#fact i am not doing perfect on these modules is making me freak out and i am so scared of failure but like ik its necessary and the whole | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tsarisfanfiction · 4 years

Text

Toffee

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Gen Genre: Family Characters: Gordon, Grandma, John

Back again with another fic for @gumnut-logic‘s #irrelief! Another one for you, Nutty: “Toffee on the couch”. There are plans for this to go multichap, but until I’ve got that all firmed up, here’s the first chapter as a stand-alone/teaser (it won’t be crossposted elsewhere until I’ve finished writing the whole thing, so don’t expect it on AO3 or FFN any time soon).

Gordon is a lover of many things. Toffee is not one of them.

Gordon was tired. Very, very tired. By all rights, he should have stumbled to his bedroom to flop on his wonderful, soft, comfy bed, but that required tackling stairs and he was too tired for that nonsense. His launch chute got him up as far as the den, so that was as far as he was going. A graceless collapse had him landing face first on a sofa.

His body connected with cushions, as expected. His face found contact with something less soft and desirable – and sticky.

Weariness was immediately abandoned as he lurched upright, clawing at his face in an attempt to clean it of whatever someone had left on the sofa. Squinting, his fingernails came away with something brown under them, and his first instinct was to recoil in horror before the sweet scent registered.

Cautiously, he sniffed his fingers, and scowled.

Which one of his evil brothers had left half-melted toffee on the sofa for him to faceplant? It would have been a stroke of genius as a prank, if not for two important factors: first off, it was not Gordon’s prank, and secondly, they hadn’t left anything between the sticky nonsense and the cushions themselves. Even he was careful not to make a mess that would get Grandma up in arms.

He didn’t know which of his brothers was responsible, but Gordon smelt an accident, not a prank, if only for that fact. If even he didn’t dare push Grandma’s buttons when it came to food on the furniture, then none of his brothers would. Now, the question was, did he ignore it and let it be someone else’s problem, or did he get up and do something about it?

The knowledge that if it was left to someone else, the blame might come crashing down on the resident prankster’s – his – head spurred him into reluctant action. If nothing else, he could just report it to Grandma, he reasoned, yawning loudly. Yes, he’d do that. The clean-up could be done by the brother responsible.

He stumbled down the flight of stairs to the kitchen, where Grandma was almost certainly to be found, to his stomach’s ongoing distress. Sure enough, arguing with the automated kitchen module again, his purple-clad grandmother was wielding a whisk in a manner that was too similar to the wooden spoon of his childhood.

“Hey, Grandma?” Interrupting her in the kitchen was a dangerous business, and already he was formulating several possible excuses to not eat anything he was offered as she turned to him.

“Hello, kid,” she grinned. “Long rescu- What have you got on your face, young man?” she demanded as his toffee-covered face caught her attention.

“I think it’s toffee,” he groaned, making a half-hearted attempt to cover another yawn. It had been a long rescue, and with Virgil off on another mission when the call had come in, and the trouble off the Australian coast, he’d had to launch from the island and complete it solo.

He didn’t do solo missions often. Thunderbird Four often relied on her big green sister for transportation to rescue sites, meaning that Virgil was guaranteed to be with him, and it wasn’t unusual for Thunderbird One to come a-hovering overhead, worried big brother supervising and ready with a helping cable on the off chance it might be needed. Maybe, just maybe, he was used to being able to crash out on the way home, and actually having to pilot all the way back to base was unusual enough to be an additional strain on a tired aquanaut.

“And why is there toffee on your face?” Grandma asked him, finding a cloth from somewhere and wiping at his face like he was a child. He was too tired to stop her.

“Face-planted the sofa and found someone left toffee on the cushion,” he yawned.

“Someone?” she asked, pausing her dabbing to narrow her eyes at him.

“Wasn’t me, Grandma,” he mumbled in protest. “Don’t like toffee. Wouldn’t get the sofa sticky, either.”

She scrutinised him intently for several moments before resuming her cleaning of his face. He leaned against the counter and let her.

“So who is cleaning my sofa cushions?” she asked him, and he shrugged.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Not me.”

“I can see that,” she chuckled. “You’re asleep on your feet, kid. Up to bed with you. I’ll find the culprit.”

“Wanna watch,” he protested, and she shook her head.

“I’m sure I can get Brains to record the hunt,” she told him. “Bed, now. Unless you want supper first?”

Supper?

Gordon’s body found another surge of energy, straightening up and stumbling for the stairs.

“That’s okay, Grandma,” he waved sleepily. “I’ll eat something later.”

It wasn’t his record for a kitchen to bedroom flight, but it was still pretty impressive. Face-planting his bed – where he should have gone in the first place, although at least now Grandma believed he hadn’t done it, against whatever claims his guilty brother might make – he made no effort to undress.

“John?” he called out sleepily, and a hologram flickered into life by his bed.

“I’ll record it,” his brother said without prompting. “Get some shuteye while you can.”

“You know whose toffee it is?” he mumbled, and John let out a short sound of amusement.

“What do you think?”

