This post might be pro polysaja lol, but I think any ship is valid
So basically I was talking with my friend about how it would be funny if Jinu was both touch starved and touch-averse at the same time, which gives the rest of the boys absolute whiplash since he's the one initiating all the skinship moments. So have some headcanons:
Unlike Huntr/x, whose skinship moments are very organic, Jinu is very methodical about it, carefully creating situations (as the marketing genius that he is)
He gives meaningful stares to Abby or Romance, sits a little too close to Mystery, or acts like he's fixing Baby's hair/clothes, etc
Abby and Romance are really good at responding in kind and being playful, even following Jinu's example and initiating skinship as well (mostly with each other)
Mystery is more quiet about it, either smiling back at Jinu or reaching out to squeeze Jinu's hand or thigh (wtv it is at reach at the moment), which makes the moment look more sweet in comparison to the pink duo
Baby though? Very awkward, the youngest doesn't know how to react. This makes Jinu's failed attempts at flirting seem as one sided. He was about to drop it when he discovered that fans actually ate that shit up like crazy. It started as memes, comments made in sympathy with Jinu (ouch), then as whole ass community platforms where they shared fanmade content, cheering him on. It was actually kinda getting in his nerves, but he dealt with it bc he was getting the desired effect anyway
One day though, Jinu accidentally collided against Baby while walking backwards on stage. He didn't mean to, it was actually an accident, but the fans screamed like banshees either way. Still, feeling shy and self-aware bc his backside just brushed against Baby's front, Jinu moved quickly to the side and he witnessed Baby's frown. He looked upset, disgusted even, which made Jinu's stomach drop. He stopped trying to flirt with Baby since then
From then on, Jinu mostly focused on flirting with Romance and Mystery, meanwhile somehow Abby got Baby to participate in skinship with him (ouch x2). Their duo actually got quite popular and Jinu's "one sided" fiasco was mostly forgotten about
That is, until Baby started flirting with the rest of them. It seemed like his interactions with Abby helped him build confidence
Baby had a different approach depending on the person. With Abby he was rougher, maybe a little too playful, like pulling Abby's shirt up and feeling him up (the rest of them thought it was funny to see Abby being shy for once though)
With Mystery it was more innocent playfulness, staring at each other, holding hands, sharing food...
With Romance, Baby acted a little more bratty and pouty, asking/demanding Romance's attention or for him to do stuff for Baby (sometimes this would irritate Romance, so either Jinu or Mystery would often intervene. It was clear Baby was amusing himself at their expense...)
Jinu was lowkey expecting Baby to approach him at some point, but he was honestly feeling nervous about it. Therefore, Jinu avoided the youngest as much as he could, to the point that it made fans make rumors about Jinu and Baby fighting/having conflicts. It actually made Baby visibly upset, yet the other 3 didn't intervene as they trusted Jinu wasn't being malicious, but was actually crafting another of his plans
He wasn't. He was panicking at this point. The good side is that outside of public spaces or recordings of any kind, the group had this silent agreement of no need for skinship in private (though Jinu supposed that didn't really stop Abby and Romance from being... themselves). But Baby started to act annoyed and borderline hostile with him in private as well. He was mad at being ignored, the irony...
Ok, that's it for now, it's getting too long... I might write a conclusion to the Jinu and Baby situation sometime in the future
…And he asked with the innocence of a child and the grief of a man:
“If the world runs on balance…”
“..Then do you think some people exist just to feel pain?”
Inspired by a friend's HC they had told me recently about. Thank you greatly to them for the inspiration.
It was the eve of the day that was in arrival.
The day that had been counting down on all of their calendars.
The execution of Jellal Fernandes.
Yet surprisingly—despite all the lead up—it was quieter than he had imagined.
As if everything had already been accepted.
And the world was just going on in motion.
He walked briskly; chest feeling heavy, whilst breathing tight as he went down the long corridors of Era; taking himself somewhere he never really had to go.
Because there was never any reason to reckon with what happened beneath all these floors—
beneath the stand of authority, where rot was contained: where the scum that terrorised Earthland was kept punished and remained severed.
It was where justice finally took its due.
And balance was struck.
There was no need for intercession nor interruption.
