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gamerbot-22 · 2 years

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Feel like we need to ramp up the angst so when you can piggybacking off of my last request, M6 when MC has a horrible flare up ft. a lengthy bout of high fever + memories/hallucinations of being burned at the Lazaret. For a lil fluff the first thing they do when the fever breaks is call for the M6.

Tumblr user dameschnee123 your thirst for angst has been feeding the little Angst Beast that lives in my soul and for that I thank you

I also decided to go the mini-fic route this time instead of a list of hcs and since that’s kind of long I’m gonna do this in batches! The tracks I listened to while writing each story is linked beside the names.

Arcana LIs Tending to Red Plague Trauma Flashbacks (Part 1: Asra & Nadia)

DNI

C & TWs include:

All: Angst, sad/bittersweet endings at best, discussion of trauma/traumatic events. Asra: minor su*c*dal ideation, unreality, implied mass death by burning. Nadia: needles/injection, poor bedside manner, trauma-induced panic attack.

Part 2 | Part 3 (WIP)

🔮 Asra (x)

He hears the screams from all the way down the street. Without a moment's hesitation they duck out of the conversation he had been having with the baker and makes a mad dash for the shop you share.

A few people have already gathered outside of the house, their faces all plastered with fear as they mutter amongst themselves. Asra doesn't care about their muttering as he barrels into the shop.

As they run upstairs to the apartment he reaches into his bag, letting Faust slither up their arm and rest over their shoulders. "I'm coming, MC!" He yells once they reach the top. Grabbing the wall, he swings around the corner and into your room and their stomach drops.

When he left earlier, they had just brought you to bed for a rest. You had a flare-up that morning at breakfast and he had to basically beg you to stay behind while they did the shopping for the week. Last he'd seen you, you were all tucked up and getting ready for a nap.

Now, the sheet was completely off the bed, scattered across the floor. The pillow under your head is drenched with sweat, and your hair tangled from tossing and turning. One of your hands clutches at the mattress beneath you with a grip so tight Asra is surprised the sheet hasn't ripped yet. Your other hand is wrapped around your throat, grasping as if you're suffocating.

Asra steels himself, rushing to your bedside and taking the hand on your neck in theirs and bringing it to his chest. "MC! MC, it's alright, I'm right here!" they try to make himself heard over your agonizing screams, but it's a useless effort.

They press his free hand to your forehead and recoils near instantly. You're hot as a stove to the touch, and instantly everything falls into place in Asra's mind. You're hallucinating, and you're hallucinating bad.

Asra wracks his brain for something to do to help. They could go downstairs and get water to try and wake you up but the shock might just make it worse and even then he didn't want to leave you alone again like this. They try desperately to think of some kind of solution but he can barely hear their own thoughts over your cries of anguish. It feels as though your cries could split his head in two.

That's when the idea hits them. Quickly, he lets Faust slither off of their shoulder and onto the headboard behind you. Faust curls over herself tightly, tucking her head between the loops of her lavender body and letting only her nose stick out for air.

"Stay there, Faust, I'll be right back." Asra assures her before mustering up all the courage and magic he can get a hold of and pressing his forehead against yours.

Instantly Asra's consciousness is thrown into your own. The energy around him is frantic and red with stress, zipping every which way, trying desperately to form some sort of image to go with the pain searing through your body. Asra steps and turns from side to side, trying to avoid getting hit by the fragments of memory flitting about him like a swarm of flies. An especially large fragment manages to clip Asra at the hip, sending him ass-over-teakettle backwards.

When they land, he’s greeted with the familiar texture of sand, but the sand isn’t still like it should be. As they brush the sand off his face they notice how the sand seems to jitter in place, like each individual grain is a wild animal tied down with some invisible chain. He raises their head and looks around to try and make sense of where he’s landed.

The entire world is trembling like the sand beneath their feet. He can make out vague outlines of Vesuvia in the distance, across a sea of tempestuous dark water. They would recognize the view from anywhere, once he turns around, it confirms it. This is your final memory before you died. When you were sick on the Lazaret in quarantine.