Gordon groaned, because that was either John speak for ‘no, but I’m not admitting I don’t know something’ or, more likely considering the amusement, ‘yes, but I’m bored and I’m an evil, evil brother who wants to watch and laugh’ - or however John expressed his amusement, because flat-out laughter was not his style (although Gordon suspected he just laughed when there was no-one to hear him, thereby preserving his image).

“Sleep, Gordon,” John insisted.

“Sleeping,” he groaned into the pillow.

He wasn’t sure what woke him, but the sun was glaring in through his window which meant it was way past time he should have been doing his morning laps, and he groaned, pushing himself up from his bed and cautiously stretching out his back. A little stiff, but nothing worse than usual.

Nothing a good swim couldn’t fix.

Urgh, he was still in yesterday’s clothes. Forget showering after the mission, he hadn’t even shed his shirt, and the pool hadn’t done anything to deserve something this gross (it suffered enough from Thunderbird One’s exhaust, thank you, Scott).

Okay, shower first, then swim, then another shower. That sounded like a perfect, if belated, start to the day, provided a certain space resident didn’t pipe up and send him out on a rescue.

Speaking of John, he’d been talking to him last night, he was sure of it. What was it..? He stumbled into his en suite, glared at the mirror that greeted his thoroughly dishevelled appearance, and poked at a lump of something brown that had caught in his hair.

Toffee.

The toffee!

“John?” he called, shucking well-worn and stinky clothes and lobbing them out into a dirty clothes pile by the door, ready to be well and truly shoved into the washing machine at the nearest opportunity. Clean freak he was not, but Thunderbird Four was the only place he suffered foul-smelling laundry and body odour for any length of time. The hazards of research trips.

“Did you have to wait until you got rid of your clothes before calling me?” his older brother sighed, ginger head flickering into view. Was it slightly weird that his brother had access to his bathroom? Probably, but rescues didn’t wait for dirty squids (or flyboys, for that matter; Gordon had seen all of his brothers in less clothing than he’d particularly care for during mission briefings before). Besides, it was a great place for private conversations – none of his fellow Earthlings were going to walk into his bathroom unannounced.

“Jealous?” he asked, flexing arm muscles out of habit as he stuck his tongue out. There was at least a concession that the holocam couldn’t detect anything below chest height in bathrooms – whose benefit that was actually for, who knew. It wasn’t like it was nothing any of them had seen before (individual bathrooms was an Island luxury – they’d been sharing bathrooms and even baths at times in Kansas).

“Of what, your height?” John quipped. Gordon narrowed his eyes at him. “I have something you want, Gordon. Don’t try it.”

So that was a yes to the unasked question: Grandma had found the culprit, and there was a recording ready and waiting for Gordon’s viewing pleasure. He looked at the floating head expectantly, hand on hip as he waited for it.

“You’re going to watch it in the shower?” John asked, before shaking his head with a sigh. “How am I related to you?”

“Because we both take entertainment from our brothers ending up on Grandma’s bad side?” Gordon offered. John acknowledged the point. “So now that we’ve agreed that we are, in fact, brothers, can I have that video?”

“One last thing.” Gordon groaned. Maybe asking John to record it had been a bad idea. Maybe he should have trusted Grandma to get Brains or MAX to do it for him. Who knew what he was going to have to pay John for this privilege?

Aw, who was he kidding? No matter who recorded it, John was going to end up with monopoly on who could watch it. He was sneaky like that.

“Two, in fact.” Gordon groaned more loudly. Still, waiting was always worse, and unlike certain other brothers, John didn’t have the sadistic streak of making him beg – much, anyway. He derived his amusement in other factors. Like playing brothers off against each other… Gordon was starting to get an inkling what one of those two things might be.

“Okay, what are they?”

“First is a message from Grandma: She’s got him on laundry duty for the next week, including all of the sofa covers, and says to be creative with your revenge.”

“Revenge? Moi?” Gordon certainly hadn’t been planning to exact a little revenge for an accident that got toffee on his face. Certainly not.

“Secondly,” John continued as though he hadn’t said anything – he was good at that, was John – “You did not get this footage from me, nor does any other assistance that might appear during your endeavours over the next week have anything to do with me.”

Ooh, Johnny-boy wanted to get involved. Gordon’s face split into a grin. This was going to be fun. He hadn’t had a team-up with the second eldest, so-called ‘responsible’ one, in a while.

“What did our culprit do to you?” he asked. The grin he got back was maybe a little chilling, as he was reminded that the current resident prankster was not the original resident prankster.

“Who said they did anything?”

That proved it. John was bored. Gordon almost felt sorry for the brother who left toffee lying around. Almost. His face was still phantom-sticky.

“Play the video, big bro,” he grinned, stepping into the shower.

Grandma on the hunt. He hadn’t seen that in a while (without being the prey, anyway).

It was almost disappointing, how easily she collared the perpetrator. She’d put on a show – one Gordon appreciated – of interrogating each and every non-Gordon Island resident (and even John, although both parties had been too busy trying not to show their amusement for that to be anything but staged), but it was clear even from the very beginning that she Knew.

