Hey it’s @spacey-png birth and I wrote a lil emic confession as a gift!!! I hope you enjoy it and have a great birthday!! 🎉🎉
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Hizashi has been planning this over and over in his head. Repeated every word, every pause, every cadence and quirk, every hand gesture and overdramatic explanation of his affections to make it absolutely, positively, impossibly clear just how much he loves Aizawa Shōta and how very, very sincerely he would like to be the one for him.
He has for a year known that on his birthday, his gift to himself will be looking Shōta right in the face (but not the eyes, that makes Shōta uncomfortable, that’s one of those things he’s learned and practised) and telling him in the biggest, best words he can that he is head over heels in love.
Kayama is in on it, of course. She’s been gathering vital intelligence, cheering him on- and it’s her counsel he seeks first this morning after staring at himself in the mirror long enough to be sure he isn’t dreaming, that the day has finally come and this is what it’s greeted him with.
[Midnight] he texts, Hero name and all because it’s saving he needs right now.
She replies quickly, [Are you all set?]
Hizashi stares at his reflection again, gurgles his misery in time with the tapping of his thumbs.
[I lost my voice.]
[You lost your voice???]
[Is it a sore throat?? I can bring you something!!]
[No] He is dying inside. [I think it's the Villain from yesterday. It's not a sore throat, I can feel the sounds resonating up just fine, but if I try and say anything- Bam! It's like they just disappear.]
[Does that mean today's plans are cancelled?]
Hizashi gazes at himself, lips pursed, brows low. Every overwrought script he’s come up with, flawless as they might’ve been, is swept aside under one big, undeniable truth.
He wants Shōta to know how he feels.
It has to be today. He can feel it.
[I'll figure something out!!! I'm going to make sure he knows how I feel!!!]
[I'll be cheering for you!] She’s always got his back, he knows that, but it’s always nice to remember she’s standing at his side encouraging him too. [I expect to hear all about it later!]
[When I can talk to do it, I promise you're getting the exclusive reveal!]
As Hizashi requests, Shōta is already briefed on his unfortunate situation by the time Hizashi appears at his door. Kayama spared the specifics of why it matters so much, but she got across the main thing: Mic no talk, enjoy the relief on your ears.
Shōta inclines his head as Hizashi takes his shoes off, considering him in the rare silence.
“I told you to consider learning signs before your hearing gets worse. It would have been useful in the present situation too.”
Hizashi makes the biggest show he can of rolling his eyes, squeezing past Shōta’s folded arms to jog out into the lounge and drape himself all over Shōta’s couch. He puts his legs up on one of the arms even, grinning while Shōta sighs and trudges over to sweep them right back off to the ground.
Drinks are provided, Shōta finds something to put on the TV, the normal day together Hizashi had asked for so he could make his move that’s now turning into an agonising attempt to figure out a new, even better move, with one hundred percent less speech.
They sit together, quiet. Obviously.
“Um.” Shōta shifts in place, rubbing his palm up and down the side of his mug. “This is… strange.”
Of course it’s strange! Hizashi can’t breathe a word despite the backlog of frankly incredible lines he’s building up in response to the decor, the TV, Shōta’s awkward little wriggles. He has some killer jokes about Shōta’s cat-paw socks just begging to get out!
He puffs up his cheeks, waving his hands in an approximation of duh! When's the last time you weren't being serenaded by my beautiful words every moment we spent together?
Shōta watches his interpretive dance and glances away. “…I have no idea what that means. You could type on your phone.”
You didn’t read it when I did, his hands wiggle emphatically.
“…Are you complaining I didn’t look, before.”
YES???
“You had the font set to the smallest size. And the note background was magenta.”
Hizashi’s hands freeze, and then he’s sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. He has tastes! And a lot to say, more than his screen could handle any bigger than that. Shōta didn’t go for the emojis, either! Probably because decoding them would’ve taken a codebreaker a good chunk of the day…
“Sorry. I… am not that good with screens to begin with. And I’m worse with charades.” Shōta clears his throat, lips curving down in a frown. “I should try to be more allowing. Especially today.”
Hizashi gives him a flapped it’s fine, it’s fine, sinking back heavier into the couch. So no text on a screen, no charades. Damn. Maybe he can piece together songs? Make a quick playlist, as if making a playlist is ever quick?
