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emmg · 3 months ago

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Sleep Inside the Cold of You

Rook returns. Again and again. He never minds the waiting—he is patient, inexhaustibly so—but she no longer stays. Not like before. Not like she used to.

Inspired by my sister-wife @aldisobey's unfinished WIP. This is all thanks to you, babe, and entirely for you. Lich Emmrich x Rook, reincarnation trope, but make it unsettling.

Originally meant to be a one-shot, but, as usual, I have thoughts, so now it’s a three-parter. Tee-freaking-hee.

Read below or on AO3

It is one thing to glimpse oneself in a mirror. Quite another to find one's image cast in stone, immutable, reduced to the palm of a hand. She turns the miniature effigy between her fingers, its cold surface absorbing none of her warmth. The craftsmanship is grotesquely precise, almost leering in its accuracy: her nose, her mouth, the exact tilt of her head. But the hair is wrong. Longer, heavier. As if it belongs to someone else.

The altar is unremarkable, small, its presence more insidious for the lack of ceremony. It does not gleam, does not command reverence. And yet, it is untouched. Pristine in a way that feels unnatural, as though the dust that settles upon all things has simply chosen to ignore it. As though it has existed under glass until this very moment, preserved in some invisible stasis, waiting for her eyes to find it.

There are other things. She moves through them quickly, with the detached efficiency of someone rifling through a stranger’s pockets. A gold coin, soft with age, warmed by her skin as it glides between her knuckles, a magician’s trick, cheap in its ease. A dagger, slight, dainty almost, its sickly blue blade neither metal nor anything she can name, its edge humming with something that makes her fingers hesitate before they close around the hilt. At the altar’s periphery, a cloth pouch. She lifts it, inhales. Peppermint. Lemon verbena. Oregano. Licorice root. Rivaini. A blend for settling the stomach. Or dulling the mind.

"I know you do not like her, and she does not like you in turn, and, frankly, I am beginning to sympathize with the sentiment. Her sentiment, mind you. Nevertheless, we must proceed this way. If you would be so kind?" the creature mutters. He says it all—to the Necropolis? Yes, it appears so. He speaks to it as one does to a stubborn dog, half-scolding, half-affectionate.

She supposes he is a man, judging by the voice, at least. It is difficult to be certain when all that remains of him is bone. No flesh, no pretense of life, only the stark architecture of a skeleton, ribs gilded, skull crowned. His gestures, though economical, have a certain fluidity to them, an old-world elegance that makes his impatience seem almost indulgent.

He lifts his staff—an ornate thing, absurdly baroque—and taps it against the stone. The Necropolis rumbles in response, shifting, sighing, its bricks slithering apart like something that has only just woken.

"Ah," he breathes, pleased, though the sound is weightless, without lungs to carry it. "Much better."

For a moment, he stands still, head inclined, as if listening to some distant music, some hidden frequency woven into the stone. Then, with a quiet sort of amusement, he says, "It is quite hopeless, my darling. Time and time and time again, I attempt to reconcile the two of you, to soften this little enmity, to foster, if not warmth, at least civility." A flick of his fingers, graceful, dismissive. "And yet..."

He beckons, and she obeys, not quite knowing why. As she steps forward, his wrapped hand—those long, tapered fingers swathed in fabric, hiding whatever remains beneath—settles at the small of her back. A light touch, barely there, but with a certainty that suggests he has done this before. Many times.

Through the threshold he guides her, chattering all the while. "And time and time again, you bicker," he muses, half to himself. "I fear you will never learn to get along."

The walls shift behind them, a deep, seismic sigh, stone sliding over stone. The passage is gone. His hand lingers a moment longer, trembling a little, before it withdraws.

The new room is more inviting. The sort of comfort that feels prepared, orchestrated, like a stage set designed to put the subject at ease. A small table, set up for a luncheon. A silver pot of coffee, steaming faintly. A plate of delicate pastries, dusted with powdered sugar.

He insists she sit. She does. She lifts one of the cakes between her fingers but does not eat it, only holds it. Across from her, the lich—yes, the lich, that is what he told her he is—folds himself into his chair. He crosses one leg over the other, arranges his fingers upon his knee, and watches her, his skull tilting at an angle just thoughtful enough to unsettle.

"All of this," he begins, a vague sweep of his bandaged hand encompassing the room, the table, the carefully constructed charm of the setting, "ought to be to your liking. But if anything displeases you, why, you have only to ask."

She does not look at his skull, nor at the crown resting upon it. She does not want to think about the empty sockets where his eyes should be, about what it means for a thing like him to watch her. Instead, she fixes her gaze on his fingers.

They appear normal, if one does not look too closely. But it is the rings that hold her, that give her something solid to grasp. Emeralds, rubies, clear stones cold as ice, all set in heavy gold, the metal worn smooth by time.

"All of this," she echoes at last, "is displeasing."

A sigh. Long, weary, expelled between bared teeth, though the source of breath remains a mystery. The fingers she cannot stop watching continue their absent rhythm, tips teasing the fabric of the tablecloth, drawing it ever so slightly out of place.

"Oh, please," he implores, the syllables drawn, elongated, touched with a tired fondness. "I beg you." A pause, a shift, his fingers now smoothing the cloth they had only just disturbed. "Must we always begin this way? It is always the same, always. You scowl, you refuse, you insist upon your discontent, but then, inevitably—" His eyes—if they could be called that—flick toward her hands, toward the delicate, untouched pastry. "You eat. You smile." The drumming resumes, faster now. "And then, my love, you die."

