#there are THOUSANDS of characters out there and a BLOB CAUGHT MY EYE????

[side-self-shift]

What have I been forsaken to fall inlove with

#wtf man #why HIM #im not going to name him #there are THOUSANDS of characters out there and a BLOB CAUGHT MY EYE???? #no no NO #HE NEEDS TO EXPLODE

[m-y-fandoms]

COMMISSION: Joker/Akira/Ren x Reader Part 2

Part 1

This is gonna be many more parts... I can already tell 

Word Count: 2.2k

SFW, SLOW BURN romance friends to lovers, gender neutral reader, anyone can enjoy it and place themselves as the reader!

- Admin Myah

You spent your entire free period up on that roof, hoping by some miracle that you weren’t crazy, that the group of second-year students that had seemingly vanished before your eyes were in fact pranking you, and upon seeing that you weren’t amused, would get tired of hiding and pop out, finishing the surprise. No such luck, however, and so you left, the second-period bell forcing your hand. Spending the first period of your day - a bit of free time meant for studying, finishing homework, or otherwise enriching yourself educationally - up on the roof and unaccounted for by any teachers was a bit risky already, and you were a decent enough student. There was no way you could just sit there all day, skipping the rest of your classes. Sighing, you resolved to just give up the hunt for your destined main character and by extension the group of potential new friends.

＊

Often after school, you headed to the library, which stayed open along with a select few other areas of Shujin for student use after the last bell rang. Today, however, you felt drawn back to that place, back to that rooftop where you’d seen Akira, Ryuji, and Ann disappear hours earlier. It just wasn’t sitting right with you; you felt a stirring in your soul, like a tiny voice in your head, a shimmering blue butterfly in your stomach. Lucky for you, the rooftop was also open, though you’d never really spent time there. Certain students, including another third-year you admired raised plants up there where the sun could reach them, while others simply came up there for the view or the breeze, some private space to study.

Today, the breeze was indeed blowing, and you sat there writing as it whistled past your ears, polishing up some plot points, scrawling down ideas for your protagonist straight from the imagination, since it seemed you wouldn’t be finding any real-life inspiration anytime soon. It was frustrating, writer’s block, and for the past month or so, it’s all you could do to write a single paragraph. You always found yourself lost in the pages of the novels you loved, and you could identify great writing, appreciate the artistry of another writer, but it was sometimes so hard to put your own thoughts down on the pages of your journal. Why was it so hard? You knew what real romance was. You knew which themes and cliches were overdone and unrealistic. You had a mature and healthy outlook on real relationships and could pick apart the stereotypical female protagonist who was strong and independent until she met the man who would break down her walls or the toxic bad boy who women loved on paper but would cry their eyes out over in real life. You’d read thousands of books and fan-fiction, listened to hundreds of audiobooks, watched tons of romance movies, so why, lately, was it not clicking?! Where was the disconnect between having thoughts and transcribing said thoughts down into your very own masterpiece? Fantasy came so easily to you, sci-fi, non-fiction essays for class, mysteries, research papers, but romance, the genre you loved the most, seemed to purposely elude you.

You were shaken out of your frazzled state when something caught your attention out of the corner of your eye. Shaking your head a bit to try and focus your vision, you looked over your shoulder to see that the black spot on the fringe of your blind spot was in fact actually there. You rubbed your eyes just to be sure, but there it was, a wavering black inky spot hovering in the air. Another appeared, then another, now red in color. You were beginning to feel insane for the second time that day, but rather safe than sorry, you quickly stood, shoving your work and pencils into your bag and shuffling away from the blobs, which were now oscillating and dancing around each other, phasing in and out of existence like a fisheye lens. This was a bit too freaky for your liking, and you were beginning to feel a frightening chill up your spine. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up, and you elected to put some kind of barrier of safety between yourself and the floating bubbles. Like any rational person, your mind was screaming “unknown situation: possible threat: run!” but again, that little butterfly in the pit of your guts was saying there was something worth staying for. So, running to the door to the roof, you swung it open, a ringing in your ear starting to buzz and chime. You closed it frantically, pressing your nose up against the small glass windows that allowed a limited view of the roof. A small gasp escaped your lips, and you instinctively grabbed onto your bag a bit tighter.

The red and black splotches began to dissipate and fade like some kind of glitch in reality, and three figures appeared like mist, like ghosts before beginning to solidify and slowly become tangible silhouettes. Then, as if some kind of magic ritual was coming to a close, the figures poofed into existence, and your brain processed the scene before you.

“Holy shit…” you whispered. There, clear as day were Sakamoto, Takamaki, and the new kid. They were just standing adjusting their clothes, stretching their arms and legs, situating their personal items. It was just then that you saw a little furry head poke up out of Akira’s school bag. Your harsh, analytical gaze softened a bit upon seeing the small black cat that appeared. Had he been carrying that cat around all day? Surely not, right? How would he keep it quiet and still? “What the…?” The inquisitive glare returned to your features when they began… speaking to the cat. It wasn’t the cute baby talk people often use with their pets, either. It was a full-on, serious conversation, and the cat was meowing back, clearly, in response to their statements.

It was a bit muffled by the thick door, but you could make out bits and pieces.

 Metaverse? Palace. Shadows... treasure? Kamoshida? Great, that asshole, but what could he have to do with this? What even was this? 

You were questioning everything you knew. You were wondering if the juice you had this morning at breakfast was spiked. There was no winning in this scenario, either you were crazy, or these kids were. You looked downward, contemplating your navel as your mind tried to make sense of the events of today. You glanced up again, trying to eavesdrop a little better, get some more detail. You took a step closer, trying to will the sound of their voices through the door to be just a little louder, just a little clearer, when Sakamoto suddenly pivoted, stretching and cracking his spine with a sigh.

“Gah!”  You shouted out. His eyes met yours through the window and widened like a kid caught in the cookie jar. You jumped with a start, taking a cautionary step back and nearly tumbling down the stairs. It was a miracle you caught yourself in time, but your little outburst had definitely caught the attention of the group. Your cover was thoroughly blown. “Oh, no…” You cursed under your breath, spotting both Ann and Akira’s eyes on you now as well.

“Shit! Do you think they saw?” Ryuji’s hands flew to his hair, mussing and working out his frustrations on the dyed strands while simultaneously, Akira was already in motion, rushing toward the door to apprehend the unwelcome listener.

Your heartbeat sped up, and like a gazelle spotted by a lion, a fire was lit under you and you began to sprint, clumsily fumbling down the stairwell and onto the flat platform where the stairs rotated 90 degrees and continued downward. Inhaling sharply, your foot, nervous and supporting jelly-like legs, missed the final step. Your belongings, along with your body, spilled across the square, flat platform, and the door behind you slammed open.

“Hey!” Akira’s yell echoed through the stairwell, and your thoughts bounced off the walls just like his voice. Scrambling, you scooped only the essentials into your hands: your journal, the phone of course, a few homework binders, ditching the easily replaceable items like chewing gum and pencils. Taking to one scraped-up knee and ready to bolt, you felt a hand close upon your bicep and clamp down firmly. “Hey, hey… slow down.” Akira again, now gentler with his tone, spun you around to face him. You stood clutching your things to your chest like a life preserver. “I’m not gonna like… kill you or anything.” A breathy chuckle, and now he was on the platform next to you, scanning you up and down for injuries with his hands in his pockets. “So, uh… so don’t kill yourself by fallin’ down these stairs, huh?” He played off the tense feeling in the air with humor, but the sheer proximity of him, standing there in front of you mere inches away in the cramped space, it was like you could hear your blood pounding in your ears.

What was he thinking right now? Did he think you were some weirdo stalker? I mean, you’d just met him this morning and now you were watching him through a small window like a creep after school… after following him there. Wait, that wasn’t important right now! Was he going to kill you? He didn’t seem like the type of guy to do that, but then again, he didn’t seem like the type to phase in and out of existence either… neither did Ryuji and Ann… what were people with powers like that capable of?

Right now, you were just going to mind your business, and play it safe. It wasn’t worth getting mixed up with people who warp through a “metaverse” and talk to animals just for some good writing material, not if it turned out to be dangerous.

“Well…” you hesitated, “it’s none of my business, what I just saw, and I won’t tell anyone.” You breathed a little easier, tried to regain your composure, to not look too weak.

“So they did see! Awww, shit!” Ryuji’s head popped through the door, interrupting the uncomfortable conversation, and the hot air of the enclosed space was cut through by a gust of wind from the now open rooftop door.

“Now, just hold on, Ryuji,” Akira held out one hand to placate his rather temperamental friend.

“No, no really it’s fine that you talk to your… cat and just… vanish... and I’m sure it’s all fine and multiverse-y and…”

“Metaverse.” Akira corrected you with a small smile, bending down to pick up the rest of your scattered objects.

“Dude!” Ryuji ran a hand down his face in defeat.

“They saw us, no point in being tight-lipped,” he stood, handing them to you.

“Metaverse… right,” you took them, watching every move he made carefully. “Sorry, I’m… a bit more... eloquent in my writing,” you moved to the side, ready to sneak past and descend the rest of the stairs. Anything to get on with your day and escape this unbelievable situation. Akira shuffled, mirroring you and completely blocking the stairwell. There was something clever about him, something sharp and charismatic. He knew exactly what he was doing, what he wanted to achieve, and he knew how to calmly and smoothly execute his plans, unlike Sakamoto, who was far less… organized.

“Writing…?” He was keeping you locked into this conversation, as gently and amiably as he could, and you were not leaving until he was sure he could trust your word.

“Uh… yeah, that’s why I was up…” your eyes met his, quickly recoiling and looking toward the floor again, “...up on the roof. I was just looking for a quiet place to write.”

“What, uh, what kind of stuff do you write?” Ann had now joined Ryuji at the top of the stairs, leaving you feeling completely caged in. Ann threw Akira - who seemed like the leader of the small band of misfits - a desperate glance, a sort of look that seemed to ask: “Where are you going with this? Are we screwed?”

“It’s… it’s kind of private. It’s just… romance stuff. I don’t know, I do all kinds of different stuff, whatever I’m in the mood for.” Akira nodded, more to his friends than you, something you had a feeling you weren’t supposed to pick up on. He stuck his hand out flat, gesturing toward the rooftop behind you. You took the hint, heading a bit anxiously back up the stairs, Ryuji and Ann making way for you.

“You any good?” Akira followed behind you, and now on the rooftop once again, the cool air felt freeing, less constricting, though his question felt a bit insulting, a bit nosey.

“I don’t know… I’ve been told I am…” The three friends took a seat in areas that seemed very familiar to them, like they’d been up here warping in and out of this realm many times before. Now settled into place, Ann spoke up, obviously as apprehensive as you were:

“Well do you… do you think…?” Her high-pitched voice seemed to be hesitant, not yet confident in her next words, not sure if they were all on the same page.

“Yeah, my thoughts exactly,” Akira smirked as if the three had one mind. He turned to you, trying to make eye contact that you vehemently avoided. “How would you feel about helping us out?”

