#Witches' Paradox Event

[muffinrecord]

what does a bitch need to do around here to get an uncap

#Magia Record #Muffin Record #i thought soooo strongly that we were getting one FOR SURE this upcoming week #Witches' Paradox Event

[a-wartime-paradox]

Paradox of the Thirteenth, or "There's a surprising amount of Faction Paradox in Series 11-13"

Despite not being many fan's top choice, the Thirteenth Doctor's era shared concepts with the Faction Paradox series surprisingly often. Some of these were explicit, such as The Paradox Moon featuring Siblings Same and Different (although these Siblings' Faction is otherwise unrelated to the FP Faction, as of 2023), whilst others are simply similarities in creative choices, again varying in how obvious they are, from the "Ashad" (Series 12 - The Timeless Children) resembling FP's technosapiens, to Time Lords "binding" time in Once, Upon Time (part of Series 13/Flux)

So, here I will attempt to list every possible connection between the Thirteenth Doctor/Chris Chibnal's era of Doctor Who and the Faction Paradox mythology

Firstly, an explanation as to why this is all happening...

Explanation as to why the Thirteen Doctor is meeting Faction Paradox-esque entities.

The War has been ended for a long time, and the Great Houses have finally, actually, fallen (see The Timeless Children) leaving no one to hold up their imposed metastructure of history. Why didn't anyone invade in Series 1-7, before the Time Lords returned?, you ask. Well, it's not because The Day of the Doctor is a bootstrap, as I don't believe in perfect bootstraps, but rather because well... They did. During Series 1, the Reapers arrived, explicitly due to the lack of Time Lords (Father's Day), and so did a lone Dalek (Dalek), and finally the original Dalek Emperor's last Time War fleet (The Parting of the Ways). Then in Series 2, the Cult of Skaro arrived (Army of Ghosts/Doomsday), followed by Davros (The Stolen Earth/Journey's End)- who along with the Supreme Dalek, somehow survived the Crucible's fall (The Magician's Apprentice/The Witch's Familiar)- and then the New Dalek Paradigm emerged, from survivors of the War (Victory of the Daleks). All this interference from War-time participants is what's preventing pre-Anchoring entities entering the Third Universe, as it echoes the status quo which was so hostile to their very existence.

Oh, and "Dvapara Yuga" means "the Dark Times, as understood to not be an early period of universal history, but rather the state of history metatemporally predating Rassilon's anchoring of the thread"

She is born out of an interaction with a past Doctor (Twice Upon a Time) - if it wasn't for acausal (and unintentionally) intervention of the First Doctor, the Thirteenth Doctor never would have existed. This is a bit of a stretch, as interference forwards in a timeline is much less paradoxical than the reverse, but this is her first appearance so...

The Solitract, from It Takes You Away, is an intelligent & conscious universe, exiled from the main universe in order to allow for it's creation. "Creation" here probably refers to Event One/The Big Bang, but, if one is on the train of "the universe before the Anchoring of the Thread didn't have a beginning, and the Big Bang was retroactively added by Urizen [Rassilon]", then this is very easily re-interpreted as a mention of the early Sun Builders (a.k.a Time Lords) cleaning up their area of spacetime in preparation for imposing rationality on it. To be even more bold, I may suggest that this isn't a universe at all, but instead an intercreational, a class of being first mentioned in The Book of the War, although one type was first mentioned in the BBC Eighth Doctor Adventures novel The Taking of Planet 5, as a "Swimmer". I propose that the Solitract is not a Swimmer, or a Leviathan, but rather a smaller intercreational, perhaps growing out of the Third Universe (the main DW/FP universe), before being banished by the Great Houses. See Explanation as to why the Thirteen Doctor is meeting Faction Paradox-esque entities at the top of this post.

The Ux, from The Battle of Ranskoor Av Kolos, are clearly some gods from the Dvapara Yuga.

Orphan 55 features a future version of Earth which deviates heavily from most other depictions of it. Speculatively, this means the Thirteenth Doctor travelled to an aberrant timeline, or that the Ghost Point has somehow worsened since the degradation of the Great Houses's imposed metastructure, rather than healing.

During Fugitive of the Judoon, the Doctor interacts with Gallifrey's distant past. I can't really explain this even by the standard explanation at the top of this post. However, one thing interesting to note is that the ancient Time Lord "Gat" considered "Mutter's Spiral" to be a "tiny galaxy". This is notable because Gallifrey is basically always said to be in the centre of Mutter's Spiral - that is, the Milky Way - and naming a galaxy as "tiny" kind of implies that you aren't from it. Maybe Gallifrey wasn't always in Mutter's Spiral, and got moved? Or maybe Gat and the Division come from some alternative Gallifrey? I don't know, just interesting to note.

The novel At Childhood's End (written by Sophie Aldred, actor for Ace) featured Ace meeting the Thirteenth Doctor, and descriptions of the former's fractured timelines. Notably, the next time Ace and the Doctor met (in The Power of the Doctor), neither one of them mentioned this, almost as if the timeline in which it happened had fractured...

Rakaya and Zellin from Can You Hear Me? are clearly some kind of pre-anchoring gods like the Ux. In Time Lord Victorious short story The Guide to the Dark Times, it was confirmed that they were, specifically, Eternals (not the MCU kind), and another Time Lord Victorious text, a novel called The Knight, the Fool, and the Dead, claimed that Eternals were among the other inhabitants of the Dark Times, the "Old Ones". Interestingly, multiple Eternals do indeed appear in the "classic" series of Doctor Who, implying that the Anchoring did not fully remove them, but as they didn't appear in NuWho until now, I feel safe in speculating that the War somehow barred them from it - perhaps they'd joined the conflict, on the side of both the Time Lords, Daleks, the Enemy, and others, "helping out" wherever it benefited them?

Ashad, first appearing in The Haunting of Villo Diodati, and then in the following serial Ascension of the Cybermen/The Timeless Children, is an "emotional Cyberman". Any readers of Faction Paradox could immediately draw the connection between this and Faction Paradox's "technosapiens", named as such partially to avoid infringing on the BBC's trademark, but also because The Book of the War showed that many sects of posthumanity had become cyborgs, but many were not emotionless and evil like the Cybermen.

The Timeless Child, first appearing in The Timeless Children, is vaguely reminiscent of the idea hinted upon in The Book of the War that the Great Houses stole the power of regeneration from another species, in The Book of the War being the Great Vampires, and in The Timeless Children being the titular Timeless Child. This note of continuity was expanded upon by the writer @aristidetwain in his short story Out of the Box introduced the "Child-That-Was-Taken", intended to be a member of the Yssgaroth species, and to be the Timeless Child itself. Additionally, this Child was the motivator for the Great Vampires' war with the Great Houses, the Eternal War (a.k.a First War in Heaven).

In The Timeless Children, Tecteun is shown alongside Rassilon and Omega. Previously, the figure alongside Rassilon and Omega was the Other, a version of the Doctor from before he was the Doctor. My personal fix for this, which I admittedly took from @/aristidetwain, is that there were many Others, assisting Rassilon and Omega at different points in time. Other Others may be the human Dr. Who from the novel Human Nature, the Eleventh Doctor "Cheesemaker" (The Lost Dimension), Osiris (in his car future), and the Sixth Doctor (The Scrolls of Rassilon)

In Shadow in the Mirror, the Thirteenth Doctor released Aphasia / Daughter of Mine from her mirror of entrapment, despite the fact that Aphasia mentioned a "ginger haired doctor" who "believed himself to be the last" (likely Muldwych/Merlin), meaning that the Doctor had been interacting with Aphasia out-of-order, which is... Reasonably dangerous.

Throughout Flux, the villains "Swarm" and "Azure" attempt to remove the Mouri from the planet Time, effectively de-anchoring the thread. They're method, strangely, is to try to destroy the entire universe using "the flux".

Village of the Angels features the first instance of Weeping Angels being shown to posses proper intelligence, as they ally themselves with Tecteun, presumably in exchange for something, and even more interestingly, they have a rogue member, suggesting power structures in their ranks. This isn't particularly Faction Paradox -related, but it feels like it is, and I hope Faction Paradox writers use Weeping Angel - analogues to continue to explore this.

Eve of the Daleks features the Doctor "resetting" the TARDIS, causing a localised time loop. However, perhaps more notably, the Daleks which appear in this episode are "Dalek Executioners", which make their debut in Time Lord Victorious.

The Power of the Doctor won't be mentioned here, perhaps I'll grant it a full post going over all of its batshit-insanity (affectionate?) some other time.

This post was made after I saw @familyparadox remark at the high amount of Faction/Thirteen content

#faction paradox #doctor who #dweu #thirteenth doctor #jodie whittaker #chris chibnall #ashad the lone cyberman #eternals #long post

[concussed-to-pieces]

Wolves At The Door; Part Ten

Fandom: Resident Evil [Village]

Pairing: Karl Heisenberg/AFAB!Reader

Rating: Holy shit M.

Summary: Heisenberg puffed out a breath, gazing off into the distance. His factory was out there in the rain, waiting. Waiting for his return.

A/N: Welcome all, welcome to our tenth installment! Nearly to the epilogue, have a little faith. Enjoy!

Tag List: @cookiethewriter @amneris21 @topgirl17 @vodkafolie @a-smol-witch @clockworkmidnight @calwitch @silver-quinn01 @velvet-paradox @hijackser @mrs-wolfwood @nonstop-haikyuu @mic-sunderland @somethingthatsaysbubbles @fullofmoonsandstars @stargazerofgoldenwords @imthegreenfairy86 @karlskitten @nitrogennightmare @chunnies @thirstworldproblemss @highly-unknown @tartimaar-bloggeth @thesmartbiscuit @spoopyredacted @crowtrobotx @kotall-ohh @doggydale @jackie-loves-yalls-writing @simplysolo @teeheemax

x. Prelude

1. Indebted

2. Blood On Your Hands

3. Brush With Death

4. Come To Bed

5. Smells Like Snow

6. Hot Iron

7. Turnover

8. Backslide

9. Tender Gray Light

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains mentions of blood, canon-typical violence, gore, and graphic depictions of mental and physical duress. Stay safe!]

