Midousuji Akira (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
discarding) wrote2021-01-30 11:36 pm
discarding) wrote2021-01-30 11:36 pm
[aef au]
[this has been the worst time... perhaps ever. well, almost. nothing tops Midousuji's biggest worst ever, nor shall anything ever top it, but he's experienced some shitty stuff even besides the worst day of his life... and this is pretty close. as far as an enduring, on going experience (again, second only to the numbing grief of surviving the loss of a loved one), this is the worst thing Midousuji has experienced in a long time.
apparently, Midousuji was a Witch in this place. which would be great, if Midousuji had any command over any of what that entailed—were he a competent magician, he'd be delighted at that kind of power. but honestly, Midousuji had predicted at the jump he'd be shit at it—and he's proven that to himself with his every attempt. Midousuji none-the-less had relented, determined to try, and decided, like most things, it was pointless.
until Midousuji had learned of the adverse health effects that comes with neglecting spell work... so Midousuji does practice here and there, just for the sake of expulsion to avoid build-up, but it feels like... well, there's a crude analogy in there or two. magic is not pleasant to Midousuji, but neither is the prospect of potentially exploding.
but then, if he can't be good at something, and he can't properly cycle in a place like this, what was the point of it, anyway? Midousuji had even heard a rumor on the grapevine that when Mirrorbound die, they don't stay dead. so it's his most meaningless existence yet, in a place even more meaningless than Earth.
and speaking of meaningless, of all people, Onoda is in this place. Midousuji is hard pressed to think of a person who tries his nerves more easily than that kid, but most of that is because Onoda makes Midousuji feel a bunch of... other stuff that's... confusing, thus frustrating, scary, and unpleasant.
once again, it's enduring torture. all of it.
all that aside, though, Midousuji's really feeling the effects of his inability to keep up with his needed spell quota—even when properly tried. he feels hot, and cold, like he has the flu, and he's laying on his side, having just finished a good ol' session of dry-heaving and coughing. his body feels tingly and numb, and like there's stabbing, prickly pain through his nerves whenever it's not just a nothing buzz. despite how he sweats, he feels dry—no water is enough. his thin, graceless limbs are weak and shaky.
Midousuji can tell that it's this alleged magic sickness people have been harping on. it's been a slow onset, and now Midousuji's afraid that it's maybe a bit too late. but he's at some conflict, here. why is he afraid to die, if existing is pointless? is he so much of a coward that he fears the pain? and yet here he is, dreading a painful, messy death.
expression stoic, eyes wide and lifeless, teeth grit with his lips parted, Midousuji stares at nothing—until his gaze suddenly snaps, then slowly rolls upwards. he cranes his neck, stretching it grotesquely, and slowly extends a long, sinewy arm in the same direction, releasing the hold it had with its twin around his knees.
Midousuji grabs his watch, dragging it with a clawed, severe hand. once he has it, he shakily texts that pain in the ass Otaku. Midousuji hasn't budged much of an inch in Onoda's deplorably tenacious mission for friendship, but being on what might be your own death bed can make a person act a little out of character.
or, maybe, more in line to their truer, buried selves.]
Hey
Sakamichi
[Midousuji pauses, staring at his screen, and squints his eyes, resentfully snapping his teeth as he thinks of how to follow up. he knows Onoda recently had a bond, so there's no way he's as sick as Midousuji is&madsh;in fact, Onoda won't shut up with his fretting. but Midousuji can't just outright propose a Bond. actually, he's pretty sure Onoda's offered before, which resulted in some predictably, disproportionately violent reaction from Midousuji. now he's kind of regretting not taking Onoda up on it—what's the worth of his pride here? the shame of bonding with a petite, sing-song otaku boy or petulantly dying unbonded? the latter is at least more on brand...
Midousuji's fingers tremble as he types, and he goes slowly, not wanting to tip off with any errors.]
Come feed
You haven't done it yet, have you?
[that's right, even in a situation like this, Midousuji needs to have control of the situation.]
apparently, Midousuji was a Witch in this place. which would be great, if Midousuji had any command over any of what that entailed—were he a competent magician, he'd be delighted at that kind of power. but honestly, Midousuji had predicted at the jump he'd be shit at it—and he's proven that to himself with his every attempt. Midousuji none-the-less had relented, determined to try, and decided, like most things, it was pointless.
until Midousuji had learned of the adverse health effects that comes with neglecting spell work... so Midousuji does practice here and there, just for the sake of expulsion to avoid build-up, but it feels like... well, there's a crude analogy in there or two. magic is not pleasant to Midousuji, but neither is the prospect of potentially exploding.
