Send me a 🧩 and an OC and I’ll tell you about a piece of me (looks, personality, Trauma, etc.) that I gave that OC.
Or, if they’re completely opposite, I’ll tell you about a piece of me that directly contrasts them.
Mun: Aww, thank you, friend!
Hmm. I'm gonna go away from the prompt and say this: the journey with Bảo's character development has been a fun one.
When I first conceptualized The Magic Aunt, for some reason this is what ventured toward my initial vision:
[Visual made by a now defunct dollmaker by RinmaruGames]
At the time I was desperate for positive male figures in my life. This transferred to Lyra in the form of Bảo.
A quick rundown of this man:
By Start of Game, Bảo’s in his early to mid 40s
Walterine by contrast is in her late 30s, and James is early to mid 30s
Favorite Food: Fishcake (Chả cá)
Favorite Drink: Iced coffee (Cà phê đá)
Favorite Flower: Bamboo blossom
[More under the cut!]
When I first conceptualized him, he started off as an aromantic bisexual. Bảo even dies in the first iteration of Lyra’s LI Librarian Route. This was due to the lingering effects of the ash from the Lazaret’s chimneys blowing over Vesuvia, and Lyra had made her own deals with Devil in order to keep him alive . . . at the expense of her own life/energy.
I can expand in another post about that if there is enough interest/my plot bunnies bug me about it. Whichever comes first.
Then, there was the briefest stint of him having an abusive partner for a short while, but I eventually scrapped that altogether (though in some old old RPs I had with friends there’s still mention of her here and there . . .).
Eventually, well, you yourself @vesuvianoak reminded me of two OCs we’ve tossed back and forth to each other for a while! Walt and James!
With them brought to the forefront of my memory, Bảo soon had two partners he love and they in turn love him!!! With the trio established, Neha was added to the mix, and boom! The Aster-Nguyen family was complete!
Thanks for the ask—it’s fun going down memory lane!
[Finding Space and Time] | [Counting the Days] | [At the Ready]
Timeline: Muriel’s Route; The Sun
[Featuring @vesuvianoak‘s fan apprentice Ąžuolas]
“Hey, Ąžuolas?” James looks up from the base of the tree. Bảo’s settling into his spot as Ąžuolas leans over the edge of the platform.
“Yeah?” Ąžuolas replies.
“That’s my husband you got there . . .” James murmurs. “Please watch out for him.”
“JAMES!” Bảo exclaims, “Don’t put so much pressure on him! You so mean!”
His husband laughs, shaking his head. Hand on his sword’s hilt, James replies, “Just making sure. I know you both can take care of yourselves, and each other. I just . . .”
“We’ll have each other’s backs,” Ąžuolas interjects. “That I can promise you.”
James nods at his fellow Southernlander and pulls the hood of his cloak up. With a wave, he’s off to check in on one last group: his wife and daughter at the cave.
O*O*O
“C’mon everyone, please keep in line!” Walt calls out, marking down whoever passes her by on a large pile of parchment. “File in towards the back, stay out of the pond with the giant lily pads, don’t stray from the marked paths, and I’ll be in there with the rest of ya shortly!”
“Walt!” James calls, weaving in and out of the foliage.
“Hey babe!” Walt continues to sign people in as she and her husband share a quick peck. “Bảo situated?”
“Yeah,” James nods. “Neha inside yet?”
“Done and done.”
“Good, good . . .”
“You see Ly and Muriel?”
“Back at barricades with the Countess,” James murmurs. “Gods be with us all today.”
Walt checks in the final person to the cave, exhaling in relief.
“I better get in there myself,” she murmurs.
Before she goes in, James pulls her into a tight hug. He’s shaking.
“Hey, hey, hey,” Walt soothes, gently rocking on her heels. The pair sway back and forth together. “You’ve been practicin’ with Ludo and Blumilda. You’ll be fine. Grab a shield on your way to your post.”