A flutter of nausea stirs in her stomach.

His fingers still. “We cannot keep doing this,” he says, and for all his refinement, all his elegance, there is something sore in his voice now, something weary and worn and just barely bruised. “The repeating and the dying alike. The latter, I believe, I may soon correct. But the former…” His thumb cracks as he folds it. “The former, I fear, is entirely up to you.”

She swallows. Her mouth is dry.

"What do you…" She falters, tries again. "We've done this before?"

A slow nod, gentle, patient. “In a manner of speaking.”

She grips the edge of the table. “How many times?”

A deliberation. He lifts his fingers, lowering them one by one, counting, but before he reaches any conclusion, he stops. Sighs. Laughs, a small, intimate thing, something just for her, something that feels oddly familiar. “I cannot say,” he admits, as if confessing to some harmless forgetfulness. “Though this time is rather curious.”

He studies her for a moment longer than necessary, then shifts, leaning slightly to one side, as if examining her from a different angle might yield something new. When it does not, he settles back.

“You have never before struck your head just as I found you. A tragic little accident." His hand sneaks forth, walking over the table like a many-limbed spider. The touch, when it comes, is the barest brush, his fingers resting just barely over hers. "And now, my darling, you remember nothing at all. I must admit, I am not quite sure what to make of it... Ah, but perhaps it is a blessing in disguise. Fewer explanations. Fewer protests."

She pulls her hand away, pressing it to the back of her head, and—yes, there it is. Wet at first, then merely sticky, her hair clumped together over the spot. Her fingers return red. Blood. Dark, drying, familiar in the way that all wounds are familiar. She stares at it for a moment before wiping her hand against the tablecloth. A beat later, she realizes the impropriety of it, but the lich does not seem to mind.

He retrieves the pastry she has dropped, brushes it off with a peculiar sort of care, then picks up a butter knife, dipping it into the small silver dish beside him. A simple stroke, the press of pale gold against soft layers of cake. The movement is entirely unremarkable, save for the fact that his hands glide with the kind of patience that belongs only to the dead or the deeply in love.

He hands it back to her. She takes it.

"Thank you," she says, though the words feel misplaced, as if they belong to a different scene, a different woman, one with clearer thoughts and cleaner hands.

The room presses in around her, unthreatening, but too warm, too heavy with something she cannot name. A feeling like recognition without memory, like an actor stepping onto a stage and finding that the lines will not come.

She looks down at the pastry, at the soft smear of butter, glossy under the light.

"I…" Her voice is thin, unpleasant. A raw little thing, scraped from the inside of her throat. "I don’t know what to do. Or where I’m supposed to go." She grips the pastry too tightly. The edges break apart in her fingers. "Where was I going?"

Across from her, he clasps his hands together with an air of thoughtful consideration before, unexpectedly, laughing again.

It is a bright, delighted sound, so at odds with everything that it makes her wince, as if she has stepped barefoot onto something sharp.

"You are always some kind of thief or other," he muses, sounding utterly charmed by the notion. "An artifact, a document, a secret slipped from the wrong tongue into the wrong ear... You take it all without asking." He trails off, his voice dwindling into silence, his shoulders lifting and falling, like a thought has caught him mid-step.

He does not move.

For a moment, he is so still that she has the terrible urge to knock on his skull, to see if anything remains inside, or if the light has simply gone out, snuffed by whatever process governs the interior of the dead. Or undead. Whatever he is.

At last, with the methodical precision of an automaton recalling the motions programmed into it long ago, he shifts in his seat. A pause. Just long enough to suggest that the mechanisms within him have clicked into place. When he resumes speaking, the words are almost drowsy, their edges softened by something that might, in another man, be a chuckle. "I have grown accustomed to it. That is why I no longer keep valuables on my person, you know. You have taken so many keys from me over the years…"

Tsk-tsk-tsk.

No tongue, no breath, and still, the sound emerges, as if his voice itself had been shaped by the habit long before the body it once belonged to had crumbled away.

"Opening all those doors…" His voice fades, his gaze drifting past her, unfixed, as if watching something stir not in the room but in some distant, long-dormant corridor of memory. "Doors I locked, doors I never meant to lock, doors that led to other doors—well." He cuts himself off, fingers now idly smoothing a wrinkle on his robes. "At the very least, doors not meant for you."

"All right?" she says, though she does not know what she means by it. She takes a bite of the pastry just to have something to do.

He watches her, his head resting against his knuckles, waiting. "What were you saying?"

"Where was I going?" she says again. "You said you found me. Where was I going?"

"Oh." He waves the question away before it confuses him further. "I do not know. I do not particularly care, dear."

There is no cruelty in his voice, only mild disinterest, the kind one might reserve for a misplaced hat or an unfamiliar name. "Rivain, perhaps? You have always had a particular fondness for the peninsula, but really, who can say? You find your way here, in the end, every single time." He moves as if to feed her another pastry but notices she hasn't even finished the first. "I cannot leave the Necropolis for extended periods of time," he continues, conversational. "So you will forgive me, I hope, for being largely indifferent to what occurs beyond its walls."

