#deli wizards

[cluepoke]

Redesigned the deli wizards! (Short game project I'll work on again when I get a new computer...)

from left to right: the mage of clubs:club wizard!, PJ the P-Jam witch!, and grilled Sammy with his staff of swiss!

[otterperlo]

Some character deisgns for a videogame concept where you make really bad sandwiches and try to impress the wizards

[heroes-of-lemuria]

If I ever bust out the Tessa Truehart deli backstory /j

[b1gwings]

a little something i made for my dnd group back in september ^_^

[foursidecity]

Accidently re-invented deliwizards while writing for spirit and whiskey lol

[mongeese]

Current PC is a hick wizard, grew up in the middle of the woods with his parents, 24 years old, human bean pole & twink. Autistic about dragons to the point of total disregard for his own safety. He was doomed by the narrative (me & our dm colluding to kill him off because I had to leave after the first couple sessions for a month long trip), but then was un-doomed by the power of friendship (the rest of the party categorically refused to let him die). Now he's ridiculously traumatized and missing an arm. He sounds like southern Mickey Mouse. He gets panic attacks on the regular (from the trauma). This was supposed to be a two session throwaway character who died immediately and now I love him more than some real human people. Fucking D&D

I fucking love playing Dungeons and Dragons it's like playing dolls but with more steps and more violence

[artemispickle]

Can I ask to hear more about Reuben?

OH BOY HECK YEA YOU CAN

(Character portrait by @coffeejeanart )

Reuben Aloysius Willowtoes is a multiclass wizard/ barbarian Minotaur.

His look is modeled after a highland cow.

Reuben was adopted as a baby by Halfling lesbian potters. He wanted to become a wizard in order to learn the Mending cantrip so he could repair all the pottery he’d accidentally broken growing up.

All the Halflings in his hometown of Hangover Banks are named after items you’d find in a deli, hence his name Reuben.

Reuben has gone on many adventures with his party and has become more worldly and powerful while maintaining his strong sense of justice and fairness. This is causing him to butt heads (ha!) with various stuffy wizard councils around the continent.

He dreams now of starting a wizard correspondence school to democratize magic.

[knightofarcane]

Drawtectives Season 3 comes out tomorrow so here's some Drawtectives OCs I made

Mai Tide the Drunken Fist Monk

Iris Straude the Forensic (secretly a Necromancer) Wizard

Samantha "Sam" Rye the former Samurai themed Deli worker Fighter

Raak-Zee the Punk Rock Bard from the Western Orc Tribes

Video for them:

[fromthemouthofkings]

Once Again, the Future

King stands in the convenience store deli aisle, frowning over two different sandwiches. They’re both good sandwiches. He continues to frown. Above him the fluorescent lights flicker, and the refrigerated cases give a quiet hum. In beat-up sneakers and a hoodie pulled down low over his eyes, and shooting furtive glances at the girl picking through the apple crate, he doesn’t exactly look the part. 

King woke up the night after a police officer shot his classmate point-blank in the back while the kid was running away. A wizard came to him in his dreams and told him that he had to do something about it. Yeah, seriously. (The man had a long, white beard and was wearing a star-patterned blue robe. That’s how he knew he was a wizard.)

He said, “Like what?” and the wizard said, “It’s almost time. Assemble the Round Table. Wake up.”

Before that, he was just Art. Now, he remembers bits and pieces of another life, an impossible life, memories that absolutely shouldn’t exist. He thinks he might be going crazy. Except that he recognizes them, the people from his dreams. His brother, Kay. His half-sister, Morgan. Gavin. Lance. And they seem to recognize him, too. Each time, he holds out a hand to them, and they take it, blinking, like his touch has reawakened something inside them.

They’ve been slowly filtering into his life again. (He recognizes them. He always recognizes them, even though they look different now. Their faces have changed, but the eyes are always the same.) 

Each time, he thinks about not doing it. About just turning around and walking out. Going it alone. He could leave his friends and family to live their ordinary lives in peace. But he doesn’t.