#joker x reader #persona 5 #persona 5 protagonist #akira kurusu x reader #ren amamiya x reader #ryuji sakamoto #ann takamaki #Shin Megami Tensei #gender neutral reader #Female reader #male reader #commission #writing commissions #fan fiction #x reader #reader insert #y/n #s/o #slow burn #sfw #persona 5 joker #phantom thieves #friends to lovers #imagines #reactions #scenarios #shin megami tensai persona #angst #fluff

[secretshinigami]

routine and soft eyes

Author: @hazblogs For: @beyondplusultra Pairings/Characters: nearmellomatt, mention of lawlight Rating/Warnings: T, mentions of Mello’s scar  Prompt: Wammy House kids sleepover (A, B, L can be included, can be AU) Author’s notes: I had so much fun with this !!! soft bois…. thank you to anyone who reads it !!

Mello is positively fuming. Someone (who shall not be named, though if you want to know it starts with “N” and ends with “-ate River”) just got on top of Forensic Science and Investigative Skills and History of Crime and the Justice System. Those are Mello’s topics. They’re the best at these and they always have been (in the two years they’ve studied here. But that’s long enough, right ?), so the fact that Mister Nobody just came in and stole their turf… That’s infuriating. To top it all off, the dean did them dirty and assigned someone to the second bed in their room, knowing full well that they need that second bed for Matt. This week is just a pile of flaming shit.

As they swing the door open they are greeted by the beeping sounds usually coming from Matt’s bed, a comforting electronic melody. Matt doesn’t even turn around to raise his middle finger to protest against how loud Mello is, but that’s also common practice around here, so no worries. 

“Heard you got your ass beat,” Matt says a while later, Mello’s hand carding through his strawberry-green hair. “By the newbie no less. How’re you taking it ?”

“Matt, my hand is dangerously close to your eyes and you need those to play on that stupid console. Better not risk it.”

“Like you’d ever hurt me,” Matt grumbles, and the certainty with which he speaks makes their heart pulse just a little faster. Mello is hopelessly in love, aren’t they ?

The rest of the evening is quiet save for that same musical background, a welcome white noise as Mello finishes their essay for Writing Comedy. The teacher seems to have some trouble with their rather macabre humour so they try to tone it down for once - rather unsuccessfully.

“Also heard you’ll have a roommate,” Matt continues a few hours later as they prepare for bed - gotta put some moisturiser on that scar like a damsel doing her skincare routine, the doctor said, “or you’ll experience how actually painful it can be”. Talk about being threatening…

“I heard. I can kick them out.” Mello would do it. Without remorse, even.

“I can sleep in your bed too,” Matt offers. “But only if you promise not to kick me out from under the covers every single night.”

“Okay, first of all, fuck off, and secondly, why the hell would I want someone else to room with me ? You’re already here. You’ve always been here.”

“And I always will be, Mels. Just… I think it’s time you get out of your shell a little bit, you know ? You can’t keep pretending that talking to me twice every day and ignoring Linda a couple times a week is enough friendly interaction for the little pea inside your coconut.” Mello turns away from the mirror, moisturiser in hand, and sends a glare to Matt who sighs and raises his hands in defeat. “Don’t say I didn’t try ! Think about it, okay, Mello ?”

They do think about it. The whole night. They don’t sleep - it’s not because Matt snores but that’s the excuse they’ll use. Ever since the accident and the scar, people have usually been too impressed - or scared - by them to even consider starting a casual conversation. Matt was there even before, and he probably always will be, Linda is a weirdo who wants to draw them with a ponytail, and… Well, that’s it. Mello lives for schoolwork, to be the best and hope to right some of the wrongs in this world.

“Yo, Mihael,” the dean says when he sees them in front of his office the following morning. Lawliet is a TA at their university, still haunting the dorms. He has a creepy smile under his stupid raccoon eyes and he keeps using Mello’s birthname, like it makes any more sense to call them with that than to call them “xXx_sexy_blondie_xXx”, or however you pronounce that out loud.

“Lawliet. I saw you assigned me a roommate.”

“I did,” he smiles still, like there’s a joke Mello doesn’t get.

“Why ?” Mello would actually like to know - Lawliet never does anything at random.

“You’ll see when he arrives later today,” is the cryptic answer, and Mello sneers at their stupid fucking dean as they leave for their 8am lecture.

Because yes, multiple things are out to get their skin - though they won’t be deterred.

The day goes by in a flash, Screenwriting and Poetry being two of their most interesting classes, and by the time they’ve finished their Crime Prevision and Prevention homework at the library, the sun is well on its way down. Mello walks slowly to the dorms, enjoying the warm air - it’s still only September and winter hasn’t come yet. The music blasting from their headphones is a perfect background to the chill atmosphere, a few bird silhouettes dark against the wonderfully peach clouds. In a few minutes they’ll kiss Matt and they’ll eat a bite, and they’ll sleep knowing they’re safe now.

When they arrive in front of their room, a few cardboard boxes occupy the entrance. Shit fuck hell, they’d forgotten the roommate arrived today. All they can see from where they’re blocked from entering is a white blob of hair on top of baggy clothes, perched on the desk and looking at whatever Matt is playing.

“Uh, I’m supposed to be able to enter my own room,” Mello kind of yells. Only kind of. “Would you please not be a giant stupid bother before I even get your name ?”

“Sorry,” the snowball says, not looking sorry at all. “I’m Nate River.”

“But you can call him Near ! He plays retro games, which isn’t… let’s say it’s not my strong point, but I’m sure it’ll go well, we’re three whole weirdos with weirdo nicknames !”

Mello blinks. Near is still here. They blink again. Near is still here, looking a little like a frog with his lopsided smile, a hand playing with one of his curls. Mello blinks a third time and doesn’t expect Near to have packed his things and go, but that was a close call.

“Are you fucking kidding me,” they mutter. “Lawliet is gonna get killed.”

“You actually know enough about criminology to not be caught, so go you.” Near is smirking. Mello wants to cry. “But I would advise against it, because he’s dating that twink Light Yagami, the alumni who came last week to give the presentation about the War on Drugs and its consequences. He’s a police lieutenant now.”

“Called it !” Matt raises a fist in victory, taking five years from Mello’s lifespan. “Anyway, now that you’re here, please do help us with the last boxes. We’ve been setting up Near’s compy and it’s revoltingly difficult.”

“I will not- how can you ask me to- I’m gonna commit arson and this time I promise I’ll succeed !”

“Dramatic bitch,” Matt says jovially. “Just come in and drop your stuff, apparently someone from the ADA thing comes tomorrow to make sure the room is accessible with a crutch and to help Near settle in.”

Mello just now notices that Near isn’t fully standing up - he’s propped on the desk, a mechanical knee peeking through the bottom of his shorts. This changes nothing - though Mello feels the both grim and hopeful sense of community that disabled people get when they meet. Their ear still works wonky and their eye ? Not the sharpest either. Without talking about all the skin damage, the phantom pain, the- hell no, they won’t get into “reflective mode” without having eaten dinner first.

Reluctantly, Mello spends the rest of the evening avoiding Near as Matt and them help him settle in, surprised by the small amount of belongings he actually has - most of the boxes he brought are board games and hundreds of little kapla sticks. Is Near planning to recreate the Golden Bridge ? He looks like a nerd, maybe it’ll be the Death Star.

Routines are a persistent thing, and before they know it, Near has managed to get a small space - small, they insist - in Mello’s well-oiled machinery. He eats breakfast with Matt, a meal that Mello forgoes entirely, and he goes on unfortunate walks to his PT appointments, because he’s out of money from whatever government organism gives benefits to disabled people and can’t afford a cab. Mello thinks they should get into it a little more, maybe call their case worker, because ramen tastes worse and worse when you have it for every meal of the week. And then Near and Matt start talking about something or another, especially topics that annoy Mello, or Near gets a little too close to them while they both work on their assignments at their desk, his elbow barely brushing Mello’s side. It makes them shiver, but they will ignore that, thank you very much.

Another routine - bedtime - has gotten a little different. One single bed is enough for “one person and a half”, according to Matt, so the obvious solution to them being three in a two single beds room is to push the beds together.

“And now you have a perfect three people beddery !” Matt triumphantly declared. “Mello, you sleep in the middle.”

“Why am I in the middle ?” they protested. “It’s the least comfortable !”

“Oh well, we can take turns,” Near had snarked, knowing full well that the first one of them to sleep in the middle would have to accept defeat.

Mello does end up in the middle, Matt cuddled against their left side where the burn is, and Near an ever-closer presence against their right arm. It’s not as uncomfortable as they expected. Near doesn’t snore and he smells like minty toothpaste, a strangely comforting scent that lulls Mello to sleep way more easily than the five thousand melatonin pills they take before going to bed.

Oh well, maybe Lawliet can live a little longer. His boyfriend - Matt saw them kissing through the peephole, it’s official now - won’t have any (more) reasons to put Mello behind bars.

Near gets on top of International Law and keeps wearing strangely baggy clothes everywhere - or well, everywhere but in the dorms. Mello has time to get used to that mechanical knee, even asking a few questions about phantom pains on the days Matt is away and the itching gets unmanageable. Near is quiet like snow but they’re nothing alike in warmth, grey eyes like molten metal setting on Mello’s face and crinkling in a smile.

And it works wonders. One time they get a bad mark (for their standards) and they even study with Near for extra credit, a presentation about the death penalty that lasts about three quarters of the two hours class. The teacher gives them both full marks and Matt celebrates by crushing them both against his chest, the smell of motor oil and mint so comforting that Mello closes his eyes, just for a little while.

It’s winter before they have time to think about it, and finals go by in a blur of “no sleep, no food, no distractions”. They even manage to end up at the nurse’s office when they faint during the Criminology Theory exam, forced to drink sugar water until the world stops exploding in a million tiny stars when they move their head.

Mello thinks that surviving their last winter exam session ever - they should be able to find a job with a double Master’s degree in Criminology and Creative writing, right ? - deserves a celebratory nap and they sprawl on the bed as soon as they’re back from the last stupid oral presentation they have to do about stupid Foundations of Criminal Justice. Near is not in the room - which is weird, because he finished five minutes and thirty six seconds before them - and Matt is away for the day to try and get his internship at the garage, so they have the full three-person bed, and they fully intend to enjoy the luxury.

They enjoy it so much that they fall asleep, only noticing that time has passed because before they blinked, it was day, and it is now very much nighttime. Light giggles fill the room along with the muted light from Near’s bedside lamp, and Mello takes the time to relish in the quiet atmosphere. Hushed conversation rises from near the desk, giggles and the smell of hot chocolate both making Mello sit up at last.

“Lookit you ! Sleeping beauty arises. Though I haven’t kissed you yet,” Matt smiles, and he climbs on the bed to press his lips against Mello’s. “Love you,” he whispers as he pulls away and goes back to slump on Near’s shoulder.

At first, Near felt like an intruder each time Matt kissed them, but he’s become so embedded in their life that Mello doesn’t feel any awkwardness anymore - to the point where not including him has become the cause of their inner turmoil.