The final confrontation was pitiful. A confession, right off the bat? Clearly his brother had no understanding of how the world worked. Confessing to a crime of that magnitude did not reduce your sentence one iota, which a crestfallen face at a week of laundry duty showed some belated awareness of.

It did not escape Gordon’s attention that at no point had his unfortunate encounter with the toffee been mentioned. Brothers had mentioned his name, of course (even Brains, oh ye of little faith), but Grandma had expertly deflected them away from his scent. Oh to watch a master – or mistress, as it may be – at work.

Gordon hadn’t done a prank with Grandma as an ally since he was a very small child, imagination limited to switching the salt and sugar. With John and Grandma secretly supporting him, the possibilities were endless.

But really, there was only one way to start this.

“John,” he sing-songed, stepping out of the bathroom after towelling himself dry and pulling on some underwear – if he wanted to pull this off, he was going to need to keep John on his side, which meant keeping him sweet and not playing the usual obnoxious younger brother beyond keeping up the charade.

“Yes, Gordon?” John’s hologram appeared by his bed, this time almost full length and in an almost sitting position.

“How might a squid locate Scott’s toffee stash without the assistance of an eye in the sky?”

He hadn’t even known Scott had a toffee stash until the confession. Crafty biggest brother. Crafty.

Not crafty enough.

Chapter 2>>>

------

As this fic is still in its infancy, any ideas on toffee-related pranks are welcome :D I can’t guarantee using them, depending on if they fit with where this fic is currently trying to head, but I am hopeless at thinking up pranks of any sort myself!

#irrelief #irrelief2020 #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds are go fanfiction #tsari writes fanfiction #gordon tracy #grandma tracy #sally tracy #john tracy #title and summary are also still a wip #when a fic decides to run away from you #you were supposed to be a oneshot dammit #no promises when i'll update this one it's not finished #i got a headache trying to decide if they'd call it a sofa or a couch #alan says sofa cushions in earthbreaker i'm going with sofa #americanisms are a pain when you're british #toffee

38 notes · View notes

sevngmin · 5 years

Text

dreams of dreams

synopsis: what happens when two broke college students live together, out of their own will?

a/n: a spinoff from @changbeanie ‘s hyunjin au, do give it a read<3 also, this took quite a while as i had school too,,, rip

genre: fluff, lowkey enemies-to-lovers!au but not rlly, college!au based off The Last Summer on Netflix

listen to: Bloom-Troye Sivan

member: jisung

word count: 3,554

[0830]

College.

You were prepared for the monotonous lecturers, back-to-back assignment deadlines and dreaded 9am classes. Even better, your best friend introduced you(or rather, helped you to find) an apartment right beside hers and a cute roommate. Everything seemed so well planned out. You were a broke media and communications major, and you basically blew almost all of your life savings on the latest MacBook Pro your school made you buy before you started the school term.

Luckily, your parents offered to pay your school fees and rent, on top of giving you a weekly allowance. You couldn’t ask for more, in fact, you had more than what you asked for. You were grateful, to say the least.

However, you wished you had more patience for untidy people, especially your roommate, Han Jisung.

You didn’t expect much from Jisung, in fact, you did not even expect anything from a friend of a friend. You thought he was just a shy, cute, introverted music production major that would at least, have the courtesy to clean up his dirty clothes strewn on the floor for whatever reason.

You weren’t that much of a clean freak, to be honest. You yourself wasn’t the cleanest of people but you’d at least clean up once every 2 days or so.

Jisung... not really.

You have lived with him for about 2 months or so and became good friends with him. You would be damned, Jisung was almost the embodiment of boyfriend, kind eyes, soft, plump lips, not very tall but still tall enough to tower over you, a good sense of humour, good at his major, probably enough life savings to last him till the workforce, and more traits you couldn’t think of because he was that perfect.

Almost, you would stress. Because of his untidiness, which was the cause of 80% of the accidents you encountered ever since you moved into the apartment with him. You have screeched at the boy countless times for his untidiness, which, your friend had warned you about but didn’t take into consideration as you had more than what you can ask for.

You really didn’t expect Jisung to be that messy.

“Han Jisung!” You screamed at the top of your lungs, as you picked up the what seemed like the 5th article of clothing that wasn’t yours.

“Ah, so there it was!” Jisung’s face lightened up as he saw the t-shirt you were holding, only to be disappointed when you tossed it into the laundry basket before he could even reach for it.

“You have no idea,” You seethed, “How many times I nearly fell to my death because of your clothes, Han Jisung.”

“I told you I’ll clean it up!” Jisung argued, now picking up his own clothes, “It wasn’t that long anyway.”

You sighed in exasperation, pinching your nose bridge, “Yeah, a week wasn’t that long for me to fall on my butt countless times.”

“Then why are you wearing my clothes?” Jisung retorted, pointing at the dark purple hoodie that was indeed, way too oversized for your petite figure.