The way he speaks makes her want to press her palms against her eyes until the darkness behind them thickens, until the room and the table and him all dissolve into nothing. Not because he evades her; no, evasion would suggest intent, a certain craft. He does not dodge her questions so much as wander away from them, like someone absentmindedly setting down a book mid-sentence, meaning to return, only to drift instead toward some other thought, some other detail that has, for reasons known only to him, taken precedence. He begins to answer—always, he begins—but then, somewhere along the way, he is distracted by something adjacent, something close but not quite the thing she asked.

She opens her eyes to the soft clink of porcelain as he pours her coffee.

"I am so very glad to have you back," he says, pushing the cup towards her. "But alas, duty calls. I must be off."

He gestures lightly, and her gaze follows his hand before she can stop herself. The nightstand. The book. The bed.

She had not noticed them before, and now, suddenly, terribly, they are all she can see.

All of it screams permanence. The quiet arrangement of a life expected to continue here, as though she had been placed back into a long-abandoned routine, the dust carefully wiped away before she could notice its absence.

Her stomach turns.

"I have kept your book," he says, and she has the distinct and terrible sensation that he is offering it as a kindness, as a reassurance. "Though I did replace the bookmark. I seem to have misplaced the last one you were using."

She hardly hears him. The room suddenly feels smaller, the walls closer, the bed waiting.

"Yes, yes, I read the dreadful thing," he admits, raising his hands slightly, as if to preempt some imagined protest. "As far as serials go, this one is worse than usual, but you have your tastes, and I have mine. And they do say that for a couple to share interests—" a small lull, the kind designed to let her sit with the thought before it is completed, "—well, even when they do not align perfectly, it is a kind of communion, is it not?"

Her fingers tighten around the armrest of her chair, but she does not stand. She does not move at all.

Because there is nowhere to go.

Even if she refused—if she pushed back her chair, let the barely-touched pastry fall from her fingers, turned away from the lovely arrangement of the room—there would be nowhere to go. No doors to throw open, no cold night air waiting to swallow her, no streets stretching endlessly beneath her feet, burning and blistering and carrying her somewhere.

She does not know. She simply does not know where she was going before this, before him. What had she been after? What was it she had risked her life to steal? Something valuable, surely, but to whom? For whom? Or was it for herself, for some cause she now cannot recall, for some pay, some favor, some promise that must have seemed worth it at the time?

Nothing.

Nothing, nothing.

Her own home, if she has one, does it look like this? Is it as well-kept, as polished, as quiet? Does it have a bed as soft as the one behind her, the sheets as crisp, folded down as though someone had been expecting her all along?

Nothing.

Nothing, nothing.

She searches the empty corridors of her mind and finds only locked doors, hallways that lead back to where she started, shadows that refuse to take shape. The past does not belong to her.

She watches him rather than listens, his hands moving through the air with a conversational fluency of their own. He is standing now, his staff balanced against his shoulder. He is telling her something, that much is clear. Something about the cold? A bath? Hot water?

It floats past her.

"Rook," he says, with a brightness that suggests he has already called her name once before. "Rook, darling, are you listening?"

"Rook?" she repeats, as if he has handed her an unfamiliar object and she must first turn it over in her hands to understand its shape.

Another sigh. Why must he keep sighing? It is not impatient, not precisely, but weary in a way that suggests repetition, the dull ache of a conversation looped one too many times. "Yes, yes, Rook," he says, gentle but distracted, as if checking an old ledger, confirming figures he already knows by heart. "Your name, dear. We have been over this before."

Have they?

She blurts out, "And yours?"

He flinches, as if she has done him some grievous injury, before answering, "Why, Emmrich, of course."

His voice is soft, wounded, but not with the raw edge of true pain. It is something quieter, something closer to the heart. The wound of a ritual unfulfilled, of an expectation set so carefully only to be, once again, disappointed.

"Why do you ask?" he asks without really asking, already resigned to the absence of an answer. "Why must you always ask?"

"I'm sorry," she says automatically. Not because she understands, not because she means it, but because it is the expected response, the natural reflex when someone’s voice bends and trembles, when something tender is revealed, however briefly. An instinct, an offering. A formality.

The effort exhausts her. Her head hums dully, a persistent ache blooming at the base of her skull, spreading outward in pulses. A pressure, not sharp but thick, like something pressing against the inside of her bones. She should stand. She should move. But the mere thought of it makes her dizzy, and so she stays.

Emmrich reaches out. His fingers brush lightly over the crown of her head.

"Get some rest," he murmurs. "We have time now—so much of it. Take as much as you require."

"Wait," she says, suddenly feeling very desperate. "Wait, Emmrich."

The name jumps from her tongue way too easily, as if it has passed her lips before, though she is quite certain—or at least she thinks she is—that it has not. The familiarity does not soothe her. If anything, it frightens, curling around her like an old coat she does not remember owning but finds, inexplicably, fits her perfectly.

It seems to have the opposite effect on him. He straightens, his grip tightening ever so slightly around his staff, a minute adjustment, but she sees it. There is something almost eager in the way his weight shifts onto the balls of his feet.

"Yes, dear?"

The term of endearment is bright, buoyant—giddy.

Oh, gods. He sounds giddy.

This, more than anything else, terrifies her. That particular shade of delight, effervescent and innocent, does not belong to something like him, something built of silence and stillness, of lacquered bone and linen-wrapped fingers. Excitement is a thing of skin, of blood that rushes, of breath that catches on its way out.