Because yeah, uh, there’s that. Near in a tank top and booty shorts, prosthetic being painted on by a very enthusiastic Matt, has become the new image they conjure up each time the need to strangle someone arises. And poof, instant peace. Discreet touches, Near sleeping fully cuddled against their right side now, Matt nosing through Near’s hair just after he’s washed it because his strawberry shampoo smells divine, Mello even going as far as ruffling Near’s hair without warning, just to see his little nose scrunch up… All that has become routine too, and suddenly the change is too big to go by unmentioned. 

They’ve managed to hold on to their feelings until then but as Matt starts talking again, Near’s smile is a little too tight - though his eyes sparkle, it’s like… something’s missing. 

“Emergency mee-ee-ting,” they yawn, the skin around their left eye crinkling up painfully. Near notices and doesn’t even ask before grabbing the petroleum jelly tube and throwing it rather inaccurately at their face. See, that’s what they were talking about, Near has just become… there, in the way Matt is there even when he’s asleep in another part of the universe where Mello can only hope to ever go to. “We gotta talk shit out.”

“Are you over your gay crisis yet ?” Matt asks, eyes calm and open, sipping hot chocolate with noisy slurps that Mello doesn’t bother mentioning anymore. His green hair looks more and more red as time passes, which is a strange feat of hair dye conspiracy. “Can we go back to playing ?”

“I haven’t even talked !” Mello protests. “I just really think it’s necessary to mention that…”

They don’t know how to continue that sentence. Near is looking at them with something strangely akin to hope, and Matt still has that infuriating openness about him like he just knows Mello so well he doesn’t need to be told what they feel. 

Near doesn’t, though, and he matters enough to Mello now for them to want to include him in the little bubble as well.

“I just think it’d be cool if we shared the secret chocolate stash with Near,” is what comes out of their mouth.

Well done caporal, please die of shame now.

“Mels, wow, that’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever said !” Matt’s voice drips with amusement - devoid of any mean spirit, they should add, because Matt is the one thing Mello knows is good in this world. And well, maybe there’s a second one they’ve stumbled on, and they want Near to know that he means a lot to them too.

“I mean it !” Mello whines. “He’s one of us now. I think we can share.”

“Mello. Please realise that I’ve been flirting with you this entire time,” comes Near’s deadpan answer. “The time I told you I wanted to braid your hair ? The time I made you sleep and finished the presentation alone because you’d gotten the flu and I hate being sneezed on ? The fact that Matt literally sits in my lap half the time, and only half because the other is spent on your lap ?”

“Okay, first of all, fuck off with me getting the flu.”

“You’re avoiding my question.” Near looks stubborn, and it’s a good look on him.

When did Mello start to think Near looks good ? “I, uh. I may be slightly romantically obtuse. Has Matt told you the time when-”

“-he kissed you and you thought he wanted to practice smooches for his secret best friend, because of course you wouldn’t be his best friend ?”

Utterly mortified, Mello can feel their cheeks become bright red. “Well, uh. Enough mushiness for tonight. Just pass me the chocolate, Matt, I’m starving.”

Matt giggles and throws a Kinder Egg at their face. Near munches on the leftover shell while Mello assembles the toy, and it’s peaceful - and happy, too, so when Mello raises a hand to their scar they smile still, in spite of their involuntary shiver.

#fanfiction #death note #submission #nearlymellodramattic #nearmattmello #lawlight mention #near #matt #mello #hazblogs #beyondplusultra #Mello's Birthday Mayhem 2020

[comicgeekscomicgeek]

Their Hero Academia – Chapter 32: The Sports Festival Part 5: ROUND ONE… FIGHT!

Presenting the next raw and unedited chapter of my on-going, next-gen, My Hero Academia fic, Their Hero Academia!

Earlier chapters can be found here

“All right, Spotsfans, Pro-Heroes, and people watching at home! This is Present Mic, freshly fed and ready for the Tournament Round!  Eraser here tried to escape during the break, but fortunately he was rounded up by his fellow teachers and returned to the broadcast booth!”

“Hn.  Tell Hopper and Skyline I know where they live.”

“I’ll be sure to pass that on!  Before we begin the first fights of the Tournament, Principal Nezu and Vice-Principal Midnight have asked me to issue the following reminder to any Pro-Hero Parents in the stands or VIP boxes that they are not to interfere with the fights, no matter how much it looks like their kid is getting beat!”

“That means you, Red Riot.”

“For those of you who have spent the last few decades on another planet, let me remind everyone how this is going to go!  The top sixteen finalists will face off against each other in a series of one-on-one matches!  They’ll win either by knocking their opponent out of the ring or by otherwise rendering them unable to continue.  Of course, competitors are allowed to withdraw at any time if the kitchen’s getting too hot!  Now that you know the rules, let’s get this show on the road!

“First up is Shiro Monoma of Class 1-B in the Hero Course versus Koharu Kocho of Class 1-F of the General Studies Department!  The Master Mimic vs the Moth Maiden!  Let’s get to it!”

***

Koharu took a deep breath to try and steady her nerves, trying very hard to ignore the fact that there were thousands of people in the stadium and millions watching on TV, including some of the very best Pro-Heroes in the country.  It had been one thing when it was the Obstacle Course or Quirkball.   There, she’d been just one face in the crowd.   But here, it was just her.  Against a Hero Course student.  

She wasn’t an obsessive fangirl, but she could definitely recognize names associated with some of the higher ranked Heroes.  And the name Monoma was definitely a familiar one.  The Phantom Thief was currently occupied the Number Eleven spot in the rankings.  Any kid of a Hero ranked that high had to be pretty skilled and well taught.

There were no Heroes in her family, though her uncle on her mom’s side worked the night shift answering the phones in Might Tower.  That was about as close as she got.

But she’d worked hard and she’d practiced and she really had to remember that she’d very nearly gotten into the Hero Course.  Would have, if not for a run of bad luck.  This was her chance to make up for it.

“All right!” Hawkeye shouted, from the edge of the ring.  “I want a good, clean fight!  Remember, if you become overwhelmed, there is no shame is tapping out early!  We will be closely monitoring the fight to make certain you don’t do yourself undue injury.”

She raised a hand. “And fight!”

Monoma didn’t wait, unfurling his Capture Cloth and slinging it out at her.  Quickly, she flapped her wings, hard, stirring up enough wind to blow it back.  He quickly reeled it in, then started rushing towards her.  “Sorry to end a promising showing so early,” he said, “but I have to win!”

“You can try!”  Koharu flapped her wings again, pushing off into the sky.  She knew, on some level, that even with her impressive wingspan (nearly 3 meters), shouldn’t be enough not allow her to fly, no matter how light she was, especially with how rarely she had to flap her wings.  Nevertheless, fly she did, sailing over him as he executed a perfect flying kick.

As he hit the ground, she turned in mid-air, firing a volley of her String-Shot from her mouth, each blast of sticky stuff punctuated with a “Hack!”  Monoma was good though, dodging and springing out of the way of each blob. He was fast and agile, but she had even greater mobility and just had to stay out of his range.  

The Capture Cloth came out again, further than she thought it could go, wrapping around one of her legs! Caught by surprise, she found herself being yanked down closer to him, flapping her wings hard enough to slow it down, but not enough to keep from getting within striking range.  He threw a punch, one that probably would have taken her head off, if she hadn’t been able to dodge at the last moment.  She took the blow to the shoulder instead, letting out a cry of pain.  But she brought both feet up and kicked, knocking him hard in the chest and loosening the Capture Cloth.  She flapped hard again, gaining altitude once more.

That was too close. If she lost here, then it was all over. Sure, Hitoshi Shinso, the Voice, was a legend in the General Studies Department, having come in sixteenth in the Festival twenty-five years ago, and still having made it to the Heroics Department. But that was a long time ago and the standards had changed.  Losing her first fight wasn’t going to cut it.  She had to win this.  And that meant giving it her all, no matter what.

This time, once she had a little space, she flapped her wings hard, unleashing her Wing-Scales.  Orange-yellow powder filled the air with each flap of her wings, this time her sleep powder rather than the paralytic she’d used during Quirkball.

“What’re you…?” Monoma started, quickly realizing that he was beginning to slow down, slurring his words with drowsiness.  He reacted quickly though, wrapping the Capture Cloth around mouth to try and screen some of her Scales out.  He couldn’t possibly have had a chance to have taken a very big breath of clean air though…

Koharu flapped her wings hard again, filling the air with more sleep powder.  Just enough to make it harder for him to want to take a breath. She swooped down, wings flapping hard, as she aimed right for him.  Monoma dropped into a fighting stance, but she could tell his movements were dull and slowed.  His guard was high, ready to protect his face from her fists, but she changed direction at the last moment, flying upwards, bringing her feet up to kick him hard, squarely in the chest.

It knocked what breath he had left out of him, sucking in her sleep powder instead.  That much, that fast put him right out.  He slumped to the ground, already snoring.  Koharu flapped once, steadying herself, and then dropped back down to the ground.  She’d done it.  She’d actually done it!

“Monoma is unable to continue!” Hawkeye announced.  “Kocho wins!”

“WOW!” came the voice of Present Mic.  “Score one for General Studies!  Koharu Kocho takes the win!  I think we’ve got one to keep an eye on, folks!”

“Not the best match up,” Eraserhead added, and for a moment she felt her sink.  “Monoma’s Quirk was a poor match up against hers. Then again… almost everyone needs to breathe.  Midnight might like this one.”

Koharu took a moment to take in the cheers of the crowd and was surprised to find that it wasn’t just coming from her class or the other General Studies courses.  There were people cheering for her in the Hero Course seats too… and even in the rest of the stadium.

Maybe she’d just gotten lucky… but right now, this felt pretty good.

***

Kimiko Ojiro didn’t know much about her opponent, Anime Fukidashi.  Other than the obvious, of course, that she appeared to be a cartoon character and that she was the daughter of the Pro-Hero Comicman.  Even her gym uniform appeared animated on her body.  There was something unsettling about watching her move too, as though there was something missing from her movements, going from one position to the next just a little too quickly.  She was aware of the irony of calling anyone else’s appearance weird, but she couldn’t help it.

She needed to be careful how she played this, though.  She really didn’t know what exactly Fukidashi’s Quirk did.  She was friends with Mineta and Koda, apparently, but that was all she really knew.  But her own Quirk was extremely specialized.  It offered a lot of stealth options, but not a lot of physical power.  That was pure training there.

Present Mic’s voice cut through the noise of the crowd.  “And now for our next match, we have Kimiko Ojiro of Class 1-A and Anime Fukidashi of Class 1-B!  It’s a Hero Course showdown here, for these two ladies!  One’s invisible, one’s animated!  Which visual will win out?  Keep your eyes peeled, because this one’s going to be hard to follow!”

Kimiko and Fukidashi approached each other in the center of the ring.  Both looked to Hawkeye.  The teacher looked over both of them before speaking.  “As you both have Quirks which provide visual distortion, be aware that we have sensors that will still detect if you step outside the ring when we can’t visually confirm it.   Other than that…  FIGHT!”

“OMIGOSH!” Fukidashi said, little hearts floating around her head.  “I love your blog!  I never miss an episode!  Is that cutie from the Support Course still single?  Can you introduce me?”

