childrenofbahamutlogs | winter catch-all

The trouble - the real trouble, beyond Mithrun's quiet disdain for his unrequested passenger - begins when Molik's voice starts getting clearer.

It was one thing when the dragon was just… a presence. An occasional hiss in his ear, barely more noticeable than the faint memory of Mithrun's own past self. If only he had stayed so distant, maybe Mithrun could have tolerated him - but Molik has other ideas, and his voice grows ever louder. Opinionated. Needling, trying to push Mithrun to this decision or that in ways Mithrun is sure Molik thinks subtle.

Maybe they would have been, to someone without Mithrun's history.

To Mithrun, every word grates, like a rasp taken to the inside of his skull. That ever more obtrusive voice is accompanied by ever more obtrusive changes to his own body-- little pieces of Molik in the form of soft, fresh scales, frail wings wrapped in weak muscle and thin skin.

They are so easy to break. Newly-grown claws dig into his own flesh easier than his nails ever did, often before the thought has fully settled in his mind.

(The bakery is something of an exception - Angeal has made quite sure that food safety has become second nature to Mitnrun, and Mithrun knows in turn that failing to follow those rules could have him removed from the business entirely, dating the owner or not. If the urge to spite Molik rises up at work, Mithrun excuses himself.)

Sometimes, he catches himself after just a gouged scale or a set of scratches on his shoulder blade. Easily written off as accidents even if he forgets to heal them, though Mithrun hardly has it in him to lie if asked directly.

Other times, though-- sometimes, when the hateful thing latched onto his soul suggests something particularly vile, sounds a bit too familiar, it's just too easy to tear through the faint eyespots forming on those delicate membranes. The new bones are brittle under his hands. Even after gathering that Molik doesn't exactly seem to feel the pain, Mithrun quickly determines that he reacts to damage to those wings, furious and disgusted, even though Mithrun heals the worst of it each time. Leaving them would only worry Angeal and the others.

Mithrun tells Molik he should count himself lucky Mithrun doesn't just cut them off entirely.

He hopes he regrets his choice of host.

[ OOC: this is less a prompt than it is containment for threads surrounding this topic, though people are free to use what’s mentioned here as prompts; if you want to thread something around this, feel free to tag in or contact me to make plans!

As a note, the more severe, deliberate damage is most likely to happen in private or at least when Mithrun thinks he’s alone, but he’s quite likely to unthinkingly inflict some minor scratches or gouges in the open when Molik is getting to him.]

Here's the thing about Mithrun: he tends to go by extremes.

Angeal knows why, of course. He knows that his boyfriend was shackled down by the inability to feel anything but apathy for a long while, and that the only solution (at least that his job would perceive) was tapping into the one emotion that was thus latched onto with the kind of desperation you only find in dying people.

Finding other emotions has also been a nonstop lesson in slowing down on getting, ah, a little too intense.

He's adjusted to this. Back in the sim, it was a little easier to deal with, because they never were at risk of running out of ingredients. Here, well, they're doing remarkably well on that front for it being the start of winter thanks to Charlie, but Angeal doesn't want to take advantage of the god too much.

This means having to really do a lot of experimentation to find the exact sort of bakery tasks that Mithrun might like in a situation like this. Creme brulees are a little fancier than Angeal feels comfortable managing, but there's lots of other things he's willing to try and which he thinks might help get some focus in on there. And they're always making cookies if only to help Charlie not lose his mind.

It's not as it used to be, but Angeal had though that, a couple months in, they were doing pretty well.

...So it says a lot, in his eyes, when Mithrun suddenly excuses himself to take a break.

It's not that Mithrun isn't capable of remembering that he should take a break so that he doesn't work himself into dust. It's just, usually, he doesn't. That's Angeal's job, which he has folded into his routine with immense patience.

So he can't help it. He hands reign of the place to Themis for a moment, and then follows back after Mithrun with a small frown. "Hey," he says softly. "Something up?"