"I don’t want to stay here," she says. Quickly. Bluntly. The words stripped bare, nothing left to cushion them. No ambiguity. No invitation for interpretation.

For a moment, nothing. No reaction, no change in expression—though, of course, he has no expression. The fire flickering in the hollows of his sockets does not waver, does not dim. A flame without air, without fuel, burning purely because it has always burned and always will.

Finally, a response. Not admonishing, not scathing, just faintly, almost delicately, perplexed.

"Well," he says, as if pondering a fascinating thought, not quite confounded, but wondering. "Where else would you go?"

"Not here," she says defensively. Not in a tomb. This, at least, she knows.

"Nonsense," he says mildly, as if she has simply made an impractical request, as if she has asked for dinner at an impossible hour. "You are thinking about it all wrong."

Without warning, his head turns sharply to the side. His entire posture shifts, the fluidity in him suddenly interrupted, redirected.

"Do you hear this?" he asks, though not her, his voice thinning into something remote.

Suddenly, a shift. Not from him, but from the room itself.

And just like that, she ceases to exist for him.

"I really must be off," he mutters, already half-turned. "I will return soon enough, love. Make yourself at ease. Perhaps a bath, as I have said. Yes, that would do. Steam curling, water just shy of scalding… You must warm yourself, I always say, though you never seem to listen."

The wall rearranges at his approach, unbidden. No groaning stone, no violent fracture; just a smooth reordering. The bricks unlace themselves, the mortar loosening. He steps through, unhurried, without a glance back. She thinks she hears him hum, a pleasant little tune, lifting, dipping, wandering without urgency. The Necropolis, ever dutiful, rethreads itself in his wake, bricks knitting back together, smoothing over, restoring the illusion of permanence.

She is left staring at the pastry she abandoned, at the tacky stain of blood drying in the creases of her fingers, at the coffee cooling in its cup, the surface undisturbed, blank as a mirror that refuses to show a reflection.

#dragon age the veilguard #emmrich volkarin #datv #emmrich x rook #emmrook #dragon age #lich emmrich #shortstories #my stupid writing #dragon age fanfiction

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birdiebirdjay · 4 months ago

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I AM FOCUSING ON CLASS IM MULTITASKING LIKE A BOSS

I'M SURE IT DID BABES I'M SURE IT DID

I don’t get how people are attracted to others based on gender?

Like they’re still basically the same person whether they’re a boy or girl, y’know? And I’m not talking about trans people, but just like If a guy that I liked was a girl, I’d still like him bc I like his personality?? I mean I also like how he looks but honestly he’d be prettier as a girl.

Like I’m still straight, but I like girls too.

Im not really sure how that works, but idk.

#how did you even find this???#<- a magician never reveals his secrets :3 #<- bro what #<- tee hee #zoe doe

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flo-zoinks · 4 months ago

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How would the gang react if you reveal ur a time traveler

Okily dokily!!!!

HOW EACH RDR2 GNG MEMBER WOULD REACT TO YOU BEING A TIME-TRAVELER (MY OPINION)

This is VERY vague. So I'm going to imagine this scenario you're from 1920 USA with lots of inside info on the vld gang cuz theres more I can do w that lol, and a person similar to John in terms of age/likeness/physicality. Imagine this is aprx chap 2.

Arthur - probably not have many questions really, just ask you why you'd come to this time of all times (he thinks you're stupid)

Hosea - only asks if John finally left with his family, and if everything actually does fall to bits. Doesn't really care for asking how he dies himself - In fact he doesn't want you to tell him

Dutch - Immediately asks if he dies for an ideal, or if he becomes someone of great reverence post mortem. When he doesn't like the answer he says he can't be kept by the lines society has decided for him so will disobey and flee "like Cain was once he was shun"

Reverend - says you're either deep in substances or have demons in you. Insists you must be a satanic lunatic and leaves with his head up. Later drunk he reveals he worries you're real and asks if God ever gives him a chance

Pearson - "heh...lemme guess...I'm in the books..ain't I?" "Ok you're lying though"

Sadie - asks when she will die and see Jake, and (if before this) asks if she gets to avenge his death

Charles - questions only on the land, and if the colonists finally destroy all of it by then, and on behalf of the natives. Otherwise tells you he's not interested in what will be otherwise

Micah - knows he's in the history books, so just walks off trying to be nonchalant. "Then I guess you know who I am.." (hes really close and breathing quite loudly)

Abigail - forgets herself to bombard you with questions about Jack and John, if they ever move away, if Jack grows up proper and they live till old. She starts sobbing after

Jack (1907) - wants to know if he becomes a writer, then whilst embarrassed quietly asks if his Father stays for real this time. Later tells you about a book he read with a similar premise. Your answer makes him quiet and hee doesnt speak for a while

John - Can't even think of what to ask, so just says like "ok- do-" then says he'll get back to you when he has something good to ask. Later: "wait-wait I got a good one... (some stupid question about future inventions)"

Trelawny - "I am a magician, too! I suppose we are both similar as such.." however he gets too freaked out and goes back to his family for a while

Javier - IMMEDIATELY only wants to know about the Mexican Revolution; was it successful? Did his family live? Does he return to Mexico? He refuses to believe your answer about him in Mexico in 1911 working for the government, insisting he would never pick that over his own life. Refuses to believe John would be the one to kill him, too. Angrily storms off after threatening you if you spit lies like that again (even if you proved to him ur fr)

Bill - gets scared of you thinking you have some other powers too, but then tries to toughen up and look unafraid. Demands, asks to know if becomes respected and feared in the future. Air punches when he hears he runs his own gang, then just looks straight up HURT hearing John kills him (trying to mask it) "But why wouldn't we be friends?"