Kimiko felt her face break out into a grin.  “Let me guess… otaku49?”

Fukidashi suddenly turned two dimensional and significantly less detailed, appearing almost as a rectangle with a rounded head.  “How did you know?!”

“Lucky guess!”

Activating her Quirk, Kimiko turned the rest of her clothing invisible, completely disappearing from view. Not for the first time, she was grateful that she didn’t have to get naked in order to use her Quirk to its fullest like her mom did.  It would have just made things awkward, really.

She dropped low, doing a leg sweep that knocked Fukidashi off her feet.  First points for her!  Almost instantly though, she sprang right back up.  “Hey!” she shouted, her head suddenly growing to giant size compared to the rest of her body.  “What’re you trying to do!?  I was complementing you!”

Kimiko readied herself for another strike, when Fukidashi’s head returned to normal size.  “Ah, well,” Fukidashi said, “guess we’ve got to fight.” Her shoulders slumped and she let out a sigh, which manifested as a small cloud from her mouth.  The cloud impacted Kimiko like a solid object, bowling her over!  

Her concentration broken, Kimiko’s clothes snapped back into visibility.   “How the heck did you hit me?!  I’m invisible!”

“Oh, that?” Fukidashi asked. “I just looked around until I could hear the background music.  I knew that’s where you had to be!”

Okay, she was officially crazy.  She’d read about this in some of the medical books Doc Clock had lent her. Quirk-Induced Psychosis, where someone’s Quirk so colored their perceptions on reality that it made it difficult for them to fit into normal society.  Maybe she was reading too much into it, but…

She launched a flurry of kicks, one after the other.  Fukidashi was good though, dodging them as fast she could.  Suddenly, she reached behind her back and when she brought her hand back, she was holding a giant hammer!  “Hiii-yaaa!”  Fukidashi yelled, swinging the hammer in a wide arc.  Kimiko ducked under it, rolling to avoid a follow-up strike that cracked the concrete of the ring.  She quickly made herself invisible again.

She might have one shot at this.  All she needed to do was get a hand on Fukidashi…

Fukidashi raised her hammer up again, looking around.  “Now, where did you…”

Kimiko grabbed Fukidashi’s ankle and activated her Quirk, turning her invisible.  When she made other people invisible, she could pull it back just enough to leave parts of their eyes visible so they could see… or she could just make them all the way invisible.  Fukidashi faded completely from sight.

“What did you…?  I can’t see!  Wait… Aw, crap!  You Say Run is playing!  I’m going to lose!”

You needed a very strongly developed sense of proprioception when you were invisible.  Kimiko had a great one, having been invisible since she was born.  Other people, typically, did not react as well.   It gave her an opening.  Rising up, she grabbed onto Fukidashi with her other hand and executed a judo throw that sent her out of the ring.  As soon as she left Kimiko’s grasp, she turned visible again, landing in a slump.

“Fukidashi is out of the ring!” Hawkeye said.  “Ojiro wins!”

Kimiko let her clothes return to visibility again and took a bow.

“Well that was… interesting!  Did you follow any of that, Eraser?”

“All of it.  Of course. Weren’t you paying attention?”

***

“Next up,” Present Mic said, “is another Hero Course showdown!  Mika Mineta of Class 1-A and the Yoru Kan of Class 1-C!  Horn versus fang!  Who will come out the winner?!”

While some of her classmates may have been nervous, Mika definitely wasn’t.  She did well in her Heroics Classes and she had a highly useful Quirk, especially for something like this. Her Pop-Horn and the sticky balls it could create had come in extremely handy during Quirkball, immobilizing several people on the opposing team and letting them be taken out easily. Combined with her inherited mutations, she knew she was a formidable opponent.

Plus she looked damn good. That had to count for something.

Not that her opponent was bad looking by any means.  Yoru Kan was tall, probably nearly as tall as Akaya or Shoji, with skin nearly as white as snow, blood-red lips, and short-cropped red hair.  She was also heavily muscled, the bulges of her arms and legs clearly defined by her uniform in a way that was… very distracting.

Focus, Mika!

Okay, so what was her Quirk exactly?  She had little fangs poking out from her mouth.  Biting powers?  No, that probably wasn’t it.   Mika knew she was the daughter of the Pro-Hero and former U.A. teacher Vlad King. The Blood Hero had married a much younger woman, which had been something of a scandal at the time, according to articles that still circulated the internet.  Mika wasn’t one to judge in that regard.  Unless it was weird or creepy.  Or somebody just going after somebody older for their money.  That was wrong.  Unless it was a whole lot of money.

Right, focus.  She needed to focus.  

“Let’s have a nice clear match, ladies,” Hawkeye said.  “FIGHT!”

“I vas warned about you,” Kan said, baring those fangs of hers.  “You vill not distract me with your vords.”

Mika felt her jaw drop. “Okay, I could listen to you talk all day.  But I’m kind of sort of seeing someone right now?  It’s an open relationship thing though, so you know, I could probably make the time, if you wanted to?”

“Cease your babbling!” Kan roared, charging at her.

Mika’s flirt, fight, or flight response kicked over to fight.  She lowered her head, aimed her horns, and hired a volley of purple sticky spheres at Kan.  Some would hopefully stick and immobilize her, but even if they didn’t, they packed enough mass and speed to be a pretty effective projectile all on their own.

Unfortunately for her, as the balls neared her, Kan transformed into a shimmering cloud of blood-red mist, clothes and all (disappointing!), letting them pass harmlessly through her.  The mist cloud neared Mika then reshaped itself back into Kan, who launched a punch that hit her hard in the midsection, knocking the breath out of her with a mighty whomp!

Kan struck out again with another punch, this one sending her flying.  Mika landed hard, bouncing once, but she was still inside the ring. Her head was spinning though, making it hard to focus.  Kan was coming at her again though, so she knew she had to act.

Kan was stronger than her, maybe faster, and the mist trick meant it would be hard, if not impossible, to use her Quirk on her.  Fortunately, Mika had a secret weapon.  She was strong and fast herself, but more importantly… she was annoying.

“So the mist thing,” she said, running out to meet Kan, “can you feel anything when you’re like that?  Because I can think of at least six different uses for that.  Can you work your way into tight places?  Are you cold or warm?  Because I’m thinking either one would actually be pretty nice, but it does make a big difference!”

Kan swung a fist, a powerful blow made clumsier as Mika’s words began breaking her focus.  “Shut up!  Shut up, you perverted freak!  I vill make you shut up!”

Her follow-up blow was just as clumsy and Mika got a good kick in, her hoof connected solidly with Kan’s chest.  It was a shame she didn’t have a lot of feeling in her hooves, a waste of perfectly good boob contact really, but it was what it was.  A small price to pay for victory.

“Third base on the first date?” Mika laughed.  “Who knew it was this easy?”

Kan let out an incoherent yell that would have done Kirishima-Bakugo proud, striking out again. Ready for it, Mika dodged and kicked. Kan did manage to turn partway to mist this time and her leg passed through her harmlessly.  But Mika kept up the chatter.  “Well, I guess I can always say I’ve been inside you now…”

“Why don’t you shut up?!” Another wild blow, which Mika dodged, backpedaling away from it.  

There she was, just enough space to aim…  “You going to give me something else to do with my mouth, then?”  Mika asked.

That set Kan off again, screaming with rage.  And that was the moment Mika struck, firing off as many of her sticky balls as she could, filling the air with them.  One by one they hit Kan, sticking to her, until she was completely covered in them, leaving only parts of her face exposed, just enough for her to breathe. The multiple impacts must have had an effect on her, because her words were slowed and slurred, punch-drunk.  “At least… I no longer have… to listen… to you.”

And then she fell over.

For a minute, there was silence.  And then Hawkeye spoke up.  “Kan is unable to continue!  Mineta wins!”

“I… don’t feel good about having seen that,” Present Mic said. “I kind of feel like I want a shower.”

“Being a Hero is about using every skill you have to your advantage,” Aizawa replied.  “Mineta was able to do that quite successfully. And don’t think I don’t know you’re cheering up in the teacher’s box, Midnight.”

“How long is she going to be stuck like that?” Hawkeye asked her, pointing to Kan’s immobilized form.

Mika shrugged.  “Kind of varies.  At least an hour though.  Maybe more.”

Hawekeye just sighed in an “I don’t get paid enough for this” sort of way as the medical robots came to collect Kan.  “I’ll see if Power Loader can’t develop a solvent.”

Still, Mika really hoped that if her dad was watching, it wasn’t with the sound or she was due for a loooong and awkward conversation at home.

#my hero academia #their hero academia #fan fiction #fan fic #my writing

[of-hell-and-hyacinths]

love tastes like vanilla beans and blood on the back of your tongue

chapter 1

so this is a hanahaki disease au wiliou fic that i started writing yesterday!!! i think it might have about 3 to 4 chapter but don’t quote me on that. it’s pretty shit but I Tried. also!!! this takes place after the second breakup that isn’t canon but yolo i guess.

as always, all characters (besides drew lmao) belong to @skate-fast-eat-grass not me!!!

The first time it happens is during breakfast the day after the breakup.

Bella keeps casting him worried glances from her table, and at this point it’s only annoying. She regards him with carefulness. Like he’s about to break. Like any moment now he’s going to explode.

So he stares down at his toast with venom. He stabs his eggs so violently Elysna shoots him a look identical to Bella’s. He glares at Bella with such force that for a split second he thinks she might feel hurt.

“I hate oatmeal,” Drew says, her tone inching on disgust, as she stares Mitchell down.

“And I hate cereal.”

“You little bitch—“

Normally, Adrien offers his input. Not today. He can’t find his voice. He reckons he lost it and all of its vibrancy last night.

Last night.

Acid wells at the back of Adrien’s throat. And in his eyes. He clenches his spoon so hard his knuckles almost go completely white. Okay, okay, okay, he’s not going to fucking start crying at breakfast.

Just look at your Lucky Charms, he tells himself. There’s nothing sad about cereal. You like Lucky Charms. You have no reason to cry.

Except — uh, yes, he does. That reason is sitting across the Dining Pavilion, and Adrien has refused to look at him this morning at all.

Is Rhys as miserable as he is? He doubts it. It was for the best, he’d said. All he wanted was for the both of them to be happy.

Like breaking up with Adrien was for the best. Hell, like breaking up with Adrien was supposed to make him happy.

Don’t look. All it’s going to do is make you cry.

Nausea swirls around in his stomach. He sets his spoon down. Nobody except Elysna gives him a second glance. Adrien stares down at his hands until the edges get blurry.

When did he get so weak? When did he start giving in to himself? When did he start breaking down? When did he become such a fool for Rhys Winters?

Despite the nausea, and the feeling like shattered glass wedged in his throat, Adrien drags his eyes away from his hands. There’s something far more worthy to look at.

Rhys is smiling weakly at something Lou Ellen is whispering to him. In the sunshine bearing down, his hair is white, the colour of falling snowflakes, and fluffy and like a cloud. Adrien itches to run his hands through it. To bury his face in it.

