the main 6 with an mc who’s pushing themselves too hard/very stressed
i really need these headcanons now, especially so close to exam season :) so these are more of a personal style! hope you enjoy!!!
• “hey, mc!! i’m home!” comes asra’s warm voice, echoing through the shop. it was closed, oddly, but they’ve let themself in. hey, maybe you just needed a break today! he’s been on another trip that’s taken him about a week, and he’s so excited to be home!! as he walks through the shop, he’s a little unnerved by the silence stifling the shop like a blanket. usually there would be music, some incense would be burning, or you’d be in the shop’s front yourself, but he’s noticed that everything seems… almost untouched since he’s been home? “it’s as if they haven’t even been at home,” he reflects with a confused glance around them.
• “uh… mc?” he calls, concern now lacing their voice as he strides through the shop, pulling off his scarves and dropping his bags as he looks for you. he can’t help it— he’s assumed the worst. losing you the first time was bad enough. how does he know there haven’t been some unforeseen complications with the spell? or maybe you did a spell wrong and you’re gravely injured? all the possibilities spiral through his mind incessantly, scrambling any rational thought as he runs through the shop.
• when they reach your room, he rests his hand on the doorknob. every bone feels heavy, as if it’s been cast in iron. he steps into the room as the door swings open, his eyes taking a minute to adjust to the dark room as he stumbles to the bed, searching with his hands, unable to wait. when they hit on a soft body, he exhales heavily through his teeth, relief coursing through him so profusely he feels a little light-headed, and he gasps softly with ease. you’re okay. he can hear the steady rise and fall of your breath, but as his eyes adjust he takes a moment to realise that it’s 2:00pm in the middle of the day, and you’re… asleep? when he can finally see, he sucks in a breath as he takes you in, biting their lip so hard it turns white between his teeth. oh, he’s been so stupid. why was he not here when you so clearly needed them? at first he thinks you’re sick. your face is unnaturally pale in the almost non-existent light, and your lips look colour-leeched, a dead-petal pink that is dry and cracked just like one. you’re wearing one of his shirts as a sleep-shirt, and he smiles despite himself at the fact that you wanted his scent on you— but it quickly falls again as he looks around the room, his gaze falling on the over-piled desk, papers falling off the sides. there are notes and books on the floor, scribbled annotations throughout the margins, next to a small horde of coffee-cups, and the curtains look like they haven’t been drawn in ages.
• “oh, mc,” he says softly, his voice cracking as he realises you really needed him this week. he probably waits for you to wake up. unable to sit still and take in how tired you look, he makes his way to the kitchen, pulling open the cupboards to find… nothing. there are a small army of ramen cups in the bin, and his eyes fracture even further as he thinks of you only creeping out of the bedroom to get a cup of noodles and more coffee and then sneaking back into your room. he runs out to the shop quickly, grabbing his scarves as he goes, and he’s back before you’re awake.
• when you wake up, it’s to the faint sound of sizzling and the smell of your favourite food, and you roll out of bed groggily, padding to the kitchen in a state of disorientation and exhaustion. your eyes fill with tears when you see asra, with their back turned to you, humming lightly as he stirs. you don’t even manage to get anything out before he senses your aura and turns to you, immediately enveloping you in a crushing hug. “oh, asra,” you choke out, your voice shaky with tears. “you’re home.” he hugs you even tighter, burying his head in your shoulder as you take in their familiar appearance. “i’m home,” comes his soft voice— and you can’t help it, you start to sob.
• you’re wetting his favourite travel shirt but they don’t care. “mc, i’m so sorry i haven’t been here for you,” comes their soft, sorrow-filled voice. “i’m so sorry.” you know he is, and you couldn’t care less at the moment. you just want to be in his arms. “i can’t keep up,” comes your quiet voice, muffled by the soft fabric of their shirt. “i can’t. it’s all so much.” you dissolve into quiet sobs again, and they hold you close. when you’ve finished, he makes you eat as he tidies up the room, opening the windows and airing out the thick, sharp smell of ink, parchment, and weeks of going without sunlight or happiness.