“Ach, right,” James groans, hiding his face into her shoulder. “I hope there are some left.”
“Get to it,” Walt encourages, stepping back. She squeezes his shoulders, giving him an earnest smile. “You got this!”
James nods, coming down to give her a proper kiss. With that he leaves, making haste to the weapons storage to grab a shield.
As he fades from view, Walterine starts activating all the protection sigils around the cave.
Neha is waiting for her at the mouth of it. She’s armed with her batting stick, shifting her weight from side to side as her mother strides in. Walt’s eyes glow a deep magenta.
“You didn’t have to wait for little ol’ me,” Walt chuckles.
“I wanted to see it all light up,” Neha replies. She walks backward, eyes pointed toward the nearest rocky surface.
As Walt passes the sigils she’s drawn into the walls, they come to life. A magical wall forms behind her, sealing the front of the cave in a solid mixture of illusory defense. Foliage appears in front of the cave’s mouth, hiding it from discerning eyes,
Before long, Walt sits down among her fellow Vesuvians. She blinks, her glowing eyes flickering in time with the shield’s walls.
As the war horns and drums sound outside, she’s focused on maintaining the shield.
The battle’s begun.
⁂ ⁂ ⁂
FWIP! SWIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII-PAP!
The pebble smacks into an enemy soldier’s forehead. It stuns them enough to crash into their fellow compatriots. The group of them fall right into a hidden trap nearby, knocking even more of their soldiers off their feet.
“Nice one!” Ąžuolas crows, pelting others with hailstones the size of his fist.
“Thank you!” Bảo makes quick work of the contents of the giant leather sack between them. His aim is impeccable, his pebbles the perfect distraction and an actual danger to the exposed skins and craniums of the invaders.
There seems to be five mercenaries for every citizen of Vesuvia. Despite this, none of the enemies have made it anywhere close to the barricades.
When arrows start whizzing by their heads, Ąžuolas switches over to creating his ice traps. Buckets and barrels full of water had been hidden amongst the bushes, allowing Ąžuolas and other water-leaning magicians to make the most of it.
He catches some arrows in balls of ice, redirecting them to the archers that sent them. Down below, soldiers attempting to cut down their tree have Bảo busy.
As he shoots pebbles between several soldiers’ eyes, he hopes James is faring better.
O*O*O
One mercenary managed to disarm him. James is at a severe disadvantage without his sword. With their dagger and his weapon in their hands, the mercenary has him pinned against a nearby tree.
James has his shield up, gritting his teeth. With the other driving their blades into the splintering wood, it’s making it severely difficult to concentrate. The exertion of him pushing back against the enemy is starting to take its toll.
His gaze is locks with this mercenary’s own. Their eyes are wild, reveling in all the bloodshed they wrought upon the fallen Vesuvians around them both.
“Any last words?” they grin, watching as the shield begins to fall apart in James’s hands.
“Go ndeine an diabhal dréimire de cnámh do dhroma ag piocadh úll i ngairdín Ifrinn!” James swears, bracing for when steel would sink into his chest.
Before the mercenary could end him, blurs of white and orange slam into their ankles. James freezes, jaw dropping as recognition falls over him.
Corgis?! What in the world, he hasn’t seen any since—
The merc drops to the ground, trying to shake the dogs off. They bite harder in retaliation, growling and snapping at the mercenary’s offending hands and ankles.
James grabs a piece of his broken shield. Without ceremony, he smashes it over the mercenary’s head. Dusting his hands of the wood dust, he inspects them. He properly knocked them out; they aren’t dead, no, but at the very least concussed.
Seeing that the aggressor was down, the dogs turn around to face James. Their mouths are open, tongues lolling out amicably.
“Madra maith!” James praises the dogs, petting their heads and flanks. “Madra maith—ach, sorry for the blood, little ones!” He turns to find a dewy patch of grass, wiping his hands, wrists and arms free of red.