To have Rhys in his arms.

But that’s the one thing he’ll never have again.

In one big wave of nausea, his stomach lurches. Fireworks. If fireworks were to explode in his stomach, it would feel like this. Painful and nauseating and awful.

Adrien can feel knives poking around in his throat. They crawl up like spiders. They’re begging to stab his tongue, to shut him up for good.

And, damn, he probably shouldn’t throw up all over the table.

Suddenly, Adrien swings his legs over the bench and pushes his clammy hands away from the table, stumbling. The wobbling and exploding in his stomach blossoms into a monster.

He knows everybody in the Dining Pavilion is staring at him while he sprints out, but why should he care? Just for a second, he catches a sight of Rhys and his blonde-haired, blue-eyed magic. And in that one second he feels something pop in his throat. He clamps a hand over his mouth and races off like he’s aiming for first place.

(It’s all eating him up inside.)

Something — probably vomit — is blooming inside his throat but for some reason it feels ticklish. Adrien has no time to think about it. He bursts into the boy’s bathroom, ducks into a random stall, bends over, and prepares to let his insides fall out.

The ticklish, acidic feeling goes from small to a massive blob. Everything inside his body crumples and implodes. For some reason, his heart hurts most of all. He gags and chokes. Something shoots through his throat.

Adrien’s stomach contracts in agony. He tries to think of something comforting; Rhys’s soft smile, Rhys’s iceberg blue eyes glimmering, Rhys’s gentle lips, Rhys’s fingers intertwined with his own.

To his surprise, there’s a feeling like a thousand bombs going off inside. His thoughts become a hurricane. His pain blends with his body, and for a moment, he and heartbreak are one and the same.

What tumbles from his mouth isn’t bile or the few spoons of breakfast he forced down, but a single branch of yellow wattle.

It plops into the toilet water and sinks to the bottom in slow motion.

At first, his only thought is what the fuck was in my cereal? One of the Hermes kids probably caught wind of last night’s events and decided making him throw up flowers was funny. It wasn’t.

His stomach aches, but it doesn’t feel as queasy. It feels calmer, like a sea on a summer day.

But Adrien still feels like shit. What’s with that?

He recalls the feeling of bombs inside his body when he thought of Rhys. It was the worst feeling he’d had in a while. Not only did his physical pain turn it up a notch, but so did his heartache.

Adrien probably shouldn’t be thinking of his ex-boyfriend when he throws up wattles, but—

It strikes him like an axe to the head.

When he thought of Rhys.

Wattle. Native to Australia. Rhys had rambled about the lovely wattle trees in his old primary school only days ago.

Adrien’s mind plunges into a memory buried deep, deep underneath.

———

“My gods, Zac Efron is hot.”

A disbelieving giggle comes from Drew. She swivels to face where Mitchell is face-down on the floor. “Yeah, well, he’s a celebrity and about a hundred years older than you,” she says in mock-sympathy. “Better luck next time, bitch.”

Lacy looks scandalised by her use of language but she doesn’t comment. She never does.

“Ugh.” Mitchell flips over to his back, staring at the ceiling. “Why can’t he marry me?”

“Because you’re too young and he doesn’t know you exist and he couldn’t care about you if he tried. I just said that.”

Mitchell’s face gives off a twinge of offence. “How do you know if he doesn’t care about me?”

Not this again. Please not this again. Gods, this isn’t what they deserve. Silena takes a shower and they have yet another go — they’re absolutely helpless, Adrien amends.

“Because I do,” Drew answers breezily. “We’ve got to keep you away from Zac Efron at all costs.”

Then Mitchell sits bolt-upright, shooting up like electricity. His hair sticks out everywhere.

“We don’t want you getting Hanahaki, do we?”

He flops back down with a grim expression.

Adrien fiddles with his hoodie strings. Uncharacteristically quiet is what he’s been for the entire conversation. “What’s Hana ... haniki—“ Everybody jolts when they hear his voice.

Elysna is the one who answers, to everybody’s surprise.

“Hanahaki.” Her voice is solemn and dreamy, far-off somewhere else. “And you shouldn’t joke about that, Drew.”

“It’s not like he was actually going to get it!”

“Still, it isn’t funny. You know what happens to people with Hanahaki.”

“You’re so—“

“Guys, what the fuck is Hanahaki?” Adrien interjects.

Drew’s shiny black curls bounce around her shoulders as she turns around and narrows her eyes. She takes her sweet time twisting her magazine in her hands, setting it down, picking it up and twisting it again. From where she’s cross-legged on the floor, Elysna watches her with cautious eyes.

“A really, really bad disease that you won’t ever get so don’t sweat your ass,” she says carefully. Drew never speaks carefully.

“Yeah, good, but what’s the actual disease?” Adrien says, voice full of exasperation.

She considers this. “Sometimes, someone falls in love.”

“Yeah.”

“And the person they’re in love with doesn’t love them back. Unfortunate, but it happens, y’know?”

“Yeah.”

“And—“ Drew tosses her hair over her shoulder. “And then they start coughing up flowers.”

“Ye— wait, what?”

Drew heaves a sigh as Elysna shoots her an I-told-you-so look. “It works like this,” she replies, digging a fingernail into her blanket, “they associate a flower with that person.”

Adrien frowns. “Why?”

“Why the fuck would I know? Do I look like I created Hanahaki disease out of thin air?”

He recoils. “You don’t have to get so mad at me, I’m just asking,” he snaps.

Then Drew opens her mouth to snap back but she purses her lips hesitantly and crosses her arms. Adrien does that too. Elysna was already doing it. They’re all pretzeled up now.

“But basically,” Drew continues, “if the disease gets to a stage where the person is choking on the flowers, then the person has two choices. Well, three choices. Confess to their love. Get surgery that’ll make them forget their love.”

“And?”

Drew winces. “Die.”

———

Dread pools and courses through his veins like heroin. How simple time was back then.

How unfair and horrible it is now.

Adrien wraps an arm around his knees, drawn up to his chest; cradles his stomach and heart in one hand; curses Rhys, himself, and Rhys and himself; and thinks, isn’t it ironic that the son of Aphrodite is lovesick?

#stella can’t write #thats my new writing tag #rhys winters #adrien liou

[yourkeeperoftherunners]

Chocolate Stained Kiss

Summary: AU He’s a student visiting your country for a month long travel course and stumbles across the chocolate shop you work in. His friends dared him to steal a kiss but your definition of a kiss is very different from his.

Rating: PG

Characters: Student!Jungkook x Reader, minor mention of others.

Notes: Another drabble based on a dream I had, this one was written so anyone could insert themselves into it. Baci Perugina chocolates were introduced to me by a professor and I always thought it would be cute to have a scenario where a kiss is innocently misinterpreted. Y/C means your currency.

A huge thank you to @oh-beyond for encouraging me to continue with this idea – it nearly got scrapped until I came up with a different figure as the focus.

I’m going to dedicate this to @sweetnspicy-noona because she said Kook is wrecking her. ;)

“Can we pass on this store?” Yoongi asked as he stopped short of the touristy souvenir shop hawking t-shirts, keychains, and whatnot from the racks.

Jungkook hung back with his friend as their classmates strolled in, perusing the racks and shelves for small gifts to take home to their family. He nodded faintly as he scanned the contents of the shop and privately determined that he’d rather spend a little more on something less tacky for his parents.

Taehyung nodded in agreement as he wrinkled his nose upon witnessing a fellow classmate pick up a hideous neon shirt that said the city’s name on it. He turned his head and looked around the area for other shops. After two weeks of lectures, several thousands of steps logged in their Health apps, and a midterm later, their professor finally allowed their class a free day to do whatever they wanted in the country they were visiting.

Tae’s eyes fell on a small chocolate boutique tucked in the corner of the plaza and he pointed at it.

“I kinda want to check this one out,” he mused.

Yoongi rolled his eyes, “You just want to eat chocolate.”

“I heard ‘chocolate’ – are we getting some or do you have some?” Jimin asked as he joined their group upon exiting the shop.

“You didn’t buy any ugly souvenirs?” Yoongi asked.

Jimin shook his head and murmured that he was only checking to make sure there wasn’t a hidden gem in there for his family.

“It all looks like trash from here,” Yoongi replied with a snort as he moved far away from the doorway. “Anyways, Tae saw a chocolate shop over there and wants to go.”

“Chocolate’s not a bad thing to bring home,” Jungkook admitted as he nodded over at the small shop in the corner. “Maybe they have some weird flavors I can share with our friends back home.”

Taehyung grabbed the handle of the door and yanked it open, a small bell tinkling softly.

“Hi welcome,” you greeted them as you looked up from stocking one of the shelves. You rose to your feet and dusted your apron off.

“May I help you find something in particular?” you asked.

Yoongi pushed Tae forward with a wicked smile, “He wants chocolate.”

“Actually, we’re looking for gift ideas to take home,” Jimin corrected him, stepping forward. “Nothing caught our eye at the other shops so far.”

You glanced in the direction of the souvenirs shop and nodded with a knowing look. Being close to a tourist trap shop had it’s perks and downfalls – the upside was offering a unique assortment of chocolate that could fit any price range or taste. Downsides were some tourists missing the shop altogether since it was tucked in the corner of the plaza.

“Well do you know the flavors your friends or loved ones like? Is there a budget?” you asked as you walked over to the group.

Taehyung frowned as he tried to recall his younger siblings’ favorite flavors while Jimin pointed out something in the display. You moved to show him the item in question, a tray of freshly made bonbons filled with sea salt caramel. Jungkook pretended to be wandering around, sneaking occasional glances over at you. You were shorter than him and he liked how your haircut complimented the shape of your face.

“Is there anything you guys would like to sample?” you prompted.

“Oh really? We can try anything in here?” Jimin asked with wide eyes.

“Well anything behind the counter,” you corrected yourself. “We make everything fresh that goes into our display daily.” You selected a large sea salt caramel bonbon from the display and took it to a cutting board behind you, slicing it into 4 pieces for the guys to try. You placed each piece into a paper wrapper and passed them over the counter. “That’s our bestseller – sea salt’s from France.”

Taehyung perked up at the comment about the imported sea salt and eagerly took his piece, bowing his head quickly before the bonbon slice disappeared. Jimin shot you a polite smile before taking a small bite of his piece, chewing thoughtfully. Yoongi approached the counter to take a piece while carrying a cellophane bag filled with bulk chocolates imported from Switzerland.

“I’d like these please,” he announced to you as he plunked the bag on the counter.

You nodded and took the bag to the register to ring him up for his transaction. Jungkook slowly approached the counter and swiped the final piece, placing it on his tongue and letting it melt. The smooth taste of milk chocolate melted away to the sweet caramel, accented with a hint of sea salt to balance the sweetness. 

“It’s good, isn’t it?” Tae asked him in Korean.

Jungkook nodded as he crumpled the wrapper between his fingers. He watched as you took care of Yoongi’s transaction, offering to gift wrap the chocolates for his loved one.

“Is it an extra charge?” he asked you.

“Oh no it’s complimentary,” you reassured him.