“Ah, it’s frustrating.”
That tone of voice has Hizashi looking back to him, unused to Shōta speaking so softly. Shōta’s hands have slipped up to steeple against his forehead, elbows on his knees, back arched down and thumb fidgeting back and forth near the tip of his nose, gaze focused unseeing beyond it.
Hizashi wants to ask what’s wrong, is this bad, should I have thought of something else?
He just lifts a hand, loosely touching Shōta’s shoulder to try and remind him that he’s here for whatever Shōta wants to say.
Shōta’s eyes flick sidelong towards him, hastily back away, and it’s surely a trick of the light but his cheeks look a little pink.
“Usually you talk so much I can’t get a word in. But I never wish you were quiet.” His hands slide slow down his nose, fingers parting to the shape of it and joining again over his lips as he laces them across his mouth instead. “I don’t know what to do in a silence like this. It makes me want to- fill it, but I doubt I have anything worth saying, even less than you do. At least you make nonsense sound appealing.”
Best Radio Show four years and counting, he wants to remind him, to lighten the mood. His fingers just gather in his lap, gaze still on the hint of red that’s taken root in Shōta’s ears now too.
Shōta’s gaze sweeps to the ceiling, like he’s looking for answers in the paint.
“I like your voice.”
Hizashi feels his spine straighten, eyes wide and alert as the jolt slips his glasses down his nose. Oh. Oho. What? What?
“It’s not the best voice, even. You blast out my eardrums every other day, you squawk when you’re excited, speak a mile a minute even when you’re not…” Shōta laughs, all soft and fond and Hizashi is ascending. “But it’s calming. I feel- at ease, when you’re talking. Maybe that’s why I feel so wound up right now.”
He drops his hands, tipping his head down and sighing low. “You said you had something to tell me, today. I… want to hear it, in your words, in your voice. I’m bad at dealing with a lot of things, but they’re- a little easier, if it’s you saying them.”
Hizashi is staring and Shōta keeps his face pointedly away, bringing a hand up to scratch awkward through his hair as the seconds tick by.
“…I think I know what you want to say to me,” he announces, finally. “You’re worse at hiding things than you think.”
Hizashi isn’t sure if he wants to squawk offendedly or babble apologies, but neither make it out. He just stares, his own face starting to feel hot, his glasses continuing their trajectory right off of his nose.
“I think I already know what I’m going to say to you, about it. And I know why you don’t want to wait, and I know it’s your birthday. But-“ Shōta peeks up, pausing to stretch a hand out, to press a single finger to the bridge of Hizashi’s glasses so he can carefully ease them back up into place. It’s achingly intimate. “I’m going to be selfish and ask you to hold back until you can tell me properly. And when you do, I’ll give you a proper answer.”
Even if he were able to speak, Hizashi thinks he might be dazzled speechless.
“When you can’t talk you can’t talk me out of bad decisions, or say something so embarrassing I regret them, so.” Shōta lifts his head a fraction higher. “I’m going to talk myself into something ridiculous so you have the power to be patient, and so I get whatever is possessing me out of my system. No, you are not allowed to do an interpretive dance about it. No, I will not be reading whatever you type. This is just- a thing that I am doing, that will happen because I want it too, and then it will be over and we will order takeout.”
Hizashi is aware of the space between them inching smaller, of the hand that was on his glasses touching his cheek instead and klaxons in his head so loud they might come out of the shocked ring his lips are forming if that ring wasn’t being stoppered up by another mouth covering his with a kiss that lives up to its giver’s name and erases every thought straight out of his head.
Shōta pulls away, whole face dark red, eyes darting over Hizashi’s dreamy expression before he’s on his feet, back turned, shoulders up around his ears.
“Takeout,” he repeats.
Hizashi doesn’t try to answer. He gives a thumbs up to everything, all of this, and listens to Shōta’s flustered ramble all the way out of the room.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Chapter one of my Oboro-centric erasercloudmic fic for @bnha-big-bang is out!
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Pro-Hero Oboro knows the last fight he was in went badly, but he wasn’t expecting to wake up stranded in a city that seems all muddled up with nobody responding to his distress calls. Heading to U.A. for help only makes things worse—he finds his best friends waiting, which would be great if they hadn’t died years ago.