“Now then,” James looks over the stout little dogs, trying not to frown. “I think you’re all friends, but if you’re with the mercenaries I may be in troub—”
“James?”
He freezes, watching as the corgis trot off toward the direction of the new voice. Slowly, he gets to his feet. He stares at the tall woman approaching.
“James!” she exclaims, dropping her spear and rushing toward him.
His reply is lost in the din of war horns in the distance, but the newcomer sees it on his lips all the same.
Mum!
⁂ ⁂ ⁂
“Is she going to be okay?”
Lyra peers in through the tent flap, looking at Walterine. On the floor of the tent is her aunt, effectively knocked out. Curled up in Walt’s arms is Neha, who is just starting to fall asleep.
“She will be,” Bảo reassures. He’s sitting beside Neha, legs crossed as he looks on at Lyra. “Thank you for checking in, con.”
She nods. “If any of you need anything, Muri and I are just up the hill.”
Bảo laughs. “We know!” As she and her uncle laugh a bit, weighty footsteps come up behind Lyra. Bảo leans over to the side; it’s just enough for him to see that his niece’s beau just behind her.
“Đi con, đi,” Bảo urges, waving her off. “We be okay. I promise.”
Lyra nods at him before stepping away from the tent. Bảo listens as she and Muriel walk away. Before long, the only sound he can hear is the noise of Tent-Vesuvia going through its nightly routine. The man sits back, sighing softly.
James isn’t back from his meeting with the Countess yet. After Bảo and Ąžuolas got down from their perch, a messenger had found Bảo and told him that his husband was in the middle of an extremely important meeting with the Countess.
Apparently, James had encountered someone from his family on the battlefield.
That was as much as Bảo knew of the situation. While the Countess is known for her fairness these days, the fact James encountered his family as they were on the side of the enemy . . .
It puts quite a few thorns into the situation, doesn’t it?
A/N: It’s good to be writing again! This has been in my drafts since January. Thank you so much for reading—it means a lot to me.
To Pay Our Last Respects; Chapter II [IRIS, SHILOH]
[CHAPTER I]
WARNING: Contains massive spoilers from the latter parts of The Arcana: A Mystic Romance.
[With mentions of: @vesuvianoak‘s fan apprentice Ąžuolas and fan kids, Esther, Hazel, and Noah, the lattermost being to whom Iris is married to.]
IRIS
It’s been a while, but I know I’m in the spirit world. It feels real, but the way I walk is a mite slower. When I move, my whole body feels a bit weightless, and so heavy at the same time.
Once I am out of the woods, I finally get my bearings. In the distance is the hut Grandma Khamgalai and Herm have been staying in. It’s never changed, as far as I know.
There’s smoke coming out of the chimney, so I know either Herm or Grandma are in there.
As I continue to make my way there, I look down at where I step. I don’t want to accidentally step or disturb some of the neighbors.
The closer I get though, I start to get a funny feeling. When I’m within reach of the door, I slow my steps, listening.
Inside the hut, I can hear Grandma talking. At first I think it’s to Herm, but then I realize he’s moving around in the hut, cooking something. Grandma would usually be padding around nearby as he did . . . so why wasn’t—?
I hear the Major Arcana’s feet coming my way in the nick of time. I jump out of the way as the door swings open.
“Oh!” Hermit blinks, seeing me on the other side. His starry green eyes are apologetic. “Hello Iris.”
“Hi Herm,” I reply, stepping back to let him come out. As he shuts the door behind him, I ask, “Is there someone else in there with Grandma?”
“Mm,” Hermit nods, sparing a glance behind him before walking on. I follow.
“Wood pile?”
“Mm.”
“Want me to carry or do you want me to chop?”
“Both, if you are able.”
“Of course I’m able!”
We find the wood pile a ways away from the hut. It is really low, which is surprising.
“How’d this happen?” I ask, grabbing an axe nearby.