“Hmmm...yes I would like that please,” Yoongi replied with a nod.

You took the bag off the counter and carried it over to the area where the gift wrapping supplies were kept. You glanced back at Jungkook and the others, asking how the sample was. Three thumbs up were flashed in your direction, accompanied with brilliant smiles.

“What other flavors do you recommend?” Jimin asked as he squinted at the display to see the other chocolates.

“Well...I’m partial to the Darjeeling one and the s’mores one is quite good,” you admitted as you gestured to the respective items in the case. “I’ll cut up samples for you once I wrap your friend’s chocolates up.”

Jimin waved his hands and told you to take your time. You shot him a thankful smile before turning your attention back to Yoongi’s purchase and cutting ribbon to tie around the bag. Tae wandered around the shop, picking up random things that looked interesting and putting them back when he decided against them.

Jungkook peered at the display, sneaking a quick glance or two at you when you weren’t looking.

“You’re not very subtle,” Taehyung whispered as he came up behind him.

The youngest blinked and tried to look innocent, which wasn’t fooling Tae. The latter rolled his eyes and nodded over at your back.

“Here you go,” you said as you passed over the chocolates to Yoongi. Noticing Jungkook and Tae leaning down to look at the display case, you propped your elbows on the counter. “See any other flavors you wanna try?”

“Coffee please?” Tae prompted with a charming smile.

You returned the smile before grabbing the coffee, Darjeeling, and s’mores chocolates to cut up into samples. Yoongi murmured he was going to head out to find Hoseok.

“Message me if you need me,” Yoongi said before reaching the door. He bowed his head politely and thanked you before leaving.

You placed the coffee samples down first and prompted them to try them. Jimin bit into his, Tae closed his eyes once the coffee flavor hit his tongue, and Jungkook slipped the sample into his mouth, eyes widening as a strong coffee flavor blended with the dark chocolate. You studied their faces curiously for a response before putting the s’mores one in front of them.

“It’s...strong,” Jimin commented.

“Fair trade, dark brew coffee,” you added. “Not for everyone because it’s kind of potent but perfect for a coffee obsessed person. Here’s the s’mores – it’s chocolate, marshmallow, and graham cracker. Not sure if you guys have had those before or not.”

“Excuse me? Some more? Some more of what?” Tae asked with a confused look.

“Oh no ‘s’mores’ – it’s kind of an American thing,” you explained. “My boss tried them with her kids during a visit to the US and was inspired.”

All three blinked before trying the samples; Jungkook was forced to lick his fingers thanks to a blob of marshmallow oozing out of his piece before he ate it. “Different, but I get why your boss liked this combination,” he said before sucking a remaining bit of marshmallow off his thumb.

You nodded as you pushed over the Darjeeling samples, along with a napkin for Jungkook’s hand. He ducked his head and mumbled a thanks before taking the napkin and wiping his thumb off.

“I like this one!” Jimin replied once he finished his sample. “Ummm, how much for these and the sea salt caramel?”

“It’s 2 Y/C per piece but if you buy 6 pieces of any combination of flavors, it’s 9 Y/C,” you replied.

“I’ll take three of each please,” Jimin determined as he moved toward the register to pay.

“Great, I’ll box those up for you,” you replied. “Do you need gift wrapping too?”

“Um, yes please,” Jimin said.

“What about you two – anything you wanna get?” you asked, looking over your shoulder at Taehyung and Jungkook.

Taehyung pointed to the coffee chocolates and said he wanted 6 in a bag to eat right away.

“But I thought your siblings –” Jungkook began to protest.

Tae smiled as he dangled a prepacked bag of solid chocolate coins in front of Jungkook’s face. “No these are for them, the coffee ones are for me.”

“Like how you think,” you commented as you accepted the bag of solid chocolates from Taehyung. “Never hurts to treat yourself once in a while. Especially if it’s the good stuff.”

Tae smiled widely and made his way to the counter to wait for his items. Jungkook picked up a solid bar of chocolate with his mom’s favorite flavor and pointed to the sea salt caramel bonbons.

“I’ll take 6 of these,” he said. “Um, can 4 go in a box and the other two in a bag?”

You looked up from wrapping a decorative paper on Jimin’s box and nodded with a smile. His face felt slightly warm but he managed to return the smile without looking ridiculous. His reaction hadn’t gone unnoticed by Jimin and Taehyung, who were smirking slightly. 

“Hey!” Jungkook snapped when his final bonbon was snatched from the bag. He whirled around and watched as Jimin popped it whole into his mouth. “Chim Chim that was my last piece!”

“Why didn’t you guys grab me and take me with you?” Hoseok whined during a break after one of their lectures. “Yoongi told me about the shop and by the time I was done waiting for Namjoon, we had to head back for the group dinner!”

“You’re kidding me,” Yoongi said with a concerned look, “Namjoon actually bought something ugly from that shop?!”

“Um no, he needed a new pair of sunglasses,” Hobi explained. “Remember when he dropped his last pair on our bus tour?”

Jungkook shook his head as he recalled the incident – they were sitting on the top level of a double decker bus for a city tour with a local guide, when Namjoon pulled his sunglasses out while the bus was making an abrupt stop. Combined with Namjoon’s loose grip on them, the pair fell to the ground and broke when a nearby car drove over them. Thankfully they were only an inexpensive pair he brought from home in case this happened.

“They’re not bad – they look like Ray Bans but they were so cheap!” Hobi added. “He just took forever to decide on that pair. He almost went with something sporty but they looked off. Plus they were too big for him.”

Jimin finished the bonbon and dusted his hands off. “Well, you know where to get more Kookie,” he teased.

“Hey, can I come too? I’d like to see this amazing chocolate shop for myself,” Hobi chimed in.

“Oh hello again!” you greeted Jungkook as he slipped through the door.

Hoseok followed up behind him and raised a hand in greeting. “I wanted to see this amazing chocolate place too.”

“That and my friend stole my last piece,” Jungkook sighed, trying to keep the annoyed look out of his eyes.

“Oh no! Well, there’s plenty more behind the counter,” you reassured him. You addressed Hoseok and invited him to ask for a sample of anything he was interested in.

Hoseok pointed out a fruit flavored chocolate and you pulled one from behind the display to cut up. Jungkook walked up so he was standing beside Hoseok. He glanced back over his shoulder to see Jimin and Taehyung peering in, both flashing him a thumbs up. He rolled his eyes at the pair and turned back to the counter as you passed over samples of the chocolate Hobi wanted.

Before he and Hobi had come over, Taehyung had cornered him about his budding crush on you. While the youngest tried to deny it, Jimin coaxed the truth out of him and he was forced to confess that indeed, he had a small crush on the attractive employee at the chocolate shop.

“You should let them know,” Tae advised.

“We’re going to be heading home in a few days – what would I do?” Jungkook complained.

“You could serenade them with a song?” Jimin offered.

“No that’s cheesy,” Tae groaned. “Ugh Kookie, just go back there, get more chocolate and kiss them! That should tell them how you feel!”

“I don’t know guys,” Jungkook stalled.

“If you don’t do something, you’re going to be all mopey about it later,” Tae warned.

“Hey, do you not like fruit and chocolate?” you asked Jungkook, snapping him out of his trance.

“Eh? Oh um sorry!” Jungkook apologized, quickly ducking his head. He accepted the sample and slipped it between his lips. Some of the fruit filling landed on his lower lip and he licked it off.

“I’d like 6 of these and may I try the sea salt caramel everyone’s talking about?” Hoseok asked.

“Absolutely!” you replied while going to cut up a bonbon. You glanced back at Jungkook, waiting for a reaction to the one he tried. He met your eyes and flashed you a thumbs up and a smile.

“It has a good flavor, but I still like the sea salt caramel the best,” he admitted.

“There’s a reason why it’s the bestseller,” you replied before cutting the bonbon in half.

Hobi took a small bite of his sample before deciding to pop the rest of it into his mouth. His eyes lit up and he motioned to the row of sea salt caramel bonbons.

“I’ll take 4 of those too,” he announced.

“May I have 6?” Jungkook spoke up.

“Sure, I’ll grab those for you guys and ring you up,” you replied. “You need gift wrapping? It’s complimentary.”

“Ah yes for the fruit ones but the sea salt can be in a bag,” Hoseok said. He nudged Jungkook and said he’d cover his chocolates as well.

“Wae? Ah Hobi, no I can’t –”

“Chim Chim owes me for loaning him money in the last city,” Hoseok explained. “Plus he stole your last piece, which wasn’t fair to you.” He pulled out his wallet and explained to you that he was buying Jungkook’s chocolates as well.

“You’re a good friend to him,” you commented as you secured the box with a clear piece of tape. “Do you want ribbon too?”

“Oh no, just the paper will do,” Hoseok confirmed as he accepted the box. He passed over the money for the chocolates and you keyed it into the register. The drawer popped out and you stuck it in the respective slots before counting out change.

“Here’s your change and I’ll bag up your chocolates for you,” you said to Jungkook.

Hoseok thanked you before saying he was going to wait outside. He nudged Jungkook and winked before exiting.

“Here you go,” you announced as you passed over the bag to Jungkook. “Hopefully your other friend won’t steal any of these.”

“Ha, I won’t let him,” Jungkook replied as he took the bag. He frowned as he silently counted the bonbons in the bag. “Ah, excuse me but there’s 8 in here, not 6.”

You leaned your elbows on the counter and lowered your voice. “Don’t tell my boss, but I may have slipped you an extra pair of them because of what your friend did to you. Think of it as a little thank you for coming back and bringing a new friend.”

“Oho um, tha-thank you!” Jungkook said with a shy smile. He swallowed the lump in his throat and placed the chocolates in his messenger bag. “Um, my friends sort of made me come back here again and they’re making me ask for a kiss.”

“Oh, you mean the Perugina Kisses?” you asked as you glanced over at the shelf with the boxed sets. “Yes, we carry those too. If you like hazelnuts, they’re good or if you’re a hopeless romantic, they come with a love poem.”

Jungkook cleared his throat and shook his head. “Um...that’s um, not what I meant,” he stammered. “Ah um, it’s stupid but...they’re making me ask you for a kiss. It’s because they think I have a crush on you.” He dropped his gaze and began fiddling with the strap on his messenger bag. This was turning into a disaster – thanks to his dumb friends, he was standing in a chocolate shop in a foreign country and he told someone that he lowkey liked about his crush on them.

He heard footsteps approaching him and blinked when he saw your shoes a few inches from his. He looked up and barely had time to react before your lips crushed against his firmly, your hands resting on his shoulders. His eyes fluttered closed and he relaxed his stance.

“Looks like we felt the same,” you murmured as you pulled away. “I thought you were hot but wasn’t sure you were into me that way.”

“May I know your name before I go?” he asked.

You leaned over the counter and pressed a button to make the register spit out some receipt paper. You grabbed a pen and scrawled your name, phone number, and e-mail address on it before passing it over to him.

“How about I give you my contact info and we stay connected?” you replied with a grin. “I think your friends called you Kookie but that’s probably a nickname, right?”