Your face reddens, then you cleared your throat, “I might have stolen it but-- that’s not the point! You should clean up like, once every two days or something.”

“I’m busy!”

“So am I!”

“I’ll treat you to fried dumplings later.” Jisung proposed, which made your eyes light up with excitement.

“At the one near our school?” You nearly drooled at the thought of your favourite fried dumplings, blinking your eyes.

“Yes, now eat your breakfast, we’re almost late.” Jisung pushed you to the breakfast table which had two bowls of cereal, ready to eat.

You could never get angry at Jisung for long, especially when he knew the way to forgiveness was through your stomach.

[1630]

you: hey

messy brat: what’s up

messy brat: i swear if you ditch on us again im not buying you food anymore

you: yeah but this time i really have a project to complete,,, like actually

messy brat: what project is it

you: come over to the video editing studio then

messy brat: aight

“Thanks for helping me out,” you thanked Hyunjin as you took off your headphones, hanging them on the video camera, “media and communications isn’t that fun after all, huh.”

“You learn a little bit of everything so I guess that would be helpful in the future,” Hyunjin smoothened out his shirt, slouching into the seat, “I guess that’s a more stable future than dancing.”

Just then, the heavy door of the video editing room opened, revealing a lethargic Jisung, auburn hair messily covered with a bucket hat, airpods snugly stuck into his ears. Today was one of the days he decided to dress up, with a white button up short sleeved shirt and black bermudas. You have seen this many times; in the apartment where he would lazily throw off his shoes somewhere in the nirvana of the shoe closet, then plopping himself face-first on the sofa. Then you would nag at him to shower before he falls asleep on the couch and then forgets to do his assignments. But he always manages to hustle his work right before class starts and get an A. You didn’t know how, but he still does.

Weirdly, today your heart raced fast, aching a little at the sight of your tired roommate. He must’ve sat through a 3-hour lecture which he had absolutely no interest in, and then rush over to you, looking forward to eating dumplings but instead ending up at the most desolate end of the campus.

“That was fast,” You noted, ignoring your racing heart, “and yeah, I’m doing some video thing for my project.”

“Hey,” Jisung greeted Hyunjin, who suspiciously eyed the both of you but left the studio quietly, “When is it due?”

“Next week,” You sighed as you leaned onto the creaky revolving chair your school never replaced at the editing station, “I even have to use two software for this. Premiere Pro and ProTools. Premiere Pro is fine but ProTools’ such a pain, like, I accidentally keep deleting parts that I need, then record them again.”

Jisung took his seat beside you on another creaky revolving chair, then with a few clicks of the mouse, your audio track was in one beautiful piece, running smoothly with no awkward cuts or dead air.

“H-how...” You scratched your head, still in awe of how Jisung could get your job done in supposedly 3 minutes when you couldn’t even get it properly done in 3 hours.

“ProTools can be pretty intimidating if you’re not using it regularly,” Jisung explains, helping you add in more of the audio tracks that you were going to get to, “Once you get the hang of it, it’s almost like your best friend.”

You nodded mindlessly, only registering half of whatever Jisung was saying. You just didn’t get it, some people are naturally talented, cute, good talkers, or all of them. Jisung was one of them, (annoyingly)talented at seemingly everything he touches. You shook your head, getting those thoughts out of your head. Crushing on your roommate was not going to do you any good, in fact, it will only make it more awkward when both of you practically live in the same space.

“I kinda need an intro, outro and background song for the video...” You bit your lip, “Could you help me with that?”

“I do have a few tracks I made when I was bored, but I need to make one more suitable one for your background music.” Jisung tapped his chin, slightly immersing himself in his thoughts, “Give me two days, tops. I’ll bring it over here and help you edit it in.”

“Really?” You really didn’t expect Jisung to help, sending him a sincere smile, “Thanks Jisung, it means a lot.”

“Woah, where did the dorm y/n go?” Jisung joked, raising his eyebrows, “You’re really different when you’re in school.”

“That’s only because you don’t clean up.” You stuck your tongue out, walking over to the video recorder. “I need you in my interview too. You’re the one person I need to complete the video and I’m good to edit the whole thing.”

“Don’t forget to thank me when you get a 4.0 on this module,” Jisung nudged you playfully, taking his seat behind the camera. “I’m ready.”

“Ready, 3, 2, 1, action!”

Hello Jisung, thank you for agreeing to this interview. For the viewers of this programme, can you introduce yourself briefly?

Hello, I am Han Jisung, a music production major.

So Jisung, have you had any childhood crushes?

I did, there was this girl who was my partner in kindergarten and we would always sit together at lunch. We would hold hands and make our way to the canteen, and play with toys together during playtime. I never saw her again after kindergarten though, we went to different schools after that.

Have you dated before?

Yes, I have, but it was only with 1-2 girls. We barely dated for a week and then we broke up. Our interests didn’t align I guess. I studied pretty hard back in high school to be a music production major in this college, hence I had no time to date around or develop a crush on anyone at that point in time. So far in college, I haven’t dated though.

