#MAGE HAND SUPREMACY

[solasisms]

look, all i'm gonna say is that @luzial really forced my hand on this one solas hands sketch-dump part i (??)

[thegnomelord]

Prompt #2 with Dominant bottom trans Price? And sub top cis male reader? Maybe monster au and mage reader if you want.

Power bottom Price YES! You get me mate, you get it, @rodolfoparras please second me here on the power bottom Price supremacy. Play the game HERE

Prompt: “That’s enough. Take a cold shower and when you’re done come back to me.  Don’t dress yourself.  No drying off."

CW: NSFW, dom bottom Trans Price, Sub top Reader, dom/sub, edging and denial, cumming without permision, oral, temp play kinda?

In an attempt to teach you some god damn patience, Price gave you a simple order — don't cum. For a month. This challenge would have gone smoother had he not teased you every waking moment; from fondling your thigh under the table during meetings to whispering in your ear all the filthy things he was going to do to you, hell, you couldn't even cross paths in the hallway without feeling his hands grope your ass.

So it's no wonder you didn't last a week.

When you were sure he was going to be busy you snuck back to your room, not even bothering with disrobing and just unbuttoning your jeans to let your aching erection free. You spat into your palm and immediately went to town, using every precious second you had to stroke yourself and find a release to that blasted heat in your belly.

You came into your fist in record timing like a teenager, your mind so clouded with post-orgasmic bliss you didn't hear the door open. The clear sound of Price clearing his throat strikes fear into your heart like nothing else before.

You slowly turn, cock still in your hand, to find him standing behind you, face stern like you'd just fucked up a mission. "Have fun there?" He asks, voice gruff but a smug look in his eyes — he fucking knew this would happen.

"Price, listen I-"

"Did I give you permission to talk?" His sharp words make you shut your mouth so fast your teeth 'click'. "Thought not." He hums and takes large strides towards you, pushing you against the wall. "Look at'you, remembering your manners when you cock up." He teases and his hand knocks away yours before he takes a firm grip of your soft cock.

He strokes you rough and quick, making your head loll back and hit the wall as the pressure and feel of his calloused hand makes pleasure push through the fog of overstimulation until your cock's hard and leaking all over again.

"Does that feel good sweetheart?" He asks, nibbling on your neck. You nod your head frantically, panting in tandem with every stroke of his hand, your balls churning as he corrals you closer and closer towards a second orgasm-

His hand stops.

You think your heart does too.

"What? Did you think ah was going to reward you for misbehaving, silly boy?" He asks with a smug smirk and flicks the head of your cock, smirking when you yelp and watching your cock bob. "That's enough." He lets go of your cock. "Take a cold shower and when you’re done come back to me. Don’t dress yourself. No drying off."

"You can't be serious." You try to argue but the look he gives you—the same one he gives to dumb recruits who try to challenge him—has you shuffling into the bathroom without further complaint.

You have no idea how many swears you yell out while pelted with droplets of ice cold water, borderline pain shooting up your spine as your cock softens from the assault. You shut off the water quickly, shaking yourself off like a dog despite his instructions before going back to him.

You nearly trip on your feet when you find him naked and sprawled out on your bed, positioned in such a way that your eyes naturally fall to his cunt. Your mouth grows dry as you watch him lazily play with himself, thumb and forefinger slowly rubbing his clit before sliding down to spread his folds so you have a clear view of his pulsing hole. The breathless moan he gives as he pushes two fingers into himself has your pulse roaring in your ears, the wet 'squelch' of slick as his fingers spread his hungry cunt open making your ears burn.

"Insatiable muppet." He growls, drawing attention to the boner you're now sporting. "Go back in." He orders, motioning to the bathroom, "You're doing this until you learn."

You do as you're told, staying a little longer under the freezing stream and conjuring images of old grannies eating lunch in the nursery home to make sure you stay soft when you come out the second time. Your cock gives a half-hearted throb as you watch Price finger himself, but you manage to escape a third cold shower.

"Good lad." You have to pinch yourself to not react to his praise, but the pleased look in his eyes makes up for that. He spreads his legs more, pulling his fingers out of his cunt to pat his hairy thigh, "C'mere then."

Knowing what's expected of you, you drop to your knees and crawl to him, settling between his thighs so you're eye level with his slick folds. You have half a mind to just dive right in, but the residual freezing droplets on your skin remind you to look up at him and beg for permission with your eyes.

A slow breath escapes you when he puts a clean hand on your head, ruffling your hair as a reward. "Good, you're finally learning." He tugs on your hair, "Go on then, don't just stare at it."

Permission granted you shove your face straight into his cunt, nose burrowing into his pubic hair to breathe in his musky scent and lolling your tongue out. You start with slow and wide swipes of your tongue at the bottom of his cunt lips, easing him into pleasure by seeking out all the pleasant spots along his inner lips. When his slick starts mixing with the drool rolling down your chin you go up to caress his clit with the flat of your tongue.

Your slow and methodical ministrations make him moan so sweetly you forget everything but his cunt, lavishing it with precise attention until his thighs shake as they wrap around your head. He tugs on your hair to move your tongue where he wants it, making you slowly suffocate in his slick heat but you couldn't care less when he continues to moan like that; rough and deep and blissed out.

Then you shift to ease the ache of your knees and your cock head brushes against the sheets, bringing your attention to the hard cock between your legs. Immediately you grip his thighs and redouble your efforts in an attempt to keep him from noticing, tongue delving into his pulsing tunnel to tonguefuck him for a few moments then swiping up to suckle on his clit, lips sealing around the nub and sucking until his thighs shake.

Even slowly suffocating you know when he's getting close by the way his moans get deeper, his breathing becoming stuttered and a continues stream of 'good boy' 'there, do that', 'don't stop' falling from his lips. He grinds roughly against his face and it only takes a few more hard licks against his clit to make him cum.

His thighs nearly crack your skull as he convulses, grinding his spasming cunt into your face and you do your best to swallow down all of his slick, continuing to lick him through it until his hold eases.

You gasp for breath when he lets you go, chin and throat stained with his juices. He looks at you with hooded content eyes and as he shifts his leg to press his shin against your leaking erection you think you're in the clear.

"Hard again?" The duality of his sweet tone and the mean look in his eyes hits you like a train. "Did you think that would be enough?" He asks sweetly, rubbing your aching length until you're throbbing with the need to cum before pulling away at the last second.

Boneless as he is he still tugs on your hair to keep your attention on him, "Oh no, baby boy, you're far from forgiven." He smirks and motions to the portal to Hell that is your bathroom. "Get to it, you know the drill by now."

[thirteenducks]

smoke and wine

(diluc x fem!reader) [suggestive, but SFW]

༻❁༺ content: fem!reader (reader wears a dress and is referred to as 'her'), some suggestive content, no established relationship

༻❁༺ word count: ~4.7k

༻❁༺ tags: self indulgent stormfic, adelinde best mother figure AND wingwoman, flustered diluc supremacy, reader does not want to cause trouble for diluc, diluc desperately wants reader to cause trouble for him, diluc wears boxer briefs because i said so, rampant use of ellipses

༻❁༺ author's note: i am back to offer you this with my hands outstretched before i vanish into the void for another six months :/ regardless, thank you for reading! <33 this fic was inspired by this lovely art by @mmmairon https://www.tumblr.com/mmmairon/733185437964926976/hi-mairon-i-love-the-self-insert-comfort-you-did?source=share please go check it out!

Diluc is a simple man. If there's something he can provide, he'll go out of his way to do it. And if that means allowing you to stay at his home for the night during a fierce storm, he'll do anything to ensure your comfort.

Before today, you had considered yourself rather proficient in predicting the weather for your forays into the Mondstadt hills. Experience had given you somewhat of a sixth sense for which afternoons would yield sunny skies and which would leave you huddled under a tree during a downpour.

This storm, however, had truly come out of nowhere. 

When your feet finally find the steps of the vineyard path ahead of you, you’re already too drenched to bother running from the rain. Your shoes, unfit for travel through the rain-soaked countryside, leave puddles behind everywhere you step; your dress is so soaked through that it must leave nothing to the imagination. 

You shiver, thanking Barbatos that you seem to be the only unfortunate traveler caught in this downpour. At least the grates of the grapevines above you give you some form of cover from the lashing sheets of rain.

Through the raindrops in your eyes, you gaze at the herbs in your basket, their delicate leaves sodden and dripping. Once the storm has passed, and you've returned home, you doubt they will be much worth keeping. So much for freshly-gathered, you lament.

Distracted by your mournful predictions, you hardly notice the dirt beneath your feet has turned to stone and you’re suddenly before the imposing building that dominates the landscape. Above you, lanterns on posts swing wildly in the wind, illuminating the grand wooden door of Dawn Winery.

As you huddle beneath the scant protection of the balcony above, poised to knock, you’re inevitably reminded of the only other time you’d encountered the owner of this estate. 

In the many months since, you’d learned which places to avoid in the Mondstadt countryside due to high monster traffic. That morning, however, the abyss mage had appeared out of nowhere in the sunny meadow of sweet flowers, leering at you and your lack of a weapon. You had barely gathered the presence of mind to drop what you were holding and run when the noise of boots, fast approaching, came from behind you. In another second, a blur of red and black had sped by and a gloved hand was pushing you down to the ground. Overhead, a blast of ice meant for your heart had split the sky above you instead.

Before you could regain your wits, the horrible sound of what you could only imagine were the monster’s last words tore through the air and flames, red and deep orange, surrounded you. The blue of the sky above you was ringed with fire.

Pushing yourself up by your elbows, you had scrambled to your feet, fear shooting through you like lightning as the flames licked higher and hotter around your boots -

And then they were gone, extinguished in an instant. Your breaths coming fast and shallow, you had inspected yourself for injuries and found nothing amiss but a few singed pieces of hair.

The gloved hand had appeared again in your field of vision, hovering hesitantly near your shoulder. 

“Are you alright? That attack didn’t hit you, did it?”