“The guest in the hut happened,” he replies.
I blink. “Human or demon?”
“Human, like you.”
I pause, setting the axe down again. “I beg your pardon?”
To be honest, I’m not that special: I know there are people that can find their way to The Hermit’s realm, but there are a lot of hoops to jump through in order to even get to this place.
“He’s struggling with a loss, like you,” Herm explains further. I grimace, picking up my axe and getting to work on getting wood for the pile.
It'll be a bit, because I'm unwilling to let Grandma go without while I'm here.
⁂ ⁂ ⁂
After The Hermit and I get the wood pile about 2/3rds the way there, we hear Grandma's voice in the distance: she's calling us to come in for lunch.
I trundle after Hermit, feeling sore. Aunc Asra has told me that if I got hurt here, it's not real. I didn't take my body with me this trip at least, but it's hard not to feel a bit beat up.
Like the gentleman he is, Herm opens the door for me. I see Grandma getting the table ready . . . with our guest.
I pause after closing the door behind me. The person is not that tall. They couldn't be much shorter than Aunc Asra, to be honest.
They got a shock of auburn hair, and a face that strikes me as familiar.
"Iris!" Khamgalai greets, walking over to give me a hug. I gotta bend down really low in order to let her hug me fully. “How are you holding up, sweetie?”
“Uh, could be better,” I reply, giving her a small smile. Grandma ushers me to the table, having me on one side of her, and the stranger on the other.
"Iris, this is Shiloh," she points to the newcomer, flashing a smile. "Shiloh, this is my granddaughter, Iris."
"Hi," they greet, glancing at me before looking away sheepishly.
"Hey yourself," I reply, giving them a little wave. After Grandma lightly nudges them, Shiloh returns the little wave.
Soon, Hermit sits across from her, passing bowls of bantan and cups of tea around. When he also sets down a platter of khuushuur, I grin.
“Thank you for this,” I dip my head to the Arcana.
“It’s no trouble,” Hermit rumbles.
“. . . there’s no pork in this, right?” Shiloh asks, looking at the soup suspiciously.
“No there isn’t,” Grandma replies, patting their shoulder. “Dig in! I knew even before you got in here that you look like you’ve hardly eaten.”
Shiloh blushes vividly, already scooping the thick soup into their mouth.
As we’re all eating, I spare a few glances over to this person. Their clothes make me think of someone with refined but flashy taste, if the long sleeves and gold-colored accents were anything to go by. The material isn’t velvet, but it’s sitting heavily over their body.
What I’m really shocked about though, is their magic. Even if it’s pretty subdued, I can feel the cracklings of . . . something. Given the fact that Khamgalai made bantan, they’re probably a few hours into getting over a hangover too.
After the stranger finishes their soup, Grandma moves the platter of khuushuur over to them.
“This looks like chiburekki,” Shiloh remarks, looking at the offered food.
"Chiburekki?" I echo. Why is that familiar?
"Mhm. A fried dumpling thing." Shiloh picks up one with a wooden fork. They pop it into their mouth, and chew. The khuushuur settles into one of their cheeks as they eat, taking a few moments to savor and chew.
“What’re you in for?” I ask them, chuckling when they’re startled by me addressing them.
After stopping themself from choking, Shiloh swallows, replying with, “I dunno."
I raise an eyebrow and look at Herm. When he shrugs, I look at Grandma.
“Were they the one that got all your wood?”
“Not intentionally,” Khamgalai replies plainly. Shiloh shrinks in their chair, red to their ears as she continues with, “From what I understand, it’s something like this: when he landed in the Hermit’s realm, he got knocked into the wood pile. He smacked into it so hard it scattered to the four winds!”
“How were you drunk before even getting here?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. “Had a night out with your friends?”
Shiloh shifts under my scrutiny, lips pressed tightly together.
“I’m pretty patient, kid,” I forewarn, “I can wait a pretty long while.”