The rain was welcome to Karl, for it heralded the return of spring. However, it made for miserable walking. The former Lord forged doggedly onward despite the downpour, rainwater dripping from the wide brim of his hat.

The sky was still dark. He had no idea what time it was, whether early or late. It had been months since the time had mattered to him, the man all too willing to move through life at the pace of your choosing. But last night's events seemed to have ruined that.

Dinner had been silent, the two of you refusing to really engage with one another after…what had happened. Karl was irritated with himself and a bit irritated with you as well, if he was being honest. Granted, he knew he wasn't exactly emotionally mature, but gods almighty he had told you not to look at him! He had wanted to avoid this…weirdness, this strange feeling in his chest, and now he didn't know how the hell to fix it.

You eventually went to bed alone and he was still awake staring at the ceiling hours later when he had finally made his choice.

He knew what he had to do. To an extent, anyway. He cringed as he thought of how hard he had bitten you, so strong you ruin everything you touch. 

He couldn't do that again. He wouldn't do that again. He couldn't keep slipping up. These moments of weakness, of forgetting himself, cutting loose…it was irresponsible. Risky. Wrong. He needed to put himself to use, take himself out of the equation.

He needed to go to the source.

For his own sanity, whatever was left of it, but also…Karl shook his head, feeling stupid.

He started sprinting.

…

You woke after a poor night's sleep to the sound of rain. Specifically, to the sound of a drip, drip, drip. You groaned, pulling the quilt up over your head. You didn't want to patch another leak. 

“Karl,” you mumbled, flinging your arm out to the side. You met nothing but more sheets and blanket, and then you recalled what had happened the day before. Sitting bolt upright, you ignored the puddle on the floor in the corner as you called, “Karl?” Your fingers gripped the quilt in a stranglehold when there was no reply. “Karl?” 

You moved from the bed, more than a little stiff, and hurried to pull on your shoes. 

The living room was empty. The stove hadn't been recently stoked, the couch was cold when you touched it, and the blanket the two of you had…well. The blanket was folded and placed over the arm of the couch. 

In a daze, you moved to the kitchen and picked up the large pot, then returned to your room to place it under the leak. Fix the roof. You would need to get the ladder, patch, the patching fabric…when was the last time you had even used the patching sealant?

You felt your eyes begin to well up, but you roughly dashed the tears away. Don't think about it. Do the job.

It was pouring outside, the rain washing away the last of the snow downhill into the river and exposing the muddy grass of your yard once more. You huffed out a shaky breath as you did up your rain gear, the front snaps still fiddly even after all these years. 

The ladder was stored underneath the porch and still partially frozen to the ground. A few sharp kicks loosened it enough for you to yank it free. Your fingers were so cold already that by the time you realized you had somehow cut yourself on the cheap aluminum stepladder, you were halfway to the roof. Muttering several choice swears under your breath, you just ignored it and continued upwards. Leak was priority. You could handle that.

Once you found the leaking area on the steep roof, you propped yourself up with the ladder and got to work placing a patch. Load the putty knife with wet patch material, spread it evenly, carefully pat down a precut piece of fabric, and then smear the second layer of patch. 

It was so quiet. 

The only sound was the rain hammering on the hood of your rain suit. You felt like you could hear the absence of noise, but in reality you knew you were just imagining things.

There had been a time when you were thrilled with the quiet. When you wanted nothing more than this…deafening silence, just the susurrus of wind and the far-off calls of birds, entirely removed from human companionship. You had been content for years.

A few tears slid down your nose, landing on the fresh patch with a wet little splat. You sniffled, frustrated with yourself as you used the heel of your palm to scrub at your nose. 

The ladder suddenly tipped, one leg sinking deeper in the mud and throwing you off-balance. A frantic noise escaped you and then you were slipping, falling off the edge of the roof.

…

Some stupid asshole had put up a chain link fence around the entire valley, the whole length of it covered with ridiculous signs. 

KEEP OUT! This area under military surveillance. Trespassers will be shot. KEEP OUT! ENTER AT OWN RISK!

Karl scoffed, bouncing on the balls of his feet and then easily clearing the fence, landing silently on the other side. He felt a bit foolish for doing so once he straightened up; down the fence a ways was a section that had been peeled apart from the inside. Upon closer inspection Heisenberg found tufts of white, matted hair and crusty ichor coating the ragged edges of the torn fencing.

Lycans. Clearly they came and went regularly. Maybe the military presence was gone? 

After using his power to secure the fence again, Heisenberg turned on his heel, squinting through the rain as he moved forward to the edge of the small valley the village was nestled in. Or rather, it had been nestled in. 

The entire village looked like it had been sacked and burned. Massive tire tread marks were still frozen into the mud, criss-crossed this way and that. Some heavy equipment had been brought in to demolish the already-frail buildings, but over the tire marks were hoofprints, footprints, pawprints. 

So there were still lycans here. 

Heisenberg puffed out a breath, gazing off into the distance. His factory was out there in the rain, waiting. Waiting for his return. The former Lord shook his head, cautiously making his way down the slick road into the village proper. He had no idea whether the area was still under active surveillance (snipers specifically had him a little skittish), and the last thing he wanted was to be caught unawares.

The ground was littered with what seemed like hardened ash, chunks of it wafting into the air when it was disturbed by Karl's boots. With it came the scent of rot, of decay, and very, very faintly, the smell of mold. Heisenberg's nose twitched and he shook his head, as if to dismiss the familiar odor. They had burned Miranda's ‘god’, then. 

As they should have. 

He only vaguely recalled some towering thing briefly glimpsed through the back of the Duke's wagon, but if the tenacity of Winters was anything to go off of, he and that slinking, sneaky bastard Redfield had no doubt put the titanic growth and its root system dead to rights. 

Karl found his thoughts growing more and more distracted as he crossed the marshy land that bordered what once was Moreau's reservoir. Judging from the frozen mud puddles, the sluice gate had either failed or been victim to the same demolishing that the rest of the village had suffered. 

He ought to have been able to see his factory from where he stood, but to his muted dismay it also appeared to have been toppled. Not all that surprising when he actually thought about it, though. A majority of its structural integrity relied on (essentially) constant input from him. A comparably-small percentage of his power had been dedicated to keeping the factory upright. He had nearly forgotten about it, that's how much of an afterthought it was. Through his will alone the building had endured; he wondered dimly if it had collapsed when he had or if it had propped itself up until the militants crumpled it.

All that was left was to see whether the lower levels had survived. 

The real chore was locating an intact bulkhead, but even that wasn't such a struggle. The problem with said bulkhead, however, was the goddamn Morlock-esque conglomeration of prints around the half-ajar door, and while Karl didn't fancy himself much of an Eloi, he also wasn't enormously fond of getting swarmed in the depths by lycans or their pet vârcolaci.

He stood by the door for a long while. Long enough that he was fairly confident even the world's shittiest sniper would have taken his head off. The signs had just been scare tactics, or just remnants of the military force that had since moved on to more important things. This site was back in lycan hands, whatever was left of them. 

And he was about to delve into the belly of the beast.

Why? Why the hell am I doing this? Karl knew the answer to his own silent question but it had always been his nature to rail against the inevitable, the inexorable. 

Poor Heisenberg, so strong you ruin everything you touch.

The ladder rungs were slimy with mud, coating his palms liberally. Karl swore under his breath. He had forgotten how filthy everything was. Hard for mold to thrive if the environment was spotless, after all! You just kept your cabin so clean…it felt like a loss, somehow, to descend back into the grime and darkness, the fecund catacombs that housed his quarters and manufacturing operations. His mind wandered anew to his Haulers and Soldats. Were any of them still left? Or had they all fallen to Ethan's unquenchable fury?

Again, that grudging respect for Winters, warring with his faint annoyance at the man for entirely razing the place to the ground. Bit rude, really, but understandable. 

Through the inky blackness that closed over his head, Karl sent out a mental pulse on force of habit. Metal, all around him, gears and machinery, radios and televisions stirring at his proverbial touch. Once a fortress of science, now an uneasy, creaking tomb. His breath caught in his lungs. He had never felt so claustrophobic in his own damn factory. 

You didn't have any electronics in your cabin. He hadn't realized until just now. The total absence of buzzing screens and subaudible hum of current had been such a blessing, and he hadn't even noticed until it was thrust upon him once more.

There was some commotion at the base of the ladder still far below him, startling Karl out of the reverie he had fallen into. He gritted his teeth and stretched out a hand, using his power to search the factory for his enormous hammer. From his left came a crashing din in the distance, crumbling stone and shrieking metal heralding the flight of his monstrous weapon.

Heisenberg grinned with a bleak sort of humor, catching the haft of the hammer and then releasing his hold on the ladder. “Papa's home, you greasy freaks!” He roared, plummeting like a rock to the floor below.

I can use this stupid, dangerous strength to make their home safe again, cut the lycans off at the source. I can use it…I can use it to keep them safe.

…

Rain was pattering against your face. You spluttered, opening your eyes slightly and then quickly closing them again in a grimace as a fat raindrop slammed into your eyebrow.

Ugh. Your back hurt. 

You gingerly sat up and rotated your stiff neck, grateful that nothing seemed to have been dislocated. Your right leg was scraped badly through your rainsuit; you must have caught the ladder on the way down. At least you hadn't broken the leg! You could live with the deep abrasion and bruises, but if you had broken it–and with Karl missing…

‘Missing’? No, he left.

Tears closed your throat and you struggled to exhale, irritated by your immediate response to thinking about waking up alone. You were fine. You needed to get back inside and dry off.

Your head started to pound as you struggled upright, grabbing the side of the cabin to steady yourself. Your right knee throbbed anytime you so much as thought about it, so you did your best not to. 

Just get inside.

You hobbled forward, fumbling with the stairs of the porch until you finally managed to get up them backwards. You were now sweating from the effort, nauseous and dimly terrified. You had never felt quite so alone as you did at this moment, your nails digging into the boards of the porch as you dragged yourself to the door.

