middaeg | have you ever heard of bad ideas

have you ever heard of bad ideas

Who: eren jaeger (+ mikleo in the closed prompt), you in the open prompts!
When: may 7th - may 14th more or less i’m flexible
Where: mostly the coven’s magical creature stables, coven baths, wherever else if you’d like to plan something different! just hit me up 🤙
What: eren jaeger is a mess
Warnings: mild body horror (itching, raw skin, self harm, shedding?? w/e you call it), some nudity, eren jaeger

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[ if you’ve heard about some newcomer dingus going into the wilde and coming back mostly unscathed— then you’ve also heard, through the coven’s gossip, that nessie and mhairi have already given them stern punishment! forty lashes!! starvation!! banishment!! torture by—

you’ve probably heard it all and more. the truth is, eren is under stable-arrest for a week after being reckless, working harder than the daily keepers and wearing a closed off, unfriendly frown through most of his errands. either thinking about troubles or punishing himself through tasks.

tiny (many) braids hoist the longer hairs that would usually stick at the back of his neck when he’d start to sweat, despite the moisture and cloudy days of the month— the beginning of his hand, leading to his palm and thumb is disfigured and healing the old fashioned way, victim to a bite (from his own mouth), but laboring through any stings with sharp inhales. catch him working, or resting, or. doing something weird.

he can mostly be found around the horses, picking their hooves, carrying blocks of hay over his shoulders for feeding time, mucking their stables and brushing them with certain skill. he had to learn all of that to ride them back home— he’s tried his hand at the pristine unicorn out back, alas . . .

he has wonderful intentions, but his actions and intent to get there are far from pure. she rejects his attempts at petting often for grazing, but doesn’t turn her back to him completely. she watches him plenty, in fact, every so often coming over to smell his back as he mucks her space— and so does he (watch her), respecting her and making sure the water shines like her coat does.

the cockatrice rooster doesn’t seem to like him. puffing its neck out and stalking eren from behind, the cock asks for a duel with his foot as he scatters feed for them in the mornings. accidentally stepping on a resting hen’s tail doesn’t help his case. a scandalous squawk causes him to jump, the cock to attack— and this to happen. it’s hard to say which one’s screaming the loudest.

or wildcard a mythical creature there are so many good ones. ]

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[ knives, blades, needles and tools are no novelty to eren! when interest piques as a simple idea, it’s easy to ignore. at most, he’ll pick up whatever it is, give it a once over, before setting it back where it belongs while cleaning out the sheds and organizing utilities.

as his week passes, the idea becomes a desire. the oddity in collecting what has suddenly interested him gradually slips away, and soon enough—

by the end of the day, when the evening colors the sky with purple and murky charcoal, eren can be found going through the tool shed near the peryton for the sharp objects present, and ah.

just looking and testing the edge with his fingers, sharpening any dull things with the stable’s file. nothing more. noticing someone’s extra presence, he’ll look over his shoulder and speak up. ]

. . . I used to use blades a lot. Two at once.

[ it makes sense in his head at the moment, for staring at the edge of a hoof pick and garden sickle and holding back the small urge to stick it into his pocket. it’s the only thing that makes enough sense. ]

Ｃ．ＢＡＴＨＳ (cw: mild body horror)
[ once the days are close to over, eren heads out to wash his clothes and himself back at the coven’s baths, but almost always in a rush, caring not for the company he’d meet or share baths with. near panic flares his nostrils and makes his breathing heard from afar— because his body burns.

it itches day in, day out, he can’t sleep can’t eat can’t do anything with how much its come to drive his mind into a spiral. have you ever had full body psoriasis? once his clothes are discarded carelessly, wading into the waters until they lap at his hips, he scratches wildly at his skin, nails digging relentlessly into flesh until they leave behind streams of even brighter red than what they already were from grating at them all day. his teeth hurt, his mouth aches (another problem) and his skin crawls raw, hell he’s itching, he’s been itching horridly ever since he’s gotten back from his field trip to the wilde, and as a man who has a lot less self preservation than one should have—

it feels like there’s something under his joints, the corners of his eyes, his ears, his neck, the tops of his hands and feet up to his shins beyond the sore dryness and flaking; where the burn and skittering underneath is at its worse.

so he scratches, and cusses, and scratches until skin breaks, until it bleeds in the form of dots of crimson— until he’s picking at it, caring less for the stings it causes, what feels almost like relief rather than more pain to worry about.