The voice was low and unfamiliar, and you had followed the sound until your eyes caught a mane of red hair in a sea of black. He smelled like smoke; you could see it emanating off the massive sword he held in his other hand.

“I’m not hurt, thank you. I had no idea this area wasn’t safe...” You murmured, gazing at the now-scorched patch of flowers you had stood so peacefully in a moment before. “I’m so sorry for the trouble, sir.” You offered your hand and name in introduction, and he had taken both with a gentle grace. His questioning eyes alighted on your belongings, dress, and hair before returning to your face.

“Please, call me Diluc. Of Dawn Winery,” he answers, anticipating your question.  “I’m the one who should apologize. This one -” he glances down at the ground in distaste, where a few shining leaves are all that is left of the abyss mage - “got away from me last night, and I’ve been chasing it down ever since. Really, it’s my fault.”

You duck your head in gratitude. “Thank you regardless, Diluc. I’ll make sure to avoid this area in the future...” You trail off sadly. This had been the best hill in the area to collect sweet flowers...

His face had changed a bit at your vow, so quickly you might have imagined it, before his handsome features returned to an unreadable expression. The exchange had not lasted long past that point. 

“Keep yourself safe,” were his brief parting words, leaving you with a nod before starting at a brisk pace toward the building in the distance.

And now that same building is before you once more. Drawing your bag closer to you in trepidation, you knock, the sound barely reaching your ears over the roar of thunder overhead.

You don’t have to wait long in the harsh wind before the giant door swings open and you’re face to face with the same man from all those months ago, staring at you with his mouth slightly parted. You blink at each other for a few moments, unsure of what to say, until a woman’s soft voice calls from behind him in the doorway.

“Master Diluc? Is there someone out there?”

A middle-aged woman with a kind expression peers over Diluc’s shoulder at you and gasps. 

“Master Diluc! What are you doing, keeping her out here in all this rain?” she chides, pushing Diluc’s shoulder to punctuate her sentence, and he blinks as if coming out of a trance. He steps out of the doorway and allows the woman to grab you gently by the hand and lead you into the warm, carpeted foyer. The great door swings shut behind you with a soft thud and you allow yourself an exhale of relief at being out of the storm, if only for a few minutes.

“Goodness, you’re soaked through.” The woman, who wears a maid’s uniform, putters around you, taking your belongings from your grasp and hanging them on a stand next to the door. As she circles you, murmuring with concern, you take the opportunity to explain yourself.

“I’m so sorry to intrude, ma’am, I was just gathering herbs near Stone Gate when the downpour started...” You lock eyes with Diluc, who has not said a word yet. Your resolve wavers, but a drop of water cascading down your back causes you to shiver and you remember your situation. “If it’s not too much trouble, could I impose upon you until the worst of the storm passes?” Your teeth chatter a bit as a draft catches your soaked clothing. “I promise I won’t make too much trouble for -”

You’re cut off by the sensation of something large and warm surrounding you. It smells of smoke and wine and you look up in surprise to see Diluc, now bare to the arm, settling his overcoat on your shoulders. A light shade of pink dusts his cheekbones.

“This storm isn’t likely to pass before tomorrow morning at the earliest,” he rumbles, avoiding your eyes. “Adelinde, please tell Moco and Hillie to prepare a bath and fresh sheets in the downstairs guest room.” 

The warm timbre of his voice is tinged with something you can’t identify. Before you can protest, the woman, who must be Adelinde, gives him a nod. She curtsies to you with a smile and takes her leave.

Now standing alone with Diluc, you hurriedly voice your objections and promise to be on your way after you dry off a bit and perhaps borrow an umbrella. The man in front of you, however, refuses to acquiesce.

“You’ll at least let Adelinde feed you dinner, won’t you? It’s quite late already,” he remarks, glancing out the bay window at the darkened sky. “Have you eaten?”

At your dissenting response, he nods as if all is settled. You stare down at your shoes in mingled embarrassment and relief, watching the pools of water sink into the rich carpet. 

Diluc clears his throat and moves his hand to hover behind the small of your back as he walks towards the fireplace. “Please, wait here for Adelinde to return. I’ll speak to her about getting you some dry clothes to wear for the night,” he says, gesturing to the couch in front of the fire.

You grimace as you sit, the damp fabric of your dress sticking to you and probably ruining the plush velvet of the sofa. Not to mention Diluc’s coat...

Before you can dwell too long on that, Adelinde reappears with a steaming cup of tea that she sets in front of you. She appears to be in conversation with Diluc about something across the table as you sip your tea, feeling the warmth of the fire seep into your bones.

“It’s awful luck that everything had to be taken in from the clotheslines when it started to rain,” she sighs. “There’s not a dry piece of women’s clothing in the house, I’m afraid.”

Diluc hums in contemplation. “I suppose mine will have to do, then. As long as it wouldn’t make you uncomfortable, of course...” He trails off as he turns to you, his cheeks pink again.

You laugh a bit, good humor returning to your body as the warmth does. “I’ll take any clothing you have to offer, Adelinde. Truly, thank you.”

She smiles, and before you can say anything else, Diluc has gotten to his feet and is already halfway up the stairs. Your eyes follow him as he goes, afraid you’ve said something wrong, but Adelinde just laughs and gestures for you to stand.

“Don’t mind him. The young master’s always that straightforward. Let’s get you into a warm bath, hm?” She starts for the hallway at a brisk pace, ignoring your concerns about the water you’re tracking across the floor.

As the head maid leads you to the guest room, Diluc stands in his own quarters, staring at his bureau with a look of deliberation that a complex military maneuver might inspire. All around him, various pieces of clothing lay rejected. He’s glaring daggers at his pants drawer, which he now realizes contains only neatly folded black slacks and pairs of underwear.

Do I really only wear slacks and boxer briefs?

That’s a question for another day. For now, he lays out his options.

He can’t... he can’t offer you his underwear to wear. That’s out of the question. Few things could be less appropriate to lend to a guest, let alone a pretty... 

He shakes his head. His face is burning just thinking about it.

But wouldn’t you be uncomfortable in dress pants? They’d hardly fit you, anyways, so you might have to wear a belt as well just to keep them up... And could you really sleep in them? You’d probably end up shedding them, right?

He shakes his head again before he can go any further with that... dangerous thought.

He huffs. This is going nowhere. He’ll have to bring them both to Adelinde and see what she has to say, he thinks as he descends the staircase with a stack of clothes in hand.

Meanwhile, you stand with Adelinde in the most lavish guest bedroom you’ve ever set foot in. The bedspread, softer than a lamb as you run your hand over it, matches the curtains of the four-poster bed it rests on and the wall behind it. She opens the door to the attached bathroom, where a steaming claw-foot tub stands in the center. The aroma coming from it is like that of the lampgrass you had been collecting that afternoon before the storm hit, and it draws you to it like a moth to flame.

Adelinde curtsies to you and asks you to simply leave your wet clothes by the door and she’ll send someone to pick them up and deliver dry clothes in a bit. With that, she shuts the bedroom door behind you and leaves you to disrobe in the sweet-smelling bathroom.

After so long with your soaked garments clinging to you, peeling them off feels incredible. The water is the perfect temperature as you slide into it, feeling the stress of the afternoon melt away from your shoulders. The soaps next to the bath are thick and luxurious, perfuming the air with a thousand faint floral scents.

You don’t know how long you sit there, half-awake and submerged to the nose in the sweet-smelling water, until a knock at the bedroom door brings you back to reality.

Thinking it to be Adelinde or another maid, you straighten up and stretch your arms. You’d rather not get up and let her in yourself, so you merely call out your permission to let herself in. After all, the water’s so nice, and you don’t have anything to cover yourself with but a towel, anyways. 

The door opens quietly and a heavy step can be heard entering the bedroom and shuffling around a bit until it suddenly pauses. 

That’s odd. “Adelinde?” you call, rising a bit in the water to peek into the bedroom through the open door. No answer comes.

Furrowing your brow, you move to get out of the tub when the panicked voice of a man rings through the room.

“Wait! Wait, please... Archons, I’m so sorry, I didn’t think you were - the door is - ”

It’s Diluc. He sounds more flustered than you thought was possible of such a stoic man.

“I just came to drop these off,” he continues, voice discomposed, and there’s a sound of something being placed on a chair. “Please forget this happened. I- I apologize a thousand times. I’ll, um, wait outside - please, forgive me... I’m leaving now, I swear.” 

And with that, the bedroom door closes with a thunk. You’re left frozen, your hands on the rim of the tub, your face a fetching shade of scarlet.

Diluc, on the opposite side of the door, is in no better shape. Not only had he walked in on you while you were- not only had he imposed upon you, but he had completely forgotten his objective of having Adelinde choose your clothing. Which meant, of course, that you were about to walk out of the bath and be faced with an odd selection of things to clothe yourself with.

It’s not like he can go back in and tell you it’s a mistake, though. Diluc sighs and rakes a hand through his hair, willing his heart rate to go down. Idiot. He’s an idiot.

Since the least he can do now is protect you from any further embarrassment, he thinks, he takes up a guard position outside your bedroom door.

It helps to know that at least it’s just him and the maids in the house, so you have no one else to worry about. It doesn’t help to know that you’re currently bare and covered in soap a scant twenty feet from him.

He buries his head in his hands again.

Meanwhile, you’ve removed yourself from the tub and are drying off while waiting for your pulse to return to normal. The towel in your hands is probably the fluffiest thing you’ve ever touched, yet it barely registers in your mind at the moment.

You weigh the ethics of telling Adelinde you’ve suddenly fallen violently ill and cannot come to dinner, but eventually you’ve gathered yourself enough to inspect the clothing Diluc brought you. There’s a black dress shirt, which is softer against your skin than it first looked as you button it up to your collarbone. Like his coat, it too carried a familiar fragrance of smoke and wine.

Turning to the rest of the stack, you’re confused to see a pair of dress pants and a pair of men’s... underwear?

They also smell like him… you think, as you pull them on.

Diluc, still fighting a blush, is leaning against the wall outside your door when Adelinde finds him. A hurried conversation ensues that you don’t catch much of from inside, but it’s clear enough that Adelinde is laughing at her master’s expense. 