He’s gathered most of the Round Table now. He can see the ring of it, in his mind’s eye. Perce and Tristan, Lottie, Bev, Gareth, Pell, and Elaine. There are just a handful of empty spaces left. 

It’s almost time. He doesn’t need a wizard to tell him that. He can feel it. Whatever comes next—it’s about to begin.

The girl beside the apple crate is talking on her cellphone now. Her fluffy black hair piles softly over her shoulders. King lingers there, watching her. 

“Are you planning to buy that?”

Oh, great. He’s been standing here too long, and now the shopkeeper thinks he’s trying to steal something.

Lance gets up in the shopkeeper’s face. He always was Arthur’s most loyal defender. “He’s taking his time to think about it. What’s wrong? You got a problem?”

King pulls him back. “It’s fine. I’m getting this one.” Blindly he chooses the Italian sub and brings it up to the counter to pay.

Lance was the first to wake up. An accident. King saw his familiar face, that morning after, and booked it across a parking lot, a wire fence, and two busy streets to ask him what the fuck was going on.

Lance was playing basketball with some of his friends. He was the shortest among them, with gym shorts and a shaved head and shiny new Adidas. He got up in King’s face then, too, asking “Dude, what the fuck is your problem?” 

“Who are you?” King demanded, because he didn’t know, then, that the others wouldn’t remember him until he touched them. 

“Who the fuck are you?” Lance had countered. 

Acting on instinct, King grabbed his scrawny shoulders, and Lance’s face had gone slack with realization. He dropped to his knees right there in the middle of the basketball court. 

King doesn’t know if he’s ever done this before. He thinks he might have. Once, maybe twice, maybe dozens of times before. 

King pays for his sandwich, and he and Lance head out. As he’s pushing open the door—that’s when he sees it, glittering in the sun. The sword is sunk into the sidewalk, with the hilt sticking straight up out of the concrete. 

He doubles back. 

The girl is checking out behind him. As he approaches, she’s digging in her purse for change. 

The shopkeeper gives him a dirty look, but he ignores it. 

“Hey.”

She looks between him and Lance, a confused half-smile on her face. “Do I know you?”

“Not yet.” He holds out his hand. “I'm Arthur King.” 

“Uh, hi.” She giggles. “I’m Gwen.” 

He’d almost forgotten how young she used to be before she came to Camelot, how young they all used to be (he feels like he has lived a hundred lifetimes since then). She’s just an ordinary girl, for this brief moment, worried about boys and grades and getting into college and her mother.

Then she takes his hand, and she is queen.

[duhragonball]

Just out of curiosity, who was your favorite character in part 1 of Chainsaw Man?

I'm gonna go with Makima, since she's basically the straw that stirs the drink.

I think the main problem with CSM part 1 is that a lot of the main cast is sort of just... there. A lot of Denji's coworkers will show up, do a few things, and then get massacred. The ones that stick around for a while can be difficult to keep track of. Even some of the cooler villains just sort of fizzle out as the plot passes them by. Part 2 might improve upon this. As I understand it, some Part 1 folks do come back for Part 2, so that seems like a good sign.

But as far as Part 1 goes, it's really just Denji and Makima. Everything else is just window dressing, diversions that get eliminated one by one as the plot reveals that it was only ever about Denji and Makima and no one else. I'm not saying Power and the rest were bad characters, but you could swap out any of them with others and the story isn't affected much.

Part of the reason I read CSM was because I was intrigued by the Makima design. I'd see images of this lady in fan art or cosplay or whatever, and she looks fairly ordinary except for the hypno eye thing. It's a great design, one that draws my attention and makes me wonder what her deal is. And when I read the comic to find out, the answer is complex and interesting enough to satisfy my curiosity.

These days I've been going through my comic book collection, trying to read old books that I've bought but never actually read, and a lot of them aren't that great. I'm currently in the middle of Showcase, a DC Comics anthology book that ran from 1993 to 1996. Some of the features are good, but most of them aren't, because they star forgettable characters in short, formulaic stories. This week I've read three different tales where a hero in a slump gets a kick in the pants. Aqualad assumes the new identity Tempest, the Golden Age Green Lantern becomes Sentinel, and Arion... well, I think he keeps his name, but he stops moping around a deli and decides to get back in the game. And all three of these tales involve the heroes regaining their resolve thanks to the manipulations of a wizard.