slapping salves on him from the offered treatment some bonded have given him helps, and to stop mutilating himself more than he’s already prone to doing, he lathers up even before soaps to rub the excess dirt off him, exhaling a sigh when he could finally breathe. at least. for as long as the temporarily relief that the ointments bring would give him.

fearing that he’s caught by the very disease that overtook the filly pair past the slums . . . he’ll have to talk to mhairi again. perhaps one may want to stop him in the meantime, he’s starting to pick enough at spots that it looks like he’s 👌 this much away from tearing off layers. ]

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They’re just—

[ horses. just horses, he would say, as he gets his grip going and begins to step back into the direction they came. wild horses wouldn’t just . . . walk over them. they’d have to be domesticated. but they’re not wearing saddles, or equipment? they’re poorly taken care of, in fact.

eren double-takes, bringing his walk to a near standstill. the pressure in his chest drops into his gut, like an anchor, enough that it forces out a quiet gasp. they’re not all black, only in blotchy patches, their fur rattled and on end, their eyes and gums white like pearl, a strike against darkness and what’s worse— they ooze at the mouth. a murky, foul scented substance that shines like tar. the fillies kick and whine in a aggravated canter now, picking up their pace and separating to encircle them. their mouths bubble, they reek, and they kill the grass their hooves press into, wilting and drying away like a plague.

he doesn’t think, for another moment, to waste time waiting. the dreams he had comes to him again, his heart racing until its lodging into his throat and beating in his ears. infected. dead things. with his hold on mikleo secure, eren bolts, holding his breath to give his muscles that extra burst he needed to get an edge and get a quick one. shit shit shit shit shit— ]

Hold on! Shit—

[ dragging their hooves into the dirt and whipping their heads, the horses don’t enjoy their leave. they give chase. eren runs, and runs fast for a man carrying an extra body—

he’s just not a horse. ]

[As Eren takes in the sight of them, Mikleo's already scouting for escape options. Horses are still a fast land mammal. In a straight up race, there's no way that they can win. The stench is terrible and so is the feeling of indescribable pain and pressure in his chest. He wonders if Eren can feel it, too.

At the very least he can still hold on, even if he's exhausted, but he feels worse and worse the longer they're out here in the presence of the horses. One thing about horses, though, is that they're not good with difficult terrain. They'll have to slow down. There's some ruins at the edges here where the city used to stretch out, though Mikleo has to squint to make sure.]

We might be able to take cover over there! They can't make tight turns!

[Five Lords, he really hopes so. If he could run on his own then they might stand a better chance, but not like this... He's so damn useless right now and it's aggravating.]

[ the horses are in gallop now, with death to the plants in tow. he could not have said shit in his head more times than he did today. he could use a horse. he could use the fillies actually not chasing them, but there lied eren’s payment to making the mistake of a lifetime.

if mikleo can’t run with him, it’s his doing from the start.

but right now, all he thinks of is life and how two are in danger. eren zig zags to try and throw them off, inhaling another sharp, deep breath to give them another boost of speed, or at least, the very least, maintaining the speed he can. it’s not enough when the horse’s breath is nearly upon them, hot and frenzied to snap a bite out of their flagging clothes.

another jump, another twist to deter them, but he sees it. rubble that’s fallen and fuses with the plant life, and eren goes straight for it. ]

We just won’t be able to stop!! [ he says that as a warning that he’s not going to stick there. more could come, or, worse, they could trap themselves. eren’s body bends to jump, to weave through the structures and attempt to slip through the smaller cracks that fit them. his movements are desperate, his chest heaving now.

it’s worse when he turns sideways to force themselves through two pillars, and sees the shades slowing, but still following, clicking through the rocky terrain and jumping over the sharp curves of slopes, huffing to show their aversion but still too persistent to stop.

he has to do something. he has to do something he has to do something because he can’t even force a spark of magic out of him. he can’t run at this pace forever, they’d get caught. trampled. infected? dead. except, eren has always said one thing in the face of death and impossibility, no matter the odds. if he was about to go down, he’d never accept it. he’d fight on as if he’d make it through, because it is true the moment he chose to say not today. ]

We’re going to get back!!