Hermit gets up and leaves us alone. I don’t blame him: these are really weird circumstances. In the meantime, Grandma and Shiloh end up doing dishes together while I tidy up the living area. The two of them exchange a few words here and there. Given Shiloh is stage whispering, I can’t hear much.
After a bit more poking from Grandma, Shiloh finally caves.
“It’s . . . complicated,” he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. He dries his hands and stumbles back over. He seats himself on a low stool.
Slowly, Shiloh leans down, stretching. As he touches the tips of his shoes, Shiloh strategically pops his back. I sit down on a low stool too, settled beside my grandma as Shiloh begins.
He talks about after he went to sleep last night, he woke up in the Arcana realms. When I ask how he knew, Shiloh responds with, “Lamps don’t just grow out of nowhere,” he laughs wryly. “It’s . . . it’s a little fuzzy but I was drinking with this demon I ran into . . .”
⁂ ⁂ ⁂
SHILOH
Hours ago, The Hanged Raven . . .
“ . . . do you get visitors often?” I murmur, nursing my pint of ale in my hands.
“Mm . . . yes and, uh, no,” he replies.
I mm in understanding, trying not to stare. It’s really, really dark in here, but I can make out the outlines of his silhouette. The demon before me . . . he’s humanoid, but massive. From head to taloned feet, he’s covered in black feathers. There's some swathes of dreadfully pale skin—almost grey!—in between rows and rows of said feathers. Thanks to him handing me this pint what I think ale, I can tell he’s got claws at the ends of his massive hands too.
“So, uh . . .” I look to the ceiling, noting the cobwebs. “Have you been out much?”
“Only to hunt,” he replies. He gestures to some bones in the corner of the room. The sight makes my skin crawl.
There were still some chunks of meat on the osseous matter.
“It disgusts you, doesn’t it?” the demon looks into his massive tankard wistfully. “I know I am . . . I can’t change it however.”
“Hey you need to eat to live,” I reply, taking a swig. As the taste of Salty Bitters collides with the back of my throat, I gag. Shaking my head furiously, I heave a strangled, “Oh gods—!”
The demon has a lopsided smile as I dig into my coat pockets, bringing out a handkerchief to hack into. I stuff the cloth into my mouth, trying to soak up whatever remains of the Salty Bitters in my mouth.
“I should’ve uh, forewarned you,” the demon murmurs. “I’ve had them for so long, I don’t taste it anymore. I still feel the effects though,” he laughs, placing a taloned hand over his face.
I spit out my handkerchief, opting to drink out of my canteen of water from then on.
“It’s, cough, okay,” I reassure. “My first drink when I was of age was Salty Bitters. It’s been a while since I had any, haha . . .”
The demon lifts his cup up into open air. One of the ever-floating bottles of Salty Bitters swoops over, filling up his tankard.
“What’re we drinking to?” I ask, steadying the canteen in my hand.
“To better times,” the demon murmurs. He immediately downs the tankard in one go.
It’s after that that I excuse himself, feeling nauseous. This sort of Salty Bitters is far more potent than the ones back home . . .
“Safe travels,” the demon bids me.
As I stumble out, the scenery outside The Hanged Raven has changed. It wasn’t full of red-lit mangroves—
It’s the very edge between a forest and a massive field. I trip, knocking over a wood pile. As I lay on the ground, confused, I decided to sleep it off . . .
⁂ ⁂ ⁂
IRIS
". . . and that’s how I’m here,” Shiloh concludes.
I stare at him, amazed. I look to Grandma, who looks back at me. Then, together, we look at Shiloh.
“How often do you travel the realms?” I ask, my mind racing.
“Often enough that demons don’t faze him,” Grandma replies.
“What your Gran said,” Shiloh nods.
“Um . . .” I rub my neck, trying to calm down. “That demon . . . did he tell you what his name was?”
“They don’t tend to.”
“Did he look familiar to you?”