Just get inside. 

You collapsed inside the door, shoving it closed with your arm. Shaking fingers unbuttoned your rainsuit, and you carefully peeled it off. The right leg of the suit was ruined, but you might be able to salvage it. Numbly you continued to extract yourself from the suit, leaving it in a heap by the door. You then automatically limped to the kitchen, filled your kettle with water and placed it on the wood stove to boil. You would need clean water to take care of your wound, and unfortunately at the moment your largest pot was currently camped out in the corner of your bedroom. The kettle would have to suffice.

He couldn't look at you.

Don't think about it.

The bite mark he had left on your shoulder was still tender to the touch.

Don't think about it.

Your head ached and you squinted, trying to hold back more tears to no avail. They spilled down your cheeks after a brief struggle, causing you to huff out a shuddering breath and sink down on the couch. 

In a rare moment of weakness, you opened your mouth to voice an honest emotion. “I…” You swallowed thickly, feeling foolish for talking to an empty room. “I miss you, Karl. Please come back.”

But silence was all that you received in return.

…

The only noise that met his ears was a steady drip, drip, drip. The ground beneath his feet had finally gone still, no more writhing bodies or snapping jaws to break. 

It had been like a never-ending nightmare din ringing inside his skull. Squealing, snarling, biting, clawing, the baying for blood and his own voice shouting until he was hoarse. The abrupt silence was nearly bliss. Heisenberg mused on whether his eardrums had ruptured but, no, the dripping persisted. 

His arms and legs felt like lead. How long had he been down here? Days? Weeks? Karl sank to his knees after a moment, propping himself up with what was left of his hammer.

From overhead came a creaking groan, the remaining structure of the factory dangerously close to failing. Karl had laid waste to the floorplan as he eradicated the den, the hive, so it wasn't really a surprise. He had no idea where he even was in the factory anymore. Even with his improved eyesight there wasn't much to see, and less still to orient himself with. 

Had he gotten them all? 

Gods, the exhaustion that was speedily overtaking his body was almost impressive. Clearly he had stretched himself a little too thin. How much blood had he lost? Down in the darkness all he could see was that his hands were a deeper gray than his upper arms, blackened tendrils writhing upwards along just beneath his skin. That was to be expected, he'd been bitten more times than he could count. His entire left hand hung at an awkward angle from his wrist and with a grunt Karl reset the appendage. The pain was what stunned him, its lightning-flash freezing him in place. 

A huge piece of sheet metal hit the floor beside him, then another, and another. It seemed that even the lower levels were caving in on themselves, finally succumbing to the damage and his weakened state. Without warning a cinderblock slammed into his head, nearly flattening him before he caught himself. Karl snarled, mentally shoving upwards with all his power and hearing several more pieces of metal ricochet off of one another and bury themselves in the masonry. 

A wet cough suddenly rattled his chest and Karl wheezed for breath, trying to remember what the hell had happened during his prolonged struggle. Black fluid splattered onto his hand when he hacked out another cough, and Heisenberg realized that there was a deep wound in his chest. He hadn't even felt it, hadn't noticed. Wasn't really a point to plugging it either at this stage, what with the whole factory coming down on top of him. 

A sense of calm washed over him. It felt a bit like inevitability, and he just didn't have the strength to fight it any longer.

Karl slumped down by a retaining wall, the cold stone pressing comfortingly into his bare back. He tipped his head to rest it against the wall, squinting pointlessly upwards as more dust rained down. The framework beams had begun to collapse, finally yielding under the immense strain to careen to the ground below.

Heisenberg bowed his head, his palm covering the wound in his chest as an afterthought. He could feel the hitch of his own breath, the former Lord understanding in a cold, clinical manner exactly what the hell was happening to him. His lungs were in agony, burning, his chest felt like it was going to burst–

He heard the metal plummeting through the air right before it struck, an enormous, knife-like edge driving home in the meat of his shoulder and pinning him in place. Karl retched, his mind shying away from the brilliant stab of pain. Before he could draw another breath a huge beam crashed down on top of him, jamming his chin against his chest. His last conscious thoughts were strangely (or perhaps, not-so-strangely) about you. 

Sorry sugar…guess I wasn't strong enough to make it out alive…

Buried there beneath the wreckage, crushed by the weight of his own hubris and surrounded by a mountain of corpses, Karl Heisenberg finally went still.

Epilogue

#karl heisenberg #lord karl heisenberg #eventual romance #fix it fic #au #resident evil #re 8 #re 8 village #resident evil village #resident evil karl heisenberg #karl heisenberg x reader #karl heisenberg imagine #re 8 karl heisenberg #slow burn

[theresattrpgforthat]

Hello! Do you have any recommendations for rpgs about wizards, particularly solo rpgs?

THEME: Solo Wizards

Hello, I think I've found some interesting games that deal with magic in some shape or form, from witches, to necromancers, to evil wizards!

Everyday Enchanter, by Beth and Angel Make Games.

We all face all sorts of struggles in our lives, but what if we could lean on a little bit of hidden magic to help us through it?

Everyday Enchanter is here to help! Enchant your glasses with VIBRANCY to allow you to feel wide awake when you put them on, give your favorite shirt RESILIENCE to make physical and mental pain feel more manageable, and when things really get bad, snuggle up to your favorite GROUNDED-enchanted stuffed animal to regain a feeling of safety and control.

To make the enchantments stronger, simply focus on them in times of need! Reminding yourself that you've got help, even if it's just your favorite pen in your pocket, can help make the tough times a bit more bearable or give you that extra boost of confidence to try something new! And if you really want to strengthen the enchantments, journal about your experiences. When you write about how you really wanted to buy that candy bar at the grocery store checkout but clutched your STAND FIRM-enchanted keychain and resisted temptation, you'll embed that power deeper into your mind. One day you won't even need the enchantments anymore...but until then, they're here for you!

If you bought the TTRPGs for Trans Rights in Florida (or the similarly-titled bundle for Texas), then you already own this game!

The Magus, by momatoes.

The Magus is a solo journaling tabletop RPG that takes you on a sweeping journey for power, ambition, and arcane mastery, at great personal and interpersonal cost.

As a journaling game, you will roll dice, track stats, create spells, and write  imaginary experiences from the perspective of your character: a wizard, newly embarking on their quest for power, their head filled with grand visions of mastery.

This RPG is crunchy. You will use several polyhedral dice to manage four traits: Focus, Power, Control, and Scars, which shape how the protagonist overcomes  challenges and meets their denouement after seven, fateful events. 

This game is also beautiful. It has a number of stunning images used as backdrop against the text of the game, illuminating each part of your character sheet before diving into the meat of the game. The game itself pits your character between two choices: increasing the bonds between them and their loved ones, or sacrificing those opportunities to gain in power. You’ll roll a number of dice equal to your power in order to learn more spells, which are created using a combination of prompts and your own imagination.

Miscast, by Paradox Press Games.

You are undergoing training to become the successor of a Master Conjurer, but the only problem is that the Master Conjurer has a major Dragon's Dust addiction and spends most of their days higher than the mountains of Mar' Hollok. This leaves you solely responsible for your own training while also having to conjure up the creatures that eager customers come to your Master’s shop seeking. Long story short, you miscast spells a lot and end up conjuring a wide assortment of weird and fantastical monsters.

This game can be played solo, or it can be played in a group. You are using a deck of cards and a d6 to conjure different kinds of creatures; unfortunately, you’re only an apprentice, so the creatures don’t always come out right. You’ll use the cards from the different suits to determine the physical aspects of the monster, while you’ll use the d6 to determine how big the monster is, the monster’s nature, and what further Abnormalities it might be suffering. A game for funny random creatures, great for getting your creative juices going!

Sigils in the Dark, by Kurt Potts.

You have a need, a deep burning needthat drives you. Is it love, regret, desire?

The darkness whispers, “I can help you…”Minutes turn to hours as you try to focuson the voice. Symbols, shapes, swirl in thedarkness at the edge of your perception.If only you could grasp them, your needs would be met and more.

Sigils in the Dark is a journaling game and GM supplement. The goal of the game is to create an evil mage’s spellbook. You’ll take up the role of this wizard with a desperate need, in search of arcane power to get what they want. They will try to understand dark sigils just outside their perception by randomly generating spells and adding liner notes to their grimoire. In the end, you’ll have an in-game artifact that you can pass on to players and hopefully know a little more about what your evil mage has sacrificed to get where they are.

Using random roll tables, you’ll slowly create an artifact and a number of spells invented by a dark wizard. Each spell will also have a cost, and the wizard may choose to write notes that betray their own personality as they edit the spell the way an expert baker edits a recipe book.

 This is great for slow character creation, as you try to figure out the motives and goals of a wizard character, and can also put together pieces of their life before they meet anyone else.

The Final Undertaking, by kay w.

Tonight you will prepare the body. You will hang the heavy black curtain, and you will put out the call in the town paper.  Tomorrow night, when the sun sets, the chosen mourner will arrive, with their matter to discuss. You will sit with the body on one side, coaxing the soul back to the body, and the mourner will sit on the other.  The final undertaking will begin.

THE FINAL UNDERTAKING is a one player journaling game about grief, resolution, necromancy, and a town. It uses a d4, a tarot deck, and pen and paper to tell a story about an undertaker, who works in a town to prepare bodies for burial, briefly brings the spirit back to the body, and then facilitates a conversation between a single mourner and the deceased about their unresolved business.

In this game, you will use the tarot cards to form a spread that tells the bones of a story -- the deceased, the object they are being buried with, the mourner here to visit them, and the unresolved business between them. From your spread, you will be able to construct small narratives and write them down as journal entries. 

This is a lovingly written and designed game about putting the dead to rest. You will write journal entries from the point of view of an Undertaker, someone who is responsible for facilitating one last conversation between the spirit of the deceased and their mourner. You will play through 3 phases, which involve determining how well you knew the deceased, the situation at death, and what needs to be resolved before they can pass on to their final rest.The book comes with an oracle of Solemnities, which give you prompts to help you interpret each spread. You can play through the three phases as many times as you like, journaling for each one.