Asra sets to patrolling the beach. Their feet keep slipping in the sand, threatening to give out, but his sheer determination to find you keeps them from falling. A few meters from where he started, Asra sees the outline of the hospital building past the line of dark trees and brambles, and their heart starts to pound in his ears. You must be back there, inside the building.

They push through the trembling black brush of the Lazaret, following the pull of your energy further into the island. As he approaches the old hospital the world around them becomes more and more abstract. Trees become gnarled black shapes reaching towards the blood red sunset and the ground beneath his feet feels like it could give out at any second. A primal terror creeps at the edge of Asra’s senses, but they force himself right to the front steps of the building.

Asra scrambles up the stairs and throws themself against the heavy door, nearly landing face-first inside. Instantly he’s overwhelmed with the feeling of fear. The pressure of it alone brings them to his knees in the entry way, their heart pounding even harder in his chest now, almost like it’s preparing to tear itself out and save itself from the horrors that lie inside the hospital.

“M…MC…” he wheezes, any courage in their body completely drained from his spirit. The logical part of their brain is begging Asra to turn around. To leave your mind and save himself before they dies here, too, but the other part of him knows that they can’t leave you here alone. Not again. Trembling, Asra brings a hand forward, clutching at the floor and dragging themself further inside. His chest feels like it’s going to collapse into dust as they slowly creep along the floor. Tears of pain blur his vision and pour down their cheeks, and the muscles in his arms sting with effort despite not moving that far.

Asra begins to feel his consciousness slipping as they desperately crawl towards the dark doorway at the back of the room. Voices from nowhere in particular begin to ring in his ears as they gaze at the void on the other side of the doorframe. The only words they can make out in the babbling are “sick,” “others,” and “downstairs.”

Vibrations travel through the floor closer to Asra’s weakened body, and before he can turn to see what’s approaching, they’re suddenly grabbed by the ribs and thrown over someone’s shoulder. The shock of the movement temporarily shocks lucidity back into his body. Immediately they meet the eyes of a tall, humanoid figure in front of his face. They see that the figure is dressed completely in white and through the blur of the world, Asra can distinguish that they have their hair covered and tied up in two cones like the horns of The Devil itself.

“Quickly now, quickly!” The figure tuts, steepling their fingers and following close behind as Asra is carried straight to the dark doorway. “There might still be time to toss this one in with the others.”

“V…Valdemar..?” Asra nearly chokes on the Quaestor’s name as recognition seeps into his head.

The figure is too blurry to make out an expression, but Asra can feel the wicked smile coming from them beneath the growing layer of static.

“Hang on!” A deep voice rings out from behind Asra’s head. It must be the voice of the person carrying him; it echoes and rattles inside the magician’s skull taking up space he doesn’t have. “We have one more!”

“Bring them down!” A higher voice responds from past the dark doorway.

Asra clutches at the doctor’s uniform, their fingers barely able to close all the way around the scratchy white fabric. “Please… just… MC…” he sobs, “I need… home…”

The doctor carrying him ignores the pitiful cries of the magician, crossing the threshold of the doorway and starting down a steep staircase. Valdemar only watches with growing gleeful malice from the top of the stairs, absentmindedly tapping the handle of one of the surgical tools on their belt.

The scattered voices from before grow louder the deeper down Asra is taken and the darkness overtakes his vision completely until they make it to the basement. A menacing red light casts long shadows against the wall. Asra can see the shaky outlines of people swaddled in cloth holding tightly onto each other or themselves. He scans each shadow, looking desperately for your silhouette against the stone walls.

Their search is interrupted as he’s thrown to the ground near the source of the red light. The wind is forced out of their lungs on impact and his vision goes blurry as the crushing fear threatens to overtake them completely. The scattered questions and quiet panic of the figures around him pierce through their heart and he can’t even find the strength to call for you once more. They came all this way to find you, to soothe whatever terror had come back to haunt you, but it was all too much to get through. Tears grow once more in his eyes as they curl up on the stone floor, surrendering completely to the hopelessness of the Lazaret. If he couldn’t even protect you from a memory, how could Asra ever keep you safe from anything else?