“Yes, my name is Jungkook,” he clarified. He grinned cutely as he clutched the receipt paper in his hand and bowed his head low. “Thank you again for the chocolates.”

“OWWWW!” Jimin shrieked when his hand was slapped.

“You can’t have any,” Jungkook taunted with a smirk as he bit into in a bonbon.

Jimin pouted, "One please. Oh come on Kookie, I was trying to help!”

Jungkook moved his bag out of reach and smirked as he turned his attention back to his phone.

#BTS imagine #Jungkook imagine #Jeon Jungkook imagine #BTS Jungkook imagine #BTS AU #yourkeeperoftherunners original #number 2159

[lozbotwstuff-blog]

Bad Ideas

Summary: Sometimes, you have bad ideas. Some end worse than others, this one in particular.

Title: Bad Ideas (Pt. I of ?) Word Count: 1 484 (between a drabble and a fic, woops) Warnings: Cursing, boulders, falling. Characters: Revali, Reader Relationships: None, yet.

Author’s Note: I WROTE MOST OF THIS AT ONE AM IM SO SORRY GUYS - mod q

Maybe this was a bad idea. This was probably a bad idea.

This was totally a bad idea.

Maybe you should have realized that before you ended up hundreds -- thousands? -- of feet above Hyrule, sitting on a boulder with your last octoballoons on their last legs. In the distance, the dragon, Naydra, made the descent toward the soil from the heavens, and you watched your perch. The crisp morning air bit at your pointed ears, and your arms and legs had long since numbed from how cold it was up here. You had run out of cold resistance elixirs, and your traveling clothes weren't nearly as warm as anything made for temperatures this low.

Your breath clouded in front of your face, and you put another octoballoon on the boulder just as another popped, and you stood and balanced as it swung. That was your last octoballoon. Another pop and you didn't have another to replace what was. You hopped over to where the last balloon was, not at all ready for it to pop. In fact, in your desperation to continue living, you started talking to the damned thing.

"Hey, little octoballoon. Please don't pop. I really, really don't want to die today. I have a lot going for me! I'm smart, good-looking, and clever! You really shouldn't pop, so that I don't die. Like, seriously don't-"

It popped.

And down you and the boulder went, with you screaming for dear life and clinging to the damn thing. But soon the cold air seared your throat, and you merely grit your teeth and separated from the boulder. If you died, you didn't want to die clinging to a damn boulder. No, you would spend your last moments messing around in the air as you fall to your death.

So, for what felt like a long while, you 'sat' in the air, thinking about the world soon approaching that you would leave behind once you squished against it. Like a cucco egg being dropped. Above, the boulder was falling, since you had dove down lower beneath it simple because you wanted to. Only about a two hundred feet until you hit the ground, you could assume, when you saw a figure soaring through the sky. Immediately recognizing the wings of a Rito in the place of arms, you dove toward the flying figure, hoping you wouldn't take both of you to your death.

Luckily for you, they were just below you, and it was a straight dive toward them. It was then you felt a tug at your back, and you realized your glider was catching the wind. Your glider!? How had you forgotten your recent acquirement? Smacking yourself in the head angrily, you immediately spread it out and glided lazily, no longer risking death. Perfect.

That is until you remember there's also a falling boulder, and that both you and the Rito are in its sights. Yelling towards them, you swore when your warnings were caught and carried off by the vicious winds. In a quick movement, you switched your legs into the loops of your glider, somehow tilting your hips so that you could steer. Thank goodness you learned to somehow fly like this when you first got the glider, for some odd reason.

The wind rushed you toward the Rito, which you observed to have dark, stone blue colored feathers, and you grasped his sky blue scarf in your hand. And steered your glider in the entirely opposite direction, dragging the Rito by his scarf. You felt bad for having to choke him momentarily by his scarf, but you knew a temporary strangling was less than a permanent death.

Grabbing his waist instead of his scarf, you slowed your panicked speed in favor of a steady glide. It was then the Rito regained his senses and began struggling in your form grasp, his bow knocking into your face frequently. "What are you doing!? You nearly killed me!" he yelled right into your face, and you cringed backward. Before you spoke, you steadied your grip on him so that he didn't fall. Sure, he could probably save himself now, but he didn't deserve the stress.

"Look I'm sorry, but I'm sure you wouldn't want to be squished beneath a boulder," you quipped back.

"What boulder!?" he, for lack of a better word, squawked into your face.

It was then the massive rock came whizzing by, impacting the earth with a thundering boom that rocked the landscape. Luckily, you were in the open wilderness, where the open space was void of anything but the random bokoblin camp or rock structure. Sighing in relief, you steered the glider to a landing space, still upside down and holding the unnamed Rito in your arms.

"Still, really sorry for grabbing you like that, but I'm pretty sure you would prefer me to that boulder, right?" you asked, before pointing out silently that they were incoming toward the ground. "Just stick out your legs like a normal landing," you hummed, and as he touched the ground, you let him go. Deciding it would be best if you landed now and fully explained yourself, you spread your hands out and, grasping the ground with gloved hands, kicked your feet out of the glider's holders and righting yourself, before picking up the fallen glider.

You brushed your windswept hair from your face, momentarily resting your hands on your knees before standing straight. The Rito was now standing straight and looking at you with a look that could kill the mightiest moblin. It was then you recognized who he was, and physically slammed your hand into your forehead, before falling back onto the grasses. "I took Revali, Champion of the Wind, Captain of Vah Medoh, and best archer of the Rito out of the sky. Good job, me," you said, loud and sarcastic.

"Well, at least you recognized my prowess and many titles. But I don't recognize you, or why you just fell out of the sky, followed by a FALLING BOULDER!?" he yelled, and you sighed. Looking to your far right, you could still see the grand monstrosity that had almost killed you both. A breathless laugh on your part, before you let your head fall back again.

"I'll give you a few hints, and you can put it together. Two hundred octoballoons, a big boulder, a stupid adventurer who initially forgot they had a glider on them," you say, before punctuating your words with a groan of pain. Your muscles ached, and you were sure walking would be a pain in the ass. Literally.

"You're not kidding about the stupid part," Revali voiced and you cracked an eye open to manage what could be somewhat called a glare. You didn't know anymore. Honestly, you just wanted to sleep, and you were sure this pain would last a very long time if you didn't do something about it now. Finally sitting up, you looked around the area.

"Um, is my bag anywhere? My legs hurt and I have some healing stuff in there," you said, standing up on your feet and looking around for it. You knew you had had it with you on the boulder, where else would you have gotten the two hundred octoballoons? Oh god, was it still up there? Groaning, you looked up, and sure enough, a dark blob was hurtling downward, right toward where Revali was standing. Groaning again, you warned him, "Hey, you might want to move backward a bit. My bag is about to fall on top of you."

He gave you another look, before warily stepping back, and sure enough, down splattered your bag. Cracks and the sounds of shattering glass resonated in the air, and you sighed in exasperation. "So much for my healing stuff. Anyway, I'm really sorry for.. grabbing you out of the air while hanging from my glider by my feet, but I guess you can cross that off your bucket list!" you apologized, the air soon ringing with your nervous laughter. Now, this was awkward. Grabbing your bag from before his feet, you slung it on your back and gave an awkward wave. "Yeah, I'm.. going. I don't have a place to be or anything, I'm an adventurer after all, but um, this is super awkward and if looks could kill I'd be dead a hundred times over."

With that you turned and ran, escaping his brutal stare despite your aching legs. You whistled loudly, and your horse came running beside you, to which you leaped onto it and galloped off. At least a mile away, you leaned back in the saddle and sighed. Oh god, that had been bad. Sitting back up, you looked to the horizon. Almost dusk, you concluded, and you were beat. Trotting away from the awful encounter, you nearly rejoiced with relief, glad that was over.

Oh, how wrong you were.

#breath of the wild #reader #revali #mod q #mod q writings #drabble #revali x reader #possibly #octoballoons + stupid person + boulder = bad idea #and an angry bird #hehehehe #reader is the most awkward little shit i swear #series #bc im trash for the bird husband #IM SORRY OK

[gracewithducks]

Bartholomew and the Oobleck: The Hardest Words (Matthew 6:5-15) - The Gospel of Dr. Seuss series #2, preached 3/8/2020

Last week, we started our series on the Gospel of Dr. Seuss with the story of one of Seuss’ most familiar characters – the Cat in the Hat – who taught us about grace and reminded us how important it is to know when to ask for help.

 This week, we go back to an even earlier Seuss, one which is perhaps more unfamiliar to most of us: the story of Bartholomew and the Oobleck.

 I don’t remember hearing this story when I was growing up – and when you remember that I grew up as the child of two elementary school teachers, that’s pretty surprising; I didn’t think there were any Dr. Seuss books I didn’t know. But Bartholomew and the Oobleck somehow flew under the radar: perhaps because the story doesn’t rhyme, or perhaps because level-headed Bartholomew isn’t quite as flashy of a hero as the persistently optimistic Sam-I-Am or the fun and funny Cat in the Hat.

 So for your sake and for mine, let’s revisit the story of the Oobleck.

 The story starts in the Kingdom of Didd, in The-Year-the-King-Got-Angry-with-the-Sky. And in an unlikely twist, the hero of the story is not the king but the page boy, Bartholomew. Then again, if you remember that this is a children’s book, it’s not so surprising that a child is the hero. Or if you’ve ever read the bible, if you remember the stories of David, the overlooked youngest son, or if you remember young Samuel’s call story, or the young person whose lunch fed thousands, or the king who was born in a stable, the Messiah who called us to have the clear-eyed faith of a child – then it’s not so surprising that a child sees more clearly than the proud and pompous king.

 But anyway, back in the story, we learn that the King is a person who gets angry often. In this particular year, the King gets angry with the sky: he growls at the rain, he growls at the sun, he growls at the fog and he growls at the snow. And maybe you know people like this king, who spend their lives growling at things they cannot change – and who are so busy growling that they miss the beauty right in front of them. Maybe you’ve been a person like that; I know sometimes I have been: so caught up in the false feelings of power that anger gives me, that I miss what’s right in front of my face.

 So here we have this King, angry with the sky, wishing for something NEW to come down. And because he is the King, he is determined to have exactly what he wants. The King decides to call for his royal magicians, to force them to make something new come down from the sky.

 Bartholomew, the page boy, tries to get the king to slow down, to think his plan through, but the King won’t listen. And Bartholomew, bowing, says, “Your Majesty, I still think you may be very sorry.”

 The king’s magicians are summoned, shuffling up from their secret hideaway, chanting their secret magical words, and the king commands them: “I wish to have you make something fall from my skies that no other kingdom has ever had before.”

 And the magicians speak one word: “Oobleck.”

 “Oobleck?” says the King. “What will it look like?”

 “Won’t look like rain. Won’t look like snow.

Won’t look like fog. That’s all we know.

We just can’t tell you any more.

We’ve never made oobleck before.”

 And as the magicians shuffle away to summon the Oobleck, Bartholomew begs the King to call them back. “I won’t stop them,” says the King, “not for a ton of diamonds! Why, I’ll be the mightiest man who ever lived! Just think of it! Tomorrow I’m going to have Oobleck!”