• maybe you’re studying for an exam/s, maybe you’ve got a performance of some sort, maybe you have research due. whatever it is, they ensure it’s put on hold. you’re the most important thing here. not some stupid, material thing. he can conjure a successful performance, can forge an exam. he can’t replace you. you’re everything to them, and they love you with all of them. how is he supposed to let you work yourself like this?
• all in all, when he says you need to rest, he means it. so, if you force his hand he’ll use a sleeping spell on you. just a soft touch to the forehead and you’re off, a peaceful look stealing over your features as your features relax since for the first time since he’s been home, and you sink into his arms. you need to sleep. so if you’re the type who keeps on working even when they’re mentally and physically drained, he’ll regret taking your choice away from you, but ultimately he’s willing to do it for your well-being. trust is so important to asra, but he can’t bear to see you like this… and so he uses the spell.
• when you come to, it’s bright outside and you feel… well rested, somehow. but you could have sworn that you were just eating dinner. you had just had another shot of espresso before that? how did you manage to— wait. no, he wouldn’t. (oh yes, they would. and they did.) you feel the calm haze of a calm, warm morning ebbing away as you throw the covers off, wrapping your nightgown around you as you leave your room, and come face to face with a very guilty pair of amethyst eyes.
• “my love…” they try to speak, but you cut them off. “don’t you ‘my love’ me!” your voice climbs higher as you take in the way his features twist painfully. “asra, how could you! i’ve lost… wait, how long have i been asleep?” your voice trails off as he speaks. “it’s been three years.” comes his solemn voice, and your eyes widen until you catch the playful spark dancing in his. “asra! that’s not funny at all.” you storm past him, but he catches your wrist and pulls you to him gently, wrapping an arm around your waist. you beat at his chest, but he holds you to him until you stop, and lay your head against his chest, finally. “i’m sorry.” they say, softly, and you know you’ve already forgiven them. stupid, traitorous heart. you sigh. “oh, asra. it’s alright. i know you only did it because you love me, but i would have taken a break eventually,” comes your small voice. you don’t even believe yourself, and when he arches a pale eyebrow, you drop your head, pressing your forehead against his chest. “fine, i wouldn’t have.” he smiles, pressing his lips to yours softly, and you feel the way the corner of their lips curves up slightly as he savours the fact that he’s won. “oh, shut up, you,” you mumble, and his deep laughter rings through the shop as you feel rather than hear the vibrations against his chest. for once, you’re not tired, and you thank him softly with another kiss as they pull you backwards back into your room.
• now that you’ve rested, he’ll help you as much as he can with whatever it was you were fretting so much over. if it’s studying? he’s there with a salve to help you focus more and remember better. performance? here’s a tonic for anxiety! research? well, he has a potion enabling you to read thrice as fast. whatever you need, he’ll help— even if it’s just a warm hug and a soft “you’re working hard and giving off as much of yourself as you can at the moment. you’re doing the best you can and i’m proud of you.”
• whatever it was you were worried about, you succeed fantastically at it, with asra by your side. they love you! they’ll help you in any way they can <3
• you don’t even know how long it’s been. nadia has been on a voyage to establish a foreign embassy in a distant land, and you’ve spiralled without her gentle voice telling you that you’ve worked enough. whether it’s studying, research, or performance, you’ve eaten, slept, and breathed it for the past week and a half. portia’s been worried, to say the least, and the frequent check-ins and worried asking after your (frankly non-existent) sleep schedule have helped a little… but not much. you haven’t opened the blinds in ages, not to mention eaten a proper meal. there’s been a revolving supply of coffee that you conjure from the kitchens, and the strong smell has completely overtaken your usual, calming scent. you stopped making yourself decent coffees ages ago, now you simply knock back shots of espresso now-and-again, sating the appetite subsequently evoked with little sandwiches that you pop in your mouth (also, to the chagrin of the chefs, conjured from the kitchens) in between absorbing knowledge or practicing. in short, you’re a mess, to say the least of your current state.