He doesn't ask if Mithrun is okay. Mithrun is not equipped to answer that question.

Mithrun probably should have expected that Angeal would follow him. This is, after all, unusual behavior from Mithrun, and Angeal worries as easily as he breathes.

That, however, is far from being at the top of Mithrun's mind as he practically rushes for the back door of the bakery. He startles at Angeal's voice, whips around wide-eyed to face him.

He hesitates.

Yes, something is up. But if he tells Angeal, he'll be upset, and he'll probably try to stop him - of course he will. He'll be more upset if he finds out later. But the pressure under Mithrun's skin is only growing.

Mithrun stumbles as he speaks. "N-- I. It's nothing. You can go back."

It's not as though people have never tried to lie to Angeal's face before. But Mithrun has never been one of them. He's always been the kind of person to say exactly what he means, for better or worse. Angeal appreciate it. Keeps things simple.

...But Mithrun is definitely trying to lie now. Badly, sure, but a lie is a lie, and Angeal's eyebrows raise in surprise and disbelief. That... only lasts for a second.

"...If it's not something you want to talk to me about, I can have Elidibus come back here and be with you instead."

And it's after that he and Mithrun can figure out just what it is that has him trying to lie to him. Which Angeal isn't feel a little hurt about or anything, and definitely doesn't show in the pinch of his brows or anything. He's not frowning, that's ridiculous. He's an adult. And sometimes being an adult knows when maybe he's not the best choice here.

Regret. Immediate, intense regret, the moment he sees that look on Angeal's face - but he doesn't know what he could have said right now that wouldn't hurt Angeal.

"No-- don't tell him. I..." He takes a hurried step forward, his scale-frosted ears drooping. "That isn't it, Angeal."

Molik scoffs, the sound rumbling somewhere in his skull. Mithrun's teeth snap together, and his hand flies to land with his claws pressing behind his ear. "Quiet."

Whoops, okay - Angeal immediately steps forward, crouching down so that it's not so much of a stretch for him to gently lay his hand along Mithrun's wrist. Not enough to start pulling. Just enough to let him know it's there.

"Hey. Careful now. Claws mean you might dig in deeper than you mean to." Even if he can't address the obvious lie, then he should at least be allowed this.... right?

He tries not to think too hard on the shimmering scales along his fingers while they rub along Mithrun's wrist, an attempt at reassuring him. "...Hitchhiker in your brain acting up, huh? Mine usually just saves it for backseat dinner-making. Was that... why you needed to break? Argue with him?"

Deeper than he means to. Right. Mithrun's hand twitches - trembles, almost, Mithrun determined not to draw blood with Angeal so close, despite the crawling feeling under every inch of skin. He tries to focus on the low familiarity of his voice instead, the warmth of his hand.

His one eye drifts to meet Angeal's two, then darts to one side. He doesn't pull away, at least. "...He is. I needed a... a moment."

The inevitability of Angeal asking further feels like a Boulder hanging over him. Mithrun already knows he doesn't have it in him to lie to his boyfriend a second time.

With his hand where it is, his eyes where they are, there's no doubt that Angeal spots that rapid jerk and shudder from Mithrun's hand. In theory, he supposes it shouldn't be anything too out of place, but... This whole situation is just so odd that he still has to wonder.

"I understand. I know this entire... thing has been bothering you. Too close to home." He hesitates, just a second. "...Is there a reason you didn't want to talk to me about this?"

Mithrun can't bring his gaze back to Angeal. His brows are tense and eye wide, flitting from one point on the floor to another.

He manages, eventually, to speak, though his voice is quiet and strained. "It would only upset you. You'd think you had to fix it."

Maybe he would want to fix it. Certainly he wants to fix things now with the way that Mithrun looks so... distressed. Frantic and scared.

Gently, trying not to mind the golden scales all along his hands and the nails he's had to clip down, Angeal cradles one of Mithrun's hands with both of his own. "And you think it can't be fixed," he states quietly, able to read inbetween the lines. "So you want to keep it a secret." A long, slow breath. In and out.