Do you have a crush right now? If so, do describe her briefly.

I do. She’s nice, pretty and caring. She’s also very hard working and very driven. Sometimes she does tell me off too much but that’s for my own good so I can’t really fault her with that. She’s also good at her major, even though sometimes she stresses herself out too much over it. I wished she feels the same though because it would be really awkward for us if I made the move and she doesn’t reciprocate.

Care to explain?

We... are in this point of friendship where it can either end badly or well. By ending well I mean, we would end up dating or eventually being a thing. By ending bad... she might not talk to me for the rest of the time we’re friends or.. not even friends anymore.

Thank you for agreeing to this interview. Would you like to leave a few words for your crush and the viewers?

For the viewers, don’t be afraid to like someone. It’s normal and people have feelings. Don’t be a home wrecker though. That’s bad. As for my crush... I’m not sure if she’ll see this but I hope that she’s eating well and sleeping well. Assignment deadlines are coming and I don’t want her to stress out so much. Also, I’m not sure when I’ll confess to her about my feelings but I’ll accept whatever choice she makes.

[2230]

“Who’s that lucky girl?” You teased Jisung, taking out your airpods momentarily, “Your crush.”

Jisung shrugged, tapping away on his laptop, “I could be lying for all you know.”

You threw a pillow at Jisung, “You’re not supposed to lie! I’ll make you record the whole thing again if you really lied.”

“Okay, I didn’t” Jisung defended himself with his arms in the air in defeat, “I’m not telling you. Crushes are supposed to be a secret.”

You threw your head backwards in laughter, “What are you? 8? We don’t pull this kind of crap anymore.”

“Just focus on editing, miss y/n,” Jisung mock glared at you, “It’s due next week and all you care about is the identity of my crush? How boring must’ve my interview been.”

“It’s actually one of the more interesting ones,” You commented, trimming the unwanted parts of the interview, like Jisung mocking you, putting his face too close to the camera for no reason, and him tripping over his words. Cute, but your lecturer would think of it as unprofessional. “I just need to cut out your stupid antics. What a waste of my memory on my hard drive.”

“You could’ve just put it in the bloopers,” Jisung muttered, “Also, I’m done with your music.”

You scooted over to sit beside Jisung, sharing one of his airpods as the music played, he somehow knew what you wanted, just the perfect vibe of the song that fitted your interviews. Your cheeks blushed slightly at the proximity of the both of you, laptops on your laps and old comforter draped lazily over your legs. You were so close, you could smell the remnants of cologne Jisung sprayed on this morning. He smelled of warm cotton, in addition to the calming music Jisung made for the background music, lulling you to slumber within a few minutes.

“How is it? Do you--” Jisung sat up excitedly, expecting a response from you, but only to see your eyes shut, head nestled ever so slightly on his chest. He smiled to himself, then gently draping over the comforter over your body. Jisung tucked a stray hair behind your ear, taking in your peaceful and steady breathing.

As he inched closer, he wanted to know how your lips still remained pink even after removing your makeup(not like you needed any, he thought to himself, you were even more beautiful without it), and how they would feel on his.

Before he could place his lips on yours, he snapped out of his sleepy reverie and shifted to a more comfortable position for you, sighing to himself,

“Goodnight and sweet dreams, my dear crush.”

[1130]

There you were, seated in the video editing studio again, trying to add a few finishing touches to your assignment. Everything was going well, until Protools decided to crash on you, letting all your efforts thus far of editing audio go to waste.

You buried your face in your palm for what seemed like the 10th time, trying to compose yourself. At times like this, you would very much appreciate Jisung’s help.

As if Jisung heard your thoughts, the boy busted through the door, this time with two cups of iced coffee, “I ended early, so I figured if I could help out before you submit your assignment.”

“Thanks, Jisung,” You accepted the iced coffee gratefully, giving your roommate a side hug, “Protools crashed on me again. Also, I have some problem with the mic. The levels don’t seem to be right and I have to submit this in 4 hours please help me I’m panicking.”

“Woah okay, chill,” Jisung settled his drink and backpack down, taking his seat beside you and putting his arm on the back of your seat, “Before you start recording, check the gain and buttons on the console. Maybe someone was trying to be a bitch and messed with them. Also, how many times did I tell you to save your session after every change? Protools isn’t always ‘healthy’ you know? Protools will crash at times too.”

Jisung started to notice the worry traced on your face, then scooted closer to you and held your hands in his, “I know the deadline’s in a few days, but I just wanted to tell you that you’re actually doing so so good? Even for someone who doesn’t major in music production. I’m sure your file isn’t lost somewhere, we can retrieve it. And I’m here to help you too, hmm? I’m pretty sure your classmates don’t have a ‘music major friend’ privilege.”

Your face started to redden, not only at Jisung’s words but also the proximity, he was so close, if you were a little closer you would kiss him right there and then. The video editing studio didn’t seem so cold anymore, but rather warm with the body heat the both of you were radiating at this very moment.

Too close... to remain friends?