• you’re asleep at the desk that you and nadia both share when the door swings open, a shard of light stretching across the floor and leading a narrow path into the darkened room. nadia doesn’t know what to think, overwhelming worry swarming her every thought as she closes the door behind her, dropping her bags to the floor and summoning a flame to her hand (you’ve been helping her practice) as she moves softly, quickly, towards you. your soft hair has fallen over your face, and her eyes soften as she brushes it away, tracing your cheek gently. her eyes widen, worry, confusion, panic dancing in her eyes along with the flickering flame in the palm of her hand as she takes in the dark crescents that frame your closed eyes, the unusual pallor of your skin, the way you still clutch a writing instrument in your hand as you lay unconscious. it’s clear, you’re absolutely exhausted.
• “oh, mc…” comes her soft whisper, as she strokes your cheek gently. she pulls away, and sets to work. she sweeps you into her arms gently and lays you on the bed with a kiss to the forehead, and then it’s on to tackle the room. she organises whatever you’re working on in alphabetical order, cleans off the desk, burns clears away all the coffee cups, and airs out the room. evening finds her reading quietly on the balcony as you stir in… pyjamas? in bed? you look around you in confusion before you realise you’re still in your chambers, just that they’re not the way you left them.
• “portia?” you call out, slipping out of the covers as guilt colours your thoughts a deep violet, corroding and overtaking. “i’m really sorry for the way i left everything, you shouldn’t have cleared up for me— but thank you,” your voice softens as you take in the way she left flowers in a little vase beside your bed as you catch sight of the sundial and start. “what? how is it so late already, i should have started working hours ago!” you yelp, looking around the room for your books as you drop to your knees beside the ornately carved desk against the wall that you and nadia share.
• “hey, nadia, could you—” you cut yourself off abruptly as you whirl on your heel, taking in your lover with wide eyes as you run over to her, sinking into her arms and burying your face in her chest as she strokes your hair, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “but— but i thought you weren’t coming back until next week?” comes your muffled voice.
• she draws back, pulling herself up to her full height as you swallow dryly. she looks furious. her eyebrows are drawn, her eyes narrowed and calculating as her lip curls in that way it only does when she’s particularly irate. as her ire takes your breath away. “portia sent her familiar to tell me what had been going on.” your eyes narrow before she grabs your chin, forcing you to meet her eyes.
• “no, don’t make her the target of your misplaced anger. she was simply worried about you— as she had every right to be.” she doesn’t let your chin go, her narrowed eyes darkening as they meet yours. “i didn’t realise the extent to which you were overworking yourself to, either, until i arrived at our chambers.”
• you grimace, looking away from her, but she turns you back to her, and to your surprise her eyes are glistening. “i don’t ever want to see you like that again.” is all she says before her lips meet yours and you wrap your arms around her shoulders, tangling your fingers in her hair as hers rest on your waist.
• when you pull away to rest your forehead against hers, your face is wet and you’re not sure whose tears they are. “i’m sorry,” you choke out as she presses another kiss to your temple.
• “i should have been here,” is all she whispers before you pull away, your brows furrowing. “don’t punish yourself for my own failings, my love. i won’t do it again.” you trail off at she softened set of her features as she pulls you into her arms again gently, stroking your hair as you breathe deeply. you’ve missed this.
• after this incident, she’s not going to leave you when she goes on a trip without someone she trusts wholeheartedly. most often, this is portia— but when portia can’t be there for you, she simply postpones her trip. she doesn’t mind. you’re her priority, and she won’t ever see you like that again.
• get ready for little reminders that you’re worth more than you can work and you deserve to take breaks and take care of yourself. the world isn’t going to stop if you don’t work right this second, or if you don’t work yourself to death now. please, prioritise yourself. when i say she means that you need to take breaks, she means it. at first, she’ll plead with you to take a break— but if need be, she can make you take one. if you take it too far, if you force her hand, she’ll mix a light sleeping draught into your food or drink. nothing too heavy, and nothing that will cause problems, but simply enough that you find the world becoming strangely hazy after your meal, drifting in and out of a shaky focus as you slip out of your chair and into nadia’s waiting arms. she’ll feel horrible about it, but she knows she’d rather feel horrible than have you in the state she saw you in that once.