She knocks, asking if you’re dressed, and waits for your affirmation before she enters. You hold up the slacks to her, a question on your lips, but the head maid puts her hand on yours before you say a word.

“You don’t have to wear those unless you want to. I know they’re far from the most comfortable pants in the world. Besides, it’s only Master Diluc and us maids here,” she assures you. “You have nothing to worry about, dear. It’s up to you.” You return her smile and fold the slacks, passing them to her waiting hand. “Why don’t you come sit by the fire while I set the table?” 

Thus assured, you leave the safety of the guest bedroom in only Diluc’s shirt and boxer briefs. Outside, the lord of the manor himself is standing in the hallway with a look of contrition on his face. 

He turns at the sound of the door and his eyes meet yours. 

It’s fatal. You offer him a smile, hoping to pretend the earlier situation never happened, but you’re met instead with a blank stare that makes you falter. Was he… angry? 

Archons, did he think you had let him into your room on purpose while you were undressed? The thought sends you spiraling. This was bad. You have to fix this. You fiddle with the hem of the dress shirt and prepare to apologize.

Across from you, Diluc is fighting an uphill battle with his self control to keep his eyes on yours as you stand before him in only his underwear. 

You were supposed to be wearing pants. Not… fuck, you’re staring at him like he has three heads. He has to say something. He has to set your mind at ease. He has to be a gentleman.

Think of Varka. Think of Seamus Pegg. Think of fucking Barbatos. For the love of Celestia do not think of anything else. Now SAY something.

“...How was your bath?” 

You blink. “It was… lovely, thank you.”

DO NOT THINK OF HER IN THE BATH. 

By the grace of whatever archons are watching over him, Diluc manages to carry a stilted conversation with you in which he apologizes profusely for his behavior earlier.

You do your best to reassure him that it was an honest mistake and no harm was done (except to your heart, but you’d hardly admit that). You soon find that he’s also asking your pardon for the “inappropriate” selection of clothes he brought you, however.

“Please, don’t apologize. They’re very comfortable.” You smile at him and Diluc feels his heart skip far too many beats. “Thank you again for your kindness, Diluc.” Archons, he loves the way you say his name. You’ll kill him at this rate.

Soon he’s falling into step behind you as Adelinde leads you into the dining room and seats you by the fire with a blanket. Satisfied that you’re comfortable, he turns and prepares to return to his study for the evening. 

Before he can, though, he’s arrested by your voice, innocently asking if he wouldn’t be joining you for dinner.

“I’m afraid I have… work to attend to,” he murmurs, glancing up to his office. “My apologies. I hope you enjoy- ow, Adelinde -”

The maid in question has two fingers wrapped around Diluc’s ear and is wearing a look of exasperation as she tugs on it, ignoring his words of protest. In a voice that suggests this is a common occurrence, she strongly forbids him from doing any more work tonight.

“Is it not the job of the master of the manor to keep his guests company?”

“Adelinde...”

“Master Diluc.”

He sighs, meeting your eyes with a sheepish look. “It appears that I’ll be joining you after all.”

With that, he settles himself in the armchair adjoining your couch, allowing his large frame to relax into it. A pleasant quiet descends as you watch the fire, listening to the maids readying the meal in the kitchen and the storm as it continues to rage outside.

You’re brought out of your reverie by Diluc’s voice, softer than you’ve yet heard it.

“May I ask how you found yourself out in the downpour this afternoon?”

You smile. “For the same reason I was out the first time we met.” He nods in recognition, glancing at the gathering bag and basket that still hang by the door to the winery.

“So, you’re a botanist, then? Or maybe an herbalist?”

The two of you continue this way, Diluc asking you questions about yourself in a low voice, and you answering them in the same soft tone. You lose track of time in the easy back-and-forth. 

After what feels like only a few minutes, a maid alerts you that dinner is ready; you rise and stretch, the blanket falling away from where it covers your bare legs. Diluc pointedly looks away, but you’re too distracted by the lovely smells coming from the table behind you to pay him any mind.

Walking ahead of you, Diluc draws out the seat adjacent to the head of the table and waits for you to sit before taking his own seat. The maids have been busy: a pot of tea, a bottle of sparkling wine, plates of roast beef, green beans, buttered potatoes, and stuffing, a tray of candied pecans, an apple tart, and a myriad of smaller dishes all line the ornate table. For a moment, you’re too overwhelmed to take a portion of anything. 

Fortunately, Adelinde appears beside you and asks which and how much of each dish you would like, and soon your plate is as full as it can be.

For a while, the two of you sit in comfortable silence as you eat. The food is beyond reproach. Either the maids and Adelinde have pulled out all the stops tonight for you, or wealthy estate owners eat like this every night. You’re not sure which makes you feel more out of place, but the food is too delicious and you’re too tired to dwell on such things now.

Periodically, Diluc asks how you’re liking a certain dish or if you would like more of what you’re drinking. As the maids top off your glass of wine and you begin to feel the day catch up with you, however, your responses to Diluc get slower and shorter until you can barely keep your eyes open. 

Through your lowered lids, you’re graced with the sight of a rare smile as the man next to you takes you in. He stands, offering you an ungloved hand in a silent offer to escort you to your room. You’re too exhausted to notice the color that comes to his face when you gladly take it and get to your stumbling feet. 

By the time you’ve reached the door to your room, you’re leaning more on him than you are on your own legs. Offering Diluc a drowsy smile, you bow a little and thank him once again. He returns it in kind, the corners of his eyes crinkling a little bit. He’s never looked more handsome.

“Have a restful night. With any luck, the storm will abate by morning. Please, if there’s anything else I can do, don’t hesitate to come ask me.”

And with that, he leaves you to the plush sheets of the guest room. You’re asleep almost before your head hits the pillow.

You dream of smoke and wine.

In the small hours of the morning, you awake to a cold draft that makes you shiver and a mind fuzzy from sleep. You try in vain to return to sleep, the soft silk sheets beckoning to you, but a peal of thunder seems to shake the house every time you close your eyes.

Sighing, you sit up and rub your eyes. It’s almost pitch black in the room; the sun won’t rise for several hours yet.

Maybe you could make yourself a cup of tea? You shiver a bit, drawing the covers tighter around you. Sitting by the fire doesn’t sound bad, either.

Your feet are quiet on the carpeted floor as you gently open your bedroom door and step into the hallway. Sure enough, there’s a flickering light from the main room; the fire must be still alive in the grate.

You gather the blanket around you and hurry towards the warmth, only to stop short at the silhouette of a figure sitting where you were earlier. You take another tentative step onto the floorboards, but a creak gives you away. The figure stiffens and turns to face you.

Diluc’s face and frame relaxes when he sees you, but there is still a hint of worry in his tone when he asks, “Is there something wrong? Are you warm enough in your room?”

You nod, stepping gingerly around the couch to sit next to him. He shifts a little to give you more space as you pull your legs up beside you. “Everything’s fine. I just went to bed a little too early,” you assure him. “Could I trouble you to let me into the kitchen? I’d like to make myself a cup of tea, if it’s alright.”

“Please, allow me,” he murmurs, producing a pot and a second cup from the table next to him, where he was apparently enjoying one himself.

You sip it gratefully, allowing the taste to linger in your mouth. “May I ask why the esteemed Master Diluc is still awake at this hour?”

He smiles a bit at that and mentions that he never sleeps well during storms.

The two of you watch the flames as you sip your tea, listening to the patter of rain on the roof. Even at this hour, the fire is still going strong. A thought strikes you and you turn to Diluc’s lap.

Sure enough, his vision is glowing, pulsing in a gentle bump-bump pattern that you’ve heard matches the wielder’s heartbeat. It relaxes you to see it so steady and dependable.

Before long, the warmth of the fire and the tea have lulled you back soundly to sleep. 

For the first time today, Diluc allows his gaze to rake over you unhindered.

You, asleep on his couch in his manor. Smelling like him. Dressed in his shirt and underwear.

In only his shirt and underwear, the least helpful part of his brain reminds him, and he has to stare at the fire for a while to curb that train of thought. It’s difficult when his gaze keeps flickering back to you anyway.

He counts himself lucky you’re not awake to see how the fire in the grate has grown in size and intensity, or how the vision on his hip is flickering in a wild bmp-bmp-bmp.

After reciting everything he knows of Mondstadtian foreign policy in his head a few times, he’s able to tone down the blush on his face enough to be manageable. As for the familiar, tight ache in his pants, he regards it as a lost cause. For now.

Diluc stands, stretching his arms with a quiet groan before turning to your sleeping form. He gently scoops you up into strong arms and wraps you tighter in the blanket you’re still clinging to, careful not to wake you. As he begins the slow walk to your doorway, a small smile adorns his face.

Upon ducking into your room, careful not to hit your legs against the doorway, he frowns. It’s much colder here than it was in the living room. He’ll have to do something about that.

As he places you under the covers, he unclips the vision from his thigh and folds it into your hand, where it thrums with a gentle rhythm . You drift awake for a moment, recognizing the red mane that hangs over your chest as Diluc tucks in the blanket around you.

Seeing your eyes flicker, he calls your name gently. “Are you comfortable?” You nod with a smile that hurts his heart in the best way. 

“Thank you, Diluc,” you murmur blearily, and he laughs a bit. You have just enough consciousness left to decide it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever heard as you slip back under the blanket of sleep.

That night, as the storm continues to rage outside his bedroom windows, Diluc sleeps better than he has in a long time. Downstairs, his vision pulses in your hand to his steady heartbeat.

You dream of warmth.

[mumms-the-word]

So I’ve been thinking about Fem!Lavellan’s tarot card today. You know, this one:

And how post-Veilguard it looks to me like she’s cradling a spirit in her hand.