“…ra? …sra?”

Suddenly the darkness seems to wash away. The heat of the red light cools into an autumn breeze, and the only pressure Asra can feel is a hand in his. Slowly, they open his eyes.

“Master.”

They’re back home. He’s in your room, sitting beside you on the bed, clutching your hand tightly in theirs. Air fills his lungs once more as they meet your eyes. You’re still covered in sweat, your hair sticking to your forehead and neck, and your voice is hoarse when you speak.

“Master, what happened?”

Asra blinks for the first time in what feels like ages, and he feels two large tears run down their face. “N-Nothing, MC,” he lies through their teeth, “You were having a nightmare., that's all.”

You don’t seem to completely buy it, but you don’t say anything. “My head’s killing me…”

“I’ll get you some water.” He shakily rises from the bed, but stumbles once they try to put weight on his legs.

“Master!” You cry, sitting up straight now.

“Fine! I’m fine.” They quickly reassure you, thudding back onto the mattress. “Sorry, just a little light-headed.” For a moment he considers correcting you, but you've been through enough already without them getting annoyed at the title.

He tries to remember all of what they saw in your head, but the memories all twist and turn in his psyche and won’t give a clear picture. The only thing they can remember is that overwhelming sense of fear that overtook him at the end.

Asra’s brought out of their thoughts when he feels your head against their shoulder. Faust follows suit, slithering down from her perch on the headboard and up Asra’s arm to rest her cool scales against his neck. Carefully, Asra runs their fingers through your hair, carefully detangling any knots that snag on his fingertips.

The three of you sit in silence together for hours, not moving an inch or speaking a word. Eventually sleep works it’s magic and settles you all into it’s comforting embrace, and you’re blessed with dreamless rest for the rest of the night.

👑 Nadia (x)

The two of you are out on the veranda together, enjoying the cool but sunny Spring weather. Normally on rough days like this, you're inside in bed, but Nadia thought it would be nice for you to get some fresh air to help calm your nerves. You both sit on the most comfortable lounge chairs in the palace, with a soothing local tea well within arm's reach.

Nadia has been regaling you with stories from the court, the current tale being a recount of an incident involving the Praetor, Vlastomil. “…and of course we couldn’t proceed another moment with the meeting until he finished dumping his worms back into their bowl. I’m well aware that those creatures have their place in nature but I’m quite sure that place isn’t on my carpet.” The Countess sips her tea as you chuckle to yourself from across the table.

She smiles proudly to herself as she drinks. A part of her is glad she can still make you laugh even if you aren’t feeling your best.

“Nadia, do you feel hot at all?”

The Countess sets her teacup carefully on its saucer as she turns her head to look at you. “Not particularly, no.” A small twinge of panic strikes her heart. “Do you?”

“A little, yeah.” You brace an arm against the table and lift yourself from the couch. The tabletop rattles slightly with the pressure and sends a painful bolt through your skull. Instantly, you cradle your head with your free hand, groaning in response to the pain and rising heat.

Nadia quickly rises from her seat, gathering her skirt in one hand as she rounds the table to your side. “Come, along, MC, let’s get you inside,” she speaks softly, remembering how the doctor told her to remain calm during flare-ups, no matter how frightened she might be.

The Countess reaches to take your arm but her fingertips barely touch you before you retreat. “Don’t touch me!” You raise your voice, the sudden shift in tone taking Nadia aback. Your retreat from her causes you to loose balance and send you to the floor of the veranda in a heap, your hand knocking your teacup down with you as it slides across the tabletop.

Nadia’s heart lodges in her throat. You’ve never raised your voice to her before, and it was filled with a frightened venom she had never heard come from anyone in her life. “D… DOCTOR!” She cries over her shoulder as she kneels beside you, hurriedly swiping the shattered teacup away with a hand before you roll onto any of the broken pieces.

“I-It’s alright, MC, I won’t leave you here by yourself.” The Countess’s voice trembles despite her efforts to sound calm. “T-Try to breathe, now.”