Uncle - "you should be well aware then...of when the Lumbago gets to me.. where in the history books is that?"

Molly - quietly asks if everyone grows to like her (very embarrassed). She gets silent after your answer and goes to sit far away in camp for a while. Dutch later says to you that "you better not have put her in some mood"

Karen - says shes too sober for this, promptly grabs a drink and tells you she doesn't have anything to ask, but wishes she did. Avoids you afterwards fearing she was too open with you then.

Tilly - asks if she has a run-in with the foreman boys again. Otherwise then that she asks what cool things have been invented since

Mary-Beth - fascinated by future books, and asks if you have a novel from the future you could show her. She doesn't believe she could ever be a writer so doesn't ask.

Grimshaw - thinks you're a freak for coming here, saying "we are doing just fine! She does inquire about her girls though, if they all do well. She grows very strict with Karen there on, but also nicer

Sean - "do I become the big dog of the camp? Replace ol' king Arthur? Hahaha" a string of random questions , giving you no time to answer each one. He actually walks off before you can answer them thinking of more questions

Lenny - starts thinking if its okay to know about the future before responding, if theres no consequences, or if we as people should be able to. Decides he's better safe then sorry, and asks camp to be responsible. Dutch and him debate this

Kieran - asks if they finally accept him, and if the O'Driscolls come back. Grows very anxious at your response and spends the day cleaning the horses whilst trying to gather his thoughts to act upon.

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petra-creat0r · 9 months ago

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Deltarune: Fool's Fate Chapter 1 Shopkeep

Okay so this should be the last important character ref for Chapter 1, aka the Attic World. (i need a better name for this Dark World.) After this my plan is to post the minor characters like enemies, NPCs, and Minibosses but once those are out, I'm not sure what to start on next. I have many things I could work on, it's just a matter of choosing. Thus why shortly after posting this, I'll be putting up a poll. Anyways! Onto Jeanie!

The shopkeep of the first area, aka the Dusty Plains, Jeanie (like the spirit) is a mystic snake who lives alone in her tent and tells the fortunes of whoever enters. If we're to think in terms of mapping parts of the Attic World to Chapter 1 of Deltarune proper, imagine Jeanie as the Seam of the chapter. Some of her dialogue even makes mention to the cat plush, even though the two have never met proper.

Her name is a play on "genie", being said the same, just spelled differently, and tying to her mystic, fortune-teller vibe and occupation. As for inspiration, asides from taking on the appearance of a hooded cobra (a lot of the Attic World has some snake ties because of Broadway), Jeanie is an old fortune telling machine. I'm not sure if she's the full machine, or just a part of it, but that is her Light World counterpart. Her connection to tarot cards is likely due to the machine incorporating them into it's gimmick.

Being the first shopkeep, Jeanie's wares are rather basic. A healing item found a few times prior to meeting her, aka the Fortune Cookie, a stronger healing item in the Stitched Stew, a basic armor in the Crystal Lace, and a weapon for Chicago in the Fortune Cutters. I have descriptions for each of those items incase anyone's interested.

For a better look at her character, here's a quote from her shop dialogue when you ask Jeanie about herself.

"The name is Jeanie, like the spirit. Mystical Serpent of Mystery. This tent is my where I sell mystical charms and read palms, paws, and tails. I've seen quite a lot in my time telling fortunes. The past, the present... Perhaps even the future. Hee hee hee..."

Aside from asking about herself, during their first encounter with Jeanie, the player would be able to ask Jeanie about the Magician, ask for a Card Reading, or ask Jeanie how she was expecting the party based on her shop enter dialogue (depicted in the image above). Some of her dialogue will change later in the chapter, mostly after running into her a second time in the second area (the Feathered Forest) or once encountering Dorothy (the secret boss) both before and after fighting her. Under the cut is a list of what Jeanie has to say in her talk options.

You were expecting us?

"Legends have spread far and wide of Lightners who will come to seal fountains. Three legendary heroes who will save both light and dark from calamity. More recently, there have been tales and rumors among the Upper Choir of three young heroes destined to replace the Blue Knight and dethrone the High Priestess.

Call it premotion, call it fate, if you will... I simply call it inevitable that we would meet."

The Magician?

"Hmm? I'm afraid I do not know of the cat you speak off." She grins "Hee hee hee. Just kidding. You mean Magico, correct? He is quite the trickster, isn't he? I heard he's been trying capture the Lightners who've come to seal the Fountain. All in the name of the High Priestess. He wasn't always under her reign. None of us were. Our land did not have a singular, set ruler until recently. We were ruled by a collective choir. Until one day, a mysterious knight appeared, and appointed the highest Choir member, the Priestess, into power. After which, she appointed Magico the Head Magician and her right hand. It's been quite some time since this land has seen such upset in the Choir. Not since... Well, perhaps it's better you not learn of that just yet."

Card Reading (Beginning of Chapter, before Broadway joins party)

"The Fool, The Magician, and The High Priestess. It seems your journey is just beginning, young heroes. Yet I sense great potiental and power shining within you. Perhaps such potential will aid you in the facing the powers and entities yet unknown. Even still, buying a small protection charm wouldn't hurt."