As it turns out, I think the Showcase series probably wasn't the best way to present all these minor super-heroes, because all it does is expose just how trite and boring their stories are. Worse, by sandwiching them between two other superhero features, you just expose how same-y they all are. No one seemed too concerned about making these characters stand out.

Well, I guess that's why I was eager to read Chainsaw Man but I left so many unread comics gather proverbial dust for so long. If it was just Denji carving up bad guys with his chainsaw head, it'd get old really fast. Makima added a counterbalance to the story that made the whole thing work. Somewhere along the way you begin to realize how insidious this all is, and yet Denji's way too simple a hero to fix it, so what can he do? And yet it all works out in a very satisfying way. Makima may have manipulated everyone else, but I got what I wanted out of her.

[queen-mabs-revenge]

the show has established how much ted loves and misses kansas from day one sorry you're too stubborn to accept it

lol not gonna deny the stubbornness, but to me it really didn't feel like they show did enough to establish ted missing and longing for kansas?

like qualitatively what did they show from him as a character about his missing kansas itself? his tshirt collection, peanut butter and bbq sauce, mentioning the state flower? bitching about local stuff? like um ok?

this might just be coming from my own experiences as a 15-year emigrant, but like... i long for bagels, i really do. it's one of the greatest tragedies of my life that i no longer fly back to the states through new york and getting real bagels is now a long and miserable planned trek. i genuinely can taste in my mouth rn a toasted sesame bagel with a schmear of veggie cream cheese from bagel boss on merrick road my god i would do crimes. don't even get me started on real deli pickles gOD all pickles here are sweet it's so deeply wrong. (and btw our state flower is the rose very sexy). don't wanna move back tho.

like...idk that's just part of the emigrant experience? like idk if they intended all of that to signal a deep and tragic desperation to go back to the wide open skies of kansas but that kind of just felt like standard emigrant behavior to me (lmao i just realised my desktop bg is literally ny street scenes too), esp bc at least one of the writers has had that experience themselves? they needed to really give ted something more to get me to believe that he's somehow got the kansas soil in his bones and would be incomplete without it.

and imo things that and like the wizard of oz pinball machine only work as symbolic emphasis if the character work has been done to give them something to emphasize? as it stands, it feels like a lot of floating symbols were thrown around instead of actual character work, attempting to cheaply borrow meaning from elsewhere to make ted's supposed homesick longing feel real.

and tbh that kind of felt like his relationship with henry too? we got the symbol of the concept of a traditional father/son relationship, we got the symbol of the legos, we got the symbol of cat stevens father and son demanding our heartstrings be pulled... but what material things were those symbols emphasizing? how much time was given to showing ted and henry's actual relationship? like even in the episode this season when henry was literally present, ted p much ignored him in favor of stalking michelle! they didn't have one-on-one conversations except for ted trying to pump him for info about dr jake??? what are we supposed to do with that?? feel like everything's healthy and cool and great for them esp isolated in kansas?

it's like a bunch of floating signifiers that we're supposed to take as substitute for actual story. here's some barbecue sauce can't you just taste the longing? listen to stevens's music - that's a relationship, right?

empty symbols just aren't good enough for me, especially when there are plenty of relationships between people and places on this show that aren't just froth with no filling.

[written-among-stars]

Hey man can you write about a wizard? Like not a Nerdy Wizard but a kind of shitty grimy City Wizard that vapes and works in a bodega?

I had a lot of fun thinking about and writing this concept! Thanks for your prompt, Clove; this is the first thing I've been able to sit down and actually write all month

The neon glow of the city rushing by down below thrummed with life, a beacon for travelers in the vast expanse of the Nightwaste.

In the freight train above sat a gangly looking creature, all arms and legs and cloak, with electric blue hair and golden eyes that never seemed to stay in one place too long, watching the desert go by.