• if when you come to you feel betrayed, she’ll understand, and give you some time with a soft, sad smile as she leaves your chambers for a while. but you quickly realise it was for your own good, and seek her out with a teary hug as she returns it just as fiercely, her amaranthine hair falling in soft, jasmine-fragranced waves around the both of you as she buries her face in your neck.
• altogether, she’s here for you. if you need help in your chosen field of study? she’ll help you to study, listen as you practice, or even just rub your back softly as you cry into her chest when the various stressors of the day have taken their toll on you. she won’t ever judge you for feeling overwhelmed— she’s all too familiar with the feeling. she’ll help you in any way she can— she’s always here for the love of her life :)
• he’s only been gone for two days, on a medical conference in the next city over— but you’ve completely spiralled. without his caring voice telling you to take breaks, you’ve just… let yourself work until the point of exhaustion.
• you’re sprawled across the desk you share with him, face pressed up against the hardwood, your hand resting near one of many empty mugs of coffee strewn across your desk, notes sticking to your face when he sets his bag down near the door.
• he calls your name, pulling off his coat as he walks through the house, reasoning that you’re probably at the market or the palace— when he walks into the study and inhales sharply. “oh, mc…” his expression softens as he picks you up, walking back to your room with you cradled in his arms as he tucks you beneath the sheets. he clears up the workspace methodically (so unlike him) and places everything away in its correct place, (we’re going to ignore the sizeable stack of things-he-didn’t-know-where-to-put in the study cupboard) clearing away the coffee cups maybe breaking like two in the process because he tried to take all of them to the kitchen at once and dusting off the desk.
• “julian?” you call through the house as you stir, slapping your palm to your face as you remember you were supposed to pick him up, and he sticks his head around the bedroom door with a cup of cocoa in his hands. “oooooh coffee?” comes your voice, and you scowl as he shakes his head with a stern look. “no, not coffee. you know coffee is horrible for your sleep schedule and anxiety levels—”
• you cut him off by setting the mug to the side and pulling him into a hug, burying your head in his chest as he strokes your hair gently. “hey, i’m here for you,” comes his soft voice.
• he’s going to make you take breaks and eat properly, and drink all the water you need, and take vitamin supplements— in short, he’s going to take care of you. he knows you like the back of his hand and he can tell when you’re not taking care of yourself.
• soft whispers in your ear when you’ve worked too late into the night. “come to bed, love. it can wait until the morning.”
• he’s gone for a hike in the mountains with inanna. it’s only been a week, and he asked you if you wanted to come, but you had declined due to the amount of work you have to do.
• “mc?” his soft voice sounds as he opens the door. it’s dusk, and he’s just washed off, ready to get into bed. “i’m home.” he calls. no reply. he walks into the cabin, inanna on his heels as she immediately scampers over to where you are, putting her head on your lap with a soft whine. she knows something’s wrong. muriel’s immediately worried— he trusts the judgement of his familiar, and he takes in your appearance with wide eyes as he brushes your hair away from your face.
• you’re abnormally pale, your face pressed to the table and the notes surrounding you, a massive empty container of coffee near your head— but what worries him most are the dark crescents ringing the bottom of your eyes, making you look almost like a ghost as he picks you up and presses you to his chest, laying you down on the pile of furs gently as inanna curls up next to you with a little whimper, pressing her warm flank against your side and resting her snout on your stomach. she’ll protect her soft little defenceless human! she huffs, and muriel smiles slightly, giving her a little pat on the head as he goes to clear up.
• muriel’s cabin is a simple home, and everything has its place— so it only takes him a few moments to organise everything and file your notes away carefully. he tidies away the stationery strewn across the table, puts away throws away your coffee container, and overall cleans up the cabin as you rest with inanna.
• when you wake up, he’ll snuggle with you, explaining to you in soft tones that you shouldn’t overwork yourself, that he loves you, that he doesn’t want to see you not taking care of yourself again, and you cry a little when he rubs your back and pulls you into a hug. you feel so small, so safe in his arms, and you know he’ll take care of you.