Cruelty to resolve those of the past.
And he was no exemption.
But then why…
…Did he still find his feet leading him past the structure—the veil—
..Doing what he would have never done before?
Through a spiral of stairs the atmosphere morphed noticeably; from gleaming elegance and sophistication, to something unwelcoming and uncared for. The air itself felt colder here and the lights breaking through felt cruel.
It made him shiver.
The elder walked up to the administration with the charter fluttering in hand, feeling the weight in his chest sink down further as ignorance stopped being an option.
His eyes looked aimlessly around; first in front of him, then at the walls around, then at the floor and then what was in his hands before meeting the beady eyes of one of the wardens looking down at him.
Their slitted gaze remained still.
The shake in his fingers intensified but the old man kept composure. His knees frail as he stood on his toes to deliver the deed whilst his eyes struggled to keep the stern gaze.
As the paper was transferred his reasoning slipped out.
“I’m here to see Sieg-”
But before his error was completed he caught himself. His throat felt dry at his blunder.
The name nearly had deceived him again.
The warden’s eyes sharpened at the mistake, which made the elderly counselor correct himself swiftly.
“Jellal Fernandes.”
The name left his lips quietly; truthful yet rooted in confusion.
The overseeing look of the warden did not lighten—but instead remained staring before they muttered something under their breath. The suspicion was not directed to him, he knew that, but that didn’t make it any less uncomfortable to bear.
The warden turned his attention away from him in the moment, buzzing in another authority to come over to be in charge of the escort through this unknown confinement.
Yajima waited patiently as every second that dragged further unnerved him.
It wasn’t long until the guide arrived, but it felt longer for himself.
A warden with just as slitted eyes—just as beady—settled beside him, ready to walk him through the imprisonment.
The steps were wet; notable against the cold dry stone as his own followed as a timid shadow.
He tailed behind light and fast, but his pace began to soon falter as his feet began to ache and his mind began to wander.
Cells upon cells filled the walls.
Some vast, some small.
Each gate housed a prisoner as heinous as the last.
Plotters, murderers, thieves, rapists and the list went on—
All objective scum.
All deserving of censure and condemnation.
Yet as he saw all of them—his eyes sought for the cell that was intended for his visit.
And he would be thrown off when every next cell he thought would be his—would be holding someone else.
It grew the unsettling feeling further.
The corridor he was being guided through just kept stretching.
The cells kept increasing.
And the crimes kept getting more severe.
Yet he was not there.
The warden never stopped and the distance kept going on as the darkness around them swallowed the light. The shiver returned down his spine the deeper he went down this labyrinth and still had no sight of the man in question.
It became clear how much of a dirty secret he had become.
Yet once he had been a man that stood before them all.
Representing their goodness and grace..
In the midst of his thoughts the journey abruptly came to an end.
The plentiful steps he had been making mindlessly, were brought to a sudden halt as he met the back of the warden who had finally stopped walking.
The elder had no idea of how much time had elapsed, nor how much distance he covered; to his belief it probably wasn’t as much as he was thinking.
Time itself seemed to stretch beyond reasoning here.
It was expected.
But that didn’t make it any less jarring.
“He’s here.”
The warden croaked, his back turned to the cell they sought. Yajima finally lifted his eyes beyond feet and shadows, blinking at the icy contrast that now illuminated the space; light hues that made everything more eerie.
His eyes took some time to adjust to the switch between light and shadow.
The containment was peculiar; isolated in design just like the man it housed.
Instead of being a mere cell, it was a lacrimal cube—gleaming and brilliant like the construct its occupant once slaved over.
Fitting for a man of his capabilities and past.
But despite the radiance—everything looked cold.
Empty.
Instead of light and severity, it was misery and nothingness embodied.
The sight made the elder stop, the uncomfortable feeling drumming away louder in his chest.
The space containing him looked strangely vast, even though Yajima knew it was not the case.
It was transparent and contained—yet felt smeared and stretched.
He couldn’t see him immediately.
Or really the case may have been…he didn’t want to.
But then he saw its occupant.
On the floor. With his back to one of the walls. With his head down and eyes closed or towards his lap.
And he looked so small.
It was indeed strange.