Grimoire, by Anna Landin.

Sparks of magic dance on your palms, flow like rivers through the world around you, and you can weave them into something powerful. You are a witch - and just as a tailor draws their patterns out, and cooks will write their well-kept secret recipes down, so you, too, will bind your spells in ink and paper and make for yourself a grimoire - a spellbook in which to keep your knowledge.

Grimoire is a roleplaying game for one person, played with a deck of regular playing cards with the jokers taken out, a six-sided die, and something to write your spells down with. The latter can be a blank notebook or a sketchbook, or one of the templates provided with these rules. Over the course of the game, you will make a spellbook of your own, a collection of spells you craft out of magic power and components available to you.

If you desire a character that’s a bit less evil wizard and a bit more homebrew witch, Grimoire is another great way to put together a spell book using randomly generated prompts and whatever components your witch has available. 

#dnd #solo games #indie ttrpgs #tabletop games #wizards #game recommendations #asks

[asherisawkward]

Before "For the Future" came out, I came up with an idea for AU. Even then I suspected that Belos would be given a stupid death, so I came up with an alternative ending in advance. I suddenly remembered this and decided to ask what you think about it.

So, Belos is defeated. But a piece of him falls into the time pool and ends up in the past, before Day of Unity. A piece of Belos crawls to the castle and merges with Belos from the past.

Knowing how it will end, Belos decides to speed things up. As far as I remember, I was thinking that he was destroying the entire population of the Boiling Island with his own hands, but now I think the option where Day of Unity goes according to plan from beginning to end looks much more logical.

He keeps the Collector’s tablet with him until the very end to make sure that no one frees the Collector. He petrifies Luz and then kills the HexSquad. He leaves King alive, because he knows that he is a Titan. He needs a source of Titan's blood.

After making sure that all the witches who were in the covens are dead, Phillip uses the Abomatons to finish what he started. This is how children and teenagers die. After that, he throws away the Collector’s tablet and goes to the human realm, where he kills Vee and Camilla.

Standing in the middle of the blood-soaked living room, Philip thinks about what to do next. He has achieved his goal, the last victim of the witches and almost the last magical creature are now dead, their bodies are lying on the floor. The last magical creature, King, is now sleeping in his bag, drugged by magic.

He begins to explore the house and the things in it. He quickly understands how to use a computer and begins to look for the information he is interested in. He quickly learns that the witch hunt ended three centuries ago, no one believes that magic and witches are real, and witch hunters are considered bloodthirsty maniacs.

Philip doesn't know what to do. After a couple of days of living in the human realm, after reading a lot of interesting information, he returns to the demon realm and finds a time pool. He returns to the past, without King, and finds his version from this time to fuse again.

And so, the whole idea is that Philip returns to the past several times, merges with himself to avoid time paradoxes, and lives in an attempt to figure out what to do. After he found out that his goals are meaningless, he reluctantly decides that ruling the devil's spawn was more pleasant than being nobody in a world where your deeds are considered a terrible evil.

So, returning to the past once again, he cancels Day of Unity, saying that the witches upset the Titan. I don't really remember exactly what time Philip got there. Perhaps he came before the events of the Hollow Mind. Since Unity Day is canceled, this episode just doesn't happen. Hunter is still loyal to Belos.

I don't remember exactly how many times Philip goes to the past, and what exactly he does there, but the idea is that he is gradually changing, because he knows how the human realm has changed. He tries to study every possible situation, like Flowey from Undertale.

I remember for sure that one time he got into the past before Manny Noseda died. Philip cured him, because at that time he knew that Camilla is a wonderful person, and Noseda's family moved to the Boiling Isles.

Another idea is that Philip was once in Gravity Falls. And the third idea is that eventually Philip will get tired of this chronofantastic. He decides that he will not go back to the past anymore. However, Luz and Amity die, and he decides to rethink his decision. He makes grimwalkers out of their bones, seven grimwalkers out of Luz's bones, and seven grimwalkers out of Amity's bones. He plans to go back in time, erase his memory of time travel and live everything like the very first time. And the grimwalkers will have to make sure that he dies, and does not go back to the past. He uses the memory gun he took from Gravity Falls.

Returning to the events of For the Future, Luz stumbles upon a group of witches in cloaks who catch Belos. She follows them. These witches were grimwalkers mentioned above, who did not dare to let Belos die. They restore his memories and he is not happy. And Luz is in shock.

I don't remember how or why, but Belos and Luz go to another world. Due to the fact that Philip merged with his versions from the past, he did not change the past, but created new timelines. A bunch of worlds came into existence thanks to him, and time in them goes synchronously.  Like, "For the Future" is happening in all these worlds, and there are even Philips there. If I remember correctly, in the finale, Philip somehow forced all these timelines to come together into one, like in Rick and Morty.

What do you think about this concept?

I think it’s absolutely brilliant! The idea of Philip learning the futility and brutality of his own goals through their success is tragic and horrific! Combine that with his slow descent into madness as he tries to control all the variables and get the “good” ending where everyone survives, and it’s absolutely fascinating!

There are almost limitless ways this could be explored or worked upon. He could go back and try to stop himself from killing Caleb or undo the Coven System entirely! I adore the idea that he eventually becomes fond of the Hexsquad due to their position in both his downfall and his growth. It’s because of them that he does and learns the error of his ways. And, the human who has been so insistent that he’s wrong about things has turned out to be right.

He would be devastated when he started losing people and kept having to try to make things perfect again. Philip’s mental state would be so fascinating to study and monitor over this time, and I’d be mesmerized by the way that he changes as he lives through various timelines!

I mean, he’s get to grow and develop, change and live, learn, and forgive. He’d get the opportunity to make better choices, but he’s still incredibly human and makes mistakes. It would also be fascinating to watch him track what Time Pools go to where and at what time/place they are in.

And Philip wanting to settle down somewhere peaceful and forget about what happened with his time travel powers would be deeply sad. He’d be forgetting g the cause and journey that led to his growth in the first place, and it’d be a shame.

Luz would be incredibly confused by the whole situation and the vastly different lives that Philip has lived. This is a man who has done horrible things and attempted to (and, in some cases, succeeded) commit genocide. Worlds where he is good or less of an awful person wouldn’t make a lot of sense. Still, I think she’d be a bit disappointed when they had to fix the timeline. After all, he’s changed so much that he hardly seems like the man she knew before.

This is such an incredible, creative idea, Anon!!!! Thank you for sharing it with me!

#The Owl House #TOH #The Owl House AU #TOH AU #Philip Wittebane #Emperor Belos #BelosFansTakeover #King Clawthorne #Alternate Dimensions #Bad Ending AU #Good Ending AU #This needs a badass AU name #Maybe something like “The Fractures AU” #Ask

[inkwolvesandcoffee]

Cards & Conversations (Werewolf!Alfie Solomons x Reader)

Genre: Romance, Angst, Drama

Pairing: Werewolf!Alfie Solomons x Shelby!Reader

Word count: 3.8K

Warnings: Mild swearing, difficult father-daughter relationship, emotional abuse, melancholy thoughts, allusion to past violence and death, scars

Summary: We lose things over the years. Family members, innocence, the perfect world you held for a single summer.

Your heart.

But sometimes the gods are gracious and re-entwine your fate with the person you thought you lost forever, vanished after a heated conversation you were shut out of. Carefully shut away in a gilded cage again with only a blank page and his old typewriter for company. However, the tarot cards your brother gave you know what happened ten years ago.

They know why the King has returned to Camden.

Author’s note: This wee piece has turned out heavier in plot than I thought, enough so for me to want to work this out into a proper multi-part story in the future because there is a lot to dissect here and it feels kinda rushed. To me, that is, maybe not to you. Ah dinnae ken.

Anyways, I kept the tarot reading a bit shallow if only because I am still a beginner/someone who does it as a hobby. 

TH Masterlist

Tag list: @potter-solomons​ @vir-tual​ @zablife​ @buttercup32sstuff​ @ilovemanypeople​ @hecatemoon87​ @dreamlandcreations​ @elijahssuit​ @liliac-dreamer​ @alikaheroes​​

Support can come from the most unexpected corner, yet exceed your expectations in tenderness. 

A condolence card.

Flowers for your mother’s grave.

An arm around your shoulders throughout the funeral.

A hand to hold yours while navigating the chaotic and dangerous streets of London when finally having a chance to escape the mansion on the hill.

Fingers to keep yours, comically small compared to his, warm outside. 

In bookshops, only let go of during a cup of coffee or tea should it have a café.

An unnaturally warm body to snuggle up to whenever you feel cold.

Shoulders to be carried on during the odd trip down to Margate.

But those holidays during which my brother, Charlie, and I were kept out of business and separated from the rest of our family came to an end. About ten years ago, a long-standing peace pact was broken.

I can still recall the argument resounding from the drawing room. It’s funny how I thought shielding my ears would not have it touch me. Naive, really, innit?

“You crossed the line, Alfie.”

“You fuckin’ what?”

“You crossed the line.”

“The line?”

“She’s my daughter!”

But that wasn’t the real issue. No, there were two actual problems.

One, I’m Thomas Shelby’s and Grace Burgess’s daughter.

Two, according to my father, despite the similarities in hair and eye colour between us, I am the living embodiment of the only woman he’s ever loved. Don’t get me wrong, Lizzie is great and we get along well. Ruby, bless her spirited little heart, is as much of a sibling to me as Charlie is. 

But she isn’t Mum.

And Thomas wouldn’t let her memory be tainted by a connection to his greatest rival and ally, Alfie Solomons.

The King of Camden.

The alpha of the Camden Town Pack. 

The man who stole my heart ten years ago. 

That brings me to problem number three, hidden in the shadows and all too gladly forgotten. 

I was sixteen. He was thirty-six. 

At the time I didn’t know he had imprinted on me. Neither could I have guessed that there were such a thing as werewolves. The supernatural, in general. It was only when I started working in an odd little bakery run by an elderly woman I discovered how thin the veil between the realms are and what it means to have a certain heritage.

