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thearcanathing · 2 years

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Okay alright!

So I have a request!

For the arcana, either the main 6 or the main 3, could you maybe write a headcanon where mc gets hurt really badly and the li has to take care of them please? I don't know if you do that, because it is a little angsty, and potentially a little gorey too, but if you do, I would really appreciate it! Thank you!

Oh, and your work is amazing, by the way! Like everything you post is so good to read! I really love it so much!

jdhdjdkshsj omg anon you are too sweet, thank you so much <3 stuff like this keeps me writing

for the record im almost always down for angst, so no worries there, and as far as gore goes I can handle blood and vague viscera but I just Do Not fuck with detailed descriptions of organs (think the pinkie pie cupcake creepypasta, shit scarred me for life)

so yeah I’m gonna hurt mc pretty bad but hey at least they’ll never get disemboweled :)

content warnings: severe burns, broken bones, blood, bugs, and vomit

Asra

it happens so fast — so fast, nobody can tell exactly where it started. After such a dry summer, all it takes is one spark to turn the maize maze into an incinerator.

you entered separately this year, figuring it would be fun to meet each other in the middle and find your way back out together. It was a good idea in theory, and you were enjoying yourselves until a voice somewhere shrieked, “FIRE!”

the flames tear through the dry maize like it’s tissue paper. You’re surrounded in an instant, and Asra is beside himself because he doesn’t know where you are, or how to get to you. That doesn’t stop him from sprinting through the maze, completely disregarding his own well-being as he calls your name, choking on smoke and the inside of his own throat. Magic surges through him, acts on his instincts. It might be the only thing keeping him alive.

he finds you unconscious in a dead end, trapped on three sides by towering walls of fire. His heart hammers so hard it hurts. You’re so still. Are you breathing? Images flash behind his eyes: fine sand, charred bone, ash. His panic overwhelms him, and he blacks out. Next thing he knows, he’s laying on cool ground, somewhat singed but mostly okay. A few kind strangers kneel over him, encouraging him to relax and breathe. He can’t do either until he knows what happened to you.

the good news is you’re alive; somehow (try as he might he can’t recall the details), Asra managed to drag you out before the flames engulfed you entirely. The bad news is you sustained severe burns across your legs and torso. It’s painful to look at, and Asra finds himself thankful you’re still passed out. That feeling is quickly displaced by the urge to get you home and make you better, as better as his magic will allow. Exhaustion be damned.

one of the bystanders offers a free ride to center city on their wagon, and Asra graciously accepts. He spends the entire time hunched over your unconscious form, gently smoothing his hands over your burns, again and again, like they’re stubborn wrinkles in a piece of cloth. Each pass restores your skin a bit more, building it back layer by layer. It’s gruesome work, but by the end you look mostly okay. Covered in scars, but okay. Alive.

back at the shop, he’s not convinced he could carry you up the stairs in this state, so he drags some bedding down and makes a nest in the back room, surrounding you in the softest blankets and pillows he can find. Only then, after he’s sure you’re cozy enough, does he take a pause. It’s so quiet here. No crowds of concerned onlookers, no squeaky wheels or braying animals. Just him, and you, breathing. Hot tears well in the corners of his eyes. He stifles a sob, catches himself on the edge of a table as a wave of dizziness rushes over him. He really overdid it. The last thing he wants is to take his eyes off you, but on the verge of passing out, he settles down at your side, lays his head on your chest, and quickly falls asleep to the sound of your beating heart.

some time later, when you come to, confused and panicking and weeping, he doesn’t feel rested, but he sits up anyway. You need him more than he needs sleep, as far as he’s concerned. He takes your face in his hands, whispers assurances that you’re okay, you’re safe, you’re home. You swear you feel your skin smoldering. Asra shows you the fresh scars, gutted by the fact that while he can heal your physical wounds, he can’t magic away the trauma. That’s something you’ll have to work through in time. That’s something he’ll help you navigate, one step at a time.