You pulled away from Jisung, eyes avoiding his, “Y-yeah... sure. The stress just got to my head so I kinda took it out on you, sorry.”

“It’s fine, we all get stressed sometimes.” Jisung grabs the mouse and like before, your work was recovered in just a few clicks, “I got it back. Your clip seems fine, I think it’s good to go.”

“Wow um, thanks Jisung.” You really had no idea what to say other than “thank you” to Jisung, he had been more than of what you could ask for throughout your editing process, also being especially nice and patient when explaining technical terms to you. Now all that’s left to do is to confess to him, but you were scared to ruin the precious friendship the both of you shared thus far.

Too close... to ruin it all.

“Don’t you have some showcase thing?” Jisung comments as he saves the project, dropping it into your hard drive, “I heard from Felix that you guys have it.”

“I was just about to ask you,” You crossed your legs on the chair, facing Jisung, “I’d want you to come to the showcase.”

Jisung pauses, as light pink dusted his cheeks, “M-me?”

“Who else?” You smiled, looking around, “Unless there’s another Jisung that I don’t know about...”

“H-hey don’t scare me like that,” Jisung stutters, bringing his attention back to the desktop, “It’s not funny.”

“I’m kidding, friend.” You joked, taking a sip of the slightly diluted iced coffee.

“Friend?” Jisung turned his head, tilting to one side, hurt ever so slightly cast in his eyes.

You couldn’t read that expression, confused, tilting your head like his, “What about it?”

“Nothing.” Jisung shook his head, removing the hard drive, handing it to you.

Little did you know, hidden inside Jisung’s backpack was a mini bouquet of your favourite dried flowers.

[2145]

As the end credits rolled around, you sensed an invisible weight being lifted off your shoulders, many sleepless nights worth of edits was indeed, worth it. Not to mention that Jisung probably pulled those all-nighters with you too, alongside completing his own work or even music for your project.

You were complimented with many praises from your classmates, some grumbling that they wouldn’t get their 4.0 thanks to you, also from the other tutors in the lecture theatre. You were so glad that your efforts paid off, and you would score a decent grade in at least one of the modules, for the first time in a while.

Your eyes followed Jisung despite being overwhelmed with people after the showcase, the boy patiently waiting at the foot of the podium for you. He changed out of his usual t-shirt you saw him this morning, to a ralph lauren plain sky blue dress shirt and dark blue calvin klein jeans. You knew Jisung owned a few dress shirts and saw him in them multiple times, but you knew exactly what it was that made him look extra handsome this time around.

It wasn’t the brand, but rather your crush on him that painted him in a very different light as compared to the past.

And you were prepared to tell him.

“I think you’re ready for Hollywood,” Jisung joked as he made shy strides towards you, hands snugly tucked in his pockets, “that video was really well made.”

‘Thank you, J.One,” You teased back, him grimacing at your joke, “your music made the video a whole lot better. I really do owe you one, Jisung.”

“Well, then before we go for fried dumplings,” Jisung reached into his backpack, handing you a small bouquet of your favourite dried flowers, “Here’s for my roommate, future filmmaker extraordinaire.”

You gasped, taking the bouquet in your hands, “Jisung! You really shouldn’t have. Thank you so much.”

“It was meant to be for something else,” Jisung eyed the bouquet warily, “but since you wanted to stay friends, it's a congratulation gift now.”

“What? Stay friends?” You stared at your roommate in confusion.

“I like you, y/n.” Jisung confessed, “I wanted to confess with that bouquet of flowers back in the editing studio but you called me a friend so I thought... you wanted to stay friends and nothing more.”

Jisung smiles sadly to himself, then looking back at you, “I just thought I would make myself clear before... you potentially hate me. I’ll respect your decision! If you don’t like me back... I’m fine with it. As long as you are happy--”

You interrupted Jisung by gently placing your lips on his, your hands ever so slightly crumpling the dress shirt he actually bothered to wash this morning. You pulled away, only to be pulled back by Jisung, lips now moving to deepen the kiss he waited for so long. You nearly melted in his arms, head dizzy with euphoria as your lips locked with his every fleeting moment. The boy gently pulled away, tucking a stray hair behind your ear, “Does this mean you like me too?”

You planted a kiss on Jisung’s slightly swollen lips again, smiling to your new boyfriend, “Yes, I like you too, Jisung.”

#stray kids scenarios #stray kids imagines #stray kids fluff #stray kids #han jisung #jisung #han #han scenarios #han imagines #jisung scenarios #jisung imagines #jisung fluff #kpop fluff

269 notes · View notes

whenjoshisjoseph · 6 years

Text

TODODEKU/KIRIBAKU VIGILANTE AU: THE ART OF HAPPY ENDINGS

I am so, so pissed. The WiFi threw a tantrum and I couldn’t upload this on Halloween, and it’s still not letting me upload on AO3. So here, have this one shot that’s 5k words about my fav children and let me feel at peace.

The Art Of Happy Endings (whenjoshisjoseph)

Rated T.