Now stuck in a world where things went very differently, Oboro has to reckon with the people he never got to grow up with, the sometimes familiar kids they teach, and a Nemuri who is so close to the one he left behind that sometimes it’s easy to forget this world is really a mirror.
But mirrors don’t just reflect what you want to see in them. As Oboro becomes more convinced he wants to keep this life he’s stumbled into, he has to reckon with the knowledge that the spot he’s filling is likely not as empty as it seems…
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With art by @kibbles-bits and @shabby-illustrations and beta'd by the lovely @sarathewise and @aimeramie !! Check it out!
Erasercloudmic, very fluffy, injury-based hurt/comfort drabble from my twitter giveaway!
“Hold still,” was a useless thing to say to Oboro, but Shōta couldn’t help but try. It did nothing to stop Oboro’s leg twitching back and forth, an attempt to evade the sting of the antiseptic-soaked cloth Aizawa hovered ready for each and every moment he could strike the open wound on Oboro’s knee with another cleaning swipe.
Hizashi hovered nervously nearby, gaze on Oboro’s twisting expression. His arms tucked in closer around himself, hands rubbing his sides in little agitated pulses Shōta was tracking from the corner of his eye. That was something it would take more than antiseptic to solve.
“It wasn’t your fault,” he announced.
Oboro’s gaze followed the words straight to Hizashi’s frown, his brows rising. “Dude. It was not your fault are you kidding?”
A nervous bleat came out of Hizashi, hand slamming up over his lips to muffle it, and the words that followed. “It sorta was! If I’d kept my mouth shut-“
“If you hadn’t used your Quirk? In a class about using our Quirks?”
“If I’d been more careful-“
“In a class,” Shōta expanded as Oboro was distracted by another hiss of pain, “about practising using our Quirks, that we are still developing, and can’t be expected to use perfectly yet? Yes. Of course. If only you had already had the training we are currently receiving.”
Hizashi stopped pacing. “I know not to aim it at other people!”
“You can’t be expected to know how to deal with idiots-” Shōta got the whole cloth over the injury this time, pressing it down over the wound and ignoring Oboro’s little foot-stomp whines. “-Who come hurtling into your impact range on a cloud.”
Oboro nodded emphatically, which was only partially due to the rabbit-thump foot-bounce level of pain he was in. “Honestly I kinda deserved the face plant! And the scrapes. Learned my lesson and all that!”
It did very little to convince Hizashi, who kept lingering back, shoulders hunched in and chin tucked down. The look didn’t suit him. Shōta and Oboro shared a look, before Oboro was stretching his arms out and making little beckoning fingers twitches towards the tragic figure of their boyfriend. “C’mere, Zashi. Come on. If you feel sorry for this poor, injured victim-“
“Oboro,” Shōta complained.
“-okay, this not actually badly hurt guy, come give me a hug. That’d make me feel miles better.”
“I can’t just hug the damage away,” Hizashi mumbled.
“You can hug away the damage in my heart~ The emotional trauma~”
“He does not have any emotional trauma,” Shōta clarified, smacking Oboro’s less injured leg. “He is exaggerating. You should still hug him to shut him up.”
After a reluctant moment of consideration, Hizashi shuffled in, yelping when they seized him the moment he was in reach. He was bundled into both their arms, squeezed in between them, legs bent up over Oboro’s already bandaged arm so Shōta could keep working uninterrupted by the body in the way.
Oboro pressed a kiss to his temple. “If we’re gonna have a joint agency, figuring out kinks like this is important! And I’m okay. Really, no jokes! I’ve done worse to myself when I’m messing with my own Quirk. I can take you putting me on blast.”
“If you don’t stop moving this leg I will also be putting you on blast,” Shōta muttered, but not without adding his own kiss to Hizashi’s arm. “It wasn’t your fault. It was his fault.”
“Hey! It was an accident!”
“Yes. That is what I meant to say. Obviously.”
Hizashi finally started to unwind, sinking into the hold and kisses, head dropping to Oboro’s shoulder. “I’m still sorry.”