Nadia

maybe what stings the most is how preventable the situation is — the puddle of water you slip on could have, should have been mopped, should have been noticed by someone and taken care of before it caused an issue, but for whatever reason, it wasn’t. It’s an untraceable failure Nadia nonetheless blames herself for when it throws you off balance and sends you tumbling down the grand staircase.

she watches it happen, notices the puddle just an instant before you do. There’s not enough time to warn you, not enough time for her to reach out and steady you, but she tries. You slip, she cries your name, the tips of her fingers graze your shoulder as you topple over and fall, fall, fall… it takes so long for you to fall. You seem to bounce off each step, limp as a ragdoll by the time you hit the bottom with a sickening thump. She runs down the stairs after you, almost loses her footing and collapses next to your prone form. You don’t respond to her voice, nor her touch. She cradles your head to her chest as she calls for someone to help.

it’s a miracle you didn’t split your head open. You’re covered in bumps and bruises, and a few of your ribs might be cracked, but Nadia is, at the very least, grateful you’re not hemorrhaging from a head wound. She refuses to move until a doctor examines you, deeming you unconscious and badly hurt, but alive. Then, with the help of palace staff, she lifts you off the ground and carefully transfers you to bed.

You sleep for several days. It kills Nadia that she can’t ask if you’re comfortable, if you need anything. She tries her best to do what she thinks you would want, lighting your favorite incense, gently washing your face, sitting with you and holding your hand as she reads or fills out paperwork. Any meeting she can’t take in your room is swiftly postponed or canceled. Her duties as countess are important, and she takes them very seriously, but they’re not more important than you. Nothing is more important than you.

she wears a very brave face around the staff and doctors. To them, she seems perfectly calm, a portrait of composure. In private, she’s never felt so scared, so helpless. She wants to fix this, but she doesn’t know how. She doesn’t think she can. There’s so little she can actually do for you right now. She needs something to do, something concrete and direct, something to make her feel useful. But all she can do is putter around, and wait. It’s her own personal hell.

the day you wake up is easily the second happiest day of her life, right after the day you got married. Your eyes crack open, you whisper her name, and the tears are instant. She can barely keep from smothering you in kisses. She helps you drink, pets your hair as you adjust to the waking world once again. You reach for her hand and ask how long you’ve been out. She answers, and you, shocked, ask if she’s been with you the whole time. But you already know she has. The look on her face, the love in her eyes, says everything.

Julian

you don’t remember the name of the bar — it can’t be the rowdy raven because you’re not currently in Vesuvia, but it’s a similar sort of deal, the kind of place where “unsavory” characters hang around and “make trouble,” mainly by drinking violently strong alcohol and bickering over card games. You and Julian have your own booth, and you’re a couple drinks deep, teetering on the edge between tipsy and buzzed when you decide a game or two of cards might be fun.

half an hour later you’re on a hot streak and the other people at the table are starting to get pissed. You excuse yourself from the next round to use the restroom, giving Julian a kiss for good luck. When you return, he’s raking in the pot, and you’re so happy for him that when you go to sit down, you don’t notice the guy next to you pulling your chair away. You lose your balance and fall backward, throwing your arm out to catch yourself. Big mistake.

you land hard, all your weight coming down on your forearm, which buckles with an awful crunch. There’s no doubt that it’s broken, but you don’t realize how bad it is until you sit up and look. Julian is at your side in an instant, wincing at the unnatural angle, murmuring it must have been a clean break before asking the guy what the hell he was thinking. The guy gets defensive, saying it was supposed to be a joke, you don’t have to be all up in arms about it. The rest of the table laughs. Julian seethes. You can tell he’s about to do something reckless, so you tug on his coat with your good hand and tell him you just wanna get out of here. He shoots the table one last withering glare before he helps you up and leads you out of the bar.

the adrenaline of the moment wears off while you walk, so by the time you make it back to where you’re staying, you’re in incredible pain. Julian ushers you to the bed, sits you down and gently takes your arm. After an excruciating moment, he tells you he’s going to have to set it, and it’s unfortunately going to hurt. A lot. You hate the sound of that, but you tell him to do it, get it over with. He asks if you want him to count down, you say no. He asks if you’re sure, and before you can fully say yes, he sets the bone, and you pass out.

when you come to, you’re tucked into bed, arm splinted and wrapped. Julian dozes in a nearby chair, an open book in his lap. He startles awake when you try to sit up, tells you not to exert yourself, asks if you need something. You tell him some water would be nice. He brings you a glass in record time, carefully props you up so you can comfortably drink. His touch is so mindful it borders on reverent. Teasingly, you ask if he treats all his patients this way. He quirks a brow at you, then grins his signature grin, saying other patients have to pay extra for the special services he gives you. You try to laugh in a way that doesn’t jostle your arm too badly.