Summary: Bakugou, Midoriya, Todoroki, and Kirishima attend UA, a prestigious music school. Bakugou has a crush on Kirishima and vice versa, and the same is true about Todoroki and Midoriya crushing on each other.

Simple enough, right?

Wrong, because all of them are also a vigilante team that work together without knowing who the others are, and it stops them from pursuing relationships

.Until Shigaraki hatches his evil plot, that is.

full fic below the cut!! expect the italics doesn’t work :/

Midoriya recognises the song before Todoroki even starts to play, simply by looking at the way his slender fingers are poised. However, he still feels a rush of pride when Todoroki does indeed, begin with the opening note of Chopin’s Waltz in A Minor.

And of course Midoriya would know it; how could he not? It’s the first song he’d ever heard the other play, as well as the first song they’d played together. Part of him wishes that he could be on stage with him, accompanying Todoroki’s piano with his own violin. Then again, he’s content to watch from his special spot backstage, flowers hidden behind him.

Because this is the moment, the perfect opportunity: tonight, after the recital is over, and Todoroki is still on a high from his stunning performance (there’s no chance that his performance will be anything less than stunning), Midoriya will present Todoroki with the bouquet of red roses that he’s oh-so-carefully picked out, and with the roses, present his feelings too.

If he’s honest, it’s slightly daunting to think about, but it’s time. His best friend must know.

The gorgeous sound of Todoroki’s playing resonates within the concert hall, and the audience hold their collective breaths at the sheer beauty of his performance. Every trill and swift note vibrates throughout the space, and Midoriya, much like the rest of the audience, is transfixed.

But the sound is only half of Todoroki’s allure, and Midoriya unabashedly stares at the man as he plays. A single strand comes loose from the tight ponytail Todoroki’s hair is in, the colour matching the shade of roses that Midoriya holds. His chin is held high in the perfect pose to catch the light, and his heterochromatic eyes closely follow the notes he plays, building to a mesmerising crescendo.

Todoroki himself is, without a doubt, easily as entrancing as the song he plays.

Just before the piece finishes, though, a rough hand grabs at Midoriya’s shoulder, and he swivels in shock. Bakugou stands in front of him, gesturing for him to follow.

“K-kacchan?” he whispers, dreading what the blonde may be about to tell him.

“We gotta go; it happened,” Bakugou replies gruffly, sparing a glance at Todoroki, then at the flowers in Midoriya’s hands. His gaze softens a little.

“P-please,” Midoriya says quietly, voice beginning to tremble, eyes starting to water. God, but he’s so weak, he thinks to himself. “Not now, not now, anytime but now.”

This isn’t only the perfect chance to confess to Todoroki; it’s also his last, because Todoroki’s father has demanded he train internationally, and Todoroki has acquiesced to his father’s request. After this recital, Todoroki will be packing his bags and heading to the airport.

(The thought of it just further threatens the tears in Midoriya’s eyes to spill over.)

Bakugou steps forwards and ruffles Midoriya’s hair in sympathy.

“I know what it means to you, Deku, but there’s no waiting. It’s a shitty situation, but we gotta work with what we got. We have to be there. Now.”

And as much as it breaks his heart, Bakugou’s right; this is dire, and he has to put others above himself.

He allows himself one last glance at what could’ve been before he turns and rushes away with Bakugou, just as Todoroki skims the wings with his eyes for Midoriya, looking for support. When he realises that the person he perhaps cares about most in the world has stood him up, he steels his expression and begins Chopin’s Nocturne Op. 9 No. 2, the opening notes played with a dissonant detachment that does not fit the mood of the song at all.

The roses lay on the floor, forgotten, and a single petal falls from what was the freshest flower of them all.

The term vigilante is a little harsh, and the term villain is in a league of its own in terms of guess again, shitty ignorant civilian.

Bakugou prefers to be called a hero, please and fucking thank you, but it’s at times like this where he could maybe understand why some people disapprove of his team.

“Dude, calm down!” Red Riot pleads, holding Bakugou back lest he explode yet another rusty satellite. The friendly words juxtapose the strangely modulated voice that Red Riot’s chosen (they all wear voice modulators for the sake of protecting their real-life identities, although they all know that ‘Ground Zero’ and ‘Small Might’ know each other in real life. And no, Deku doesn’t sound any less annoying with his voice modulated).

“But Shouto’s fucking late as usual, and I’m pissed,” he growls in return, but allows himself to go limp in the hero’s grasp. There’s only one other person who can get him to calm down like this, and it’s not shitty Deku.

He glances over to Deku, or ‘Small Might’, as is his hero name, and notices the pain that flashes in his eyes at the mention of that name. It’s a bitchy coincidence, really, that Deku’s crush and his sidekick should have the same name. After tonight, it’s going to be a lot more difficult for him to face his emotions, and Bakugou once again curses the villains and their dumb-as-shit timing for hurting his nerdy ass friend like that.

No matter, though. Tonight, they’re going to take them down once and for all. Well, that is if the lame hero who calls himself ‘Shouto’ would fucking appear already.