Cyril exhaled a cloud of multicolored vapor into the warm night air, filling it with the sweet scent of fruity cereal, before pulling himself up to his feet and stretching. He plucked up a hat far too large to belong to anyone other than a mage, and swatted at it until the dust came free. He then placed it upon his head, tugging it down just above his eyes, and turned to the open doors of the boxcar.

He stood at the center of the airborne freight's doorframe, toes dangling just over the edge. Wind billowed in his sleeves and cloak, threatening to pull the wizard into itself before he was ready. The metal beneath him shifted as the train angled itself higher, and he sighed, puffing another rainbow cloud out into the cooling night.

In one smooth motion, he pulled a worn notebook from within his coat and opened it to a bookmarked page. Reciting a short incantation, Cyril reached for the brim of his large hat and tugged it down more securely. Then, he closed his eyes, and stepped forward into the open air.

Free-falling through the rest of his words, Cyril's eyes snapped open, and the air buffeted around him, slowing his descent until he was merely drifting, leaving him to an easy feather-fall to the hazy orange street where Balthazar's Convenience and Deli lived.

A bell chimed above him.

"Cyriiii," called a teasing voice toward the back of the small store, "only 14 minutes late today, what happened?"

"Train ran on time. Won't happen again."

Cyril smirked, hanging up his hat and cloak to be replaced by a simple white apron. He made his way back towards his coworkers last playful jab, running his hand along item labels, taking silent inventory, before a clattering invited him to turn to find the mousy looking man grinning up at him over a shelf of toppled cans.

"You're cleanin' that up. It's officially your shift now."

"Thanks, Milo, whatever would I do with my night if you weren't here making messes for me to clean up?" Cyril drawled.

Milo rolled his eyes with a cheeky smile and hopped over his small disaster, knocking another handful of merchandise to the floor.

"I dunno, but you'd better find somethin'. I'm clockin' out."

Cyril eyed him, flicking his wrist, and the mess began to reorganize itself as he turned to allow his coworker past him, then to follow him back up to the register.

"Anything interesting happen while I was gone? Anything broken, perhaps, that I need to fix?"

Milo laughed, hanging up his apron and shrugging on his coat.

"Nah, nothin' broke. Oh! But if you don't mind holdin' onto some of the sandwiches that are just 'bout to go and tossin' 'em out to that plate I left on the sidewalk instead, that'd be appreciated. Mixie's been stoppin' by all week."

"Mixie?"

Cyril tilted his head. That wasn't a regular he knew.

"Found one of the coyotes from the Waste diggin' through dumps early this shift. Been givin' 'er scraps."

Milo turned to face Cyril, and a shelf behind him began to fall. Cyril twisted his fingers and caught it, floating it gently back into place.

Just as he began to respond, Milo interrupted him.

"I know we're not supposed to, she just looked so pitiful scavengin', you know? Cyril, she's just like a little puppy, I promise, no harm done."

Milo's soft hazel eyes were wide and pleading, framed just so with dusty brown hair.

"You don't have to convince me, Milo," Cyril sighed, "I get paid the same either way. I'll feed your pup if I see her."

At that, Milo lit up, bright as the dawn, and threw his arms around his friend.

"Thanks, Cy! I'll see ya next fortnight!" he chirped, and scampered out the door.

Cyril hummed to himself and leaned into the cashier's counter, thoughtfully pulling another drag from his vape.

"This is gonna be a long shift."

[emsuemsu]

How to Handle a Matzo Ball Soup Emergency by Blowfish_Diaries

Words: 22,025

Harry, having left the Wizarding World after his divorce, inherits a deli in a trendy part of London. Draco wanders in and falls in love - with the food. And certainly not with the infuriatingly-fit-father-of-three who runs the place.

A tale of growing up and families of choice; of awkward hugs and new best friends.

This fic is the equivalent of a warm hug. My heart was aching from joy and love reading this. It's so warm and cozy. It's super sweet and tender but has a lot of depth aswell. I simply adore everything in this fic, the kids, the Weinbergs, the premise, the ending..… everything you need and more. This fic just feels like home. I feel like this is a story to come back to anytime feeling down and it's going to cheer you up.