"Can I ask why you think it can't be fixed?"

His fingers twitch again - this time, to curl around Angeal's hand, gentler and more mindful of his claws than he is with himself. He can't bring himself to openly confirm Angeal's conclusion - but he doesn't really need to. They both know.

The question is harder.

"I don't know if I can answer," he admits softly. "If I know how. If I... should, were I to find the words."

Those wretched wings shift - the faintest twitch of the joints where they attach to his back. Mithrun tenses, swallowing down a fresh wave of animosity toward the unwanted limbs - a tactile reminder of just why he isn't sure it would be right to tell Angeal at all. "Your body must be troubling you, too. I don't... it might be too close to home."

Too close to home... Angeal can't deny that's likely true. He's already had to admit some things to all of his boyfriends at some point or another, about the uneasiness rolling through him with these slow changes taking over his body. Some might believe him to not be going through as much at a surface level, granted. Not his boyfriends, those he lives with, but some. Certainly he doesn't look like he's grown wings..

But Mithrun should know that there's more to the surface with Angeal, and that's literally too as well considering his wings.

Wings which he's never really liked before all of this.

Yet... "It still kills me a little, the idea that I can't help you through this somehow," he admits quietly. "Even if you never told me.. I'd still wish I could at least point you in the right direction for someone who could listen. Who could maybe ease up the burden a little bit."

"I know," Mithrun murmurs - his tone softening, just for that moment, despite his own mental strain. That trait of Angeal's is both one of his most taxing and most irresistable - that deep-seated need to fix everything, for everyone, all the time.

It's hardest to handle in times like this, when it ends up hurting Angeal himself.

"But I can deal with it." He's sure of that much. He's been in this kind of state before, and he managed to stop then, so-- surely, he's got it under control. Somehow. He isn't sure how, since he only stopped last time because he had to in order to re-enlist, but he's sure he'll figure it out again. "If... I think of any way you can help, I'll let you know."

"...Okay." That's the most he can ask for, isn't it? Even if it kills him... Mithrun says he can handle it. Angeal wonders about that, but he should trust him at least a little bit in things, right? He should. His fingers still worry along thin knuckles.

"...Is it the food that's not helping distract you enough? I could go back, really knuckle down and pick what we need for creme brulees."

Despite himself, Mithrun huffs softly at that. He brings his other hand up, now holding both Angeal's hands as Angeal holds his, and lifts them to press his boyfriend's gently curled fingers to his lips.

"The food is fine. It's as good a distraction as anything. Molik is just..."

Like someone merged the two beings he hates most, and the resultant smug, self-serving, judgmental fuck tied himself around Mithrun's soul and crawled out onto his skin, and the only way Mithrun could spite him in return was to tear the evidence of his encroachment from his own body.

"Loud. I'm sure I'll..." His lip curls. "Get used to it."

He does not much want to get used to it.

For a moment, Angeal can't help but get lost in the sight, the feeling, of Mithrun gently guiding his hands upwards. Once upon a time, he knows it was something that neither of them could have imagined him doing very easily. Those days, when Mithrun was as prone to just laying lost on the forest floor and accepting that, no interest of his own having caught him yet.

But he's changed so much since then. Still himself, but able to find more of himself, be dry and blunt and terribly stupidly cocky at times. And he's chosen to go on this journey with Angeal, to the point that he's-

"Wait," Angeal says. "Molik? Molik Umbraxakar, former royal guard, racist asshole?"

"...Yes? You've... heard about him."

Mithrun's eyes Angeal, ears tilting down, as though he's gauging if he's in trouble for something. After all-- look, he's not totally sure why each of their respective hangers-on chose them, but it isn't hard to see, in his opinion, how Molik's attaching himself to Mithrun could reflect... poorly.

Yes, Angeal already knows how Mithrun used to be, but it still might not look good.