I know it could be that she’s just holding a kind of plant similar to the ones in the background. I’m not sure when the art department got around to imagining spirits as these branching nervous-system-looking beings, after all. But now I can’t unsee “spirit”

Because when Solas is a spirit he looks like this

(Forgive the quality these are all very quick thoughts I’m throwing together)

And there are plenty of thoughts to be had about how Mythal’s vallaslin design seems to be a callback to this form. It’s a little unclear if this is just uniquely Solas’s form, or if all spirits looked this way once upon a time (give or take a few pairs of eyes). But still—spirit form!

fem!Lavellan is cradling what looks like a spirit in her hand!

Now before someone tries to be like “solavellan canon supremacy” I think it’s more that fem!Lavellan’s card is meant to show a mage. masc!Lavellan doesn’t have a spirit form hanging around, but masc!Lavellan is depicted as an archer.

We see a staff in fem!Lavellan’s hand so I imagine the spirit hovering over her palm is meant to show her (or show a Dalish mage’s) relationship with magic and spirits as one that is a bit more gentle and friendly than the Spirit-Hating Chantry. More in tune with the Fade and the world of spirits, so to speak.

Also, since Dalish mages in the game are always written as Firsts, aka the next in line to be the Keeper, I also see this as depicting her in a shepherd/Keeper/guardian role—if elves were once spirits, her carefully holding the spirit in her hand could be like her carefully holding The People in her hand, keeping up with their history, lore, etc while also caring for them.

I don’t know! I just think it’s neat!

But also, yeah, as a treat, Solavellans can go wild with this one. Lavellan lovingly cradling a spirit that looks like spirit!Solas in her hand? be feral, my friends

[yes-these-obsessions-are-healthy]

The biggest missed opportunity with the Dalish was completely abandoning the potential plot point set up by Trespasser and Tevinter Nights that Dalish and city elves were leaving and traveling to seek out the Dread Wolf. The reason for this scrapped plot point is essentially “We didn’t want to write the marginalized group as being the villains. The Dalish decide not to because the gods are so obviously evil.”

You fools. You cowards.

You could have totally written some Dalish/city elves as putting their trust and faith into Solas, and yes, be aligned as antagonists/obstacles to Rook and co. Oppression and marginalization can make people turn to extreme, dangerous, and self-destructive measures in the fight for their dignity and rights. Solas and Dread Wolf agents freed slaves in this time, you’re telling me they wouldn’t feel grateful and inspired to help him after that?

Posing the anti-god Dalish Veil Jumpers against the Agents of Fen’Harel would have been a marvelous exploration of how oppression can produce widely diverging philosophies and perspectives. “We will follow Solas as our ancestors did to liberate all elves” and “He is freeing slaves and making moves that are scaring the humans, something the Dalish and city elf elders haven’t been able to accomplish”.

But of course the twist would be that Solas is using these people to help him bring about the end of modern Thedas. He is weaponizing their faith and fervor for his own ends, conveniently withholding the reality that it’s very well that the number of dead will be incalculable, but they must hold strong because a world revolution isn’t bloodless and that “the ends justify these harrowing means”.

By shying away from exploring that, yes, sometimes the marginalized do fucked up things and end up following false prophets in their desperation for liberation (but those mistakes do not exclude them from that liberation), they painted a boring monolith that all elves not only know about the situation with the Evanuris being powerful mages, but they’re assholes that no one should bother listening to.

You created this indigenous ethnoreligion, revealed it to be based on lies, and then removed the opportunity to showcase the inevitable scenario where certain fervent believers would align themselves with the “god(s)” regardless out of misguided belief that their second coming means that the resurrection of the Elvhen empire has come, and/or because accepting the revelation that you’ve been worshipping slavers and put their slave marks on your face is too painful for some to bear.

We’ve been forced to swallow the Venatori’s vague pursuit of restoring Tevinter supremacy, why not explore the insanity that some people invariably fall into when they overcorrect the feeling of inferiority by going all in with supremacy?

Again, these themes would all lead back to Solas, the master puppeteer strategically preying on the hearts and minds of the oppressed, offering salvation and purpose and the dream of a future in one hand while holding a knife behind his back in the other. He pities them, he sympathizes with them, he mourns their suffering in his abstract, idealistic way. But he uses them even still, as a general uses his soldiers as cannon fodder. They do not realize what he is ultimately planning or its true cost. Some are so spiteful they wouldn’t care. Others cannot bear the thought of another betrayal. Yet others would gladly sacrifice themselves if it meant others in a next life would see Elvhen glory.

So, so, so many things that could’ve been done with this very thing they themselves set up, but instead of expending an iota of effort that could display they learned from their previous Western chauvinistic attempts at writing fantasy indigenous politics, they decided to completely forgo it. And then made the Qunari all savage-like again.

[lady-lunabelle]

Rook questionnaire

Tagged by no one in particular, but I did see @caffeinatedmunchkin do hers, and she said to tag her if any of her followers did it, so… hey!

Meet Lilya “Lillie” Thorne. Human, Mage, Grey Warden. I chose the name from the default pool the game provided and ended up liking it enough to make it her canon name. It’s pure coincidence that I chose that name, ended up romancing Emmrich, and it turns out he’s a hobbiest botanist.

1: Where in Thedas is your Rook from?

Ferelden, born on a farm in the Crestwood area.

2: What is your character's alignment?

Neutral good. She has her own morals and beliefs.

3: Race and subclass?

Human mage.

4: If your Rook was a companion, where would they be found?

Most likely at Weisshaupt training with her comrades.

5: What emotion did they usually pick?

All three, but tended to stick to the playful and paragon options. Was usually fairly optimistic most of the time, but pretty harsh and sassy towards Solas.

6: What companion are they platonically close with?

Davrin because of the shared GW background, but found a kindred spirit in Bellara. She also bonded with Harding over their being fellow Fereldans.

7: Romantically close with?

Emmrich. I live to imagine the two of them bonding over sharing stories about lives. She regales him with stories of her numerous missions with the Wardens, and he answers all her burning questions about the Mourn Watch, Nevarra, and necromancy (as it’s a magic completely foreign to her as a Ferelden technical apostate).

8: Who are they suspicious of?

Most of the Antivan Crows. She had only ever heard dodgy things another them, so was initially reluctant to work with them until she got to know Lucanis’s faction and learned that they were the reformed branch.

9: Does your Rook get along with their chosen Faction?

She was a bit of a loose canon, but made up for it by being diplomatic as possible with the First Warden.

10: Are they proficient in playing any instruments?

I like to imagine she plays a bit of the lute in her free time.

11: Weapon of choice?

Spellblade supremacy.

12: What is their orientation?

Bisexual. Not that she’s had much experience with anyone before Emmrich.

13: What are their thoughts on killing? Is it a necessary evil or do they enjoy it?

Being a Grey Warden, to her it’s a necessary evil.

14: What hobbies does your Rook have?

Growing up on a farm, she’s always had a natural report with animals and practical skills. So horse back riding, animal handling, sewing, simple cooking, etc.

15: What NPCs do they like? Which ones do they dislike?

Antoine and Evka were the only ones who still believed in her around the start of Veilguard. She gained a report with Vorgoth and Myrna, and even Teia even though she was initially suspicious of the Crows. Illario was slower though.

16: Do they have a favorite creature in the Thedas?

I’m not ashamed to say I stopped to pay every cat in the game.

17: Do they enjoy life as an adventurer?

Being a Warden, traveling and adventure has been her job. She would like to maybe do it for pleasure in the future, though. With Emmrich.

18: What would your Rook be doing if they weren't recruited by Varric?

Serving the Wardens, but shipped off to Lavendel for insubordination.

19: How do you think they'll meet their end?

She expected it to be when she gets The Calling. But after the events it Veilguard, she’s making new plans with Emmrich so is hoping to spend the rest of her life with him. Maybe even start a family with him.

20: Would they side with Solas or fight him?

Fight him. In her mind, he’s a threat to all the lives of her loved ones. She was not too trusting of him even before his betrayal, so she’s ready to throw hands with him as soon as she meets him in person.

21: What is your Rook's favorite ability?

Thunderous End and Void Blade. The Spellblade class is so much fun.

22: What languages is your character fluent in?

Common Tongue. Though she’s picked up a few curse words in different languages.

23: What do they do after an absolute crisis?

Being a Grey Warden’s she’s learned to channel her frustration into her training. So, expect to find her burning training dummies to ash during times of crisis.

24: Does your character believe in the afterlife?

Being Fereldan, she’s pretty firmly Andrastian. Which does sometimes come into conflict with her being a Mage.

25: What specialization best represents your Rook?

Again, Spellblade supremacy.

26: What animal best represents your Rook?

She has a fairly big heroic streak, and she’s very protective of those she comes to care about. So I’d say either a lioness or a mama bear.

27: What was their life like before the events of Veilguard?

Serving the Grey Wardens. Or rather, unleashing chaos in the name of saving people.

28: Is your character the de facto leader of the party? Or do they consider someone else to be the leader?

De facto leader. She’s had experience leading teams in the Wardens, but given recent events she’s unsure of her ability to lead comfortably again.

29: If you could choose a different faction for your Rook, which one would they have joined and why?

Either the Shadow Dragons or the Mourn Watch. Being a Mage who was forced to hide her abilities in Ferelden to avoid being forced into the Circle, I could see her feeling quite a sense of freedom in Minrathous. Same for Nevarra. I can see her getting all excited over learning a new form of magic previously unknown to her.

30: What's your favorite thing about your Rook?

Her determination and steadfastness. She’s a young woman from humble beginnings, forced from an early age to hide her magical abilities lest her be taken by the Templars and forced into the Circle of Magi. Joining the Wardens was the first time she was able to use her powers freely without fear of reprisal. She’s so steadfast in her beliefs, and while her faith in Andraste and the Chantry is continuously tested, she still believes the moral lessons it teaches are what really matter.

She also believes in the needs of the many, willing to ignore orders if it meant saving lives. She joined the Wardens to help people, and that’s what she always aims to do no matter the cost. She doesn’t believe in sacrificing the lives of her friends to achieve her goal. To her, losing even one soldier is a tragedy. This is the biggest difference between her and Solas.

I also love her freckles.