 All night, while the king struggled to sleep, Bartholomew kept a sleepless and anxious watch, afraid of what the morning might bring. At first, when dawn breaks, it seems like the silly magicians have failed, but just as Bartholomew breathes a sigh of relief, he notices a wispy little green cloud. As the cloud comes closer, lower, he notices tiny little greenish specks.

 Bartholomew can’t say why, but those green blobs frighten him. He wakes the king, who looks out the window in delight, even as the little specks grow bigger and bigger in size. The King calls a holiday: “I want every [one] in my kingdom to go out and dance in my glorious oobleck!” And he sends a protesting Bartholomew to ring the holiday bell… but the bell won’t ring; it’s full of sticky green oobleck.

 And that’s only the beginning. Bartholomew sees a bird in her next, stuck in gooey, gummy, glue-y goop, and he realizes: if the green stuff sticks up robins, it’ll stick up people, too!

 He runs to wake the royal trumpeter to sound the alarm – but a glob of oobleck flies right into the horn, and not a sound will come out. The trumpeter reaches inside to clean it – but he ends up with his hand stuck tight.

 Bartholomew runs for the captain of the guards, who ignores Bartholomew’s frantic warnings, and – in an effort to prove his bravery – eats some of that beautiful green oobleck… and his mouth is glued shut. Bartholomew runs to get more help – but it’s too late. The oobleck is falling in globs as big as footballs; it’s too late to warn the people, who are already stuck in their fields and in the streets. The oobleck piles, still falling, until it breaks through the windows, pouring into the palace, and everyone ends up stuck, panicked, terrified, right where they are. No one can move – no one but Bartholomew, who carefully continues to avoid the green goo.

 He runs back to the throne room, looking for the King – and there he finds him, “proud and mighty ruler of the Kingdom of Didd, trembling, shaking, helpless as a baby.”

 Bartholomew finds the king, stuck to his own throne, his crowd stuck on his head; oobleck dripping from his eyebrows and oozing into his ears.

 “Fetch my magicians!” he yells, but Bartholomew says, “It’s too late.”

 “Then I must think of some magic words,” groans the king… until Bartholomew says, “Don’t waste your time saying foolish magic words. YOU ought to be saying some plain simple words!”

 “What do you mean, boy?” asks the king.

 “I mean,” said Bartholomew, “that this is all your fault. Now, the least you can do is say the simple words, ‘I’m sorry.’”

 The king is flabbergasted; no one has ever spoken to him like this before. “Kings never say ‘I’m sorry!’ And I am the mightiest king in all the world.’”

 “Bartholomew looked the King square in the eye. ‘You may be a mighty king,’ he said. ‘But you’re sitting in oobleck up to your chin. And so is everyone else in your land. And if you won’t even say you’re sorry, you’re no sort of a king at all!’”

 Friends, Dr. Seuss wrote this book in 1949. He was inspired, he said, from a conversation he overheard while stationed in Belgium during World War II: during a rainstorm, a fellow soldier complained, “Rain; always rain. Why can’t we have something different for a change?”[1]

 Knowing Dr. Seuss’ great imagination, that conversation caused him to dream up just what else might fall from the sky – and what might make that soldier more careful what he wished for.

 But knowing Dr. Seuss, and knowing the world of the 1940s, it’s not hard to see a deeper caution in the story of Oobleck and the King. Just because we can do something, doesn’t mean we should. Just because we don’t intend devastation, doesn’t mean we aren’t responsible for the destruction that follows our choices. And pride, the desire to outshine our neighbors, our love of power and love of self – those are dangerous, devious motivations indeed. And if we are not careful, we just might end up being the reason that devastation rains from the skies.

 It was an important message in the aftermath of the war, but it’s also an important message for us today: when we find ourselves stuck, mired in broken systems, watching devastation unfold around us, while those with the power to make changes stubbornly refuse to take any responsibility, to apologize, to change or to grow.

 Friends, the systems we live in are broken. We are stuck. I don’t think that any of us, no matter where we fall on the political spectrum, can deny that we find ourselves divided on nearly every important issue, longing for a better system but unable to imagine one, feeling hopelessly gridlocked, just as stuck as if we were sitting in Oobleck up to our ears.

 We’re stuck. We’re stuck with one person of wealth and privilege spending billions of dollars trying to prove they’d be a better leader than some other person of privilege and wealth… while for most of us, nothing changes at all; we’re stuck, lobbying accusations and insults at each other, while a virus preys on our prejudices.

 We’re stuck in a society where women and minorities are still locked out of the rooms where decisions happen.

We’re stuck paying thousands and thousands each year for health insurance and even more thousands in copays and deductibles and medical expenses because we’re afraid of the cost of health care for everyone.

 We’re sinking into the racism our forefathers mixed into the very foundation of our nation; we’re stuck in a cycle of inherited wealth for a few and generational poverty and despair for everyone else.

 We’re stuck in a nation where we are so afraid of being taken advantage of that we’re willing to let children go hungry and veterans sleep under bridges while retirees freeze in their homes.

 We’re stuck in the church, too. We’re stuck in a church that tries to cling desperately to the golden past and spends our time and energy preserving what we have rather than joining Jesus out in the world looking for the lost – and we’re stuck in a denomination that has spent decades and billions of dollars fighting over whether all really does mean all.

 We’re stuck. We’re stuck; we’re overwhelmed, bogged down, mired in the hopelessness and helplessness of it all.

 And this week, Dr. Seuss teaches us a very important lesson about what to do when we’re stuck. For one thing, when we’re stuck, sometimes the best thing we can do is listen to the children: to the voices of the young people, who haven’t been so hardened or become so comfortable that they’ve stopped dreaming of the way the world is meant to be. Bartholomew warned the king not to let his own pride guide him, much like the child in another story who was brave enough to admit that the emperor had no clothes. When we’re stuck, look to the next generation: their voices, their passion, just might help get us moving again.

 But just looking for something new isn’t enough: before we can move in a new direction, we need to figure out how to get unstuck from the messes we’ve already made. I think often of the words of Greta Thunberg, the teenage activist who went on strike – and inspired a generation to rise up and demand action on climate change. When she was invited to speak at the Senate, Greta said, “Don’t invite us here to just tell us how inspiring we are without actually doing anything about it…”[2] Listening isn’t enough – not if we don’t figure out how to get unstuck and do something.

 Last week, the Cat in the Hat taught us how important it is to ask for help. But this week, we learn it’s just as important – and often far more difficult – to say, “I’m sorry.”

 It’s so hard to say, “It’s my fault.” It’s hard to say, “I contributed to making the mess we’re in today.” It’s hard to say, “I’m sorry.” We don’t want to admit our mistakes. We don’t want to confess we were wrong. We don’t want to have to change our minds or change our ways. We don’t want to learn, to be challenged, or to grow.

 Even when, like the King of Didd, we can’t ignore the evidence of our mistakes, we’d rather sit, proudly stuck in our own messes, than apologize.

 But Bartholomew forces the King to recognize that, just as his unbending pride got him into this mess, his unbending pride is what’s keeping not only the king but the whole kingdom stuck. Because the king’s sin doesn’t just affect him; his refusal to acknowledge or apologize means no one can move on.

 And maybe that’s the lesson we need to hear, as we search for a way to get unstuck: maybe it’s time to stop pointing fingers and assigning blame – because until we are ready to acknowledge that we’ve all helped make the messes, until we are willing to admit the ways we’ve all be wrong, we won’t ever be able to get unstuck and start moving towards a new way of living, towards making things better, for everyone, together.

 This season of Lent is traditionally a season of repentance: a time to take a good look at our lives, to confess where we’ve gone wrong, to do what we can to make it right, and to commit ourselves to turn and go in a new direction. This is a season to say “I’m sorry” – to God, and to the people we’ve hurt, to all those who’ve gotten stuck in the messes we’ve made – this is a season to say “I’m sorry” – and acknowledge the ways we’ve benefited from systems we may not have built, the times when we’ve been willing to be silent and look away rather than confront the hard truth – this is a season to say “I’m sorry,” recognizing that there is magic and power in this words; when we apologize with humility and honesty, when we say we’re sorry and we really mean it – we open the door for healing to begin.

 As soon as the King of Didd finally confessed; when he sobbed out, “It is all my fault. And I am sorry…” all the oobleck began melting away. Our messes are rarely so easily cleaned up; it can take quite some time and effort for us to get unstuck, but until we are sorry, until we find those words, we cannot even begin.

 Beloved in Christ, I am sorry. I am sorry for the ways the church has missed the boat. I am sorry for the ways the church has abused its power, for the times when church leaders have let their fear be bigger than their faith. I am sorry, on behalf of every pastor who has hurt you, who abandoned you, who kicked you out, who beat you down, and who told you your pain and grief were your own fault. And I am sorry, on behalf of every pastor who let you off easy, who told you only half the gospel, who never challenged you to examine the log in your own eye, who promised you heaven without showing you the kingdom of God here on earth.

 I am sorry for the times when I should have said something – but I didn’t. I am sorry for the times when I should have listened – but instead, I said everything wrong.

 I’m sorry. For myself, for this church, for the global church: I confess that we have failed. There are many things we’ve done right – but there are also many times when we have fallen short. We have not loved our neighbors as ourselves, and we have not heard the cries of the needy. We have served other lords than the Christ who comforted the hurting and unsettled the comfortable – and I am sorry. And I pray that, as we confront our sin, as we confess and repent, we may begin to find a way to move into the future God dreams for us to see.

 I am sorry. But I’m not the only one who’s “stuck” today. So I ask you: what are you sorry for? What messes have you made? What is it that’s got you stuck? What do you need to confess before God? And what do you need to confess before others? Whose forgiveness do you need to seek out? Who is it that you need to forgive – so that, even if they’re not sorry, you at least can come unstuck? What broken relationships are you being invited, in this season, to try to set right? And what are the systems we are being called to take responsibility for – to apologize for the things we’ve allowed to go on for far too long, and to find that, as we take responsibility for what’s wrong, we discover we also have the power to help make it right.

 Beloved ones, may we be strong enough to say we’re sorry. May we be humble enough to ask for help. And in our confession, in our forgiveness, in our faith, may we find again and again the power of grace.

  O God, we are sorry. We have failed. We have let our pride lead us astray. We have chosen to sit stubbornly in our mistakes rather than admit where we’ve gone wrong. We have let ourselves get stuck – and we’ve let others sit, stuck, in our messes, too. O Lord, have mercy. Christ have mercy. Lord, have mercy. Hear us, as we cry out to you: hear us, as we name our sins, as we face our own responsibility for the messes around us. And Lord, by your mercy, by your grace, as we face the choices we’ve made that have helped get us stuck, may we also discover that we have the power to begin to clean up the messes, to transform puddles of oobleck into rivers of justice and oceans of grace. In the name of Christ, who hears us, who forgives us, who calls us to new life, we pray; amen.

[1] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bartholomew_and_the_Oobleck

[2] https://www.theguardian.com/environment/2019/sep/17/greta-thunberg-to-congress-youre-not-trying-hard-enough-sorry