Aunt Polly is right.

We shake hands with devils and we walk past them. 

It’s a blessing to be a witch. But also to be a woman locked in a gilded cage, albeit, paradoxically, with a chance to have a life outside the family business. To have a talent for writing and being able to make a living out of it. To have fans curious about my stories, eager to read them and rejoice whenever they see me at signings and book events.

While I’m glad for what the gods have gifted me, to be a modern filid and possess a sixth sense, I might owe them for the rest of my life.

Because only last month they gave me back my heart.

Drunk, his hair and beard out of control, an ugly deep scar over his left eye leaving it blind, and soaked by the rain, he was there.

Alfie.

On my doorstep.

“So you’re the new witch in town, eh? Set up shop in me borough. Me kingdom,” he drawled. However, the way he leant in the doorway with haunted blue eyes ruined the mock indignation at once. A careful though gentle smile spread on his lips as he took me in. “Fuckin’ ‘ell, you’re even prettier than I remember.”

He leaned in, almost toppling over with unsteady feet. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t save us.” I am still uncertain whether he was heavily sniffling or it was a sob he tried to conceal. ‘‘This godforsaken soul couldn’t save you.’’

Thomas walked in at that moment, acknowledging our surprise guest in a cool voice. “Alfie.”

The prodigal alpha of Camden clumsily righted himself, glaring at the tyrant of the Westminster townhouse. “Tommy, good to see you. ‘Ow’s business?”

“Never been better.” Thomas shifted his attention to me. “Y/N, go upstairs. Mister Solomons and I have to talk.”

“I’m not-’’ I began, looking over my shoulder.

“Go upstairs!”

“Don’t yell at her!” Alfie roared before turning to me with a softer voice. “Go upstairs, right? It’s okay. We’ll talk tomorrow… if me head can remember.”

I clenched my fists, trying to keep my breathing even. As per usual, I managed. Still, I could feel myself hanging on by a thread, ragged around my throat.

Always pushed into the corner one way or the other.

Always me.

Why does it always have to be me?

Locked away in loneliness.

Shut away in a prison more cruel than The Tower. Left to my own devices and thoughts dedicated to the shadows, the dark corners of my mind.

Upstairs, Charlie walked out of his room, pale and concern etched on his face. He’s only too aware of how Thomas regards me and to this day makes sure I get treated as fairly as possible. “What’s happening? Why was he yelling at you?”

“The King has returned,” I mumbled, quickly brushing past him since I my pride refused me to let him see the tears brimming on my lashes. Footsteps as loud as a ghost’s, I slipped into my room and closed the door as softly as I could behind me.

The war inside was no one’s business, only for me to fight.

Another night of spilling the blood of its casualties on the page, somewhere between the lines a remembrance for the girl who hoped to rise like a phoenix. Another silent funeral for my soul.

An author is, essentially, all the characters she has created and is yet to create. My stories are told by people that carry little bits of myself, carefully concealed behind a fictional mask. But that’s what gets us through the day, innit, the stories we tell ourselves.

I was already broken up into so many fragments that night that I don’t even know who it is staring back at me in the mirror. Who is the woman people cheer for at signings in bookshops? Who is the lonely girl wandering in every Waterstones in Birmingham and London, a family member always nearby? Who was the young heart that was shredded to pieces and only recently glued together by rum rather than whiskey?

It’s a question I ask myself again now, looking down with a wistful smile. 

A blank page. Empty. Adjustable. Without personality. Whatever you want it to be and can give life to from your inner world.

Outside, the sound of shuffling feet goes accompanied by groaning, curses, low grumbles, and the creaking of wood. Somewhere in the distance a fight breaks out between two men, their voices too dim to make out the topic nor arguments of their heated debate. 

Although it isn’t my writing room with a desk by the window, this London hideout has become my personal bubble too. Alfie offered me to use his office whenever I want to, regardless of him being at work or not. Nonetheless, as during those holidays in Margate, he still prefers me to work on my books in his company on his rare day off. After all, despite the fact I’m, in his words, “off the fucking menu”, he trusts no one in his pack to not try their luck with me.

What a story that would be. A werewolf lower in rank trying to shack a Shelby witch, breaking the alpha’s rule. The alpha would go ballistic and a fight would break out.

Blood would flow.

The end is someone's death.

Fortunately, the rozzers in this part of town are in Alfie’s pocket because I don’t know how I’d save him from a charge for murder without my family’s help. Even then it’s highly unlikely he’d get away with it since no one wants him to live as desperately as I do.

“That ain’t writin’.” Alfie steps into the office, closing the door behind him. It falls into the lock with a soft click.

“No, indeed it isn’t.” I thumb the deck of cards in my hands. “Dad goes ballistic every time he catches me. If I don’t remind him of Mum, it’s this. Charlie’s different, though. He gave me these for my birthday and covers me as much as he can. He knows they’re important to me.”

“Funny, Tom going fucking angry at gyppo stuff.” He scoffs, sitting down in one of the chairs in front of his desk. “His anger is un-fucking-justified. Yes, you look like your mum, but that ain’t your fault. Besides, you’re… never mind. You don’t need to hear that.”

Maybe not right now, but still… one day I want you to say it again.

If only to hear I’m a beautiful person to someone.

To him.

I cock an eyebrow and scrunch my nose. For both our sakes, I ignore the unfinished remark. “Westminster changed him. We’re no longer gipsies. Looks like we’re fucking above that.”

“Not you, though,” Alfie says, a silent hint for me to continue in his soft-spoken voice.

I sigh. “Not me. I’d rather be a witch and honour my roots than become a toff settled in a mansion.”

“Got the itch to travel, eh?”

“Always. I remember what you promised me.” Throat constricted with solemn nostalgia, I swallow and fail to muster even a sliver of a smile. “But then again, I was just a girl back then. Stupid I believed you.”

Alfie opens and closes his mouth, but settles for a groan. He leans in and places a big warm palm over my fumbling fingers. A crown to protect the queen’s hand. “The road is open. I couldn’t take you then, right, I’m very well aware of that, but we can still go.”

“Despite who I am?”

“You’re not a fucking Shelby. Freedom is a ‘uman right, but not every ‘uman gets to enjoy it. I wanna open the cage, see where the little bird goes.”

And will the wolf follow? Or will he get someone else to free him from the Tower?

I bite my lip, gaze averted to our hands. 

Alfie clears his throat and leans back. The rings on his fingers shimmer in the artificial light when he lets his entwined fingers rest on his stomach. “Self-taught?”

“Polly taught me. Well, the basics. I developed my skills further myself.” I tilt my head, our eyes locked while an idea pops into my head. “I’m no expert, but… can I do a reading on you?”

He silently gestures at his desk, giving permission.

“I’ll do a simple spread. Three cards. Past. Present. Future.”

Hopefully, the cards will reveal what you and Thomas swept under the carpet.

I shuffle the deck, focusing on the question of what happened a decade ago. If there’s anything I want and need to know about the pack leader’s history, it’s this small piece we have in common. 

The crossroads between our stories.

I draw the first card, presenting the past. 

Ten of Swords.

The second card, the present. 

Six of Cups.

The third and final card, the future. 

The Chariot.

My stomach drops at the sight of the wolf pierced by swords. “Something failed, a defeat that led to some sort of collapse. But it wasn’t a part of your business that failed, was it?” 

I furrow my brow, pondering what could have happened. However, not a second has passed before I flinch and a vision flashes behind my eyes. 

Growling. Blood. Organs. Alfie clenching his fists and holding his head while his skin ripples. Empty and broken bottles of rum. The nauseating noise of bones cracking resonates in my ears while skin replaces fur and vice versa in quick succession. 

“It was a collapse of self. You took to the bottle, more and more, to drawn out the feeling of having failed. Changed more often until…” my breath hitches and I snap my head up to meet his gaze, still panting lightly. His expression is stoic, his sentiments concealed. “You went feral.”

So that’s why Camden was quiet, but Ollie was always tense. Poor sod, being left in command without warning.

I compose myself as best as possible and continue. “The present, Six of Cups. This world is still strange to you, but slowly you’re getting familiar with it again. How… how much do you remember?”

“Only you. Me fuckin’ noggin’ is a mess, one black hole.’’ Tenderness illuminates his eyes, warming the blue sea and icy lake in them. ‘‘But I, I swear, right, I’ve never forgotten you. You were there, even in the midst of the worst frenzy.”

I shake my head, desperate to stop him before we go down a familiar road. Before I start hoping for an ideal. “Don’t tell me you came back because of me.”

“You, yeah, you told me you wondered whether or not I’d come back. So,’’ he spreads his hands for a moment and then puts them down again, ‘‘ere I am.”

I mean, you’re not wrong. I did say that, but that was last month.

When I slipped out of my room just to get a glimpse of him before going to bed, feeling like a little kid again, rebellious enough to defy the rules. I ended up sitting at his bed for longer than I intended. To be honest, I had to kick myself out of the guestroom lest I ended up sleeping next to him, which would have worsened the already precarious situation with Thomas.

“I thought you were asleep.”

“Drunk, yes. But not asleep. I forced myself to stay awake, to enjoy every second of your company.” He bites his lip, failing to sound any less direct. “Not a moment went by I didn’t want to go ‘ome. But I ‘ad no one to guide me there.”

“Your guide didn’t know where to look. Lost herself in a terrible dark forest,” I murmur. “Must be strange, though, being back after so many years. Camden has changed.”

“It ‘as, but I still remember the way around me kingdom. Seems even the new faces know who sits on the throne.” He looks down at his hands and rest of his body. “Odd, innit, clothes and what we use them for? Feels unnatural, not like what Yahweh had planned for us to be wearin’ when ‘e made us. Didn’t want to give you a fright, though. Lots of new scars that ‘aven’t ‘ealed yet or barely. Yeah… would only stress you out. I do apologise for me manners, though, the way I ate that sandwich. One eats differently... out there. Besides, being blind on one side ‘as its complications.”

“You were a messy eater even before you left.” I can’t suppress a smile at a particular memory. “I always had to help you wipe crumbs from your beard whenever we went out to lunch. D’you remember that?”