“Don’t… no..! Let me go, no!” You struggle on the floor, too weak to stand and run away when Nadia tries to cradle your head off of the floor.

“Please, gods— DOCTOR, HELP!” Nadia cries again into the palace, not moving from your side. “Someone will come, I promise.”

Nadia sits beside you, helpless as you cry and scream with a pain that cuts through the Countess like a knife. Tears begin to well up in her own eyes before she hears the sound of footsteps on the tile behind her.

“You called?” chimes a raspy voice from behind the Countess. Quickly, Nadia wipes away the welling tears and looks back over her shoulder. By the table stands the Quaestor Valdemar, an amused expression spread across their face like a mask.

The Countess’s heart sinks at the sight of the courtier. “Where’s Doctor De Luca?” She had hired him specifically to avoid whatever Valdemar called “treatment," he was supposed to be available at any time for this.

“Pre-occupied in town.”

“No, no..! Stay away, no!” You shriek upon hearing the Quaestor’s voice, “don’t… not again!” Desperate, you cling to Nadia’s arm and shake, continuing to yell and plead to be left where you were despite the throbbing pain in your head.

“Seems someone has a rather awful fever, don’t they?” Valdemar’s head cocks mechanically to one side, as they approach you and the Countess on the ground. They bend forward at the hip, their face only a foot or so from yours.

You cower against Nadia, clutching onto her sleeve to try and pull yourself up and away from the menacing gaze of the Quaestor. Nadia quickly wraps her arms around you, holding you against her chest. “You will step away this instant!” Nadia orders, her courage returning.

Valdemar flashes a frown before returning to a stock stiff upright position. “I apologize, Countess, I thought my abilities would be quite useful here. After all, fevers like this don't just go away on their own."

Nadia's stomach drops. They're right, of course, but the intense reaction you have to the Quaestor's presence isn't exactly comforting. Then of course, you didn't want her to touch you either but that changed the moment Valdemar appeared and goodness how long has you voice been hoarse from the screaming now?

"I'm sorry, my love," Nadia relents, holding your head against hers. She fights back more tears as she shifts her sharp gaze to the councilor. "Do as you must, Quaestor Valdemar."

"With pleasure." They grin. Valdemar stiffly reaches into the pocket of their apron, instantly producing a large brass needle with a glass window on the side. Valdemar flicks the side of the syringe and pushes the plunger forward a notch or two, letting the gaudy red medicine inside spurt a few viscous drops onto the tile of the veranda.

Nadia holds you tightly by the shoulders, watching Valdemar intently as they grab the arm you raised to strike them away with. "And three, two!" on the implied "one" they jab the needle into the vein running from your wrist up your arm. You squirm and beg against Valdemar's grasp but they hold your arm tight and still as they inject the medicine into your vein. "Just a sedative, nothing to worry about."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Nadia mutters against your hair, trying to keep you from rolling out of her arms and onto the floor. "It's over now, it's over." Her tone is soft but her red eyes burn like fire, never leaving Valdemar as they withdraw the needle from your arm and tuck it back into their apron.

The Quaestor's spine cracks as they stand up and step away from you and Nadia. With a content roll of their shoulders and neck, they steeple their fingers and smile to themself. "They should be fine now, but bring them back inside. Who knows what else the cold air could do to them."

The Countess watches Valdemar leave until they're completely out of sight, then her attention is completely back on you. You're still trying to struggle against her, but whatever was in that sedative was working fast and you're unconscious in Nadia's arms in less than a minute.

She sits with you for while, maybe an hour or so, before calling for Portia.

"M-Milady! What happened?"

"A fainting spell, nothing to worry about," The Countess reassures her handmaiden a little too quickly. "Please call for someone to bring MC back to their chambers and wait with them until assistance arrives."

"Yes, Milady, right away." Portia nods, rushing back into the palace. After a few minutes she returns to take Nadia's place as your guard while the Countess marches inside, her skirt gathered in her left fist to keep from tripping.