He who once boasted charm and confidence, who was coddled in opulence—was now swallowed in sheer emptiness.
A withered husk.
Yajima had to do a double take when he realised it was him.
And the longer look didn’t make the sight any better.
The trousers he wore—the ones he came in with one year ago—they hung from him loosely, gaping at the waistband despite a belt trying to hold them up.
His bones jutted out under his skin, still encased by muscle, but his being was beginning to look more skeletal than man.
And his hair had grown unruly, shadowing his face.
Though maybe it looked so long because his head hung.
But it didn’t stop there.
Further details—further cruelty—caught his eyes.
How skin ranged from shades of sallow tan to deep purples and rotten browns.
Hues accumulated from constant abuse, fading once only to imprint another.
Most having been inflicted from the past year, but some marks looked older and more rooted.
Predating even that—
“You have a visitor.”
The warden announced in a hoarse voice after clearing its throat. The tone was also jarring. Insensitive to the moment.
Yet fitting to announce his arrival.
But there was no immediate reaction. The man inside barely moved.
It was as if the words barely registered.
Yajima watched with a held breath.
Was he just refusing to acknowledge him?
Or was it that he could not?
Judgement began to sway the elder’s mind until it was broken by the slow, quiet movement of seeing his head shift. Pulling itself upwards as his bangs fell away from his face and hollow eyes stared forward—blankly—trying to place where his visitor was.
His face didn’t change whilst doing that.
Perhaps it couldn’t.
But under his searching gaze, Yajima forgot why he even came there.
Or it made him consider—did he have a reason in the first place?
The question—though unspoken—hung between them all loudly.
And it remained unanswered since none of them knew.
Why was he even there?
The silence was thick and stifling, between a vacant gaze and an unnamed curiosity, it stood between them manifest as a third being.
It made his nerves tip and his frailness loud.
Yajima wanted to cut through the silence between them, but before words could impact between them, his face twisted.
In disgust? In pity? In something between?
He didn’t know.
But whatever it was it made Jellal recoil.
Not overtly.
But enough he noticed.
And it made Yajima swallow thickly.
The warden who was still beside him urged the elder to go forth.
Immediately upon entering the cube, a contrast could be noted. The prison looked bare and smelt sharp like coldness—yet there was a permeating stench of rot inside.
Wafting quietly.
Setting.
Fading.
His eyes instinctively looked for where the smell was coming from.
Blood.
Blood leaking from gashes and lashes that were seared into skin; namely his back.
Kept secret merely by the prison and by himself as he pressed the wound into the wall behind him.
The only thing telling of them was the blood that escaped either; soaking parts of his trousers and hardening on his skin.
The sight was cruel.
Yajima’s humanity made him step beyond himself.
But then reality pulled him back.
“Stop.” a voice said to him.
“You don’t need to help me.”
The voice was surprisingly willful despite who it came from. It made the elder pause.
Someone had finally spoken between them.
His feet stood in place as if commanded, and the elder didn’t question.
Not like those who would have been spun livid by the mere audacity of being ordered by a criminal.
Especially by the likes of him.
Though to be honest—the man Yajima was—people would have expected his last words to a fiend such as him to be lasting.
A lecture perhaps?
A righteous and spiteful addition.
And there would have been no fault on him to do so.
The authority inside allowed him.
But it was the human inside that condemned him.
Because…
Why make a waiting man heavier than he is?
The elder swallowed thickly, painfully observant—yet painfully obedient too. His knees started to give, feeling the weight coming down sinking into his bones. He wanted to sit but there was nothing; nothing but coldness and stains of unsaid misery.
It reminded him not to get comfortable.
Silence remained still between them until he finally got the courage to ask once.
“What do you remember Jellal?”
It was not something he thought to ask.
But it was not something he could avoid either.
As he looked at the man before him, all he saw was mystery.
And that was all which seemed to inherently define Jellal.
He was detained in misfortune, but even through the throes of incessant cruelty, he somehow maintained his secrets.
His suffering was obvious, yet he remained silent.
Nothing told of the truth inside him.
But he had gone everywhere.
And also nowhere.
Yajima waited intensely for an answer.
Which was answered to him in brief.