Without hardly thinking about it, Angeal adjusts his hands - possibly taking Mithrun's with them - so that he can nudge those long ears right back up with a small nudge from underneath. "I mean, Voridin just made a comment about how all the nice food in the world going into his mouth can't make up for the shit that comes out of it... But I heard about him from Dimitri first."

And Dimitri had said... Angeal starts to smile. "He said he was a pain in the ass, and hated half-and-halfs like Dimitri most of all, but apparently when everything was about to go to shit... He actually stood up against the queen when she wanted to get rid of everything else."

Alright, that's it. Pulling his hands away proper, Angeal reaches back to pull his apron up over his head. "Let's call five here in the bakery, and go see Dimitri."

Indeed, Mithrun's hands go with Angeal's, just as his wide eyes stay locked on Angeal's face. It's sometimes almost shocking, how casual Angeal is about his ears; such conduct would be nothing short of appalling on the Central Continents, and that's without even taking into account said ears' grotesque state.

Actually, Mithrun isn't sure he's ever told Angeal how intimate that contact actually is. Not that they haven't been plenty intimate in all kinds of other ways.

"...Really." Mithrun's eye flits away, as though glancing at the unseen dragon over his metaphorical shoulder. No useful response from Molik, of course - just what Mithrun gathers to be some grumbling about Voridin, which Mithrun immediately dismisses as useless.

And then Angeal straightens, and makes that declaration, and Mithrun's attention snaps back to him - and to that itching still under his skin, the crawling almost-pain he still hasn't done anything about. "What? Now?"

Edited 2025-01-31 05:16 (UTC)

"Yeah. Now." Because this is starting to seem something like he can do, just a little bit, even if all it is amounts to him as a middle man.

"If Molik's presence is really driving you so up to wall that you actually have to step away from baking-" To do other things, things they've both been awkwardly stepping around this entire time like speaking the details will make it all the worse somehow. "-then it might help to learn more about him. Maybe if you talk to Dimitri, he'll be able to give you information you can use to shut Molik up - at least about the worst of it. And if nothing else, maybe it will help you in other ways."

It's all he can hope.

Part of Mithrun is tempted to bristle at Angeal's insistence- and he does, a little bit, his tail flicking sharply against the floor.

The problem is that Angeal is entirely right. Mithrun's "solution" to this point has been temporary, surface-level, and admittedly inconvenient. There's no denying he could benefit from some kind of insight - maybe even something he could use to get this parasite out of his ear faster and for longer.

"...Fine." He clearly isn't pleased, tension still strung under every inch of his skin - but he'll agree. He'll follow.

It's something.

It's something. And Angeal reaches over again, to brush his knuckles against Mithrun's hair.

"Hey. Think of it this way. Some... responses-" They know exactly what he means, although he's still shying away as though that will help. "-are just temporary. But if you can get information, well, that lasts a little longer, right?"

The difference between getting to punch a guy in the face, and spread a rumor that really embarrasses him.

"Right."

He tries to... reorient around that. An interruption in what seems like the quickest path. That's always the difficult thing, with this sort of complication: It's not as though he doesn't want to speak to Dimitri, any more than he didn't want to eat the rations presented to him as his squad searched for the demon. It's just... an interruption.

He breathes out, slowly. Working the new plan into a solution. "Okay. Let's go."

And they go.

It was not strange to see Elidibus out and about. Nor was it strange to see him roughly everywhere, unsurprising to note his presence all around Town. That he finds himself nearby when Mithrun begins to mutilate himself once more was bound to happen eventually.

He notes it immediately, but not with his eyes at first. No, he does not see Mithrun when he rips into himself. What catches his attention is the wet-slick sound of blood falling to the ground and the metallic stink of tearing flesh, the sickening snap of a brittle bone.

Whirling in place, Elidibus rushes to find whoever is being assaulted - what else could it be? - and rounds the corner to find the elf doing it to himself. He stops in place.

"You will be needing healing, then?" it is a question, but it is also a statement. Elidibus is not going to just leave Mithrun as he found him.