[ we’re not dying a miserable death here. we’re going home. and so he does, at the end of a climb where a body of water used to fall into a tiny little cascade, perhaps made by human hands and long ago left to dry. you can call it desperation! you can call it the last human trump card, or eren’s last. horses— were still horses. it’s the last burst of quick thinking he has.

eren sharp turns toward the horses, hooks mikleo’s legs around his waist to free his hands— before throwing them up. he might not be bigger than them in stature, but he is by energy. he puts forth a violent cry, a yell fueled with so much savagery, he could convince one that he was about to eat them and not the other way around. one horse loses footing, slides into the other with startle—

and down they go, tangling into each other and falling into a gape. ]

[Mikleo winces as one of the horses nearly gets a bite of his capelets. It was a very elegant seraph thing, but now he's completely regretting having a shirt on at all. He'll be lucky if he can even salvage it after all the blood that's in it, but that's not what he's thinking about; he's more focused on the breathing, panicking boy beneath him and the monsters nipping at their heels.

Eren screams that they're going to get back. Mikleo holds on all the tighter, his silent affirmation. He wishes he could do more but even as he tries to reach down inside himself for a spark of magic, he's rebuffed by a wave of exhaustion and sickness. Nope. Not happening.

He hooks his legs about Eren's waist sort of half-aware of it, as the thundering of his heart and his head have made it difficult to retain consciousness. But as Eren shifts posture beneath him, Mikleo realizes what he's doing, and he balances himself just enough that he can add his own arms and shouting to the frightening show Eren is putting on. The only thing more terrifying than a screaming savage man is a screaming savage man with four arms, to be honest. A bigger shape.

And it works.

Mikleo gasps as he sees the horses fall over each other, not necessarily turning and fleeing but it's enough. It's enough. Mikleo renews his grip about Eren's neck and shoulders.]

Good job! The wall-- we're close!

[ they’re the greatest beast who ever lived.

but now, more than ever, does eren hoist mikleo’s weight around his arms once more and push for another bolting sprint. he goes past no man’s land, through the shanties of the slums and fails to slow down, to look back, trusting his ears when he doesn’t hear the hoofbeats behind them. even once they have, finally, reached the wall, he doesn’t speak, not for the time being. he needs all the air he can get.

the gates are opened for them, and they may have even been questioned, but eren— doesn’t stop there. he leaves them hanging (an action that will send their word to the higher ups at the coven), courses through his huffs and only comes to a crumbling halt when he’s made it to the infirmary. puffy red cheeks wheeze out a plea to help mikleo when nurses come in a small, rushing group. eren’s urgent in wanting them to tend to mikleo first, wanting to follow them as they usher but being held back for questioning. what happened was the most dire one, and eren’s sure to explain once letting his legs give out after finding a place to sit. the ground is nice for that, wherever it is he’s standing. he refuses any other treatment on his hands.

they’d both need to rest a while before being summoned, cautiously being checked over for coming in contact with shades— in fact, they get word of miss nessie and mhairi wanting to speaking with them. urgently. he can imagine, easily, what it was about.

which is what he contemplates, by the bed mikleo rests in, beginning to scratch at skin that prickles in a horrid sort of way. the kind that can’t be satiated. there’s a nurse checking over him after he complains, but— no infection. maybe it’s just ivy he brushed into, and off the witch goes to fetch him an oil mix. he’s, just.

miserable, for a fair number of reasons, but one of the first was his own recklessness. he’s worried as heck about the seraph. ]

[Mikleo has very few words of encouragement after that, not because he doesn't feel them but because he's struggling to stay conscious and alert. His grip starts to falter after they slip through the gate, loosening and then grabbing on again when he catches himself. But by the time Eren arrives at the infirmary he's pretty much gone, exhausted to the point of being handed off like a sleepy if not oversized child.

He's exhausted, and he is still so exhausted when he finds himself a moment of lucidity. He isn't sure how long it's been. He cracks his eyes open and sees a blurry shape, and he's expecting the brunet to be the one he grew up with. But the shape of his shoulders is all wrong, and--

And Eren looks like Mikleo feels, honestly.

It takes a frustrating amount of effort to reach out and gently lay cool fingers on Eren's arm. Lavender eyes stare up at him, half-open.]

We made it... Thanks.