“Everything.”
It made Yajima wonder, what did that mean?
What was ‘everything’? How much did it entail?
The weight was apparent in that statement, he knew it held a burdensome truth.
But he also knew he wouldn’t get the full understanding of it.
Jellal wouldn’t be the one to detail things beyond himself.
Certainly not.
But nonetheless it made him question:
Did this make him feel better about Jellal’s decided end?
Or did it make him feel worse?
The man was brought in with amnesia—confused yet submissive to his detainment.
It felt strange punishing a man who couldn’t recall what his sins were.
And despite his acceptance of punishment, most of them believed this to be another farce.
Yajima was no exception to this belief.
As Jellal was no stranger to deceiving them.
But then the arrogance they expected—never surfaced.
The cunning self and manipulation they were cautious of regarding him, never left his lips.
Nothing did.
Was it because it was killed?
Or was it because it wasn’t remembered?
He didn’t know.
And nor did he know the answer even now.
But Jellal said he remembered everything.
And surely if the story wasn’t as straight as they believed he would have said more?
Would he just have accepted this injustice if it weren’t earned?
As he was hiding in his thoughts another question was asked to him.
“What of Erza?”
“And what of Fairy Tail?”
It caught Yajima off guard.
The conversation had been steered away from him.
The mystery was maintained.
But to Jellal’s question he found himself mum.
As he truly did not know what to say.
Because, how could he tell a damned man another misery?
So he settled for a compromise.
“They are as you have always known.”
It wasn’t a lie.
But neither was it the full truth.
Jellal made no notion of response.
The silence that settled between them made Yajima believe that Jellal even doubted it.
If he saw properly, he could have sworn a muscle tensed on the man’s face as his eyes cut away for a moment.
But he knew the man was in no place to challenge it whether it be true or false.
Or perhaps he didn’t as his words were that few; as they were beaten out of him.
But either way, the silence remained between them.
Trying to fill it, Yajima's eyes looked elsewhere, catching onto the sight of Jellal encompassed by cold nothingness. And he looked further down—at his caved chest with his ribs exposed, rising and falling.
The sight was ghastly but it made him consider his own words he had just told.
‘As you have always known…’
Because if he applied these words to the man he spoke them to; then what was the truth to come from that?
From what was known Jellal had been a slave since young. And just like the enigma shrouding him, so were any roots covered that could have told of himself.
His parentage? Unknown.
His homelife? Undisclosed.
His background? Fabricated.
His motives? Clothed in secrecy.
Every truth about him was untold—contained—just like he had been all his life.
Kept behind walls, regardless of where they’d extend.
One containment after the other.
It truly made him wonder;
Was this all Jellal had known?
He knew he couldn’t ask something so direct, nothing would come out of it.
But his curiosity was a burning fiend.
And he couldn’t stand to walk away after bearing all this weight, without something gained.
So he swallowed once more before he couraged to ask a lighter question.
“What do you make of yourself?”
Another brief question—
but one that held the past, the present and what was beyond in its scope.
Though he didn’t know if Jellal would understand the motive.
Regardless, the answer he told gave a notion.
With a kept breath he heard the man confess:
“I am a prisoner.”
“I have…always been a prisoner.”
His voice was quiet when saying it, folding into itself. Yet there was no dramatic grief or bitterness.
It was hollow.
Calm.
Residing.
It made the elder pause once again. He wouldn’t push more on this, but neither could he tell how much this answer encompassed.
It made Yajima wonder, was what Jellal had told him just his sorrow speaking,
Or was it truly his unfortunate truth?
The room now felt thicker—sinking quicker—like the weight of emptiness encompassing was bearing down on Yajima himself.
He couldn’t bear it.
Trying to keep the silence from submerging them, he said something else in hope it could lighten the load.
“Is there something you wish for yourself?”
He didn’t ask because he could give; no even if he wanted to; he would never be able to deliver.
That door had been well closed beyond them.
But perhaps in asking; hope would break through the heaviness.
And what lay beyond the enigma would break through too.
His question this time made Jellal pause.
And there was a longer silence that followed.
Born from a question that he hadn’t thought to exist.
Yajima saw a gloss cover what he thought to be his dead dark eyes.