Julian’s expression falls in a very sudden, very familiar way. You cut him off before he can even start, firmly telling him this isn’t his fault and he better not start apologizing. Basically pouting, he asks if you’re sure it’s not at least a little bit his fault. You give him A Look. He sighs and glances away, softly admitting he doesn’t like that fact you got hurt when he was right next to you, and there was nothing he could do. He just wishes he could have protected you somehow. You understand this, you really do. It’s horrible to feel helpless when someone you love gets hurt, but you remind him he’s not entirely helpless. He made you better, didn’t he?

after a pause, he says he hadn’t thought of it that way. A smile creeps up his lips, and with a chuckle he says he’s glad you’re around to help him think straight. Smiling right back, you tell him you’re glad he’s around to make you better. He promises he will always make you better, whenever you need him, no matter what, and you know he means it with all his heart.

Muriel

it’s a beautiful day — the sky is clear, the sun is bright, the air is warm. The forest around you seems to glow green with exuberance. What a perfect day to go fishing; or, more accurately, what a perfect day to visit the river with Muriel and watch him fish. He’s better at it, anyway, and you’re having a good time balancing on big rocks at the edge of the water in the meantime. They’re a bit slippery, but you’re pretty confident you won’t fall. And if you do, it’s not like it’s a long way down. What’s the worst that could happen?

from the middle of the river, Muriel frowns as you walk across the rocks like you’re a performer on a tightrope, his heart spasming each time you pause and sway. He audibly sighs in relief when you make it to the other side, then tells you to please be careful. You flash him an impish grin, saying not to worry, you’re being so careful. As you do, you take a blind step forward. Your foot hits one of the rocks at an angle, and your ankle bends in a way it’s not supposed to. You pitch forward, falling first onto the sharp rocks, then into the shallow water below.

you hear Muriel call your name as you fall, and you’re underwater for mere seconds before he’s at your side, lifting you out. He holds you mostly upright against his chest, rubbing your back while you cough up a mouthful of river water. You cling to him, shivering from the cold, ankle throbbing. The rocks scraped you up pretty bad on the way down. You feel the sting of small wounds along your face and arms, though none of them hurt as bad as the area right above your knee, which struck the rocks most directly. It’s hard to tell how bad it is, but judging from how it burns, it must be big.

Muriel lays you on some soft grass under a nearby tree. His eyes are wide with panic as he looks you over, and once he gets to your legs, he freezes. With some difficulty, you push yourself up to see what he sees. That’s… wow, that’s a lot of blood. That’s so much blood, gushing from your leg. It makes you woozy, so woozy you lose all the strength in your arms. You drop backwards onto the ground, snapping Muriel out of his trance. He takes a deep, deep breath. When he exhales, his expression is less horrified and more… determined. Resolute. He rips a strip from his shirt and ties it tightly around your leg, apologizing softly when you whimper, telling you he’s going to get you home, and you’re going to be okay. You believe him wholeheartedly, and when he picks you up again, you let yourself relax against him. You’re so tired. You’re so cold. You tell him as much. Holding you securely, Muriel takes off running for the hut.

by the time he gets you inside, you’re barely conscious. The makeshift tourniquet has slowed your blood loss significantly, but not entirely. Muriel peels the wet, stained clothes off you, his shyness overpowered by the need to save you, whatever it takes. Then he lays you on some furs by the freshly-lit fire, letting you warm up while he gathers supplies to clean and bandage your wounds. He doesn’t say much as he does, mostly urging you to stay awake, to keep looking at him so he knows you’re awake. You try your best. You really, really try, but you’re just so tired. A solid black curtain falls over your vision. Muriel’s voice grows distantly frantic, but you’re too far gone. Blobs of color swirl beneath your eyelids as you slip from the waking world.

next thing you know, Muriel’s cradling you against his chest, hopelessly bargaining for your life, saying he’ll do anything, give up anything. He only stops when you manage to wheeze out his name. Then, after a pause, his shoulders shake, and he heaves a great sob. He pulls back to look at your face, sobbing again when he sees your open eyes. You realize he’s wrapped you up burrito-style in the softest furs you have, making it somewhat challenging to wiggle your arms free, but you do, and you reach up to hold his face in your hands. He leans into your touch like it’s his salvation, and honestly, maybe it is.

he weeps another moment or two, letting you wipe his tears with your thumbs. When you think he’s nearly calmed down, he asks, voice cracking, that you please never, ever do that again. You agree immediately, and you tell him you’re sorry. Suddenly puzzled, he asks you why. You say you’re sorry for worrying him, and he tells you that’s just the way it is, he always worries, especially when it comes to you, it’s nothing you can control or have to be sorry about. Still, you should have been more careful, and you promise him you won’t put either of you in that situation again. Muriel finally starts to relax. He thanks you, tells you he loves you. You ask him to say it again, pretty please, and when he goes pink, you giggle.