[ for a few split moments, eren seems to be staring at mikleo’s bed, but his thoughts are elsewhere, enough that he jolts straight in his seat when touched, reminded of mikleo being there and actually awake, thank god if there is any. he’s been sitting there anywhere from minutes to hours, and some nurses will whisper amongst themselves: he hasn’t moved an inch from his bed, the poor thing, and less generous comments like guilt serves him right. he doesn’t make an effort to hear any of them, as quick or as long as they linger. there are more important things to attend to.

his eyes, big, blue and repentant, glue to mikleo; his hand doesn’t move from the seraph’s, and neither do they shift to hold back (he’s feeling . . . much too awful about himself), but he does lean over some— arms resting on his legs and keeping his voice low, quiet. no one else had to hear them talking. ]

I could’ve killed you.

[ and it’s eating at him. barbarically. ]

Edited 2019-05-20 23:29 (UTC)

[Mikleo takes a second to respond. The gears are slowly turning in his head, so everything has a sort of... strange five-second delay. He's so tired. He might actually roll over and sleep for another day or so after this, but before that, he needs to say a few things. For one, he needs Sorey to know he's okay. But he'll get to that in a minute.

With some effort, he moves his hand from Eren's elbow to gently, so gently, rest his fingertips on Eren's lips.]

Nope, [he says simply. He takes a deep breath. Lavender eyes close again, longer than a blink, as he fights the urge to drift away again.] I chose to heal you. I chose to put all of myself into that spell. Following you outside, too-- that was my decision.

It was... [He pauses, and his lips curl into a smile that almost reaches his eyes.] ... a calculated risk.

[ you can’t just DO him like this.

there his fingers go— on his mouth. there’s a small part of eren that internally squirms at his words, using his own hand to guide and serve as support for the seraph’s. it felt like an odd place to let him linger, including the fact that he was tired and trying hard to move. to briefly show that he was here, that he didn’t need to keep reaching, eren gives mikleo’s hand a squeeze until it’s back on the bed, palm over the top of his chilly fingers.

rest, you fool.

a calculated risk, he says it was. eren’s own lips curl almost a little helplessly. you got him there? even if there was something deep in him that rejected, that wanted him to reject it selfishly, because thinking like that— could get them killed. but what was he, if he couldn’t trust his friends? he remembers clear as day the bodies mangled and slain in titan forest. they died because he trusted them. eren’s friends lived, too, in a collapsing cave he wildly took a chance to hold up by a streak of chance. because they trusted him.

he’s not too far gone yet, to not understand even if the temptation was there. he breathes out, soft and a little speechless, because there’s argument in his heart but he just. can’t argue. he would’ve done the same. because mikleo was free.

eren’s hands return to his lap, folding digits into a fist and clapping his palm over them too light to make much sound. fine. you got him. ]

You know we’re in trouble too, right?

[Mikleo knows he's right. His eyes flutter shut again and he doesn't try to reopen them. He squeezes Eren's hand back, though. He's very sweet, and Mikleo is comfortable with letting him know that.

Theirs isn't just any bond now. They almost died. That changes things.]

We lied to get outside. I knew it would happen one way or another. It wasn't... all bad. We learned some things.

[He lets out a slow deep breath.]

Could you find Sorey and let him know where I am? He's probably worried sick.

[ as a nurse quietly leaves some ointment for eren by his chair, bowing away and not wanting interrupt, he simply regards her as she checks on mikleo’s vitals one last time before taking her leave.

eren pulls his hand away slowly, resting it briefly on top of mikleo’s forearm in a surprisingly gentle clap, nodding to let him know that he’s on it— without even leaving? he’s not leaving this spot. at the very least, until sorey is here, but for now? he’s. staying. right here. ]

I will.

[ pulling out his watch from his pocket and poking at buttons like grandpa’s first ipad. that, and his hands still sort of ache. while he does this, though, trying to go through . . . network? people? whatever it was that akira showed him how to do, he’s trying to do it and finds himself drifting with thought.

mikleo went all the way out there, went through a shitstorm, with him— and he didn’t know why he did all that? it didn’t seem fair. eren wets his lips before he speaks. ]

I was trying to turn into a titan. [ he knows he mentioned them to the seraph once or twice— as humans turned man eating giants living endless nightmares in them. ] A conscious one.

[Mikleo finds an easy smile when Eren gently touches his arm like that. Eren is trying, and that's really all Mikleo needs to know. They're not besties or anything and they barely know anything about each other, but it's a damn sight more than anyone else knows about Mikleo at this point-- save for Sorey, who is basically his other half. He almost doesn't count.]