She doesn't bother to change out of her lounge wear as she makes her way to the Quaestor's office. Nadia stops outside the door, pausing for a moment to listen for any signs of life on the other side of the carved mahogany. A soft humming on the other side confirms that Valdemar is indeed working, and without so much as a knock the Countess enters.

Valdemar is standing behind a worn-out desk, bent at the hip over an armful of old looking scrolls. The desk's accompanying chair is propped up in the corner with a stack of papers on top of the seat. Their vacant red eyes instantly meet the Countess', and she notices a small glint in their pupils. Of pride, possibly?

"Hello again, Countess." Valdemar hums, signing one of the scrolls without looking. "Is something the matter with our patient?"

"They're resting in their chambers. I myself saw to it."

"Good, good..."

"MC is not your patient."

Valdemar stifles an even wider smile, but their eyes don't wrinkle up like they're supposed to when someone smiles that big. "I would have to disagree, Countess, considering I just eased a rather nasty fever that Doctor De Luca wasn't present for."

The Countess narrows her eyes, leering down her strong nose at Valdemar. "Your assistance was a single instance in an emergency, and for that I thank you, but do not think that you will be privy to MC's health going forward."

The corner of Valdemar's lip twitches, but the smile remains. "If you so insist, Countess Nadia."

She nods her head firmly before turning on her heel and exiting the office back into the hallway. She pretends not to hear the Quaestor's muttering.

Nadia sighs as the door shuts behind her, letting her shoulders relax and her jaw unclench. She was unsure of why she felt so strongly about Valdemar tending to you, but she knew first hand it was best to trust her instincts on these things.

Slowly, she makes her way back to your room. You're still unconscious, but Portia is standing by your headboard, watching diligently for you to come to.

Nadia rests her hand on Portia's shoulder, startling her slightly. "Did I frighten you?"

"Oh, not at all, Milady," Portia sighs, letting her head tilt back behind her shoulders as she recovers, "I just didn't hear you come in. Would you like a chair brought in for you?"

"I'm alright, thank you." Nadia pars her handmaiden's shoulder before gently waving towards the door. "Leave us now, if you would. I'll watch MC while you rest."

"Yes, Milady," Portia nods. She looks down at you one last time before leaving, the light from the window reflecting off a dried tear track that runs from her eye to her chin. Carefully she steps around Nadia and slips out of your room into the hallway, carefully shutting the door behind her.

Nadia braces her right arm against the bedframe, reaching with her left to remove her sandals. She's halfway through the laces on her second shoe when she hears you stirring under the covers. "MC?"

"Nadia? What happened..?" Your voice is groggy and your eyes stare vacantly at the ceiling having not found the energy to focus on anything in particular yet. "Did I pass out?"

Nadia bites her tongue, trying to decide if she should tell you the details of your panic attack. It feels awful leaving you in the dark, but she decides against it. For now at least. Once you're doing better she'll tell you everything. "Yes, I had you brought in to rest."

"I see..." You shift under the covers, bracing yourself and sitting upright. Your posture slouches forward and you prop your head in your hands. "I promise your story wasn't that boring."

Nadia snorts. It's relieving to know you feel well enough to joke after that whole experience. "If ever a tale is that boring, please just say so."

She sits on the mattress beside you, brushing your hair out of your face. "I promise," you smile, leaning into her touch. "Sorry if I made you worry."

"There's nothing to be sorry for!" Nadia assures you, a little scandalized at the idea, "it's not something you have control over. Now... if you would move over a little, I would like to lay beside you a while."

You wordlessly oblige, smiling as Nadia takes off her untied sandals and settles in over the covers beside you. Once she's comfortable you lie down and lean against her. You can feel the Countess' heart beating next to your ear, gently lulling you back to sleep as she holds you safely in her arms.

#Rosie Writes #I don’t know when the other two parts will be released #but they are coming!#The Arcana #Angst #tw: trauma #Asra Alnazar #Running Up That Hill by Kate Bush #tw: suicidal ideation #cw: unreality #tw: death by burning #< implied #Nadia Satrinava #Washing Machine Heart by Mitski #tw: needles #tw: injection #cw: panic attack #Quaestor Valdemar

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