“Can’t say it sounds strange to me ears.” His brow furrows and he flinches, fingertips pressed to his temple. Between shallow breaths sounds a note of delighted relief. “I think such a memory just returned.”

“You’ll get there.”

It’s better to remember something rather than nothing at all.

“Doc told me the best way to sort out the fuckin’ mess up there is to visit the places I’ve been. Said it could form a trigger.”

I shift in my seat. Regardless of being an adult, Thomas still likes to keep a close eye on me. And if it isn’t him, he’ll send another watchdog. Knowing him, it’s highly likely he’ll send for Michael, who has pretty much figured me out over the years. That’s what you get when you spend too many Christmases at Polly’s. “I’ll have to find a way out of the cage to meet you.”

“I 'ave a key.”

“You do?”

Ignoring my question, Alfie nods at the three cards on the desk. “Last card. What does it mean?”

Blinking in surprise at the swift change in topic, I clear my throat and return my focus to the reading. “The Chariot. You’ll gain discipline and self control. You found a way to quell the rage inside or, rather, subdue the Wolf.”

“Guess the Brazilian Jiu Jitsu is paying off,” he chuckles.

“I thought you did boxing?”

“I did that before, you know, the whole leaving and feral thin’. Currently doin’ that.”

“It sounds less violent.”

“It is.”

“No cage fights?”

He shakes his head, a few strands of grey highlighted by the light. “No, love, no more cage fights. I can’t right remember, but I stopped participatin’ in those a long time ago. ‘Ell, I don’t even know anymore what they were like.”

“You were fearsome,” I say, hoping to spark a sliver of a memory which won’t contain the events that ended with fatal accidents. “Nothing could stop you in the ring.”

“What calmed me down?”

“A bath and a cup of tea.”

“Right after the fight, I mean.”

“They’d sent for me lest…”

“Lest what?” I avoid his gaze, which is clearly not appreciated. “Lest what, love?” he repeats, tone harsher and sharper.

I press my lips together, breathing in deeply. “Lest the wolf took completely over. The day it happened for the, fuck, I don’t even know how many times it had been. Four? Five? It might have been ten when I finally got through to you. And on that night, I made you promise to stop fighting.”

“Did I? Stop fightin’, I mean?”

I glance around the room, lost for how to answer. “I don’t know. You were proud of being a wolf, hell, the fucking alpha of Camden Town. It was the one thing you didn’t want to give up. Fighting was in your nature and I fear that it’s a part you wouldn’t give up. Not even for me.”

“I ‘ave now, yeah, I ‘ave now. No more fightin’, Y/N. I swear so on everything between this world and the next, every bloody grave I can think of.”

“Perhaps that abstinence from violence is where your success lies.”

Maybe temperance forms the key to self-control when it comes to us. Maybe we were poison to each other before, but what if we keep an eye on the dosage?

What if we can find our way back?

The door opens. Ollie remains in the doorway, expression pale. “Boss, Randy and Pete are nigh on having a shiv dance.”

“Fuckin’ ‘ell,” Alfie grumbles as he rises to his feet. “I’ll be there in a minute. Go on, off you fuck.”

“Yes, boss.” The second-in-command curtly nods at me, smiling politely. “Y/N, sorry for the intrusion.”

“It’s alright, Ollie. Thank you.”

“‘Ow about you stay ‘ere, hm?” Alfie proposes after his subordinate has closed the door. 

“How’d you mean? I don’t want to inconvenience-’’

“You’re not. And I don’t mean ‘ere as in this shithole of a basement with all these numpties. What I mean, right, is ‘ow about you stay ‘ere, at my side? Plus, I’ll be ‘onest, and you know I only am with you, it’s part of me plan to prove you’re not nor ‘ave ever been a Shelby.”

“Enlighten me,” I say to humour him yet harbouring no expectations for this to be anything more than a joke. ‘‘Tell me about this big plan of yours.’’

“A change of name.” Lost in thought, he strokes his beard. “Yeah… that oughta do it. Y/N Solomons has a nice ring to it, don’t it?”

Jaw clenched, I put the cards down to cross my arms. “Alfie, this isn’t funny.”

“I’m not being funny, Mrs Solomons. C’mon, stand up.” He walks around the desk and pulls me to my feet, his calloused palms warm against my skin. A strong whiff of oud wood and vanilla hits my nose when he leans in to rest his forehead against mine. “This old selfish chap means it. Marry me, eh?”

I run my fingers through his bushy whiskers, an old habit I can’t seem to quit. Sooner or later, this will turn out to be him pulling my leg. The words leaving my mouth are sceptic too, slow and hesitant as they roll off my tongue. “Are you mental?” 

“Perhaps, but I want to set you free. Show Tom he has a wonderful woman of a daughter who deserves the world, right, a world I want to try and give ‘er.” He removes one of his rings and the silver chain around his neck, making a necklace out of the pieces of jewellery. Then he reaches back to put it on me. The silver is lukewarm against my chest, having retained some of his natural heat. “I don’t need an answer right now. You don’t even need to love me in return. I simply wish to keep you safe, that which I couldn’t do the first time. But this time, yeah, this time I will. Swear so on every holy book in this whole damned world. ‘Sides, I had to pop the question at least once while I’m still ‘ere. While I still remember.”

My breath tapers, the butterflies violently trying to break out yet all congesting in my throat. Stuck in a net of fear. “I want to find our way back, I do. But marriage seems too big of a step to take.”

“You know me better than anyone else, love. Take your time to think about it, eh.’’ He lovingly strokes my cheek, softly purring. ‘‘I’ll wait. ‘Owever, if you reject my offer, at least use the name to be free. I’ll find you a place to stay either ‘ere in Camden or in Margate. A nice big apartment or an entire ‘ouse, whatever you fancy. Wherever you fancy, actually. So if you wanna go to, let’s say, France and mingle with fuckin’ baguettes, I’ll make it ‘appen.”

“Alfie…”

Before I can begin to protest, he shushes me by pressing his lips on mine. They’re still as soft and plush as I remember, tender yet full of restrained passion. Needing more of this, us, but sharing the hesitancy of chasing the ideal world we lived in for a single summer. 

After a moment he breaks away and kisses the tip of my nose. “I need to get back to work. Make sure these floors stay clean and those runts get a reminder of the bloody rules. Stay for as long as you like.”

I watch him leave the office, grown a little colder.

And aside from the dim shouting, growls, and Alfie putting the other wolves in place, there’s nothing.

Nothing except a racing, conflicted heart and an all too familiar companion.

Silence.

#Peaky Blinders #Peaky Blinders Imagine #Alfie Solomons #Alfie Solomons imagine #Alfie Solomons x reader #Tom Hardy

[horizon-verizon]

What kills me about Nettles x Daemon fans is that they keep saying how much Nettles is hated by Daemyra fans… Except I've seen more hatred from Nettles x Daemon fans than the opposite. As well as Nettles x Daemon fans coming straight to Daemyra posts to make long explanations about why Nettles is the love of Daemon's life, even when the post doesn't talk about that. Or just tell the Daemyra not to name Nettles, even if you don't say anything bad about the character… Most Daemyra fans who actually talk about Nettles (from what I've seen) just say that They see a platonic bond between Daemon and Nettles, and this is apparently supposed to be proof of racism, because we would like to take away a great romance from a black woman… Besides, this detail amuses me. The fact that Nettles x Daemon fans generally spend their time saying that Nettles' romance with Daemon is crucial to her character (when it's not even confirmed), and that taking it away from her is taking away the Nettles' sense of plot. Which is wrong, the only thing that actually matters to the plot is that Rhaenyra believes in this affair. My point being that Daemyra fans thinking that Nettles and Daemon's relationship was platonic, don't see Nettles as dependent on romance and a man for her place in the plot. She is seen as badass and interesting with a possible cute connection with Daemon who loses his children one by one. But fans of Nettles x Daemon suppose to adore the character… Keep saying that she loses ALL her meaning if she is not Daemon's lover… Which I find very paradoxical. Even Daemyra fans don't say that about Rhaenyra, that her romance with Daemon is necessary to her arc, although yes, they are the main protagonists and it is literally their union that brings Daenerys into the future. main saga…

This part kills me:

Most Daemyra fans who actually talk about Nettles (from what I've seen) just say that They see a platonic bond between Daemon and Nettles, and this is apparently supposed to be proof of racism, because we would like to take away a great romance from a black woman… Besides, this detail amuses me. The fact that Nettles x Daemon fans generally spend their time saying that Nettles' romance with Daemon is crucial to her character (when it's not even confirmed), and that taking it away from her is taking away the Nettles' sense of plot.

There is a difference between characterization-for-the the narrative vs a character's personality traits in terms of separating the person's character from what role they play in the narrative and/or the narrative surrounding that narrative. Up to this point in Fire & Blood, even in all the Targ generations before Daemon and Viserys', we have had events written with a specific lens and language that reveals itself to be just as dependent more on sociopolitical biases as it is facts.

So when reading how Gyldayn describes Nettles (and some others), why do these people think that Nettle's main characterization relies on her sexual/romantic connection to anyone when we've had hints within those descriptions and overt descriptions of her bravery for her bonding w/Sheepstealer as she did, going out to try anyway when several failed and died, crying for Jace's death, her going to battle despite her age? Everything about Nettles's personality and actions before her going to Maidenpool is supposed to also highlight how unlikely it is she ever tries to "consensually"/her own volition get into a relationship w/Daemon.

And narratively, her purpose is first to draw Rhaenyra's ire, and this can't be seen as the narrative favoring Rhaenyra bc the point is, as you said that Rhaenyra sees her as a threat when their marriage has never told to be rocky, he has been respectful of her authority, etc. tells us that she had no true reason to think Daemon would do that. Thus the "witch" quotient Rhaenyra uses as an excuse to shift the problem onto Nettles instead of those around her, who she probably did not want to suspect bc of their proximity and how much she depended on them or had known of them (she at least knows of and is more familiar with Mysaria, for those who will bring Mysaria up, AND Mysaria is the perspn who is giving her the secret information she' needs to even point out and "root" out danger, I don't know if Rhaenyra would be willing--unconsciously and consciously--to allow herself to contemplate this key person as another betrayer). Is this logically flawed? Yes, absolutely. Rhaenyra already was not a perfect person and when you add the anxiety+betrayals+deaths of all that happened to that point that messes up that head more...