A pain that was untold; rooted from deep within.
And then Jellal told him after he had contemplated:
“I don’t wish to know of a world that is beyond me.”
His answer was strange, his voice weak though his resolve feigned firm.
Yajima couldn’t understand the way these words came out, it was the complete opposite of what he asked.
Had such an answer come out in resentment? Bitterness? Pain?
Or acceptance?
All could be true.
And neither could be blamed.
But truth be told Yajima didn’t know how to answer this.
He didn’t know how to do a lot on this visit.
Really he was still caught in the ever occurring whiplash of knowing this decayed man, was the same one that sat between him and the others in the council.
His unsurety just made him circle back to obvious contradiction—
Why was he even here?
It’s not like his presence even did anything. Perhaps it was making Jellal uncomfortable in his last hours.
Or perhaps it added nothing at all.
Neither for him or himself.
There was nothing to do when the matter was done.
But that thought kept setting heavy on his chest.
Either way Yajima believed his visit had concluded.
He was about to turn on his heel and leave the containment, but then a voice floated between them again.
Jellal’s.
He asked him yet another thing.
With the innocence of a child and the grief of a man:
“If the world runs on balance..”
“..Then do you think some people exist just to feel pain?”
It made Yajima still.
The question was entirely unexpected, just like everything else had been in this visit.
But in the same breath: it answered Jellal in a way nothing else did.
But he didn’t understand it immediately then.
So he answered in honesty.
“I don’t know.”
It wasn’t the answer Jellal wanted.
Or probably even needed.
But it was the truth.
The conceptual, undefined truth.
Was that better? Or was that worse?
There was no knowing.
He was reminded of the sharpness of the lingering warden’s gaze, telling him that their time would lapse.
Yajima already had in mind he would be leaving the undecided man on his decided fate.
But before that he would ask him one last question.
Again, not on what Jellal needed.
But maybe what Yajima himself did.
“Will you find peace in death?”
A grim question with an even more grim conclusion.
And the question was asked and answered like a forbidden secret.
“I don’t know.”
Jellal said just as honestly.
Just as briefly.
It made the elder’s lips stretch into a thin line as he gave an accepting nod and final glance at the memory of Jellal before he turned and left.
That was the conclusion of his visit: one where he knew that the man he visited would soon no longer be in the next twenty four hours.
He began to walk on behind the warden who escorted him through the darkness. His heart still felt clouded—heavy—as if what had been in that cell had latched on and burrowed down deep inside himself.
And his thoughts just remained on Jellal because of it.
Because—despite how profound and hiding his words were, Yajima began to understand what he really was:
A boy.
He was merely a boy.
And the weight of the world couldn’t erase that.
Nor could its sins.
But the matter had been set.
And the world had chosen Jellal would not live.
Despite the strange grief that followed him because of that, he wondered why it bothered him so.
Was it because it was truly deserved?
Or was it because it was the true answer?
Was this what had been decided?
There was no conclusion other than to go on with the world like everything else had already managed to do.
Because if one thing was for certain—
Everything had been set in motion.
------------------------------------------------
The next day that followed, Yajima believed to be greeted by the same silence—the same acceptance—that he had just begun to conform to.
But instead what he was met with was havoc.
Chaos that buzzed replicating the past.
And like then he didn’t understand how it had come to be.
It was the date of his execution, he would be slain before her majesty’s kingdom.
Why would a world that had gone silent—be thrown into turmoil now?
But then it reached his ears through others absorbed in the confusion.
“He escaped!”
And Yajima was dumbfounded.
Because the man he met hours before, did not seem a man plotting.
He did not seem a man intent on living.
He did not seem a man at all.
Jellal’s words told him clearly;
‘He did not wish to see a world beyond himself’
So then why?
But then other details surfaced.
Tellings of how two unnamed figures assisted in his breakout in the dead of the night.
They took him as he was about to be transported for execution, and then when the guards went to escort him—they found he was gone.
It was unbelievable.
It was untimely.
The shock had him quiet.
But as chaos spurned, the sides of his lips lifted for a split second as the answer seemed decided.
What it’s like to live beyond abandonment and enlightenment,
What it’s like to live between heaven and hell,
How is it to live in a world where there is grey?