“And I still forgive you,” Oboro replied, sneaking him a kiss to the corner of his mouth this time. “Don’t sweat it, Zashi. I’m okay!”
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1, 1732 words
Fandom: Boku No Hero Academia
Rating: General
Relationships: Aizawa Shouta/Yamada Hizashi
Additional Tags: Marriage Proposal, Marriage, And Then Take-Out, Established Relationship, Beaten-Up Boys
They really could’ve died today. It lit a dizzy fire in Hizashi’s chest, one he’d carefully smothered the times it tried to light before that his heavy hands couldn’t bring themselves to cover now.
“Hey Eraser,” he smiled wider, “want to get married?”
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Hizashi and Shōta recover from a close call. It leads some unexpectedly expected places. Based on this post by @punkpresentmic
Erasercloud winter break fluff. The final of my twitter giveaway drabbles.
Oboro had promised Shōta something worth seeing, and if that turned out to just be the ridiculous face he was making, tongue still out between his teeth and cold-reddened nose scrunched up with concentration, Shōta would honestly be happy.
It wasn’t like he’d been busy over winter break. His homework was all already finished, his studies ahead of schedule, so the idea of some time with Oboro had been a gift in itself, even before promises of exciting sights were included. He’d been dressed and out the door embarrassingly quickly after Oboro texted, and now he found himself settled on a swing in the playground between their homes, seat swept free of snow and gloves now curled around the chilled metal chains.
Oboro continued to focus, hands cupping the air in front of his chest and eyes locked on it with enough intensity Shōta’s hair would’ve been vertical if he’d done the same. Oboro didn’t need a stare to turn his hair vertical, of course. Where wisps of it escaped from beneath his horrifically neon knitted hat, they were still reaching and swirling up towards the pale grey sky, turned a silver to match.
“…So,” Shōta said at last, “am I watching you give yourself a migraine, or.”
“Shh!” Oboro wiggled his fingers mysteriously. “I found out something cool, okay? I’m not great at it yet- You’ll like it! I hope you’ll like it. Oh jeez please like it.”
He tucked a warm smile into his scarf, blaming his pink cheeks on the cold. “I make no such promises.”
“Shōta,” he whined, “it’ll be great! Have some faith!”
“I never said I didn’t have faith. I’m still sitting here, aren’t I?”
“You are. Your ass must be freezing.”
Shōta snorted, gaze dipping away. “This is not the most comfortable I’ve ever been. I might be frozen in place.”
“Then maybe that’s why you’re still sitting here!”
“You’ll just have to amaze me enough I leap to my feet, so you can find out.”
“I will!” Oboro puffed his cheeks up, deflating just as fast. “Probably? Maybe. No! I will!”
“You can do it,” Shōta assured him. “I’m ready to be awed.”
Oboro took visible strength from the words, redoubling his focus on the space he was guarding. It shifted; a swirl of glittering flakes that eddied quickly out, washed out by a stronger swirl.
His smile spread as the crystal white did, flowering fractals bursting into the familiar expanse of a cloud condensed into palm-sized perfection, surface frosted with diamond facets all shimmering in the surreal winter light and making the pale fluff seem even paler than normal, so white it seemed to glow.
Oboro held it delicately up, floating just above his palms, his eyes on Shōta now and brimming with excitement. “I did it! Look!”
“It’s… a cloud,” Shōta replied, faintly bemused. “A very pretty cloud. And small.”
“Yes!” He took a step closer, carefully herding his creation with him until he was right in front of Shōta and could show him it up close. “Give it a second, okay? It takes a minute to start working.”
Shōta peered at it, waiting with bated breath and head dipped forward to make sure he didn’t miss whatever working looked like. Oboro was vibrating, excited, looking like he might burst any moment-
-But the cloud burst first, a single speck drifting down from it to his palm, and then another, and another, Shōta’s eyes widening as he watched the tiny snowfall drift fluttering paths to Oboro’s skin and sparkle in the few seconds before each flake melted away.
“You made a snow cloud,” he said, suitably impressed, actually.
“I made a snow cloud! It’s really small right now but- But if I figured this out, maybe I can do rain now, maybe I can do storms, all the Super Moves I’ve had planned and I couldn’t work out-“ His grin was all the sunshine the winter was lacking. “Shōta look how cool this is!”