#asoiaf asks to me #daemon and nettles #nettles #daemon targaryen #nettles' characterization #fire and blood characters

[assholepants]

I love how all of the kids powers are gained through interaction with predetermined events in the narrative, like jade gains a lot of her witch of space powers from her inevitable fusion with bec and dave gains his time powers from a predetermined offshoot timeline and roses seer powers often end up like an advanced form of primary research from a bunch of different sources that she comes a cross throughout paradox space (doc scratch, the trolls, the cue ball, horrorterrors etc).

John can just Do That tho.

#homestuck #Beta kids

[theappalachiandragon]

Alright, that's enough you guys, we either have to stop making such good posts about the Scorsese movie that doesn't exist, or someone has to make it because I really wanna watch this movie now...but, obviously, if someone were gonna make it. The movie would have to have some elaborate marketing scheme that plays into it being a movie that doesn't exist.

Here are my ideas. Somebody make a mockumentary about Goncharov (”Goncharov: The Movie That Isn’t” is my running title) where some people try and figure out where the movie comes from, obviously, they discover the post about the boots, but they go the extra mile and look into why the clothing tag with a nonexistent movie was made in the first place(this has also already actually been done for us by the people of Tumblr).

Then they start to discover discrepancies that hint at something deeper, this is where the mock part of the mockumentary begins, basically, they find evidence that someone has messed with space and time to remove Goncharov from our universe, revealing that it WAS a real Scorsese movie. All of the stuff they've discovered so far has been some kind of time-paradoxical cover-up. You can even make a secret time and space agency that created the boots post and make a joke about all the Tumblr users who joke about the film being rogue agents trying to whistle low.

So obviously the crew start trying to find a way to get it back/find out why it was erased. Shenanigans ensue. They’re obviously trying not to become space and time fugitves. They setthe on the goal of re-releasing Goncharov in our universe to try and reveal the scandal. The movies ends with the crew getting their hands on a copy of Goncharov (1973*) but they immediately notice that it's different, all the actors and creative credits are completely different from the figures we know as the cast of Goncharov (1973), but the plot seems to be almost identical to what's been described by Tumblr users. That's because it's not the version from OUR universe.

Then we get a trailer for the release of this version of the movie (like how the movie “X” had a Trailer for it's prequel “Pearl” shown after it in theaters) to reveal that there is entire movie made in the style of a 1973 Scorsese film (with any discrepancies between it and our worlds scorsese being written of as differences between our universes) that is based on the film you all have loving created. And since it's an alternate universes version we can get away with hiring anyone to be the actors and just say their an actor from the other universe. Plus you can market it as Goncharov (1973*) and have a little disclaimer on the posters that say “*not OUR 1973, a different 1973 from someone else’s universe” and have the mockumentary cast do press tours in character (like how the original Blair Witch marketing all insisted it was a real movie about a real event). Some of press should probably acknowledge that's it's all fake just for the sake of ethics or something but idk.

#goncharov #goncharov 1973 #goncharov (1973) #goncharov (1973*) #goncharov 1973* #unreality

[eileenprideprince]

Biography

1st part

IDENTITY CARD

Name : Prince

First name(s : Eileen Pride

Nickname(s): -

Date of birth : January 24, 1983

Place of birth : Glasgow, Scotland, UK Gende r: Female

House : Slytherin

Occupation : Student at Hogwarts

2nd part

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

General impression of the character (on others):

Eileen is tall compared to other girls her age. She has a pale complexion, as if she has never seen the daylight, and her skin is thin, revealing her veins that appear bluish in some places. Her hair is black as ink, cut into a bob, straight with a fringe that she sometimes cuts a bit too short. Being naturally slender, she has a hollow face and dark circles are often marked under her eyes. Her eyes are green, a sage green that seems to pierce through when she looks at us. She does not have a very expressive face, she is rather pretty, but she does not fit the "general" beauty standards.

Morphology (body, face) : Slender, lean, tall

Height : 1m71 (5'7 ft)

Skin color : White

Eye color : Green

Hair : Straight, bob cut, black

Style of clothing : Mostly in uniform, otherwise always dressed in dark colors

3rd part

CHARACTER

Eileen is of impassive nature, very inexpressive, often going unnoticed among other students. She rarely speaks, participates little during lessons, and is often alone in public. She seems insensitive to teasing, pays little attention to rules, and often prefers to avoid crowded corridors. She is also very mysterious about her origins, childhood, and family, but can be good company if one takes the time to scratch the shell of stoicism she has built.

4th part

MEDICAL/PSYCHOLOGY

HEALTH/HYGIENE :

General health condition: Good

Sleep: She is often awake at night due to her insomnia and takes advantage of it to wander the corridors.

PSYCHOLOGY :

Variable. Despite her detached air, she internalizes a lot and is actually someone who is very stressed and very aware of the surrounding danger (the context in which she was raised, especially seeing her father regularly risking his life playing a double role, makes her one of the indirect witnesses of all the attempts by the Dark Lord to bring down Harry Potter.).

Behavioral disorder(s) : Anxiety, insomnia, selective mutism during traumatic events (especially if someone yells at her, she easily loses her composure)

General level of nervousness : 8/10 General level of violence : 2/10

Phobia(s) : It's paradoxical, but she is extremely anxious about sleeping, being alone, and especially not seeing her father come back after each mission.

Other : She is a good Occlumens, but a very average Legilimens.

5th part

FAMILY BACKGROUND

Father : Severus Snape

Mother : ?

Siblings : -

6th part

RELATIONSHIP

General behavior towards others : When facing strangers, Eileen is naturally suspicious and very discreet. Once she gets to know a person, she can reveal a part of herself that is very carefree and even appears to be somewhat immodest compared to her usual behavior.

Sexual orientation : To be defined

Ease of attachment level : 2/10

7th part

LIFESTYLE AND LIVING ENVIRONMENT

Patronus : Her patronus is a spider whose body distorts strangely when she moves.

Hobby, occupation(s) : Since she was little, her father improvised potions lessons in their living room when she couldn't sleep, and as she grew older, she developed a taste for it. Even before she could read properly, Eileen could distinguish any flower by its smell, recognize the leaves of plants by their shape, and adapt the ingredients according to the effect the potion should have. She excels in this subject and even reached a university level in her 5th year, although during class she simply does what is required with brilliance.

8th part

BIOGRAPHY

Eileen Pride Prince was born on January 24, 1983, the only daughter of Severus Snape and a witch whose name is not mentioned. She carries the first and middle name of her father's mother, thus avoiding direct association with him while paying homage to their family history.

Her second name, "Pride," was given to her by Minerva, who, along with Dumbledore and Severus, is the only one aware of her origins.

During her childhood, and up until the war broke out in 1997, her father's true identity was kept secret to protect his role as a spy and Death Eater in service to Dumbledore. Eileen then grew up at Hogwarts, tossed between the forbidden ingredient reserves where she spent hours learning while her father took inventory, late-night potions lessons improvised in their living room, and the dark corridors where Mrs. Norris was sometimes her only company.

She excels in many subjects but stands out especially in potions, which she had mastered even before learning to read properly. Her entire childhood was filled with the scents of cauldrons, the vapors of macerating plants, and the bottling of potions that her father prepared, which she took care to label to help him.

A member of the Slytherin house, Eileen is known for being very intelligent, confident, and extremely cunning. Despite her cold nature, expressionless face, and imperturbable demeanor, she suffers from anxiety that often prevents her from sleeping, condemning her to wander the castle corridors in search of rest.

She has an unconditional love for her father, who raised and protected her despite the circumstances in which she was born and who continues to prioritize her whenever he can. Their relationship is unusual in that they rarely see each other during the day, contenting themselves with a teacher/student relationship when necessary. In the evenings, however, she takes advantage of the opportunity to slip into his office while Severus corrects his students' work, speaking rarely during these moments when she prefers to simply listen to him complain about his mediocre students.

As she grew older, her striking resemblance to Severus often made her the target of ridicule by other students. Her bony face, black hair, and drawn features reminded many of the Potions Master, who had never denied their relationship. In reality, the probability that they were linked in any way was so absurd that no one had ever gone beyond the mockery, thus preserving the secret that represents for Eileen the story of her life.

#oc #originalcharacter #harrypotterrp #rp #roleplay #slytherin #serpentard #harrypotter #severus snape #eileen prince #rpg #bio #biography #severus rogue

[muffinrecord]

Wow uh, there weren’t any copyright claims. Anyways this was fun. Feel free to watch or not.

#Magia Record #Witches' Paradox Event #Video

[ritasalami]

With another Paradox Event aka challenge witch battles coming up I have to make the following announcement:

PSA don't forget that you can equip rental memoria to temporarily extend any girl to 4 slots.

The Event will start on the 20th

#magia record #magireco #witches paradox battle

[elliemarchetti]

right in the feels, where you reside

My entry for Momo's Unofficial Snapetober. I wanted to write something short, and at the same time cover all the prompts, so here we are, with the saddest drabble I could came up with.