Reading (Encountering Jeanie outside of her shop in Feathered Forest with Broadway)

"I left my cards back at my tent, but I can still read your fate through the vibrations of your soul. Hmm... Interesting. I sense a lack of control. A slipping of string. Perhaps brought on by someone close to you interfering with your prior norm? ... I suggest you talk things out with them, young hero."

Card Reading (Back tracking after CK and Remie re-join the party again but before the Chapel)

"Three of Cups, Eight of Swords, and Five of Wands. It seems the rest of your party has returned to you. Though you've been apart for a time, it's important to remember the value of working as a team. Especially since a great challenge still awaits you all on the path ahead. The Chapel and Priestess still lie ahead, young heroes. Be weary not to let your own ambition and feelings get in the way of your collective goal."

Card Reading (Back tracking after entering the Choral Chapel)

"The High Priestess, reversed Nine of Swords, and Nine of Wands. It seems the final leg of this journey lays before you, young ones. Soon you shall duel with the Priestess to end her tyrannical reign. Bringing a new light to this land. However such a battle can wait for a little while. Your adventure has been long and tiring, has it not? Why not take a short rest? I can make some tea and read the leaves before you must set off once more."

Odd Doll (After first talking to Dorothy)

"I sense you three have come across a strange presence oddly familiar but which you've never known. A strange prisoner whom speaks in stitched together tongue? ... So I see. Seems the Magician couldn't hide her from all eyes forever. ... I see many paths if you chose to go down this route more, yet oddly enough... The one in which you try and release her holds the most promise. It would not be my personal advice but... The stars have yet to steer me wrong yet. Perhaps dealing with the doll once and for all will yield a brighter future for everyone. ... Perhaps it was wrong to lock her away to begin with. A key? I do not hold it, but I have a sense as to were the Magician hid it. Hidden among the trees, in the thicket of the dark. You'll find the path you seek, if you chose to take the lark. That's all the advice I can give, so I would advise turning to the Magician if you get stuck further. I wish you luck on your journey, young ones, and my the stars guide your path."

"Gate blocking your path? As I said, I can offer no more advise. Perhaps seek the Magician for assistance."

Odd Doll (After opening Dorothy's cell)

"So you say you've opened the door? That explains the wrathful energy I feel far away..." I'm afraid can't see where your future leads from here. Do tell me how this plays out, if you can. Or don't. I merely predict your path, only you can decide it."

About DOROTHY (After defeating Dorothy)

"Judgment, Reversed six of wands, and The Chariot. I may not have known that doll for long, but I knew her cards, her fate, the path the stars laid out for her. Or perhaps the path she forged herself… Once she was nothing more than a blank doll. No face, no name, no path. She was a fool just as you are. Yet one day, she came across a strange someone and it seemed her stars had finally aligned. She had been gifted an identity and purpose from some higher power, she said. To this day, I still don't quite understand what she meant by that. Rambling on about the Truth, or our purpose, of creating our own stars…Yet I didn't NOT understand at the same time… At some point she was let into the Upper Choir, but even they eventually grew annoyed with her ramblings. And so they cast her out. Exiled her back to these dust ridden plains. She grew enraged, filled with an anger and hatred for all that betrayed her. She had to be locked away before she could hurt anyone else. It shames me that I had to be the one to call the guard… Ever since, I've mulled over the cards and stars, seeking answers to what she said. Yet the skies shone dark and the cards even darker. The only thing I've come back with are more questions than when I started. It makes one wonder…How much of the universe and fate can be understood and predicated… And how much can only be navigated by the blind?"

We Won (After defeating Dorothy)

"The six of wands, the Tower, and the Devil. So, it is true? You really defeated her? Then you three truly must be the heroes of legend after all… However be warned, DOROTHY is merely the first step in your fool's journey. There is still a long way to go, and many more obstacles to face. And one day soon… even the most darkest evil of all. Hee hee hee… Well, I can only wish you luck. Perhaps once you reach that point You can come back here and I shall read your scattered destiny once more."

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31 39s 38, 27 6 7 4 50 39 44, 15 19t 21ly

31 39s 38, 27 6 7 5 50 39 44, 16 6 9

31 39s 38, 27 6 7 1 50 39 44, 41 re49 39

31 39s 38, 27 6 7 3 50 39 44, 40 6 2 25

31 39s 38, 27 48 8st 50 50 39 23, 35 32 27 13

31 39s 35 32, 27 34 4feated. 50 39 35 32, 46s 10 47ed.

31 33s 34 39, 27 34 & 29 50r 18, yet 6 2 45ed

31 28s 22, can 35t 6 11ed 50 28 36, of 26 this 10 20s

31 43s the 24, 27 43s 15 in 47, 30 & 42ess, 34ly 14.

31 39s 38, 24ish 27 39ed 6. 50r 47 37 32. 17 39, will 35t 50?