• he’ll give you herbs to help you concentrate, even if he has no idea about the subject matter he’ll help to quiz you, he’ll give you little backrubs when you’re frustrated, and he’s always, always, there for you. whatever you need. he comes up with creative little things for you to do during your breaks— cooking sessions that end with both of you smeared in sauce, faces red from laughing as warm afternoon sunlight filters through the cabin windows, dappling muriel’s face and turning his eyes a warm, sea-glass green, quiet reading sessions that end with you both drifting off, you in his lap by the warmth of the fireplace on a cold night. inanna drags a blanket to the two of you, curling up on your lap. he takes you to the rolling meadows near the cabin, sprawling fields of twisting, twining, thoroughly wild fauna and fresh, crisp, air as he teaches you softly to recognise different herbs— herbs that heal, herbs that kill, a type of fern that allows you to drift off into a dreamless sleep and even a vivid yellow flower that makes you see in different colours. he’s there for you— he’s going to show you that you’re worth more than working yourself to the bone, that you’re worth more than that to him. you’re his world and he’ll do everything he can to show you that :)
• she’s had to work double shifts at the palace for the past week and a half as there’s been a bit of a cold going around, so most of the palace staff are home-bound. but not portia! she’s proud to say her immune system is practically invulnerable, thank you very much. but… apparently yours isn’t.
• “hey, mc!” she calls, dropping her bags by the door and stretching her arms as she walks into the cottage, pulling off her shoes as she does. “i’m back!” her shifts have been so demanding that nadia simply offered her a room in the palace after the first two days, and she gladly accepted.
• there’s no answer. well, she reasons, you’re probably just at the market or something— and her train of thought is cut off as she takes in the sight waiting for her in your shared bedroom. “mc?” she whispers, her voice disbelieving as she takes in the appearance of your room. there are notes covering practically every surface, coffee mugs on every possible flat counter, and you’re slumped over the desk, your face pressed against the hardwood and your tangled hair thrown across your face. it looks as if you quite literally collapsed from exhaustion on the spot, and she manoeuvres around the notes on the floor until she’s next to you, kneeling next to you and putting a hand on your thigh. “hey, sweetheart?” she’s feeling especially bad now— she shouldn’t have left you alone to go through such a difficult time by yourself. she knew you were going to have to work hard this month, but she hadn’t thought it would be this… overwhelming.
• when she gently brushes your hair away from your face, her expression softens as she takes in how adorable you look with your face smooshed against the desk before she notices your sunken, bruised dark circles and unusual pallor, and her face falls as she bends, slides her arm beneath your knees and her other behind your back, and lifts you into her arms. she’s a lot stronger than she looks, and she has no problem carrying you to the bed and depositing you softly beneath the covers, dressing you in a robe so you’re not disturbed by your clothes.
• and now, spring cleaning. by now it’s well past dusk, so as quietly as she can, she throws open the windows and curtains. it’s nice to finally have a breeze in here and flush out the smell of coffee and despair. she gathers your notes into a neat little pile which she secures with a rose-quartz paperweight, tidies your stationery away, polishes the desk, and wipes down the desk chair— all in the span of an hour.
• “portia?” comes your soft voice as you wake up, looking around the room. there’s no way this is the same room… is it? your train of thought is quickly severed by portia barrelling into your arms, wrapping her arms around your waist and burying her head in your shoulder as you stroke her hair, pressing a kiss to her sweet-smelling, rose-like ginger curls as she just sits there for a little while. you run your fingers through her hair, murmuring sweet nothings into her ear until she sits up… and the expression on her face is positively murderous. her cheeks are red and flushed, and her eyebrows are drawn low over her eyes in a way that makes you smile softly, kissing her cheek— but your brow furrows when you pull away and your lips are wet.