My questions may be strange to hear,
I wear no spectacles yet I can’t see the world the way you do,
For what blinds me isn’t the mirth of yellow,
Nor the sorrows of blues,
or the tickles of pinks and all that is between,
But black and white.
Intense and contrasting,
Consuming.
I don’t really know what exists between them,
You’d think of me stupid, maybe even mad for asking so,
‘Surely the answer is grey’
Anyone would know that,
But what if I told you that shade is invisible to me?
You ask why?
I don’t know myself.
But perhaps my heart and mind is drawn to contradictions,
Contrasts.
Because of that I live bouncing through black and white.
I never get to see what’s really in between.
You think clear,
I think on a magnitude,
You see in a kaleidoscope,
I see in piebald,
You love in bleeding red,
I love in blinding white,
You hate in shifting storms,
I hate in the darkest shadows.
I could confess to you I have a deep connection with these two colours,
Despite what minimum they are they’ve done much,
They’ve saved me,
They’ve starved me,
They’ve guided me,
They’ve ruined me,
They are all I am allowed,
Yet I can’t deny I am jealous of those who have more.
There is nothing wrong with my eyes,
Yet I am deprived of the normal sight.
Perhaps the words won’t make sense what I am telling you,
To be honest they rarely make sense to myself,
That’s why those like me are seen as the ‘madmen’,
The ones who live colourless in a colourful world,
It’s a strange existence we live,
So I won’t fault you if you think the same.
But if you’ve listened to me tattle on for this long,
Can you answer my questions and tell me...
What's it like to live in a coloured world?
Author’s note :
I wrote this during a prompt challenge in one of the servers me and my friends host on discord. The prompt was ‘colourless’ and in the midst of writing for it, I delved into my own emotional state and tried to make sense of it beyond just my experience to another reader.
I wanted to post it to add more to my writing blog and slowly get it to grow, but also share this piece in hope it may resonate with another
I know it’s abstract but I think the meaning conveys
If you have gotten this far in the post, thank you for all the time you have taken to give this a read 🫶🏻
While investigating on a terra, Aerrow comes across a mysterious fragment. Touching it causes him to see memories of a young prince much like himself. But as they play out, he slowly sees the darkness within him.
This was such a funky song! I had never heard of the Vaccines before, but they’re right up my alley.
Listening to “Handsome”, I couldn’t help but feel like it was funky little villain tune. Or, maybe I’ve just been loving @corndog-patrol‘s villain!Mic au too much. Either way, I wrote some fun villain Mic for you!
The votes were in! This was, officially, the worst day of Hizashi’s life.
It all started when the convenience store by his apartment ran out of the cheapest coffee milk. All of the other coffee milks were too creamy, and, worse, at least five yen more expensive! He wasn’t one of those bank-robbing or goods-smuggling villains! He couldn’t afford such luxuries!
So he had gone without coffee milk. Truly, a day dampener all on its own, but then he had to go and get rejected by Eraserhead. Again.
It shouldn’t have hurt that much, but it did. That lack of coffee milk had really left him vulnerable. And, you know what? At this point, Eraser was just being rude! He wouldn’t arrest Hizashi, but he also wouldn’t admit to their spark, their connection! Talk about mixed signals.
Oh, yeah, and then there was the fact that he was trapped in a fourth-floor apartment with the cops threatening to shoot him from the outside and a young girl and her mother strapped to an active bomb inside.
That was a solid “not great” scenario.
But, well, after Eraser’s ten-thousandth rejection, Hizashi had been feeling low, and he hadn’t been watching where he was walking. He ended up in a dangerous part of town, and before he could turn around, he heard the little girl crying. He may have been a villain, but he wasn’t a bad guy! He couldn’t just leave a crying kid without checking on her first! So he had climbed up to the open window and found her crying next to her passed out mom. The bomb they were chained to was almost comically big, but the red numbers displayed and counting down from twenty minutes were decidedly not funny at all.
When he had heard the police sirens, he had actually been relieved. They would certainly have someone who could deal with a bomb better than him!
“Hey, up here,” he had called out as he popped his head and torso through the open window. “There’s a girl, and her mom, and a bomb-!”