#deltarune #deltarune fan character #Deltarune: Fool's Fate #dr atticworld #dr:ff atticworld #deltarune oc #petra's deltarune take #deltarune au #petra art #fool's fate #jeanie #deltarune shopkeep oc

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ashtxeman · 4 months ago

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things that would absolutely happen in tgwdlc: - alice angrily honking her nose at bill in not your seed - paul ripping his suit off in inevitable to reveal a clown outfit underneath - john shooting ted with a fake flag gun - everybody running on stage juggling and balancing plates in inevitable - emma getting a pie to the face during the bows - sam's head exploding into confetti after join us and die (and likewise charlotte's intestines being confetti and coloured flags) - the cops arriving in a tiny clown car before show me your hands - paul thinking that the events of lah dee dah dah day (hah hee hah hah day) were for a parade - the starlight theatre looking like a circus tent on the inside - greg and stu in show stopping number looking like regular clowns except they have letterman jackets on - greg and stu making balloon animals out of hidgens' insides - mr davidson still wanting to be choked by his wife he just happens to be a clown. he probably tries to get paul to choke him with bunting - charlotte and sam riding in on a unicycle for join us and die - charlotte and sam beating ted with rubber mallets in join us and die - hidgens being really into mime and constantly doing it during show stopping number (maybe even acting out the phone call to greg in mime instead of speaking it) - everybody singing to the tune of entry of the gladiators in the accapella section of lah dee dah dah day - hidgens keeping sam locked in a magicians 'saw in half' boxex instead of tied to a chair because 'thats what keeps clowns at bay' - sam shoving charlotte in said saw in half box and actually sawing into her at the end of tied up my heart

#in summary its so unserious #starkid #starkid productions #hatchetfield #hatchetverse #tgwdlm #the guy who didn't like musicals #hatchetfield au #the guy who didn't like carnivals

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zoepumpkinhead · 1 year ago

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Hat

sweater

#a little magician named ollie tee hee #crochet #amigurumi

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princessmacedon · 2 months ago

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Ferdinand finds maria shortly after the battle, his steps lighter, as if not wanting to intrude on whatever thoughts she might be gathering. when he speaks, his voice is notably softer, more attuned to her presence. "you did exceptionally well, Maria. I mean that sincerely."

he glances toward the sky for a brief moment before turning back to her. "there is an artistry to how you fight. a kind of brilliance that is uniquely yours. i was honored to witness it firsthand." his usual fervor remains, but there is a warmth to his words, a genuine appreciation beyond simple courtesy.

"but tell me—have you received proper care?" his brows furrow just slightly, his concern not pressing, but still present. "it is one thing to shine in battle, but quite another to endure it. I would much rather see you continue to shine, unhindered."

there was an apology already on his lips. "I am sorry." he bowed his head. "I really, really am! please allow me to make it up to you."

Ah, but is there a better way to a Macedonian's heart than a compliment to their battles? (Yes, in Maria's case, but there is still a ticklish cocktail of pride and gratitude that swells in her chest to hear it.)

"Hee hee... really?" One might think that laughter cheapens the sincerity or impact of such earnest praise, but then how is one to express joy? To release all the warmth and delight that has bubbled in her chest? It simply slips past her lips and through the slivers between her fingers, held up to her mouth.

The appreciation is in her eyes, soft like the setting sun rather than the round, clear moon. Any semblance to her siblings is one she delights in, savoring those rare times it is found. After all, she is more magician than martialist! But Ferdinand is earnest; little as she knows him yet, she knows this certainly.

"Thank you! It really... really makes me happy to hear that!" Fingers slip down, hooking on her chin, smile revealed now in full. "And you keep your heart when you fight! Right where it belongs, hee hee." Pulled like a flower to the sun, her head tips back, laughter on her lips to match the apology on his. "I think that's something wonderful, Ferdie. Keep it with you, okay?"

He should not feel guilty for doing as he had promised to do -- as Maria, too, knew would happen. Rather, she thinks it is something to be proud of, to keep heart, sense, and duty in balance and feel the weight of all. But he apologized then and he apologizes now, so shouldn't she offer him some sort of absolution?

"Hmm... I guess I'll forgive you!" (An obvious, mischievous wink at that -- and if that is not enough, she punctuates it with a peal of giggles.) And if still that is not enough, she rests her chin on the point of her finger and turns her head, mirthful all the while. "Hee hee... it's really okay, I promise! But, if you want to make it up to me..."

Finally, hands swing clasped behind her back.

"...then think about what your favorite cookie is. Pretty please? Oh! And your favorite tea, too! You have to promise me, okay?"

(Another laugh; he does not have to promise, not really.)

"Then when I've gotten a check up and you've won your next round, you'll tell me yours, and I'll tell you mine!"

#nobilisseoblige #TOAboel2025 #FERDIEEEEEEE MY BELOVED #hes so sweet and silly she thinks he's wonderful #she's always surprised when someone compliments her on her fighting since she's always #naturally considered herself as worse at it esp in comparison to her siblings. like a matter of course #so it makes her really happy when someone does bc she never expects it and it makes her feel a bit closer to them too :] hehe #sorry for blasting you with glitter ferdie but if it's any consolation you ARE very dashing with it :doggy:

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taldigi · 7 months ago

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Your magician's road trip au is so funny hdbfhdjd I love the idea that all of the magicians, and ONLY the magicians with personas just. Became Animals. What even is the explanation here. (Idk how this started, so do you mind giving context?)

Imagine an Outsider POV tho. A march of one (1) Dog with a pair of headphones, one (1) Cat with a yellow scarf, and then one (1) Rat with a baseball cap. The video would go viral in seconds. The internet is asking where their owners are. The pings would be insane.

This is how some of the cast finds out. Through the power of viral memes

honestly it started because... yosuke pubby hee hee and also I need an excuse to have him and monamo hang out.

i did have an idea that it's related to some sort of emotional roadblock.. Junpei's got a kid on the way and isn't ready for that and all. maybe something similar for the yosk?