When Mithrun ducked into what limited cover he could find in Town, his surroundings had been pretty empty - enough so for him to convince himself he could stay hidden. Do what he had to, heal, and step back out.

Pain flares up his spine as flesh and bone fail under his claws, the persistent pressure and twist of his hand. Acid-tasting saliva rises in his throat, the warning shot of reflexive nausea. It doesn't stop him, nor does Molik's hiss in his ear.

"You don't get-- to treat this as a favor." Mithrun bares his teeth, snarling in response at his unseen passenger. "Shut up. Shut up, or I will do worse--"

Elidibus's voice breaks through the haze of pain and anger, and Mithrun's ears pin almost flat to the sides of his head. He twists around from where he's hunched over, claws still buried in his wing.

His eye locks on Elidibus for a moment, wide and almost guilty, before he breaks his gaze.

"...I'll do it myself. Once he quiets down."

As he's been doing.

"You need not do so alone."

Closing the distance between the two is easy. Elidibus is clearly not repulsed by the damage or blood, and nor does he seem to be fazed by the fact that Mithrun had been doing this to himself. There are all sorts of ways to damage oneself, after all. This is merely a physical one.

He offers his hands, palm-up, but does not do more else yet. He'll let Mithrun make the choices.

"I may also offer you a distraction, if that would make it easier, even if only temporary."

Mithrun forces his grip to relax, a little at a time. Pulls the claws from his wing, flesh and blood squelching under the keratin and nerves lighting up in protest.

He makes no move to accept Elidibus's hands. But he's still watching.

"...A distraction. From which part?" He sets his hand back on his wing - palm curled gently over the wound, this time. For the moment, Molik's voice has quieted.

"Neither of us are strangers to pain. It was my assumption that while a distraction from that aspect would be appreciated or helpful, it was not the driving intention of my offer."

He remains in his position, almost eerily still as his body holds it with ruthless control.

"No, I mean a distraction as to the root of what caused this." Skirting around naming the issue outright while simultaneously making it obvious as to what he is referring - an effort to keep 'him' quiet.

Appreciated or helpful... Mithrun doubts it. He doesn't care about the pain. Of course he doesn't.

But, in any case: The actual focus of Elidibus's offer sounds more worth pursuing. Mithrun hesitates - then he nods. "Fine. Go ahead."

One hand comes to rest upon Mithrun's shoulder, beginning to glow with soft magic. The healing of their worlds could not be more different from one another in how it feels, and Elidibus ensures that this is an especially pleasant experience. It begins with a soothing of the pain at the source before blooming into warmth.

But the heat is gentle, akin to the fire of a hearth, and in its wake it leaves unblemished skin, scale, and flesh. When the magic retreats that warmth stays behind, lingering like the touch of an old friend.

"That was the initial step of distraction, with the next being an invitation. We do not have the same facilities as in our previous world, but what we lack I am able to make up for with magic."

Now, he grins. "Would you like to make some crème brûlée?"

While the healing isn't exactly a relief to Mithrun, it is to his body - Elidibus can likely feel that, in how tense muscles relax, a little at a time, as he heals away the damage Mithrun had done to himself.

Elidibus's next offer does get his attention a little more - Mithrun's ears literally perk up, his petulantly avoidant gaze flitting to Elidibus.

...Then he looks away again, ears and wings drooping. "...It's not going to help."

How does he know, one may ask? Because he's fucking miserable and he said so.

Elidibus tilts his head, an animalistic gesture that is rather new for his general mannerisms and giving lie to his own changes. As if the scales and spines were not revealing enough.

"Have you already attempted such a thing and found it to not 'work,' as it were? If not, how are you to know such a thing? I have found that doing something one enjoys tends to bring some improvement."

winter catch-all

December Wing Struggles - cw: self-harm/mutilation

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the self-harm cw is back

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/puts a link so that at least my ass remembers where this thread is

Not quite December but definitely winter still

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