And that’s when they first shot at him. A warning shot, for sure.
“E-Excuse you,” he cried, offended. “I said there’s a bomb up-!”
The second shot was much less of a warning, and it got close enough to knick his cheek. Pressing his fingers to minor wound, he ducked down beneath the windowsill and carefully crawled back to the girl, who was now staring at him with wide, still tear-filled eyes.
“So, uh, good news: the police are here,” he explained as he sat down in front of her. “Better news: they are aware there’s a bomb.”
“B-Bad news,” she asked.
“Um….” His eyes drifted up to the countdown clock. Less than fifteen minutes left. “Nothing for you to worry about,” he assured her, smiling. “Someone will be up here soon! You don’t happen to have a bomb-deactivating quirk, though, do you?”
The young girl shook her head slowly. “I don’t have a quirk.”
“Ah! That’s alright! Ya got a name though, right?” She nodded just as slowly as before. “Well, what is it?”
“M…Mari.”
“Nice to meet you, Mari! You can call me Mic!”
“Is my mom going to be okay?”
“Uh…” Hizashi looked to the slumped woman’s form. He pressed his fingers to her throat and was relieved to feel a pulse. “Oh, definitely! I think she’s just taking a nap.”
“A… a nap?”
Hizashi nodded. “Adult’s lives are very stressful. Sometimes we take naps at the worst times. But she’ll be okay! Promise!”
“O… Okay. Um, Mr. Mic?”
“Yes?”
“Why are you here?”
“That’s exactly what I’m wondering.”
Hizashi jolted and jumped to his feet. He’d know that voice anywhere!
“Eraserhead!”
Despite Hizashi’s exuberant exclamation of his name, Eraserhead looked very unhappy with him. His scarf came to wrap tightly around Hizashi’s arms and torso, and with a single tug Eraser nearly brought them chest to chest.
“Care to explain to me why the police believe that you’ve kidnapped the wife and daughter of a the CEO of Tanaka Electronics and are now holding them for ransom with a bomb?”
“Is that why they shot at me earlier?” Despite his internal freak out, Hizashi’s tone remained rather light. “I’m not that desperate for coffee milk that I’ll kidnap kids for the ransom money!”
“They shot at you?”
Wait, wait, wait. They were completely off topic! “It -It doesn’t matter! I’ll explain everything later! The bomb!” Hizashi gestured back with his head. “We have to deactivate the bomb or -or evacuate everyone out of here! Now! Including Mari and her mom!”
Eraser’s eyes followed Hizashi’s gesture, and he seemed to understand everything in an instant.
“Disarm! Get in here,” Eraser called out towards the front door of the small apartment. Immediately, a woman in a police vest broke through the door and got to work on the bomb. Following behind her were a couple other heroes who focused on getting Mari and her mother free. In under a minute, the countdown was stopped, and the two hostages were being escorted out of the apartment safely. Eraser and Hizashi followed after them, Eraser really tugging Hizashi along. Hizashi just let him. The adrenaline from the situation was starting to wear off, and he was left feeling too empty to loudly complain and/or flirt like usual.
Once they were off the stairs, instead of following the heroes towards the police, Eraser took him round a corner and pressed him up against a wall.
“What the hell do you think you were doing,” Eraser growled. “You could have gotten killed, you idiot!”
He had really tried not to think about it while up in the apartment, but Eraser was right; he could have died! Oh god, he could have died!
“I could have…” He couldn’t even get the words out before his throat started getting watery.
Eraser’s eyes searched his face for a moment before he backed off from pinning Hizashi to the wall. “Were you even thinking at all?”
Hizashi dropped his head and shook it. “I don’t… I don’t know what you think of me, but I… I just couldn’t leave that girl there when I heard her crying.”
“You could have slipped out when the police arrived.”
Hizashi shook his head more aggressively. “Are you crazy? What kind of monster would leave a kid all alone after finding them strapped to a bomb?!”
“Mic, you…” Hizashi felt the wraps around him loosen before strong arms took their place. “You’re the worst villain I’ve ever met.”
Oh. Eraser was hugging him.
Oh. Eraser was-!