Thank you. [His eyes flutter back open when he hears the sound of a watch.] ... Oh, right. I keep forgetting about those. [He's not used to having this kind of technology, but thankfully Izuku showed him a while back.

He's definitely tired, but he can make conversation at least until it properly claims him again. He should eat at some point but he's just... not hungry. He's empty in every sense of the word, save for the relief in his heart.

He pauses at that admission, though, his breathing interrupted for a moment.]

... Is that your power, then? You can turn into one and keep your sanity?

[Wow. That's not something even Mikleo could do, not that he'd ever want to tread that close to being a dragon in the first place. But, still... he's starting to see the picture here. He's beginning to understand why that transformation meant so much to Eren that he flipped out when he couldn't do it. It was that important to him, perhaps because there's no one else who can use that power.]

I'm sorry that was taken from you. But you're not helpless, and you're not alone. We can make it work.

[Lavender eyes settle on Eren's features.]

You're a protector. I had that feeling from the first time we met.

Edited 2019-05-25 01:41 (UTC)

[ tell me about it, he mutters with a humorless huff when he pokes and prods at buttons, still. he’s the worst at this. but, technology was meant to be used and helpful, even if he was much too far into the past. he’s getting a preview before he dies in a few years, he’ll use it wisely.

once that’s done, he’ll start— rubbing some of the ointments left on him. maybe he won’t have to worry about itching himself to harm (haha, a joke). curling fingers into the pot left by his feet, he glides them across the little burning sensations. it works, for the most part. chilly. the good kind of chilly. ]

It’s . . . Hard to ignore people who’re overwhelmed.

[ a “protector” sounds almost extravagant to his ears, but it isn’t untrue. eren felt the need to protect those under the massive weight of oppression, and violation. from things who threaten to take their freedom.

that’s what he’s always believed, even if some memories hurt, with how much the path to freedom was . . . bloody. ]

I’d help pull their trigger if I can.

[ and that’s what eren’s always manages to inspire in hearts: awakening. ]

[He watches Eren work with half-lidded eyes. At least he's getting something for... the itchier parts of him, which Mikleo didn't notice before. As long as they're in the infirmary, they'll get all the help they need. It's... a relief that Eren's okay, after all of that.

He listens patiently as Eren chooses careful words to explain. Mikleo gets it now, though he pretty much had the shape of it before; Eren is concerned with other people's freedom, a liberation from their oppression inside and outside the walls. He can't even run free, here. Mikleo has spent his life learning and traveling and cataloging; to be denied would be to smother half of himself. It's unimaginable.

His lips curve, his smile making the edges of his eyes crinkle.]

I guess that makes me the one who helps the helper.

[He still has his hand within perfect grasping reach, if Eren wants it. Mikleo seems to be losing his fight though.]

... Make sure you get some rest, too. I don't think I'll-- [a stifled yawn] -- be able to heal for a while.

[ there’s still an undeniable sense of guilt, even if it was a calculated risk and if mikleo did what his free will had wanted. it’s still there. alas— eren is still human with faults that sometimes felt like holes. sometimes. other times, he thought he was too right to give anything else a chance.

a faraway expression only solidifies into a weary smile back when his eyes make contact. oh, mikleo. what would he have done without you out there? maybe worry less, maybe come back alive, maybe. or maybe he wouldn’t have calmed enough to flee from the horses in time.

it was what it was, and the thing, this thing he felt during, when his hands were bloody and his eyes stung with tears— what was that, right? what was that, magic? mikleo? both?

after some thought on his own, it’s what makes him reach for the seraph’s arm (rather than his hand, although there’s no lesser meaning to what he does because of it), a cleaner hand than the one caked with ointment, that grips his forearm. ]

Get some rest.

[ some much needed rest, in fact. they weren’t bonded— it was too early to even think he needed a bond, much less realize he was a monster to begin with.

his grip unfastens. his fingers brushing down and lingering close to mikleo’s hand, partially out of curiosity while he questions what happened during their blood exchange until . . . they’re actually there, on his hand. he removes himself the second he realizes he’s indulging in something he doesn’t really know, but.

there’s benefit to it, and he wonders again if that’s a constant thing. for a second, it almost felt like how he’d hold historia’s hand at random intervals, to see if he’d get more memories.

he’s awfully thoughtful as mikleo drifts. ]

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