“I rarely meet the same demon twice,” Shiloh explains, raising an eyebrow. “Why?"
“Salty Bitters is my father-in-law’s favorite drink,” Iris explains. “Julian Devorak’s his name. The fact you said this-this demon was drinking so much to cope—”
“Wait, what?” Shiloh stares at me. “That’s not possible.”
At this point, Grandma decides to get some water for the three of us. As she leaves her seat, Shiloh repeats that it isn’t possible for Julian to be my father-in-law.
“What makes you say that? Do you know Julian?”
“First off: everyone knows my dad,” Shiloh uses his fingers to mark each of his points thereon. “If my Dad is your father-in-law, you’d either be married to me or one of my siblings, if I had any. Since that isn’t the case . . .” He shakes his head some more, looking like he’s suffering another headache.
I rack my brain, trying another avenue: “Do you know Muriel?”
“Barely. He doesn’t like my dad much, so he tends to stay away unless it’s just my mom and/or Asra around.”
“Is your mom Lyra Nguyen?” I feel a strange weight in my chest. The weight is clammy, fueling my crumbling disbelief in what’s happening.
Grandma finally hands me a mug of water. I set it on the nearby table instead, my eyes flicking between the furniture within the hut, and Shiloh’s face.
“ . . . how . . . ?” Shiloh stares at me, expression matching my own.
We both look to my grandma, needing answers.
“Would Herm know?” I ask her.
“He should have some kind of answer,” Grandma nods. “We may need to wait a while, though.”
“Fine by me,” Shiloh sighs. He drinks his water, thanking Khamgalai. “May I sleep on the floor?”
“Let me get you some blankets young man. Please remove your shoes.”
Shiloh nods, immediately unlacing his long boots. I help Grandma get the blankets down from a storage closet, setting up an area for Shiloh to sleep off his hangover some more.
Pretty soon, he’s out to sleep. As for me, I take a moment to just . . . set my head on the table.
Grandma stands beside me, gently smoothing her hand over my back. “You should sleep too,” she recommends.
“I’ll sleep after we hear from Herm,” I softly reply, resting my chin on top of my crossed-over wrists. Satisfied with my answer, albeit a touch worried, Khamgalai leaves me alone.
The truth is . . . I do need sleep. Damn, forget mourning my mother and all for a minute . . .
I fight off my exhaustion with questions. When Mom was still alive, she said for every question I had, The Magician had about thrice as many in turn for me. It feels that way right now . . .
What did Shiloh’s mom see in Julian? According to my own mom and dad, he’s a hell of a nuisance at times. This was extremely so when Mom, Dad, Asra and my uncle Julian went into a crumbling Vesuvia to oust the late Pontifex Vulgora.
Is Nadia still the Countess?
Where’s Portia in all this? She’d be Shiloh’s aunt, right . . .?
What about Asra? Who did he end up with? For some reason, the thought of him travelling all on his own makes me unbearably sad . . .
“Not everyone ends up with someone, and that’s okay.” Mom always told me that. That was her comforting words to me when I was having difficulty finding a partner I wanted to spend my life with.
Considering Shiloh now, that made me wonder . . .
Did Noah exist with Shiloh’s world? Did Uncle Ąžuolas exist? What about Esther and Hazel? Having a world without them, it feels so wrong . . .
WARNING: Contains massive spoilers from the latter parts of The Arcana: A Mystic Romance.
[Featuring: @vesuvianoak‘s fan apprentice Ąžuolas and fan kid, Noah, the latter to whom Iris is married to.]
It’s been raining ever since she passed. The first few hours were just a downpour. According to some, it was as heavy as the rains from when the Red Plague was still running rampant.
Now, at least, it’s lessened to a light drizzle. Her funeral is going to be tomorrow afternoon, barring the rains. I hope it clears up by then . . . she doesn’t need to be buried in mushy mud.