Morgana's just Mona tho.

#Anonymous #yukari snatching the phone out of Mitsuru's hand: I KNOW THAT INSUFFERABLE SMIRK ANYWHERE #Akihiko: honestly the hat's what tipped me off

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aeolianblues · 9 months ago

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🎵 SONG-TO-GO 🎵

It's Friday again, which means unbelievably, I get to do yet another song wizard new music Friday. For a 5th week! Somehow you're all still here. I'm not out of music, so let's do this!

For the uninitiated, Song-To-Go is a weekly song poll to take a lesser-known song along with you as you scroll!

As with last week, choose songs based on the 30-second Spotify snippets if you don’t know them (I’ve tried to make sure there’s something you won’t know), and if you like them they’re yours* to carry along on your trip!

*as in add them to your library etc., if you like them a lot come ask me and I’ll try and dig up a Bandcamp like for you, hee hee

[last week’s poll, now complete, and you can see the results. Or just listen to more music! And then tell me about it :) ]

This week's picks are all about rock and weird but really catchy indie (and the one ska punk track). What other genres do you want to hear in the next few weeks?

As always, poll’s open for a week, so if you miss this one, I’ll be back with another one by next Friday. I think I'll also keep a running playlist of everything I've posted so far, plus others I'm planning to use for upcoming weeks because honestly, I don't really feel like there's a magician's cloth I'm pulling back to reveal songs. A lot of this is actually just stuff I've played on introducing radio over the last 4 years :P

The growing playlist, here.

Happy scrolling! If you want to give your mutuals a few new songs, reblog and tell them what you liked. Happy listening!

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rafent · 2 months ago

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Defeated though she may be, Maria hasn't left the battlefield just yet.

"Rafal!" She trots up to him not long after their match is called, a vast, silly grin a-bloom upon her face despite the slight skew of her step. Neither does loss seem to have dampened her spirit -- at least, not enough to prevent her from cheerfully popping onto her tiptoes.

"Hee hee... you called me a magician, so I thought I'd show you a little magic trick!" It would be easy to mistake her words for sarcasm or bitterness if she was someone else, but she is only Maria; her smile blooms in sincerity, her warmth wholly unabashed as she holds up her hands and unfolds them. Tannenbit glitters gently under the sun, pulling a minuscule shroud of snow around itself before-- poof! It shines, merry as her laughter as it peacefully catches the light.

"They say you can take something from the losing team," the little cleric begins to explain, upholding her little globe of snow with deceptive ease, "So I thought... would you want to take Tannenbit?"

At that she holds the focus out to him, winter finally falling away -- not so her smile. It grows and widens, mischief glinting in her eyes.

"You said you were looking for Griss, right? Hee hee... don't you think he'd be surprised if you showed up to fight him with magic?"

But then it softens, mischief falling away to affection, affection falling away to gentle laughter.

"And if you take it, then you'll have to remember I'm cheering for you! Heeheehee... good luck, Rafal!"

Kris and Maria; so together the knight and the princess were judged defeated.

In the end, it was not they who succeeded to the next round of the Battle of Eagle and Lion but the terrible, no-good, villainous dragon. If there were rightful expectation, it did not exist here; if people were ever matched to their just rewards, the most selfless would advance instead. Elsewhere, Nil would not have died in the noble effort of making his older sister proud. As such, the unforgiving way of the world as Rafal knew it did not know imbalance even by this trivial tournament. Almost.

"It is beyond my understanding." Eyes fixed upon the snow globe and its playful flourish of magic, powdery snow caressing against clothed skin with faint chill. Upon its disappearance, his attention returned to the user. A magician dealt intimately with matters little comprehended by the mind; in the same manner, Rafal understood Maria in this moment all too little.

"You are defeated yet bear no semblance of a grudge. To make this offer to me as if nothing were amiss, to even express hopes for my prosperity as If I had been your ally instead, you are thoroughly. . .strange."

Every thought that Rafal possessed landed with acuity but among them was not denial. It was true that he sought after Griss for his own reasons; true that facing him with this unusual conduit would be to great surprise; true also that Maria was 'thoroughly strange', as like to Rafal as oil and water in both form and nature. Neither grudge nor guile, a plain and over-bright girl without the hateful complexities of emotion weaponized by most others, some many aeons her senior.

In the childish brandishing of a snow globe—a magic trick, she'd called it—the dragon let out a sigh at the maturity it belied. Unseen and between the lines.

"No; I wonder, if perhaps in some way it is I who is defeated instead." A mysterious and unthinking statement upon which Rafal did not linger over long, replaced instead by acceptance - a showing of equal strangeness in such a world where the strongest Fell Dragons took, not vow to return that which they'd borrowed. "—Very well, Maria, I shall accept this as spoils. Know that you will see it again."

Rafal receives Tannenbit from Maria

#◜ ₊ — 𝓡 ˚ ₊ 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 ╱ askbox.#princessmacedon #TOAboel2025 #annnndd the tannenbit switch over :')))) very cute exchange thank you reddoooo #fossil aged cynical jaded dragon (unstoppable force) and girl with silly christmas snow globe (immovable object)#your world and my world is so very apart maria #but the secret is that rafal admires people like that who just know how to be good because he's unable to be #with maria and kris cheering for him he can't lose right- right

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