—————————

And that’s about it. Don’t really have anyone to tag, but I invite anyone to do this. It’s fun! 🙂

[theredhairedmonkey]

I still don't understand how Viren can simultaneously say he's willing to do anything for his family while at the same time tell his children that he would be willing to sacrifice all of them for a "bright future for humanity" and that they should be willing to do the same?

Viren wants power but wants to be seen as pursuing it for a righteous cause.

In the case of “bright future for humanity,” he can pass off something self-serving — his own unchallenged and absolute authority, i.e. the true intended endgame of a “bright future” — as a favor he's doing for other people — stopping the poor masses from being crushed under the might of Xadia. In the case of "anything for my family," he can once again pass off something self-serving — replacing Kpp'Ar as High Mage, manipulating Harrow into bringing down Avizandum's dynasty — as a generosity to his loved ones.

People give him the benefit of the doubt and assume that his actual goal is to help people and that his power grab is either incidental to that or justified in pursuit of it. In fact it’s the opposite: By s3 he's so far gone that he can’t separate his own power from what may serve the actual greater good. And the concern for the downtrodden feeds into that — he wants total supremacy but not if it makes him look like he's grasping for power. So he dresses it up as something more benevolent than what it truly is. And note that it isn’t about helping people because it’s the right thing to do; the point is that he'll say he's making a world where humans don't constantly have a knife at their throat (i.e. to stop these people’s exploitation) but then turn around and demand their submission.

The problem — as the question implies — is that these goals are mutually exclusive. If you are willing to sacrifice your children for a "bright future for humanity" (as Viren literally said), then you can't also say you'd be willing to do "anything for my family," and vice versa.

He's trying to have it both ways: on the one hand he's a humble servant of humanity trying to do what's best for his people (even if it sacrifices his own family), but on the other he's a simple father trying to protect his family (even if it puts his kingdom at risk). But you're either one or the other, you can't be both.

Or: He's a hypocrite, Jim.

[breadraccoon]

Background Info: The Tale of a Songbird and a Stag

Here is some tidbit of information for a fic I just posted (the fic in question): You don't have to read this to understand it. There is a spoiler for the fic below, but it’s sectioned off at the end. It's for those curious about the lore around my ghostflower fantasy Au

There is talks about structural racism and how it affects the characters in this fantasy world. They live in a capitalistic society. Oppression and exploitation has to exist. I try my best to be mindful of how I handle these topics. This world runs by more dungeon meshi race rules.

TLDR on this fic's structural racism: Miles lives a model minority life while Gwen is an invisible minority. Invisible minority meaning if she doesn't acknowledges certain things about herself, she has all the advantages and privileges of being a human(tall man). You don't know she is a minority unless she tells you.

Miles is a Tiefling Wizard. Lighting magic is his specialty. He absolutely has a spell to conjure a lightning sword. He’s got a tail with antler shaped horns on his head. His day to day adventuring gear is pretty light. He has a set of light armor, so mostly chainmail and a few small metal plates for his arms and legs. Miles may be a wizard, but he still knows a bit of hand to hand combat and swords work. His father is a royal guardsman. Jefferson made sure Miles knew how to defend himself. His mother, on the other hand, is a clerical healer. Overtime, Miles picked up some stuff from the both of them (His main class is a wizard, but he got some levels in paladin). Like a good dutiful son, Miles often sends letters home updating his parents of his adventures.

All in all, Miles lived a really great childhood despite the fact he and both his parents are all Tiefling. Yes, Tiefling racism still exist in this AU, but Tiefling have no relationship to devil type beings. That's just a false stereotype. Still, Miles was pretty sheltered as a kid. He grew up in a large city-state and spent a lot of time hanging out and playing with his cousins. They’re practically his siblings. Miles always had a strong an affinity to magic. Him going to a magic academy was never in question for his parents. Miles had different feelings about being forced to leave home to go to some academy out in the middle of nowhere. Miles is a city boy. He is not built for the woods.

When he turned 14 he was shipped off to an all boys magic school. Miles learned a lot about wizards. Both the good and the bad, although the academy tries its best to gloss over the role wizards had played in the atrocities against magical creatures and wizard societies historical exclusionary behaviors. The current wizarding world wants to put on a face of more diversity and inclusion. Miles has a very complex feeling about being a wizard. Part of what Miles does on these adventures is take notes and redraws magical creatures in his notebook. He hopes to publish a more nuance and flattering book about magical creatures. Miles wants to dispel a lot of the bias and false information spread from past mages. Fun fact, as a little slight against magic human supremacy, there is a chapter in his notebook about magical humans because fuck human supremacy :)

Anyway, reading old text and pointing out the biases can only bring you so far. So, Miles left home to get more first hand information. That and he had a very eye opening experience with his uncle. He’s not dead, but he is in jail. Aaron had opened his eyes to the disenfranchised lives most Tiefling lives. In a way, Miles is also trying to rewritten Tieflings stories too.

Miles departure from home first leads him a small town just outside his home. There he comes across a sole act bard, Gwen. They first meet in a tavern where she is sing and playing the lyre for money, but they truly first meet when Gwen saves Miles from getting robbed. Miles falls in love pretty instantly, but he doesn't push his feels on to Gwen. Rather he tells Gwen his dreams over a drink and that's when Gwen decides to join him on his adventures. A mixture of Miles's charm, ambitions, and his naivety to the outside world is what convince her. She doesn't want to see this earnest mage get hurt.

Over the years, many people come and go from their team, but Gwen always stays by his side. Miles comes to rely on Gwen in a way that makes him feel safe and supported whenever she is around. He knows she will always have his back and he does his best to do the same for her. While they aren't a couple, everyone the meet treat them as such. Including his parents who have met Gwen. Overall, Miles wishes people would stop doing that. It's funny at first, but Miles doesn't want Gwen to feel pressured into a relationship. Miles is a sweet, kind heart guy who doesn't expect his feels to eventually be reciprocate. Falling in love and having a family are an eventually for him, but he wants his partner to also want those things to. If Gwen doesn't come to want those things on her own, Miles will move on. It would hurt but Miles knows what he wants. It a matter of how will he get there.

Now Gwen! She is a bard because musician. Gwen can play a variety of instruments, most often playing the lyre because that make her the most money. But Gwen's true calling in instruments are ones that are more rhythmic. She has a voice like a songbird. Like any bard, she can pair magic with her music for attacks or to amplifying her teammates. Gwen has light leather armor. She very strong at hand to hand combat and pretty deadly with a knife. But overall, Gwen generally tries her best to avoid fighting and has very strict no killing rule.

As for Gwen’s childhood it was a bit rough around the edges. Her mom caught a plague sickness and died when Gwen was 7. After that, Gwen and her father's relationship grew to become strained. He was a very strict, paranoid man. They often moved a lot because of his job. George was a bounty hunter. Gwen never had any long term friends growing up because of this. But her knack for music helped her form bonds with others quite easily. At some point in her teens she had a falling out with her Dad which lead her to part ways with him. She has not seen him since.

She traveled alone for a bit but was taken in by the family of an old friend she had made in her childhood. For a couple of years, she lived with Peter and his aunt. Peter introduced her to his other friend Harry. Harry was an wizard in training. Peter, on the other hand, was working on becoming a paladin. Peter and Harry all had goals of becoming well renowned heroes. Gwen, as much as she wanted to be a hero too, she also just wanted to go where ever Petter and Harry went because they had become her found family. So Gwen learned to channel magic through her music so she could be helpful. Before they could set out together, tragedy struck. Peter mysteriously died. Gwen was falsely blamed. All this led to Harry and her having a huge falling out. In the end, Gwen had to skip town and was back to traveling alone again.

Gwen spent a long time on her own after that. Partially because she was trying to hide from her past. Partially because she was self-punishing herself for the role she played in Peter’s death. So, Gwen shutted out the world. She became a hollow shell of a person. It wasn’t until she came across a helpless, lost wizards, Miles, that Gwen started to open herself up to others. Miles taught her to slow down and to enjoy the little moment. That adventure wasn't just the ending but the journey too. But most of all, Miles made Gwen feel loved in a way she had never felt before. Gwen loves him back, but she’s scare her secret will turn him away. So Gwen tries her best to shove her feels into a box and tries to ignore them (It doesn't work). Gwen only wants the best for Miles. She has a hard time dealing with these feels.

Spoilers for the fic below. There are some extra details about a character and reading this removes the big surprise:

So yeah, Gwen is a harpy. Gwen’s dad, George, is also a harpy. There are many types of Harpies. Gwen's family falls better under the classification of a fury. Fury is a religion and kind of harpy, if that makes sense. They have a very strong sense of justice. They fall into the hawk-people category of human hybrids. They have barbed wings and hawk like feet. While the patterning of feathers can vary from fury to fury, Gwen and George have feathers spanning most of their back, all of their shoulder, and little of there upper arms and upper chest. They also have feathers from the knee down. Their feathers vary from a golden yellow to a bronze color.

You know how I said George was a bounty hunter, well he hunts magical creature poachers. He's a little of a punisher type guy. That's part of the reason why his relationship with Gwen turns sour. Gwen’s mother was a normal human. She only found out about her husband true nature after Gwen was born. Helen Stacy was very surprised by her daughter's wings and feet. Although she wished George was honest from the start, she still loved both George and Gwen.

Furies like Gwen and her father have been binding their wings and feet for the better part of a century. Gwen got started when she was an infant. There are very few fury left and none freely walk as themselves. The killings of furies were way more systemic and pushed for by governments than the world like to remember.

This made Fury assimilated into human society. Most of the newest generation can’t fly. They may not cut off their wings, but they don’t have the muscles strength to take off from the ground. They don't know their own culture either. The language they once spoke is practically dead. Many only feel like they are furies by blood and by blood alone. Otherwise they identify as humans, more specially tall men, because that how people see them and that how they live their lives as.

Also, if you’re wondering why most don’t cut off their wings, it is because it doesn’t fix anything. They still can’t see a doctor. They have scare tissue on their backs. Plus, fathom pains. Plus, it messes up the development of muscles in their back and sometimes lead to spine issues. It’s a lot more trouble than it’s worth.