I’m alone in The Shop at the moment. It’s been closed since she passed, though outside is a different story. Customers, neighbors, and kind travelers passing through have left offerings of flowers and rain-drenched candles in condolences to my family.
My hands crackle with sparks. I bring my hands up, leveling the heels of my palms close to my lips. I blow, sending the sparks flitting about until they find the wicks of candles in the shop. Once the space is illuminated, I lower my hood, sighing softly.
It looks like the way we left it when we came back from the Dark Forest . . .
I don’t know who’s taking it harder: me, Aunc Asra, or my dad. Asra and Dad have known Mom for years. The stories of how Asra lost it at Mom and Dad’s wedding is still the stuff of legend.
Right now, Dad and Asra are at Great Uncle Bảo’s old shop. Auntie Neha and the funeral director are helping them with things to be finalized for tomorrow. In the meantime, my better half is at his parents’ place, getting dinner ready. Julian and Ąžuolas offered their place for us, my dad, and Asra to spend the night before the funeral.
Dad and Asra declined, opting to be in the forest to be closer to the hut. I know their plan after dinner is to ward the hell out of the forest. As the theory goes, the dark energies suffocating the woods has been cleansed since Lucio was banished to the realms of the Arcana. I know Grandma Khamgalai and the Hermit have been keeping their vigilant eyes on him to make sure he doesn’t pull a stunt like the one that sent Vesuvians fleeing to the Dark Forest in the first place.
I’m still debating whether or not I want to join them for the night. Between the three of us, we haven’t been getting enough sleep. Well, Asra sleeps more than usual, but that’s one of his terrible coping habits. Nadia has been keeping him company on the really bad days. The same courtesy has been extended to Dad, but he’s been walking the length of the city-state.
People have been talking: not only has he been walking the street by himself, he’s been talking to himself. No one knows what he’s saying, but it’s been speculated that in his grief, he’s been talking to Mom. I can’t blame the guy; he was the one that found her.
I vigorously shake my head, my body twinging. The memory of my dad in anguish, holding Mom’s lifeless body in his arms sends goosebumps through my entire body.
I stamp my feet into the floor, dispelling some sparks that had built up within me.
. . .
. . . .
. . . . .
Why was I here again?
I shake my head, exhaling shakily. I tense and relax my shoulders a few times, grounding myself. I locate a little candle holder and start to ascend the stairs.
⁂ ⁂ ⁂
South End: The Devorak’s Residence
“Do you guys need anything else?” Ąžuolas stands at the threshold of the guest room, looking at the both of us. Downstairs, Uncle Julian and the rest of Noah’s siblings are cleaning the kitchen.
“No,” I replied, re-tying the bag of stuff I grabbed from The Shop.
“Thanks for checking in on us Dad,” Noah adds, nodding in the general direction of where Ąžuolas stands. “We’ll let you know if we need anything.”
With a nod, my father-in-law leaves us be.
I check the bag one more time before I lie down to the bed. It’s close to the window. I sit up again when I spot my Dad and Aunc Asra down below. I couldn’t hear much, but they’re talking with Julian. Dad spares a look up my way; I wave, and he offers me a small smile in return.
When Asra places his hat on, it prompts Dad to pull his cloak over his shoulders. With a force field over their heads, keeping the rain off, the pair walk toward the Dark Forest. As they disappear from sight, the rain lightens considerably.
When I lie down again, my husband hugs me from behind.
“I don’t know if I’m going to be able to sleep, hon,” I murmur, hugging a pillow to myself. “Just giving you forewarning.”
“It’ll be okay,” Noah soothes, rubbing a hand over my shoulder. “If anything, we can have some of Grandma Maz's Pep-Up Soup for breakfast.”
I laugh softly, turning back momentarily to kiss my husband. Returning to my original position, my eyes shift to the crib not too far away from the bed. Inside is our little girl, sleeping away.
“Lucky little thing,” I murmur.
