridescent, ⁣

much like a pair of wings, ⁣

come to think of it. ⁣

Your shape... ⁣

Ah, your shape is that⁣

of fairy wings.⁣

[joanneswritings-blog]

Autumn - Glowing Embers

You are the sunset

on the forest’s ferny floor.

Your mix of burnt orange

and auburn reminds me

of late summer days.

You break out one by one,

little suns against dark

green leaves. You

soften the unforgiving

ground, touching

your small patch with

burnished copper.

Though you are in shade,

you are not muted

at all. You brighten up

the once bleak place

with your shades of fire.

The forest comes alive,

humming with bees and

the calls of crickets.

Bunches of suns in

this woodland world,

warming this place with

embers of your natural fire.

A forest fire.

A safe fiery flower.

The Glowing Embers of ferny floors.

[joanneswritings-blog]

Summer - Fuchsia

You wait until

everyone is ready,

then you unfold.

You lift the

pale pink layer

that sits on top of

your skirt, protecting

it from dirt. Your

dress is revealed,

elegance lying beneath.

A dainty white tutu,

bell-shaped with ruffles,

soft as petals.

A flower dress.

Your petite feet

dances on the stage,

dances in the wind.

You dance with

your partner, in a

pas de deux,

in your own fairytale.

Afterward, when the

tale is told, you both

close up, leaving

the stage. Your skirt

is concealed again,

as you prepare for

your next dance.

Your next Summer show.

[joanneswritings-blog]

Summer - Hibiscus

You start as a

small green bud,

like many flowers.

Then you grow,

trumpet-shaped,

ready to release

your notes. Further still

you expand, slowly

revealing your colours.

Your five petals fan

out, a flare of a skirt.

You are pink, you

are red, you are all

shades of colours.

Sometimes you reflect

the sunset on the beach.

Most of all, my favourite

are the blue and purple hues.

You grow on trees in

the summer months,

brightening up the

leaves of your home

when you bloom.

Though you are

beautiful, you shy

away from my touch.

I coax you out

into the sun, which you

face with quiet dignity.

Then you die,

your petals curling

in. You close yourself

to the world, wilting

under its gaze.

While I am sad, I know

I will see you again.

I will see your

fanned bright petals

once more, in the

next Summer season.

[joanneswritings-blog]

Summer - Poppies

Purple summer bloom

Two wars fought to gain this drug

Red for irony

[joanneswritings-blog]

Spring - Narcissus

I do not have the best

of names. I do not

want to be known as

the guy who fell in love.

Who fell in love, but

with his own reflection.

Do you know of whom

I speak? The man I

am named after, or is

he named after me? He

was beautiful, or so

they say. Am I as

handsome? Do I live up

to my name? I am the

Spring flower children

like to pick. I am the            

flower that signals the

arrival of the new season.

But am I like the man

who loved himself?

I turn my head towards

the sun, and drink in its

rays. I have a quiet beauty

in fields of green.

Maybe I do have something

from Narcissus in me.

Why else would I share

the same name?

But you may know me

by my common name –

I am Daffodil, the yellow

Spring flower.

[joanneswritings-blog]

Spring - Hyacinthus

Oh, my dear sweet Hyacinth!

How beautiful you bloom,

and how graceful you die.

Your curls are unlike

any I have seen before,

your sweet disposition

reels me in, so tempting,

so fragrant. But gods are

immortal, and you had

to die, so fragile you are.

In my arms, you droop,

yet you are still so

full of life. So full of nectar.

You tell me not to worry.

You slip away in my arms

with that sad, sweet smile

of yours, and I can only

remember you by the purple

flower that rests daintily

in my cupped hands. Its

petals curl like your hair once

had, and carries your gentle

nature within its colour.

Oh, my poor darling lover!

Once so full of life,

and now only a flower.

But it is as beautiful as

you had been,

as I carry it with me

through the seasons.

This little flower I shall

name for you,

my dear sweet Hyacinth.