Well this was longer than expected. About three pages, lol. I am not turning this is into a 100k word fic. But if this is anything, this can give you an idea of how in depth of a background I give to characters.

[vigilskeep]

Ik that staves are like the Thing for Dragon Age mages, but if all they are is enchanted pieces of wood and metal couldn’t anything be used to channel their magic? Originally, I started thinking about it because I wanted my mage warden to use something that was smaller and out of the way, but I think the sky is the limit

i have posts here and here on why i believe in Stave Supremacy

that being said, that’s more because my style of analysis leans towards explaining why what we see might be what we see rather than going off the rails. if you WANT to say they can just use anything then by all means!!

my other thought is also obviously the arcane warrior, where a big part of the specialisation seems to be the ability to conduct spells through a weapon. i also think the ability to conduct spells through heavy armour is at play here and seems the most reasonable literal interpretation as to why only arcane warriors can wear heavy armour (although there’s also a magical replacement for physical strength and endurance happening). it would be delightful to me if being an arcane warrior is simply the capacity to cast in armour without the spell getting “trapped” and just incinerating everything WITHIN the armour i.e. you. even then, i believe some spells require free hands and some can be done with a weapon in hand, which is honestly a fascinating limitation if you take that as literal in world. anyway my point is that if you want to stay lore compliant but have some mages be able to use stave replacements i would say arcane warriors are the way to go for weird channelling, so you could have fun with that for the warden, any dao + awakening mage companions taught the spec, and if you really want to push it maybe even also any dalish or knight-enchanter mages who might have the right remnant of arcane warrior learning

[broodwolf221]

welcome to dadwc!! I love the look of varric/solas so how about 'obfuscate - to muddle; confuse; bewilder' since they're both such splendid deceivers?

thank you! this was a fun one uwu ended up being a collection of dialogue btwn them, getting a little shippy right at the end~ @dadrunkwriting 487 words

A series of small deceits.

“So, Chuckles, what prompted all the Fade-walking you do?”

“Hm? Ah, well. There was little of interest for a mage in the small village I was in.”

“Really? I mean, I’m no expert on mages, but they seem more than able to find a purpose wherever they are.”

“Pleased to surprise, Master Tethras.”

“I’m sure.”

-

“Varric, you knew the rebel mage, Anders?”

“Blondie? Yeah, I knew him.”

“Your book, Tales of the Champion, is purposefully vague on what became of him.”

“Well, it made for a better narrative than ‘I have no clue where Anders is.’”

“Hm.”

-

“Okay, I know, dreaming and Fade-walking and all. But seriously, how do you know so much about the ancient elves?”

“I have traveled deep into the Fade. Deeper than most Dreamers dare go.”

“Fortunate for us, I guess.”

“So it seems.”

-

“I find it strange that you’ve named your crossbow, Varric.”

“What’s so strange about it?”

“It is a weapon. I’ve not named my staff. Bull has not, as far as I know, named his greataxe. Is the crossbow named for its inventor?”

“If it was, I wouldn’t tell you. No offense, Chuckles, but we’ve talked about this - I’m not keen on this type of weapon ending up in the wrong hands.”

“An understandable precaution.”

“I’m glad you think so.”

“However, it seems... unwise, to possibly name your weapon after it’s creator.”

“Ah, but you don’t know that I did, do you?”

“Will the uncertainty stop people from seeking this ‘Bianca’?”

“Chuckles, you can’t swing a nug in Orzammar without hitting a ‘Bianca’.”

“Ah.”

-

“You seem awful confident about what Corypheus is planning.”

“It is not confidence so much as it is observation.”

“Yeah, yeah. You’ve seen his like in the Fade, right? But isn’t he a little different?”

“A tyrant is a tyrant, Varric.”

“Sure, but he’s not just a tyrant, he’s apparently a Magister. Or a darkspawn. Or both. Oh, and I helped kill him. And he’s maybe immortal? Don’t you think that sets him apart? How can you predict someone like that?”

“He is not the first to seek supremacy over other beings. His nature seems less important than his motivations, and how he will seek to achieve them.”

“Sure, Chuckles. You keep telling yourself that.”

-

“So, Varric.”

“Yes?”

“I noticed you speaking with another dwarf yesterday.”

“Yeah, and?”

“You called her Bianca.”

“Well, that’s her name.”

“Is she the Bianca? The one you’ve named your crossbow after?”

“I told you before, Chuckles-”

“I know, I know. Can’t swing a nug. Not sure why one would try, but that is beside the point.”

“Not my fault that Orzammar isn’t very clever about names.”

“Hm.”

---

“So, Chuckles, you still haven’t unpacked.”

“I told you, I haven’t committed to staying here.”

“Right... yeah, you did tell me that. Two months ago.”

“Your point?”

“Oh, don’t worry about it. What’s mine is yours, after all.”

[the13thtraveler]

The True History of Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

With the new wizard game recently released, I wanted to share a re-write of the history I created for Ilvermorny before JRK got her mitts into it. My version has been re-done to conform more with what canon I could use (Houses, location) but attempts to make it better. FYI I am not First Peoples so hopefully my representations of them were respectful. And as always, much love to @americanwizarding for inspiring me to make my own American canon (and letting me use some of their own creations for my canon too).

Born in 1603 Elias Sayre was the youngest child of William and Rionach Sayre, an Irish Pure-Blood Family. The Sayre’s traced their history back centuries and counted among their ranks the legendary witch Morrigan on William’s side and Salazar Slytherin on Rionach’s. While they did not share the same level of rabid blood supremacy as other members of their extended family did, the Sayre’s were not the type to mingle with Muggles and Muggle-Borns.

Elias’ first disappointed his family when attending Hogwarts as he was sorted into Hufflepuff, breaking the long tradition of Sayres being proud Gryffindors. His time at Hogwarts was unremarkable as he did not try out for Quidditch and excelled at charms and transfiguration over battle magic and curses. Most of his family wrote Elias off as a black sheep and expected nothing much from him except to not embarrass the family name. Unfortunately Elias failed at this too.

Graduating from Hogwarts in 1619 he traveled to London and took up with the Muggle-Born community there. Elias became a strong advocate for Muggle rights including votes for Muggle and Magical women, abolition, and general equality. While his parents were able to overlook his bleeding heart approach, his extended family could not bear to extend him the same courtesy. His great aunt, Gormlaith Gaunt, especially hated Elias viewing him as a blight on the family tree. It was when Elias made a public proposal of marriage to a Muggle woman that Aunt Gormlaith took matters into her own hands.

The Sayres and the Gaunts had a substantial fortune between them and Gormlaith used some of the money to hire mercenary wizards to murder her nephew Elias. What Gormlaith (and Elias’ parents) did not know was that Elias was a Seer, a mage with the power to see the future. Elias had witnessed his Aunt’s betrayal and so forewarned withdrew a large amount of money from his family’s Gringotts account and fled England for the new world on the easiest ship to board: the Mayflower. Giving the fake name of Elias Story, Elias traveled across the Atlantic to hopefully find a new life in the New World.

During the long journey Elias realized that he would find no friends or allies among the Puritans and so the 18 year old fled Plymouth Colony for the western wilds of Massachusetts. He had heard about the various native tribes that lived in the Americas, but seeing how they were treated by the colonists led Elias to be fearful of them and so for three years he avoided all contact with anyone, hiding himself with his magic. Elias made his home atop the tallest point in Massachusetts, Mount Greylock, in a stone cottage well protected from detection both magical and mundane. He christened his new home Ilvermorny after his own childhood home, and was determined to make it a place of hope and love like he had never known.

During his isolation Elias learned about and even befriended several magical creatures of the region. He had a few polite conversations with Pukwudgies, had pet and ridden a Snallygaster, and beheld the magnificent migration patterns of the Thunderbird. The Thunderbirds held a special place in Elias’ heart as they used Mount Greylock as a roost during their travels across the continent. While at first weary of him, the Thunderbirds grew to trust Elias and he was able to harvest some of their tail feathers for study.

It was during one of his foraging expeditions that Elias came upon a group of No-Maj Mohican hunters (No-Maj is the American term for Muggle, short for No-Magic) who were being set upon by a Hidebehind. This beast had already killed several of the party as its pelt and natural invisibility made it almost impossible for No-Majs to fight it. Elias however made short work of the monster and dispatched it with his magic. The hunters, while obviously and rightly suspicious of a European with magic, thanked Elias and asked him to accompany them to speak with their chief Etow Oh Koam. It was with great trepidation that Elias agreed.

Elias found that he had little to worry as he was warmly welcomed by the Mohican tribe of western Massachusetts. Etow Oh Koam had three children who were all No-Maj-Born and was delighted to learn that there were other practitioners of magic from other parts of the world. This moment would be life-changing and some would argue world-changing as Elias’ eyes set upon the chief’s daughter Tahawus. It was love at first sight for both and Elias would make a point of meeting with the tribe as often as possible to have a chance of meeting Tahawus. The perfect opportunity provided itself for Elias to visit often, for Etow Oh Koam suggested a trade of magical knowledge and Elias was all too glad to accept.

While Elias had never before made a wand he knew of the process and already possessed a wide range of magical supplies. North America was full of new magical creatures from the dragon-like Snallygaster to the noble Horned Serpent. Elias had collected a sizable amount of suitable cores and so for a whole month made five wands for the Mohican’s magical members. Widely accepted as the first American made wand, the wand of Red Maple and Horned Serpent Horn that Elias presented to Tahawus was said to be as powerful as it was beautiful. Elias had poured his heart into it and offered it as a token of his love, which was happily accepted. When Elias asked Etow Oh Koam for his daughter’s hand in marriage the chief was confused for Tahawus was in fact two-spirit, they were one of few who though born of one gender preferred the social customs and responsibilities of the other. Elias was unfazed and history records his reply as simply “my heart has never led me astray”. Tahawus, who had been frightened that Elias would respond with revulsion and horror, was said to have produced magic of such beauty and joy with their wand that those who witnessed it believed that the spirits themselves were blessing the happy couple. They were soon married and Tahawus moved in with their husband Elias into their cottage.