“It’s not Kham’s fault she’s a baby,” Noah replies, chuckling softly. He drapes his arm over my side, hugging me closer. “Still . . . do you want a sleep potion?”
“If I have one now I won’t be able to wake up on time,” I remind him. “I’ll be okay . . . maybe your snores will get me to sleep.”
“I don’t snore.”
“Babe, you do.”
I don’t need to turn my head to know he’s playfully sticking his tongue out at me in reply. It helps me laugh a little. Before long, he’s settled down for the night . . . leaving me with the shadows of the room for company.
I swallow, willing myself to fall asleep. Please . . . I just want to sleep.
It’s been like this since . . . you know. It’s really fucking annoying. I close and open my eyes repeatedly. Counting chickens doesn’t help either.
The only upside is that I can feel that my husband is snuggled right behind me. I like his presence there. Noah’s not the biggest or strongest guy around, but he loves me for me. I’ve more than once kicked bullies’ asses for picking on him for being blind, but that’s a conversation for another time.
That being said, I’m really glad I’m not going alone to the funeral tomorrow. Aunc Asra said he’d be helping to keep an eye on my dad. Dad hasn’t been the same since. Honestly, who can blame him?
With that thought in my head, I close my eyes. I can feel my body drift to a sort of unconsciousness. My vision warps a bit before sleep engulfs me.
💐 How does your OC handle being unwell or forced to rest in bed? Who cares for them and in what ways? Does your OC enjoy being doted on or are they a terrible patient? Reversed: is your OC good at taking care of others who are ill or in need?
12, 13 and 14 for the magic asks please and thank you
12. In what ways could they potentially misuse their magic? If you’re not sure of what I mean, just think of how a skilled waterbender could just as easily bloodbend to accomplish their goals/get what they want.
As I mentioned in the previous ask post, Ink Manipulation is typically used for sabotage/espionage. Lyra fortunately is not a very good liar so these job descriptions do not pertain to her at all.
HOWEVER!
In a rhetorical scenario, say someone blackmails the librarian into doing xyz, she could be coerced into doing the aforementioned things, i.e. break into Nadia’s study/bedroom and screw up a bunch of paperwork/plans.
That’s the main danger with her magic: someone with more means and power over her could coerce her into doing things she doesn’t want to do, but has no other choice or else her and her family face SEVERE CONSEQUENCES.
[More below the cut]
13. What school(s) of magic best encompasses that of your character? Abjuration, conjuration, divination, enchantment, evocation, illusion, necromancy, or transmutation? Yes, this is a Dungeons and Dragons question because I’m a nerd and I’m very curious.
A mix of Illusion [with her making her paper messengers the way they’re shaped], and Conjuration/a bit of Transmutation, where she pulls ink from herself and does her thing or she manipulates ink from other sources to be shaped into letters/images.
14. What kind of ethics are associated with your character’s practice of their magic? What kind of in-universe laws do you think might exist that pertain to it?
Thinking on it, it boils down to the following:
If an ink manipulator is under Government/some kind of Intelligence/Counter Intelligence Agency, If You Get Caught We Will Not Save You.
In academia this would be falling under possibilities of plagiarism, libel, etc.
Poisoning people and summoning dangerous creatures such is automatically a no-no, especially in not-magic-friendly places.
For Lyra, she’s actually not allowed to touch certain types of texts.
It doesn’t happen often, but sometimes when Lyra is super tired her magic has the effect of making inked words go runny on pages. Her mentor, Alex, keeps a close eye on her because of this.
During the Red Plague she once screwed up someone’s drawing—not relating to looking for a cure; it was a personal drawing/doodle—just by touching it. Her exhaustion completely warped the ink and rendered the image unrecognizable and text illegible.
Alex and Lyra tried to see if gloves covering her hands would do the trick, but it just made an even worse mess.
To say the least, if the paper/page belonged to a noble or if she handled some serious documentation and ruined it, people can and would ruin her life over her mistake.
