COMPLETED: Throwing Hearts Away [Miraxus]

XVII. Day of Worshipping Bacon

Hey, minna!

I'm so sorry for, again, not being active lately. School was hectic, but now, IT IS SUMMER IN OUR COUNTRY! I CAN WRITE WHENEVER I WANT.

The title is completely random, just go with it, LOL.

Oh, and I haven't read the latest chapters of Fairy Tail or watched the latest episodes of the anime (I stopped at twenty-six or something), so NOBODY SPOIL STUFF, OKAY?

Okay. Let us begin, yes? Don't forget to CVSF!

Byeonara~.

-/-/-

"Oh, praise the holy bacon!"

"Is there even a religion to bacon, Freed?" I ask Freed as we watch Bickslow worship the bacon in the freezer.

"Why do you ask?"

"Well, because, if there is a religion that worships bacon, I'll be joining Bickslow," I say.

"Unfortunately, Laxus, there is no religion that worships capital-B Bacon, unless you count the one you're joining to in your head," Freed answers. "If I were to worship bacon, well, I'd think first of your ex-girlfriend before doing so."

"Why? You wanna hit on her or something?"

"No, just... intrigued," he says. "For now, let's stop Bickslow from worshipping bacon, yes?"

"UGH. FINE."

Honestly, after my last conversation with Mirajane, I've been this crazy guy whining for the world to pee on him. Not exactly the real words, but technically the same. I'm seeing old ladies vanish into thin air and cakes that disappear when I try to eat them. It sucks big time, because in every one of my dreams, I see her looking at me, smiling, waiting for me to reach out to me, but not reaching back.

Not the old lady, doofus. Mirajane.

Anyway, as we pull out Bickslow from his bacon state of mind, his babies echo BACON back. It's creepy. In the future, I swear, all of humanity will be worshipping bacon instead of becoming mages and slayers and wizards and swordsmen. What the hell is wrong with the world? Can their intellect not be Bickslow-like? CAN WE ALL RETURN TO THE OLD TIMES WHERE WE USED MAGIC FOR FUN BUT NOT FOR BACON? That's what I'd say. Unfortunately, the magic touch of persuading people is no longer with me.

"Hey, what the hell was that for?" Bickslow protests when he was out of his daze. "And, what just happened? I mean, I don't remember much. Did I hit a train or something?"

"Do you think a train would hit you here in my apartment, imbecile?" I ask, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You were fantasizing about bacon."

"We've said the word worship and the word bacon way too many times that I would make it a metaphor of my own," Freed adds. "And, just so you know, bacon does not have ANY relation to trains."

"Bacon..." he mumbles. Freed makes a rune on his forehead (Bickslow looked kinda like an obnoxious imbecile that time) that makes him fall unconscious. I stare at Freed as the bacon-loving man is no more.

"What the hell did you do?" I ask him.

"With that rune, he shall stop worshipping bacon for a whole day," he answers. "And, maybe have temporary memory loss. But, don't worry, he'll regain his consciousness immediately."

"What about his memory?"

He doesn't say anything. But, an evil grin that meant We are finally freed from Bickslow's bacon worship! shows up on his face. I give him a look that said, "Too much alliteration in one sentence, Freed."