Hizashi returned to embrace, burying his face into Eraser’s neck and laughing wetly. “Yeah, but at least I’m handsome, right?”
“Idiot. You’re such an idiot,” Eraser continued to scold as he tightened his hold on Hizashi. “Don’t do something like that ever again. If you’re not going to become a hero, then you’re only allowed to do the stupid shit you usually do.”
“Like breaking into radio stations to sing to you?”
“Yes -wait. To me?”
Hizashi lifted his head and fixed Eraser with a playful pout. If the squishing of his face pushed out a few tears -well, he wasn’t going to be the one to say anything. “You really like playing with my heart, Eraser. Of course to you! Everything I do -except for today- is to get your attention!”
“…Seriously? Not as in, like, a joke?”
“Of course seriously! You -You really think I’d keep up something like this for so long for a half-hearted reason? I’m offended!”
Eraser raised an incredulous eyebrow. “And you thought committing petty crimes was the best way to get my attention?”
“Well, it worked, didn’t it?”
Eraser couldn’t argue with that one.
“You’re such a workaholic,” Hizashi continued. “I couldn’t think of a better way to see you.”
Eraser sighed and stepped back. Hizashi kind of would have liked their hug to last forever, but it was fine. “Get out of here. I’ll try to explain to the cops what happened.”
“I’ll go if you give me a kiss.”
Hizashi had teased this offer a dozen times before. Eraser always turned him down.
Except, it seemed, this time.
“There,” he mumbled as their lips parted way too quickly for Hizashi. “Now go. Oh, and don’t forget to clean up that ‘handsome’ cheek of yours.”
Hizashi felt Eraser’s thumb brush against his cheek, and then, just like that, he was gone.
Dazed, Hizashi fell back onto the wall, his legs shaking and his lips pleasantly numb.
Well, I'm starting at a PC with three Google Docs open, all in varying degrees of work written. Stuck on a pile of emotional scenes that all refuse to be written.
Chapters: 2/4
Fandom: The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Rating: Mature
Relationships: Link/Revali, Link/Prince Sidon
Synopsis:
After the defeat of Waterblight Ganon, Link surrendered himself to the arms and bed of one Prince Sidon. But as he slowly regains the memories he lost, he finds himself unable to think of anyone but the proud Rito Champion, now a lonely spirit on Vah Medoh. When the Blood Moon comes calling, Link discovers a way to bring back his fallen lover. Caught between someone he once loved and the love of someone new, Link faces the difficult decision of moving on or sacrificing everything for a chance at resurrection.
Excerpt:
“I don’t see anything.”
“Hush, just wait. It’s not quite time yet. I bet that I could show you the most beautiful sight in all of Hyrule and, do pardon me for being so frank, but I’m no liar.” He and Revali sat close despite the broadness of the mangrove root, and Link found himself incredibly aware of soft, dark feathers pressed against the bare skin of his arm. He shivered involuntarily, which earned a chiding squawk from his avian companion.
“Are you cold? Seriously? We’re in the Faron region, only a naked fledgeling would be cold in a place like this.”
Link shook his head to deny it, but all of a sudden Revali was urgently tapping his arm with his wingtips to get his attention. He felt almost dizzy from the contact, but then he saw her, Farosh, the spirit of lightning, as she crested the waterfall and glided gracefully towards them.
She was every bit as splendid as Revali promised, with scales that glittered like opals in the moonlight. Her underbelly, smooth as a snake’s, glowed the same green as the orbs of crackling electricity that accompanied her. The horn that erupted from her forehead like a great golden wave was more beautiful than any jewel Link had ever seen.
As Farosh sailed past their perch, she regarded them with deep amethyst eyes. The rest of her long, lithe body drifted languidly around the mangrove roots as she climbed the updrafts towards the next waterfall.
Amidst the bright green glow of the dragon’s electric orbs, like so many little lanterns lighting up the quiet lake around them, Link leaned over to press his lips against a downy-feathered cheek.
“You win,” he said.
Revali trilled lowly in response, interlacing his wingtips with Link’s fingers to squeeze them gently.
When Farosh faded into the darkness of the early morning, she swept those gilded memories away with her, leaving Link alone in the present and aching with longing for the past.
