jay chao

Sloppy magic versus calculated magic.

Neither is fundamentally better than the other, each has it’s strengths and weaknesses. Sloppy magic may be include the risk of going wrong, but usually utilizes intense emotion which is the one of most powerful things in magic. Calculated magic can lack raw power but makes up for it in being very precise and effective. 

Sloppy magic is for the rushed sigil you draw on your math test that you’re sure you failed, but with your intense desperate magic, surprisingly find out later you passed with an ok mark. Sloppy magic is for emotionally, violently cursing your abusive ex to suffer endless insomnia and horrific regret. Sloppy magic isn’t ‘half assed’ magic, or ‘amateur magic’, it’s very simply neither calculated nor precise. Instead of elaborate rituals, it’s rage, desperation, elation, despair, raw love, pure joy, etc. It’s emotional magic, rushed or spontaneous magic, unprepared magic, but still just as powerful a magic calculated. 

Calculated magic is making your bigoted boss lose his job by targeting his superiors, making them notice his shortcomings that they’d previously been blind to. Calculated magic is the elaborate, long thought out wards that you permanently have surrounding your home, with intricate sigils and laboured over energy grids. It’s calm, well researched, complicated magic plays the long game. It’s demands less immediate results, and more long thought out processes of magic, unravelling things thread by thread or tearing them down brick by brick, ensuring success.

Calculated magic sacrifices time for exact, effective results, whereas sloppy sacrifices precision for raw intense power. Calculated magic tears down the wall carefully but laboriously brick by brick with your bare hands, sloppy magic slams a pickaxe into the wall and immediately knocks it down without care about where the bricks fall, whether they’ll land on your feet. 

Always be aware of your actions, your words, your intention, your emotions. 

The Young Buck Stare

Originally posted by leelakoiwolff

Originally posted by mitchtheficus

Matt Jackson x Reader for @kayfaberollins

Request: Reader is a part of bullet club and her and matt have been dating for a long time and they just kick ass together, idc about a plot really, there just isn’t enough young bucks fics in the world

Being the baby sister of Dalton Castle had its perks. One of them was being introduced to wrestling at a very young age. I was fascinated by not only the physical aspect of it but as well as the dramatics. When Dalton took me to one of his shows I was instantly hooked and knew that I wanted to be a part of this beautiful profession. Being an amazing big brother that Dalton is he took me to every one of his shows in order for me to learn about the business. I was seeing the highs and lows but never thought twice about not wanting to experience it for my own.

Keep reading

Is It You?

Pairing: Sam x Reader
Word Count: 212
Warnings: Brief mentions of death and being knocked unconscious.
Author’s Note: This hasn’t been beta’d, so all the mistakes are mine.

If you’d like to be tagged in anything send me an ‘ask’ or send me a message.

——————————————————————————————————–

There was a knock at your door.

“It is 6 am!” you said opening your door.

“I was hoping we could have breakfast.”

Sam. There was no way that was Sam.

Blinking your eyes a few times wasn’t enough to make you believe that it was really him. That the man you loved was really standing at your door. The man who will soon be a father.

Slowly reaching up your ran your hand over his cheek and slightly into his hair. It felt like Sam. The gentle stubble on his face, the softness of his hair, the way his pushed his face deeper into your touch. You were almost certain that it was the real Sam.

“Sam?” You meant it as a question, but it came out life a breathy plea.

You needed this to be Sam. The real Sam, not the shell of Sam controlled by an evil angel. Not the Sam that killed one of your dear friends. Or the Sam that knocked you unconscious and left you in some motel room.

“Is it really you?“

“It’s really me.“

Before he even gets all the words out you’re in his arms. Pulling back slightly you look into his beautiful hazel eyes and can’t help but smile.

“Breakfast sounds great.”

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You know, (and this is not the first time I’ve wondered this; on the contrary) I have to wonder the loss of talent in North America to Asia because we can’t seem to give Asian American actors and singers anything worth their time and effort. Why should they deal with the racist bullshit here when they can go to China and Korea and make tons of money and be more appreciated?