Their marriage was a joyous one and as they could not have children of their own they adopted two young Mohican mages whose parents had died due to a magical disease. Elias and Tahawus took care of Alawa (girl) and Ahanu (boy) as if they were their own, and Elias taught them the ways of wandwork and European magic. It was here Elias found his calling and began offering his knowledge to all magical members of the tribe as well as those from neighboring tribes that had pacts with the Mohican. For all of them Elias made wands and taught them spells of protection and concealment so that they might preserve their own tribes from No-Majs coming to steal their lands. Elias found a use for the stolen money he had brought with him and purchased land on Mount Greylock for himself. 

Alawa and Ahanu had always been enchanted by their father’s stories of Hogwarts far across the ocean and so desired to have their own version here. Elias agreed and so Tahawus suggested they each found their own house, not named after themselves but after their favorite magical creatures. Fierce and fiesty Alawa chose the Wampus, calm and thoughtful Ahanu chose the Horned Serpent, kind and gentle Tahawus chose the Pukwudgie, and adventurous and wise Elias chose for himself the Thunderbird. For a while the school flourished among the native tribes of the region until a magical explorer stumbled upon the cottage after fleeing a Hidebehind. Amazed by what he saw he traveled back to the Colonies and shared his information. Not long after this tales of a school of magic hidden in western Massachusetts reached the ears of magical colonists up and down the coast and soon Elias found European families petitioning him to educate their children too. Realizing what was happening Elias and Tahawus used their magic to grow their home from a humble cottage into a large castle atop a mountain. While it would undergo numerous renovations in the coming centuries Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry would open its doors officially in 1630, becoming the first European styled school of magic in North America.

Unfortunately, word of the school passed beyond the Colonies and back to the old world. When Gormlaith Gaunt heard the tale of a young man Elias who was married to a two-spirit (a Native American and a No-Maj-Born at that!) she became apoplectic with rage. Horrified that this indignity would destroy the name of her family she herself set off to the New World with the intention of hunting down her nephew, destroying him and his “unnatural” family, and ensuring that his legacy never be tied to the Sayre or Gaunt names. She disguised herself as William Sayre and traveled to the new world upon the Bonaventure, after which she stole into the American wilderness and headed north to Massachusetts.

It was on a late summer night in 1634 when Gormlaith Gaunt reached Mount Greylock and Ilvermorny. Traveling up she called out to her nephew, lying that she had come to seek forgiveness for her earlier transgressions. In his kindness Elias stepped out to see her and then she struck. It is said that the battle lasted for almost an hour. As soon as Gormlaith attacked Elias, Tahawus burst from their home roaring with rage and joined the battle, along with their adopted children. While they fought four against one, Gormlaith proved herself stronger and more dangerous. Elias and Tahawus fought to not only stop her but to protect their children, and Gormlaith used that against them. Targeting the children with a dark curse Elias threw himself in front of them taking the full brunt of the blast which almost killed him. One down Gormlaith moved forward for the kill, and that is when the Thunderbirds arrived. Witnesses to the battle from afar noted that the early stages looked like a thunderstorm atop the mountain, and that its finale was like a storm of fury and rage. Called by their supernatural sense for magical danger the Thunderbirds swarmed Mount Greylock and with a mighty and collective flap released a bolt of lightning so powerful and so concentrated that it reduced Gormlaith Gaunt to dust in a moment. All that remained of the wicked Aunt was a charred stick that had been her wand and a few twisted bits of jewelry.

Elias made a quick recovery tended by Tahawus and his children and the winds scattered Gormlaith’s ashes to the four corners of the world. Elias felt such a strong dedication to the Thunderbirds that saved his family that after his recovery he built permanent nesting grounds for them and to this day a flock of Thunderbirds still call Ilvermorny their part-time home.

News of the battle quickly spread and made its way back to England. Elias’ parents were shocked by the brutal actions of Gormlaith, but they were also proud of how their son defended his home and his family. While they didn’t openly approve of his marriage or his views, a letter to Elias arrived a few months after the battle. His parents had written to him an apology for never believing in him and for driving him away. Though they knew they would most likely never see each other again, they wanted their son to know that they were proud of him, proud of the family he loved and protected, and proud of the school he built. Elias would never speak of the letter but it still hangs preserved and framed in the Headmaster’s office to this day. 

Elias and Tahawus lived well into their hundreds, staving off Arcane Governor William Stoughton and his Scourers during the American Wizarding Revolution and witnessing the founding of the Magical Confederation of the United States of America. When they passed away together in 1718 President Charity Wilkinson (Wampus) declared a national day of mourning and remembrance for the two beloved educators. Alawa and Ahanu both went on to form their own families who produced children of magical power. Today, the current Headmistress Isabella Ingersoll is a direct descendant of Ahanu and the Sayre line.

[astarab1aze]

Do all nightfolk share a religion? Are there any religions that are "false", or are there any gods nobody believes in? Does their popularity affect them?

there's no one overarching religion; there's many, many, and all are centered around the outer gods with few minor. there are a near countless amount of gods that have either been forgotten (both hydre and nocturne fall into this category) or 'killed' by other gods, fate-touched heroes, eaten by the worldeater or the thousand-head hydra. nightfolk tend to believe in their own gods, but there are some who believe in others outside of them - abrahamic gods, japanese spirits, african gods and spirits, native american, etc; there's always cultural mixing, of course! - though this is a much, much rarer occurrance and it's not so much about belief as it is that nightfolk gods are, well, nightfolk gods.

they don't really...name? their religions? they name everything else though. but, for example, nightfolk who worship sanguinach the bloodweaver are called sanguinarians (clerics from certain healing houses are also commonly referred to as bloodweavers). nightfolk who worship mausza and the sightless eye are referred to as oracles or fateweavers colloquially, even though both titles are specific to the upper ranks of their clergy. worshippers of spira thornis are simply referred to as thornisians or thornisian hexbreakers (which is a bit redundant since spira thornis is the hexbreaker; nightfolk legitimately do not care). anyone involved with artyr myrdin is referred to as a member of the 'circle'. followers of the face-eater are either hunters, shifters, or weres, and don't call themselves by any special names.

now, i'll say this: if you've noticed, in all my character bios, effectively all my muses hate sanguinarians. they're largely zealots, tend to believe explicitly in vampire supremacy as sanguinach and the nightfather intended, are extremely violent, lots of terrorism and human sacrifice going on there, orgies - it's all very culty. there are regular people who happen to worship sanguinach but are primarily and strictly healers, separating religion from practice and are, y'know, normies about things (some people do adhere to their oaths).

i got off track--

as far as popularity goes - yes and no. it's not so much about popularity or anything like that, but purpose and results. most adherents get some kind of blessing or curse, depending on denomination - but because there are tangible results to their efforts and tenets, rewards even, it's much easier for them to choose who to worship and commit. of course, often times, that's what grandma and dad were, may as well be too - kind of a lot of that actually. some indoctrination, brainwashing even. no one's hands are clean. most try to pick the lesser evil because there aren't really any good options for them, in terms of religion. worshipping the face-eater sounds nice until you (seemingly) randomly fly into a monstrous rage, hunting and killing anything in your path. worshipping sanguinach sounds cool until you're releasing a herd of blackwyrms into a crowd and watching as children get torn to shreds, mhmm. worshipping mausza and the sightless eye's all starry and aesthetic, until you are quite literally silenced, spiritually shackled, and forced to fulfill their wills or risk watching everything and everyone you ever loved die in some fashion.

they're all generally high risk, high reward types, the main six outer gods? yep. most certainly once mages, all of them. absolute pains in the ass-

well, wait. so the whole outer gods thing is in itself a religion, i suppose. i guess there is sort of a framework there, it's kind of like mmm s.kyrim, now that i think on it.

[pumpthefruits]

maxfield masterlist (SIKE NOT ACTUALLY ANYMORE IVE MOVED ACCOUNTS)

hi umm hi so my stranger things hyperfix has dropped off the face of the earth.. so um. yeah um. sorry!!! i’ll probably get back into it once st5 drops!!

until then feel free to enjoy the fics i’ve already written!!

hi guys its me from the future (8/31/24). unfortunately my stranger things obsession has come out of dormancy and im back on ao3 :) i wanted to (mostly) start fresh, so im writing under the name rosesgf now!! my favorite fics have been moved over to my new account, but everything else will stay on maxfield. just didnt want anyone to think i was plagiarizing my own work LMAO thanks for reading!!! lets get hyped for season 5!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! im leaving this up because i think the aesthetic is still v pretty

byers family.

the cleric and the mage — In the transitional period after moving to Lenora, Will adjusts to having a new sister, a new house, and a new school.

(Willel sibling dynamic. Ongoing, 1/?)

when the truth is told — Will Byers coming out fic. Joyce-centric. Ongoing, 3/?

cold — The aftermath of S2’s exorcism. Angst. Completed.

splinters — Possessed/villain Will. Willel telekinetic fight. One scene.

catch up — Brotherly bonding between Jonathan and Will. One scene.

friend of my brother is my enemy (or something like that) — Jonathan-centric. Mike Wheeler coming out fic. Completed.

byler fics.

the cure — Post-ST4 apocalypse. Traveling through time. Ongoing, 1/3.

conflict of interest — Mike Wheeler POV character study. Internalized homophobia with the Party in high school. Ongoing, 1/?

pass the dutchie pon the left hand side — OLD one-shot. Jargyle supremacy.

can you save my heavy dirty soul — First Byler fic. Be warned ☝️☝️☝️ it’s not great. Will gets Vecna’d. Completed.

ronance.

we fell in love in october — First Ronance fic. They read each other’s palms 🫶 Completed.

collision — Nancy Wheeler character study. Ronance first kiss!!! Completed.

imperfect — Quick scene. Robin stocks shelves while Nancy watches.

misc.

the party experience — In which Lucas Rizzclair has kissed every member of the Party at least once. Byclair endgame. Completed.

not gonna stop ‘til i get my shot — Byclair. Lucas tries to teach Will how to shoot a basket. Complete.

being pretty — Sapphic Mileven. Genderfluid Mike Wheeler. One scene.

permanently night — Old fic I wrote about Lucas opening Max’s letter.

too young to die, too worn to live — Set during the two day timeskip. Lucas and Dustin grapple with the aftermath of Vecna’s victory.

lavender and honey — Karen and Joyce in high school. Possibly unrequited love (it is requited; I know because I wrote it 🫶)

[turntwirlclick]

Lotte's Journal, Day 1

The words "Dear Diary" are written into the first line, stricken through and then thoroughly cut up into pieces with angry strokes of ink. "Reminder: No delete button!!"