• “portia, love, why are you crying?” comes your soft prompt, and when you hear her mumbled reply you can’t help but let your expression fall. “is it… my fault? i should have been there. i’m really sorry,” she chokes out in-between barely-suppressed sobs, and you pull her into your arms again, sitting back as you let her rest her head against your chest, curling your arms around her tightly. “of course not. this is on me, okay? i don’t want to hear you blaming yourself, i’m the one with the terrible work-life balance, not you. okay?” she sniffles an “okay” back and you sit there with her until she’s stopped crying, pressing little kisses to her cheeks and forehead and mouth until her sobs morph into wet giggles, and you laugh with her as you hand her a tissue. you both fall asleep again as the world outside fades into a feathery lilac, amorphous patterns written in the clouds scrawling across the indigo sky as your eyes flutter shut.
• you’re roused by the faintest splashing of something against your cheek. something… wet? you spring out of bed as portia exclaims sleepily behind you to close the windows, sliding the french door that leads onto the meadow closed and tying your gown loosely around yourself as you run through the house, closing all the windows one by one so no rain gets into the house. you’re leaning up to close the window above the stove, standing on your toes as your nightgown rides up and arching your back as rain patters softly outside, filling the cottage with its calming melody.
• you’re sliding it shut as portia comes up behind you, sliding her arms around your waist and pressing a kiss to the back of your neck as you smile warmly, turning around to face her and pressing your lips to her soft, full ones. you sigh against her, breaking the kiss after a while to lay your face on her hair as her arms encircle you anew and she rubs your back. you stay like that for a while, until you pull away to go and make some tea while she pops a few cinnamon rolls in the oven. you put the tea to boil and you know she wants to talk when she takes your hand, pulling you closer to her so she can look you in the eyes.
• “i’m sorry.” you’re the first to speak, breaking the tentative silence between you as she lets you continue, her face open and unguarded. “i just… sometimes when there isn’t anyone there, i lose myself in things like studying, or practicing, or, well, just about anything that isn’t taking care of myself, really. i, um— used to think of self-care in terms of how much i could work. as in, if i can get this done by midday i can eat, and i just sometimes slip back into it, but—” you’re rambling now, the fact that the subject is particularly difficult to talk about not helped by her borderline horrified expression. she shushes you after a little while, simply opening her arms for you to sink into and rest your head against her chest.
• you sniffle. “and i didn’t ever get what i was aiming for and so it just periodically got worse.” your voice is muffled by her chest, and all she does is rub your back as you cry it out, whispering soft affirmations into your ear. “you’re worth more than you can give to other people, sweetheart.” comes one in particular that just sets you off more. you’re crying messily at this point, stifling sobs and choking into her, but she doesn’t pull away once, letting you collect yourself until you finally pull away. you cuddle on the patio with her as you share a cup of tea and some cinnamon rolls— neither of you need to speak. the silence is enough.
• she’ll have a soft discussion with you when you’re ready to talk about what she can do to help, and she’s there for you whatever you need. most importantly, she’s never going to leave you to spiral like this ever again. she loves you too much to ever be able to see you like that again. so even if she has to pull double shifts at the palace or overwork, she’ll send pepi to check on you and to make sure you’re taking care of yourself— (and pepi will literally sit on your notes and mewl until you eat something/shower/drink some water) failing which, she’ll simply explain to nadia quietly why she’s leaving, and will come back to make sure you’re okay.
• she loves you so much. she’s not going to let you do this to yourself :)
• coming back and seeing you in a state is… jarring, to say the least. no matter how disorganised you are, in a relationship with lucio, you’re going to be the responsible one. whether it’s just in terms of emotion, or in every aspect, you always have your stuff together, and so it’s quite terrifying to see you undone like this, to lucio.
• “hey, hey, what’s wrong?” he’s not good at feelings, to say the least, but he’ll do his best. little back rubs and temple kisses until you explain softly to him what the problem is. he’ll make you stop working, be it through the power of sheer irritation, or… other means. he’ll make you take a long, hot bath filled with rose petals or perfume or something just as cliched and “typically romantic,” and make you take a break. mercedes and melchior will help him, mercedes taking your notes and growling playfully when you come close, and melchior sitting on your lap until you roll away from the desk on your chair.
• you’re his mc! he can’t have you overworking yourself and he’s going to do his best to show you you’re worth more than that.