but then, if he can't be good at something, and he can't properly cycle in a place like this, what was the point of it, anyway? Midousuji had even heard a rumor on the grapevine that when Mirrorbound die, they don't stay dead. so it's his most meaningless existence yet, in a place even more meaningless than Earth.
and speaking of meaningless, of all people, Onoda is in this place. Midousuji is hard pressed to think of a person who tries his nerves more easily than that kid, but most of that is because Onoda makes Midousuji feel a bunch of... other stuff that's... confusing, thus frustrating, scary, and unpleasant.
once again, it's enduring torture. all of it.
all that aside, though, Midousuji's really feeling the effects of his inability to keep up with his needed spell quota—even when properly tried. he feels hot, and cold, like he has the flu, and he's laying on his side, having just finished a good ol' session of dry-heaving and coughing. his body feels tingly and numb, and like there's stabbing, prickly pain through his nerves whenever it's not just a nothing buzz. despite how he sweats, he feels dry—no water is enough. his thin, graceless limbs are weak and shaky.
Midousuji can tell that it's this alleged magic sickness people have been harping on. it's been a slow onset, and now Midousuji's afraid that it's maybe a bit too late. but he's at some conflict, here. why is he afraid to die, if existing is pointless? is he so much of a coward that he fears the pain? and yet here he is, dreading a painful, messy death.
expression stoic, eyes wide and lifeless, teeth grit with his lips parted, Midousuji stares at nothing—until his gaze suddenly snaps, then slowly rolls upwards. he cranes his neck, stretching it grotesquely, and slowly extends a long, sinewy arm in the same direction, releasing the hold it had with its twin around his knees.
Midousuji grabs his watch, dragging it with a clawed, severe hand. once he has it, he shakily texts that pain in the ass Otaku. Midousuji hasn't budged much of an inch in Onoda's deplorably tenacious mission for friendship, but being on what might be your own death bed can make a person act a little out of character.
or, maybe, more in line to their truer, buried selves.]
Hey
Sakamichi
[Midousuji pauses, staring at his screen, and squints his eyes, resentfully snapping his teeth as he thinks of how to follow up. he knows Onoda recently had a bond, so there's no way he's as sick as Midousuji is&madsh;in fact, Onoda won't shut up with his fretting. but Midousuji can't just outright propose a Bond. actually, he's pretty sure Onoda's offered before, which resulted in some predictably, disproportionately violent reaction from Midousuji. now he's kind of regretting not taking Onoda up on it—what's the worth of his pride here? the shame of bonding with a petite, sing-song otaku boy or petulantly dying unbonded? the latter is at least more on brand...
Midousuji's fingers tremble as he types, and he goes slowly, not wanting to tip off with any errors.]
Come feed
You haven't done it yet, have you?
[that's right, even in a situation like this, Midousuji needs to have control of the situation.]
i definitely lost this in the fold.
[ The answer is immediate, earnest. As if in part it's to convince not only Midosuji but also himself. Even if he could easily eat more and more, he's sure, he's at least had enough to not go berserk and attack some unwitting witch while roaming out late one night out of his mind. That's all that mattered, really. He didn't need to eat until he was full, he needed to eat until he was safe. ]
It was enough. I'm not -
[ Has he always been like this? Onoda doesn't know. He's always thought of Midosuji as someone from home who liked the same things he did. A friend, maybe. A competitor. And he liked him. He was strong and fierce on a bike. But he felt so different without it. ]
I'm not being gentle on you.
[ He is, totally. And he is scrambling to say that so that, and he's not good at disguising how he feels about something. But he doesn't like being a monster, so he doesn't want to take advantage of it. He doesn't want to hurt someone he cares about and likes. Midosuji didn't look well. ]
You need to get well first.
between game activity and DW eating notifs sporadically but with wild abandon: same w many tags
Liar...
[until, of course, Onoda says he needs to get well first. Midousuji drops his head with a hard whack as he lays back down, unflinching and unblinking as he stares at the ceiling. Midousuji can't actually argue with that. weak prey isn't sufficient for providing nutrients... thoughtfully, his gaze still spaced out to another plane of existence, Midousuji nurses the wound, absent-mindedly sucking on it.
being pitied by someone like Onoda is terrible. Midousuji hates pity in general, but Onoda is such a wimpy, soft-bellied spaz, so it burns like the retraction of a serrated blade. and on the total opposite side of that spectrum, it feels awful to be pitied by someone like that when they are, ultimately, a better athlete. makes him feel small. and stupid.
his eyes drift to the side as his thoughts wander, deciding he should probably just stop being pathetic, if he doesn't want to be pitied.]