[thecubspeaks]

(Gale/f!Durge, for my audience of one I love yooou) (I think a version of this scene will exist in the secret long fic I am writing but I wanted to write it down now idk)

Gale tires fast now that magic items are not enough to sate the orb, and instead of sitting by the fire to discuss that day and their plans for the next, Izar comes to his tent. And then, sometimes, she just doesn’t leave afterwards. They don’t do anything, of course, just sit together in silence and read or mend things or whatever other small, quiet tasks need doing.

Izar is working her way through a book they found in that old temple: Missives of Candlekeep. The others tease her sometimes for constantly reading, and she just rolls her eyes and does not explain that until she picked up this book she didn’t even remember what Candlekeep, apparently very large and very famous, was. It feels like the kind of thing she’d have known. She can’t find a book to magically mend the spaces in her own recollections but at least she can try to repair her knowledge of the world.

This one’s a collection of letters, so it’s easier to get through than some. She feels like she’s been making a pretty good pace actually, but then Gale, supine and making notes in his spell book, says, “You’ve been reading that for days.”

Izar tenses with embarrassment. The worn leather of the cover is soft, and her nails bite into it easily. She bites out, “I’m a slow reader.”

She’s pretty sure she wasn’t always.

Gale sets his spell book aside and closes his eyes. “Read to me? My head aches too much to write.”

He looks pale, drawn. Even in just the last few days he’s gotten thinner. Izar’s insides churn with indecision. The yearning to seize the offered moment; the humiliation that will ensue. She wonders if this has always been a trait of hers: to reach too far for something she wants, and in trying, destroy it.

She lifts the book and starts to read.

“Over… the past… year… I’ve… deli-delivered…”

Halting, fumbling, agonisingly slow. It’s even worse than when she’s reading in her own head. She feels her cheeks heating with every word, but Gale says nothing so she presses on.

“Many of your… letters to… Master, uh… G-gor… Gorion?”

“Gorion,” he corrects quietly. She looks over at him. He hasn’t opened his eyes, but she can see the faint furrow in his brow. She’d like to imagine it’s just from the headache, but she knows Gale— superior, snobbish, educated Gale— far too well by now to believe that. She swallows and puts the book down.

“I’ve tried to explain. You never seem to get it.”

“Wizards are always accused of living through our books, but more than a few of us do have a maddening habit of needing to see things for ourselves before we understand.” He sits up a little, braced on his elbows. “Do you want to keep going? Practice helps, you know. And hearing your voice certainly helps me.”

She runs her thumbnail down the cover, leaving a pale streak where she scrapes against the leather’s grain. She picks up the book, and Gale leans back again, closes his eyes.

“So I… wanted…”

[interdimensionalburnout]

>It's a photo of Mapley, an eternally-autumnal forested commune that's grown out of the leftovers of Greenrock, Massachusetts, Earth. Some minutes' drive away is the towering ruins of Boston, the skeletal towers shining green in the late morning sun, shimmering with the reflected green light of arcane plants that climb the ruins. The commune's paved roads have been repaired with too-specifically shaped, naturally-rounded stones, and that uncanny feeling only spreads up from the streets. There's a handful of star-ships where buildings used to sit on city blocks, and other buildings have full-on been replaced with arcane-looking things, very much in the style of elves, or even dwarves.

>The street Berri took a photo of has a number of 'fantasy' peoples walking the boulevards, as well as ungainly-tall aquatic folk all bearing the features of various species of fish. There's even a handful of Gollafick piling into a deli at one corner. All old traces of vehicles have been cleared out of the city streets, and some parts of the road were apparently deemed unfixable, at least where towering maples were determined to make their homes.

Turns out no one has to worry about too much here because the commune is run by wizards. And also there's not too much violence around the east-coast these days? As long as you stay outta Boston, but that was the case before the end.

[parasitefun]

i been steadily accruing the approval of the female managers in their 60s who work the deli department next to produce and today we met a goal that we'd been strugglin on and onea the ladies called me the produce wizard 😇 bein good at my job does more harm than good 80% of the time but as long as my coworkers more or less like me i feel pleased B] and i'm glad that my muscle mass has finally hit a decent level again