Portia

following an unmarked, unfamiliar trail through the woods maybe isn’t the best idea — but it’s certainly an adventure, and it’s one Portia is excited to share with you.

though you’ve taken plenty of hikes together, you’ve never come across this trail before. It branches off the main path suddenly into a deeply forested area, so naturally Portia wants to see where it leads, if anywhere. It’s not the most outlandish place she’s taken you. You don’t get a great feeling from it, but it’s not like the two of you are helpless. It should be fine, you think, and soon as you make up your mind, Portia happily grabs your hand and pulls you in with her.

the first moments are uneventful, which feels like a good sign. Portia wonders aloud what you might find, throwing in a few ridiculous ideas just to make you laugh. You easily slip into some banter, then some flirting, then some flirty banter. It’s turning out to be a pretty fun time when you feel a sharp pinch on your leg. Then another. Then another. Ow. What the hell? You look down, expecting to see some sort of nettle, but it’s so much worse than that. Bugs. So many bugs, crawling up your leg. You scream. Portia turns to see what’s wrong; she screams louder.

before you can react, Portia takes off running in the direction you came from, pulling you by the hand so you’re forced to run with her. The pinching travels up your legs, across your waist and your back. You try to shake the bugs off, but it’s difficult to do without stumbling. Portia just manages to keep you upright until you emerge onto the main path, where she grabs the first leafy branch she finds and uses it to sweep the little bastards off you. Every now and then she beckons you forward a few steps, stomping at the ground to kill the persistent stragglers. Each sting throbs in time with your rapidly beating heart; you’re sure you can feel them swelling.

you’re also sure you can feel more bugs on you, crawling across your skin, under your clothes. You swat at yourself in a panic. Portia hurries you along, telling you it’s going to be okay, you’re going to be okay. You have a hard time believing this, but you trust her. Eventually, after what feels like an eternity, you make it home. Portia starts stripping you down before the door’s fully closed, and even though you don’t see any bugs, you can still feel them all over you. You squirm, squeak out a sob. Portia checks you over, tells you finally that they’re all gone, despite what you feel. She asks that you stand still for just another moment so she can remove the stingers. You do, though it seems like you stand there for much longer than a moment, flinching as Portia gently scrapes a playing card again your skin, apologizing each time, promising she’s almost done, almost done.

the pain is constant and burning. You nearly weep when Portia finally leads you to bed and helps you lay down on your stomach. The cool sheets provide you momentary relief while she rummages around for some sort of soothing balm. You close your eyes, take some deep breaths, try to accept the fact you’re safe now. Portia warns you before she touches you again, which you appreciate. She takes a damp cloth to your skin, cleaning each sting and dabbing it with a bit of balm, helping you roll over so she can get to the ones on your front as well. You close your eyes as a wave of nausea passes over you. You tell Portia you might vomit, and she passes you an empty container just in time.

once you’ve emptied your stomach, Portia takes care to wipe your mouth, and only then do you notice the tears on her cheeks. She blurts out that she’s so, so, so sorry. If she hadn’t urged you down the trail this never would have happened, but it did, and now you’re hurt because of her. You tell her she couldn’t have known, it’s not like she did it on purpose. And yes, it hurts, but its not permanent. She supposed you’re right… but insists that since it was her mistake, she’ll take responsibility by caring for you until you’re better. She asserts she won’t let you raise a finger, and really, you don’t think you can argue with that, even if you wanted to.

Lucio

I don’t wanna put a bunch of effort into writing a serious one sees for him cuz I don’t think he’s capable of taking care of himself much less anyone else

if you want my honest opinion on how he would handle an injured MC tho, I think he would whiff it super hard, try to make it better himself even tho he has zero (0) grasp on medicine and would end up making it worse. Like if you don’t bleed out or die from shock, you’ll succumb to infection within days. Dumbass doesn’t know how to properly clean a wound, he only knows how to hurt. It’s the only thing he’s good at.

#the arcana #the arcana game #the arcana headcanons #the arcana asra #the arcana nadia #the arcana julian #the arcana muriel #the arcana portia #the arcana lucio

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