I'll get well. [he says that after the pause, and finally, glances back at Onoda.] And then you can have a full belly.
[finally, with some slow, labored work, Midousuji pushes himself up into a seating position, a bit of his own blood smeared at the upper corner of his lip. his eye-contact, ever flightly, falls somewhere between them. maybe if he just disassociates a thousand miles a minute, he won't want to crack his head open instantaneously for finally exposing the disgusting nature of his ulterior motive at play in this entire meeting.]
Also...
We should...Bond.
no subject
If only because Onoda doesn't really consider it pity. He thinks it's smart. He's not out here to really hurt someone. ]
Bond?
[ Did he hear that right? He's not even sure. ]
Do you mean that, Midosuji-kun?
[ Does he have to say he would? He's been wanting to bond since day one. ]
hubris retrospect: lets just ignore how dangerous it is for monsters to drink a witchs blood. unless
[Midousuji's head swims with weakness from the energy of his sudden shouting, and he feels a wave of nausea that causes his eyes to widen and unfocus, his body lurching with discomfort. he cups his hand over his mouth, and the tension leaves his face, looking drained and pale. he focuses on the ceiling again.
like it or not...
he trusts Onoda more than anyone else, here. and he's weak enough that he won't try to dominate Midousuji. hopefully...
but also...
Midousuji is at a special sort of unease, around Onoda. it's hard to pin—but he thinks it's the relentless sunniness, the smiles where they shouldn't be, the insistent...warmth. it's the same thing that draws Midousuji to him, which is what's making him nauseous.]
It just makes makes sense, [Midousuji manages queasily.] I know you a little bit; everyone else here is a total stranger, even after 3 months. And besides, I'm running out of time.
Sakamichi...
[tiredly, his gaze drifts over to the tiny, terrifying demon he both can't stand, and admires.]
...I know...
...that...you probably wouldn't hurt me.
you know, oops LOL
It means everything to him to know that the other knows that he wouldn't hurt him. Which is exactly what he heard - no probably, just that he wouldn't. ]
Of course I want to Bond with you.
[ A smile. A smile Midosuji has certainly seen once or twice - or more. A soft smile that radiates brightness and sunlight despite being the dark, weird monster that he is. It's purely him. ]
It's better when it's someone you know. I trust you, Midosuji.
oh right vampires are kind of exempt from this. to a degree. WE SHALL SEE
besides, he'll have to get used to it, right? if they bond... ugh. disgusting.
the way Onoda smiles makes his stomach churn, a feeling Midousuji mistakes simply as revulsion, which is easy to do, when you're nauseous and kind of cruising the brink of insanity from magic sickness. the butterflies feel like a threat on his mortal life. that's when he pushes Onoda's hand off of him finally, but it's weak, using the backs of his long fingers.
that horrible expression of Onoda's... the strange juxtaposition. it's a quality that repels and pulls Midousuji simultaneously. a sunniness he can't look directly into.]
Gross. Gross, you shouldn't, [Midousuji grumbles weakly, tilting his head a bit too severely in the other direction.] I'm using you. It's just practical. Icky Sakamichi.
[fuck. he hopes that's true. but if he's hoping, that probably means...
well, right. he's also losing his shit. he'll see how he feels when he gets rid of this sickness once they bond tomorrow, and maybe gets some food in him. right]
no subject
It's true, probably.
Still, he smiles. He moves his hand to himself, still holding it there as he settles in next to the other. ]
That's okay, Midosuji.
[ He says it confidently, assured that he doesn't mind the idea that he's being used. ]
I get something, too.
[ A bond. Blood. A way in, maybe? ]
no subject
right?]
...Yeah, a meal, [Midousuji mumbles, dragging his tired eyelid down with his thin, dry fingers. but he knows Onoda means more than that, probably. Midousuji just doesn't want to think about it too hard.]
You're so stupid. Gross...
[what feels really gross is putting himself in this position because he thinks of Onoda as a superior athlete, as per his AU dark end or whatever. gaze stubbornly turned to its upper corners, his thin, spidery fingers clawed across his face.]
...Since I'm sick... first thing tomorrow. Is best, I mean.
[the magic sickness is giving a jumpy, erratic and unpredictable pulse. it's just the sickness.
right?]
...I don't remember where you live. You can sleep somewhere here if it'll prevent you from being late...
[Midousuji rests his sore, wet wrist against his own lips, sucking absent-mindedly as if to soothe the wound. the pain itself is grounding, too. but he's also losing his mind, a little?]
...otherwise, be at the Coven no later than 7 in the morning.