"Due to unexpected developments in my latest scientific foray, I, Axiom Lotte, have deemed it the most rational to record my progress in a format untainted by the influence of Realmlink tech, lest I aggravate alarm the Higher-ups without cause. The situation is not quite as dire my first assessment would have had it. Interviews with the locals have elicited the following information: The target My charge is named Sage Berggarten, unemployed, age 25. He possesses no known family or friends, and as such, this world won't miss him for a while still." The word Whew! is placed down and emphasized at the end of this paragraph— the bored writer had taken to drawing squares and arrows onto it as a means of cathartic release during the creative process. "He was, according to my own infallible analysis of the interviewee's response pattern, a soul of pure Blue. This narrows my search down to a single neighboring world. No doubt a monumental search still, but nothing beyond my genius. Once the portal is calibrated, I will depart ASAP."

Letting go of the pen and slumping over the plastic chair she had stolen earlier from a hot dog stand, the psychopomp twists her left wrist with her hand. "Oww, this sucks... Do people really use these in underdeveloped worlds? What a pain.." The bright yellow color of her outfit contrasted with the boring grey of the environment, the lack of decorations on this perfect metal cube conveying the practicality of its sole inhabitant. The only notable features, besides the computer desk littered with Realmlink implements of all colors and shapes, are the equally boring spiral staircase on the corner and the massive circular structure on the wall opposite to the desk, a dimensional portal of sorts with a single button right down the middle.

"Well then, it's time to get started." The psychopomp places the diary, sized for small children and decorated with pictures of yellow ducklings, into her trusty satchel and casually strides up to the button, taking deep breathes and preparing for what is to come. She thinks of her destination, a world of untold mysteries where the gods are as incomprehensible as they are fickle, where mage kings and elven lords battle for supremacy over mana — a concept they themselves can barely explain. A world known to her as B-63193. She presses the button confidently. "Initiating leap of faith." The circle emits a bright white light and a swirling screen of plasma forms in the center. With nary a thought, Lotte leaps headfirst into the vortex, leaving behind nothing but stardust.

...

In a grassy hill overlooking a fruit farm, a single strawberry falls onto the head of a grey haired teen. He chuckles, picking it up and having a bite, sitting up against the small tree that keeps him company. "Hmm, fresh, but I prefer you like this~" With a flick of his hand, the moisture on the fruit coalesces into a floating sphere, which he flings away, munching on the delectable snack left behind. He had lived his entire life in the idyllic village of Autumn's Hill but showed immense promise as a sorcerer nonetheless, standing toe to toe with scholars twenty years his senior.

"Sage! Sage! You won't believe what just happened!" His younger sibling jogged up to him, stopping to breathe before explaining, hands on their knees still. "There's an archmage from the capital, and she requested for you by name!" His eyes widen at the mention of the word archmage and he jolts up like a soldier to a siren of war.

"Is anyone home?"

"Mom's there, she said someone had to entertain our guest."

"Right." Using magic to manifest a puddle of water on the ground, he adjusts his dull-colored peasant's attire with the help of the reflection. "I'm going right away. Thanks, Camellia."

[avidrawsthings]

what do the malfoys think of reina and her family? and whats their stance on vytarian magic?

Went ahead and divided it into different sections since I wanted to include some info on Reina's family for context. Short versions included under each section cuz I can never stop myself from rambling lol

The Caelestis Clan

In short: An ancient and powerful clan known in both magical and non-magical worlds. Many elite families tried to form connections over the years. Also, pissing them off is a very bad idea.

--

Reina is part of an ancient and powerful clan known as the Caelestis, with their origins tracing back as far as the ancient Roman Empire. As practitioners of Vytarian Magic, they were equally powerful and skilled Mages. The family's influence was known in both magical and non-magical worlds thanks to all of their achievements over the years, so many elite families from both worlds often hoped to form connections with them.

Although the Caelestis were mostly Purebloods, they didn't believe in the supremacy nonsense to the point of looking down on those that did. From the early 70s to late 90s, the only living members of the Caelestis were Reina and her father Rolando. Unknown to the public, most of the clan had been wiped out back in the early 50s as they had fallen into corruption. Rolando was spared since he was a newborn. The family expands in 1994 when Talbott marries Reina, and in 1998 with the birth of their quadruplets Corvo, Ava, Raven and Altair.

Reina had been advised by her father to keep her clan's origins private, which is why they went by Cortez in the first place. It was to help avoid unwanted attention. When Merula discovered this secret during their 3rd year, she made it public in an attempt to ruin Reina's reputation. The intent was to reveal how someone of her status was willing to associate with Muggleborns and "Blood Traitors", but it instead achieved the opposite effect. For a brief time, many elite families tried to earn Reina and her dad's favor, with the Malfoys being no exception.

Malfoys

In short: Little Draco ends up bonding with Reina when they meet, which Lucius sees as beneficial to forming connections with her family.

Like several other Pureblood supremacist high society families, the Malfoys saw it best to keep their more critical opinions to themselves for the sake of forming connections. Also because it was unwise to piss off a family as powerful as the Caelestis. Certain people were noted to have suddenly disappeared in the past when they said the wrong thing.

They believed that the clan's open acceptance of those "beneath" them was due to being products of their environment. Rolando was adopted and raised by a Muggle and "Blood Traitor", and in an environment like Crystal Beach where it was normal for them.

I haven't played the 'Meet the Malfoys' SQ so I'll be going off just the initial meeting at the start of it. Lucius wouldn't antagonize Reina like he would in-game, and instead be as respectable as possible. While she'd see right past this, she'd go along with it for the sake of keeping things civil. No use causing unnecessary problems.

She would still bond with little Draco after he becomes fascinated with her magic, as she understood he was a product of his environment and a brat at worst because of it. Draco genuinely looked up to her, which his parents saw as the perfect opportunity to win the family's favor.

Views on Vytarian Magic

In short: They view it as an amazing power that's being wasted on people they see as beneath them, not counting the Caelestis family.

Not counting Draco, the Malfoys are one of many that view this magic as an amazing source of power that's wasted on a community like Crystal Beach, which is also the only known place in the world where it's taught. They feel it'd be far more beneficial at the hands of someone like Voldemort, who they feel is more worthy of such a power.

Despite the Contract System and rules of the magic put in place, it hasn't stopped others from trying to find ways around that to get that power for themselves, be it directly or indirectly. After befriending Reina, Draco genuinely wanted to learn it. On one hand, this was a great opportunity to be in good standing with the Caelestis family. On the other hand, it meant a potential clash of their respective beliefs.

Vytarian Mages pride themselves on rejecting elitist and hateful views such as Pureblood Supremacy, while the Malfoys embrace this. They feel that if they allowed Draco to learn that magic, they'd run the risk of him rejecting their beliefs or even distancing himself from them. No high society connection was worth that risk in their eyes.

Although Reina and her dad strongly dislike Lucius and Narcissa for good reason, they keep that to themselves for the sake of civility. They don't hold anything against Draco for the obvious reason that he's just a little kid, and as a show of good faith, gift him his own Familiar and Infinitus (spellbook) with his parents' permission.

They also allow him to keep in contact with Reina due to seeing her as a positive influence in terms of status, completely unaware of the positive impact she'd have on him and the person he'd become.

[bastardsunlight]

(June/Jericho or like, yknow, Noxus muses)

It was hard to make a prognosis at this time. They only just managed to pull her from immediate danger. June would live, for now, but for how long? And will her magic survive with her? All they knew was this: The bedridden child had saved the Immortal Bastion and all inside it from destruction, overloading her own power and absorbing a force that was dangerous and violent, the equal and opposing force causing the threat to fizzle away, and June to fall to the floor in a heap.

This was not a restful period for June, as Le Blanc filled in the blanks that her own powers would manifest, if she had the strength. That her sacrifice meant nothing, that no one was waiting for her on the other side, and without her magic, she was useless, he would discard her. It was only the inner circle of the Bastion present, watching June listlessly whisper to herself. "Nothing... nothing..." If she were in this state before, she'd be rudely awakened and thrown back into her work, she was simply waiting to be seized.

"You best put her out of her misery now, Jericho... What is she to you without her powers? Even more of a burden... Nothing. It was pathetic, her infatuation for you Darius, you should all abandon her, go back to your posts, she means nothing... She'll die how she lived, alone in a dark room, in pain, unloved, nothing to anyone..." "Nothing... Nothing..."

Swain could hear the voice, that malicious thing—she was talking to both of them, his secret agent of Guile, former lover, and maestra of Noxian upheavals, successes and all manner of shifting since its inception as a sovereign nation. He tossed his hand about to dispel her, holding June’s small fingers in his large, ruby, demonic one.

She liked that hand, he knew, so he held hers with it.

Nearby, the Hand himself stood, arms folded behind, watching with concern, brows furrowed. Outside the door, he knew his brother waited, watched, and guarded. Draven was insufferably full of himself, but even had had come to appreciate the waif mage who’d taken up residence in the Immortal Bastion. He figured he probably scared her and that was just fine; she wasn’t his type anyhow, but there was something about her that made a fellow want to be protective—like a sister, he figured, since he’d never actually had one.

“You will recover, little one,” Swain purred, “but first you must rest… let your mind be at ease.” His free hand reached down to push hair off her sweat-soaked, clammy forehead. “And when you awaken, we will create wonders… Noxus has never known power like yours and with it, she will rise to supremacy…”