Plot: something reminds Severus of Lily

Words: 729

With the arrival of autumn, the foliage of the Forbidden Forest was tinged in shades of yellow and orange, with a few brushstrokes of the same shade of red as Lily's hair. The harvest from Hagrid's pumpkin patch had been plentiful, and the smell of stews, breads and creams was carried through the maze of corridors all the way down to the dungeons were Severus held his lessons. Soon the tables of the Great Hall, above which the first bats already fluttered, would be filled with steaming mushroom soups, caramelized apples, and a dozen other seasonal delicacies that the ghosts roaming the castle weren’t able to savour anymore. It happened every year: once the elves started to get creative, the dead bemoaned to the tired students climbing the steep flight of stairs how much they missed a hot meal and the feeling of warm water on their skin. With their glassy gazes, they reminded everyone how lucky they were to have a family waiting for them at home, and with their perpetual whisper, they reiterated how ephemeral all the worries tormenting the minds of young wizards were in face of the eternal rest. Paradoxically, they always had the opposite effect on Severus: he had no loving parents to return to, and his worries could turn into a matter of life and death depending on the whims of that filthy murderer. The Dark Lord had always defined his plans as a quest for unlimited power, but it wasn’t necessary to know how to talk to serpents and read the future in smoky crystal balls to understand it was now just a personal revenge. If someone managed to deliver Potter in his hands, the child would be nothing more than cannon fodder, a soulless, tortured body to parade around to prevent insurrection. The fear of saying his name would no longer be just a superstition, but a way to invoke his masked followers, who like spiders left to breed uncontrolled for too long would cover the wizarding world in a web of hatred and discrimination. When Severus was Harry’s age, when he still explored the paths around Hogwarts with eyes full of wonder, those weren’t the kind of thoughts he harboured. His younger self, though hardly carefree, delighted in the invention of new spells, in perfecting potions texts, and playing guessing games with his only friend. A flash of remembrance made its way to the surface, escaping from the meanders into which he had thrust all those moments which now more than ever had a bittersweet taste.

The Gryffindors had organized a costume party, an event open only to members of their house that would take place after the Halloween dinner. Lily had been invited by her roommate, who would dress up as a scarecrow, but the beautiful redhead had declined the offer, preferring to spend her time with him. The crepuscular atmosphere gave something ethereal to her features, or perhaps it was just the aura of nostalgia for memories now distant, for moments lost forever.

“The answer is corvids,” she had said, with a satisfied smile, after a brief contemplation. “Next time you'll have to try harder, or I'll start to think you underestimate me.”

“I could never,” he replied, trying to hide the blush creeping up his cheeks at having her so close. “After all, you are the brightest witch of your age.”

He almost vomited hearing Sirius Black call Miss Granger that way. No one could compare to Lily, and if he loved her as much as he loved her son, he should have let that compliment die with her.

“And the answer to my riddle?” she asked, moving a lock of dark hair from his forehead. “Do you know it?”

“Amphibian,” he had replied, present only in the body, for his mind was lost in wondering what she would do if he kissed her. He had heard that many in their year had already had their first kiss, and if there was anyone he wanted to share it with, it was Lily. With hindsight, and a courage he acquired only after her tragic demise, he should’ve done it, tying her to him and averting that arrogant fool to ever come near her. It was one of his many regrets, and now he could do nothing but protect her son, and prevent her memory from being lost forever.

#momo's unofficial snapetober #severus snape #lily evans #snily #i'm no shipper #i just like the drama of the situation #team jily till i die #is there a jilytober? #asking for a friend

[mdhwrites]

🦝 hey I'm back 👋

And wanted to ask about your thoughts on Luz's trauma that you mentioned in another post. Also I think the writers exaggerate the whole "accidentally helping Philip" thing. Didn't seem that big of a deal to me as the fandom and the show make it out to be

So while I get, since it's a teaching blog (that reading back I don't like how long I spent on the example), I've technically answered this before when talking about trauma in fantasy media in general because... it's tricky. To put it mildly. But I will reiterate at least some of it here to become more concise. I... Hate it. I don't think it's well done, I don't think it makes sense, it doesn't match the past, etc. It is something the writers clearly wanted in the show but didn't put the time into. Let me show partially why for Philip's trauma specifically (and I'll actually talk about Luz's bullying here but later). So we have an episode where Luz is finding frustrations with a personal goal of hers. She finds something that will allow her to achieve this goal and promptly sets out to take care of it. In the process, she meets obstacles and an ally that, despite red flags, she accepts immediately to continue on her quest. Once she gets to her goal though, she finds out that she had unwittingly helped someone who wished ill intent on her and those close to her. She escapes death and saves those she cares about before getting back to her normal life, her goal unfulfilled. And besides scale, there's actually very little embellishment I just did in describing Witches before Wizards... But you thought I was describing Elsewhere Elsewhen. Because the two are very similar in structure and the mistake Luz makes. Luz even effectively lives a fantasy in Elsewhere Elsewhen with the lie she makes and the fact that she is so implicitly trusting of Philip for no reason than he can help her and gives her compliments. Much like the wizard. HOWEVER... The wizard is funnily enough done BETTER. The only paradox, true paradox, in Elsewhere Elsewhen is that if Luz didn't show up, the journal would have been burned (and there are ways to explain that actually, like him remaking some early entries or only the introduction at all). This is because Philip was already actively working on this goal, gotten one person killed for it and was actively seeking for others to get him to the Collector. Luz was not necessary here. Luz WAS necessary in Wizards because of her connection to Eda so she is genuinely to blame for putting Eda and King at risk.

Now no, trauma is not rational... In the real world. This is a fucking narrative. Consistency and reason is what allows readers to understand what the fuck is going on. When you break those, you get into threatening suspension of disbelief where... There better be something your audience is getting back for their suspension. So what do we get for Luz? Well... We lose our cheerful protaganist for a while... Kind of. Her mood shift is entirely S3 and I'll actually get back to that. We lose it... And never get a proper resolution. It's apparently really short in Thanks to Them everyone going "We don't care, we still love you," which thank god the rest of the cast is sane and they didn't do that trope but... There's a real fun thing in episode 2 of Season 3. Camila's speech that leads to Stringbean being made doesn't address the problem in Luz's head. It addresses perhaps one of them but not the one that has been consuming our protaganist and stopping her from interacting with people. It doesn't properly stay targeted on the problem we've been having to watch Luz whine and be overdramatic about: Making mistakes. BUT IT STARTS THERE. But literally none of Camila's words reach Luz until she reveals that she's a secret nerd. It's part of what I consider to be really bad about that scene honestly. Actually addressing the plot? Actually talking about the specific event? No. None of that mattered. None of that is what is addressed and yet the speech still appears to have gotten Luz finally out of her funk. And that's frustrating. But let's actually talk for a moment also about what this sort of trauma normally does. So you make a choice. That choice leads to horrible consequences. As such, you may reasonably flashback to it and the like anytime you have to make a choice that feels mildly important. For Luz's especially: Anything that might affect another person. Luz after Hollow Mind still, you know, tries to convince King to not trust and leave the Titan Hunters, decides to swap places with Hunter and abandon everyone else there who could make a decision instead, tries to stay in the Isles, leaving her friends without a human guide in the human realm and nowhere to stay without her, etc. like that. She doesn't act based on the trauma. She just gets whiny and overdramatic. It's actually the same problem I have with the trauma in Reaching Out. The trauma is "Death of father mixed with potentially lost of her mother". Logically, these would be used to make a character more cautious. Scared of any little thing that could hurt those they care about. Or, they become more disconnected from others so that they cannot be hurt like this again.

In Reaching Out, Luz watches her girlfriend doing underground, unregulated combat and finds this BORING. Finds it entirely unengaging. When her girlfriend is hurt, rather than talking about the injury itself or harassing the healer to do a good job, she tries to chat about the past. These actions do not match what you're trying to have be the source of her problems. You're treating it as generalized anxiety (if even that) when trauma hits different, especially in a narrative where you cannot just go "It's trauma, I don't have to explain it." I appreciate that mocking phrase for fantasy being versatile. And I know I said I would get to Luz's bullying when talking about Luz's trauma but someone recently made me realize that a lot of the characters exhibit similar issues to Luz with their past trauma aspect and... And that's another blog. This has gotten long enough. To sum up though: I don't think the Owl House does trauma well in almost any regard and the fandom makes this worse by calling literally anything bad that happened in the last fourth of S2 trauma. Probably to try and make the show sound more serious than it honestly was interested in being up until that point.

#Luz #The Owl House #Rambles

[magiamemoriareview]

Fortune Favors the Bold

Obtainability: Limited to completing the “Pax Romana’s Sweetheart” event.

MLB Effect: Attack Up [30%] & Endure [100%] & Anti-Counter [100%] (Self / 1 Turn)

Effect Definitions:

Attack Up increases the equipped character’s base stats, meaning that its effects are calculated before buffs/debuffs are considered. The effect caps at 100%.

Endure will let your character survive one otherwise fatal attack, leaving the character with 1 HP.

Anti-Counter negates the effects of Counter. Counter gives an equipped character the chance to attack back if damaged by an enemy by the percentage shown.

TLDR: A copy of memoria we’ve already seen before, but not a bad copy to be had. Great for free-to-play players and squishy attackers.

Review: This memoria is a copy of two memoria already in the game: “Despair-Inviting Death Screams” and “Mami of the Land of Sweets”. If you want a more in-depth review, please read the “Mami of the Land of Sweets” review instead.

This is a decent freebie memoria and it will pair well with a fragile attacker. Of the three memoria that all do the same thing, “Fortune Favors the Bold” has the highest passive DEF stats, making it the best one to equip if needed. Of course, the benefit of having three different memoria that all do the same thing is that you can equip two of them if needed.

Sometimes active memoria like this with endure and anti-counter are extremely useful for boss fights for free-to-play players. For example, regular Oriko has been used against the witch Charlette in Witches’ Paradox, and memoria like this will help keep her alive during periods where you don’t have Evade available to use. 

The Attack Up isn’t particularly high for a single-turn memo but it’s not bad either. Overall this has niche use and should be kept.

#Magia Record #Pax Romana’s Sweetheart #Amaryllis #Four Star Memoria #Event Reward Memoria #Attack Up #Attack Up Active #Endure #Endure Active #Anti Counter #Anti Counter Active

[magireconews]

Uwasa no Tsuruno (Anime ver.) Pickup & Step-UP gacha, and general stats:

Extermination Battle: Witches’s Paradox Event:

1,800 Days Anniversary Campaign:

News translated by Magia Union Translations discord, not the owner of this blog.

#Magia Record #Magia Record News #Magia Union Translations Discord #Uwasa no Tsuruno (Anime ver.) #Extermination Battle: Witches’ Paradox