Ah, Shōta’s smile was soft, and he had to pull his gaze back to the snow when that face was so easy on the eyes. He reached out, catching a single tiny flake on his fingertip, preserved amongst the wool for him to admire.
“Worth seeing,” he agreed, heat of the words melting the glitter away.
Erasercloud drabble from a giveaway I did on my twitter!
Shōta was increasingly sure that the text conversations he had with Oboro were the absolute worst example of the texting art form since its creation.
Oboro would send him an elaborate, multi-part message with random words replaced with emoji he claimed made sense, while Shōta had to figure out if “👁️😍😻 lol” meant Oboro had seen a cute cat, seen someone who looked like a cat (with a very strange eye condition), or if he’d made eye contact with a cat, fallen instantly in love, and was now suggesting they break up so he could run away with his feline lover.
Anxiety liked to add weird addendums like that. It was fine.
In return, what Oboro got from Shōta was one word, or even more excitingly sometimes two words, which were almost always, oh, yes, no, maybe, or variations thereof. It must have been awful writing enough words to max out the character count Shōta hadn’t even known existed multiple times only to get a sure in return. He just didn’t have much to say, or nothing he felt could be summed up in a text, and the idea of breaking out the emoji to add colour to his texts made Shōta’s face pull into what he was sure Oboro would describe with an 😑.
Just write whatever you’re thinking, Hizashi had suggested, but ah. That was- well.
The thoughts in his head whenever Oboro texted him weren’t the sort he could just type out so brazenly. I have no idea what those emoji mean so I’m imagining you found a dog on the moon and it made me laugh, do you think you could even float that high? I’m still thinking about the picture you sent me a week ago, I see it every time I close my eyes and I still have no idea what it actually is. I can see your unfinished homework in the background of the photo you sent me and now I can’t focus on anything else because you need to do that homework maybe I should come over there and make you do it.
He couldn’t just write that. He couldn’t write, I heard my phone buzz and ran over, how do you always know when I’m having a bad day. Your messages make me smile. I love the way you type, I love that I can hear it in your voice. I love that nobody else I know writes like you do, and I don’t think you write like this to anybody else.
He couldn’t write I love that you always send me pictures of your shoes to show me you’ve got out somewhere, I love that you call them adventures. I love that you always text me good morning and good night, even if you always get the times wrong. I love that you send me multiple selfies and get me to pick the one everyone else gets to see, and that I’m the only one who gets to see them all.
So Oboro sent him an essay, some photos, too many emoji to translate. Shōta thought, I love this, and I wish you knew how much it means to me that you still write me all these words and send me all these thoughts, that you tell me all these secrets and are so patient when I can’t put anything into words to reply.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1, 3744 words
Fandom: Boku No Hero Academia
Rating: General
Relationships: Aizawa Shouta & Yamada Hizashi
Additional Tags: Manga Spoilers, Mentioned Shirakumo Oboro, Age Regression/De-Aging, Trauma, Emotional Hurt, Hurt No Comfort, Past Character Death, Background Erasermic
Stop, stop, he wants to turn the record back but his tongue won't move, his hands are stuck.
"I mean is Oboro on his way or what?"
Shōta doesn't know how he doesn't break. He feels the shear spike from his hip to his throat. The pressure of guilt is the only thing that keeps his messy pieces together, just like always, numbing cold that won't sink deep enough to soak up all the pain.
It's only a few days.
"He's busy," he lies.
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Hizashi is seventeen again. Aizawa invites the punishment on himself.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1*, 3738 words
Fandom: Boku No Hero Academia
Rating: General
Relationships: Shirakumo Oboro/Aizawa Shouta/Yamada Hizashi, Shirakumo Oboro & Aizawa Shouta & Yamada Hizashi & Eri & Shinsou Hitoshi
Additional Tags: Manga Spoilers, Adoption, Family Bonding, Domestic Fluff, First Meetings, Post-[Spoiler] Oboro, Trauma, clouderasermicweek2020
*Part 2 of a series
“Before we found you, we were… considering adoptions.”
“Plural,” he managed to blurt.
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In which Hizashi and Shōta had domestic plans before Oboro came home, and Oboro is about to meet two very important people. For clouderasermic week 2020!