As if spurred on by Bakugou’s grumbling, the tall man lands on the roof in an elegant crouch, straightening up and striding over to the other three in his team. His face is covered in an ornate mask that seems to be composed of half ice and half fire, like his ‘ability’, but Shouto had once explained that he’d had it made from Kevlar material to mimic the textures. Ever since, Bakugou can’t help but tease him about being a rich kid. And damn right, too. The hood that covers Shouto’s hair and the costume that cover his body are both made from freaking expensive material, and Bakugou can’t help but wonder what the fuck the guy must do in his free time to be able to afford such high quality. Not that he cares. Bakugou’s outfit is still the best.

“Fucking finally!” Bakugou exclaims, and Red Riot laughs. He turns to glare at him. “What’s so funny, Shitty Hair?”

(It’s true; the dumbass has his hair styled in some weird spiky style that really doesn’t flatter him. Not that he thinks that he’s attractive anyway. Because he doesn’t.)

“Nothing, nothing, just happy that the whole team has assembled,” Red Riot replies, grinning profusely. Deku, however, doesn’t seem to share his energy.

“Small Might, is something bothering you?” Shouto asks immediately, and Bakugou is tempted to tell Shouto that his gay is showing. But the last time he did that, the hero had burst into flames, and he’s not to keen to see that shit again.

“Personal life,” Deku mumbles, but perks up (honestly, can’t he make up his mind? Bakugou doesn’t know which one the shitty nerd is more head over heels for: his posh ass piano friend, or his posh ass hero friend). Shouto smiles sadly.

“Tell me about it,” he mutters. Red Riot, like that massive puppy dog he is, senses the morale lowering, and inserts his bright personality smack in the middle of the gay shit going on between the other two heroes. Bakugou breathes a sigh of relief.

“Don’t worry, guys; tonight’s the night we finally nail the bad guys!” he says enthusiastically. Bakugou snorts, and Red Riot flushes. “You know what I mean, bro, don’t make this weird.” Bakugou is about to reply when Shouto cuts in:

“Everyone know what they’re doing?” He looks pointedly at Bakugou as he speaks.

“Hah?” Bakugou sneers. “What you looking at me for, half n’ half? Wanna fight?” Todoroki raises an eyebrow.

“Yeah, I do ‘wanna fight’. To elaborate, I would very much like to fight the villains, Ground Zero, but of course, we can also wait until after I’ve knocked you down a notch or two.”

“Okay, okay, let’s all just…concentrate, right? This is our chance to take down the league once and for all, you know!” Deku tries to persuade, and Shouto simply nods, all glimmer of snarkiness gone from his eyes.

Liking someone can do that to you, it appears, and Shouto is all too obvious about how much he has fallen for Deku (although the stupid shitty nerd doesn’t realise it).

Bakugou shares a look with Red Riot, who has as much insight as he does, and rolls his eyes.

“Let’s go, already,” Bakugou announces, cracking his knuckles as he steps up to the edge of the roof. “We’ve got some villains to take down.”

And with that, he steps off the edge, all geared up to kick ass.

The mission yesterday had been a success. Well, duh, Bakugou had freaking smashed those weird ass freaks.

(The others were admittedly cool too, though he’d never let them know that he thinks that).

Bakugou tries not to dwell on the fact that the leader was the only member they weren’t able to apprehend (the man had yelled something to Deku about revenge as he’d ran, and god if that wasn’t so fucking cliché). But what’s a single guy gonna do by himself anyway? It’d been his underlings who’d been the real threat. Then again, Shigaraki had gotten pretty far alone before he’d recruited new members, so Bakugou thinks that he should maybe get together with the other three to see if they can track him down or some shit.

He goes from the fifth bar again, playing double time just because he can. The regular tempo’s too chill for him anyway, and drumming is meant to relieve his stress, so he can do what he fucking likes. The ride symbol harmonises perfectly with the hi-hat that he hits with his right hand (crossed underneath his left, because it’s easier like that).

Now this is real music, not whatever nerdy music Deku’s always playing with his half n’ half crush. As if some dusty uptight piece would ever beat simple, free sound. But the music school they go to offers both, so Deku can do as he likes; it’s none of Bakugou’s concern.

“Bakubro?” A voice pulls him out of his thoughts, and Bakugou comes to an abrupt halt to look up across the dimly lit practice room at his best friend. The streetlamps outside inform him that it’s after sunset, but as far as he’s aware, he’s got some time off from hero-ing tonight.

“Yeah?” he grunts, lifting himself off the seat and strolling over to where Kirishima is sat, acoustic guitar in hand. “Hold up; what’ve you got an acoustic for?”

Because Kirishima Eijirou, his best friend (and okay yes, goddamn crush too, who cares anymore?), plays the electric guitar. Although that’s sort of an understatement, he supposes. Kirishima doesn’t just play the guitar, he absolutely shreds it; his talent is unrivalled by the rest of the school.

When Bakugou had first met the cheery boy with straight, limp hair and a whole load of insecurity, he’d never expected him to be quite so…awesome.

But in the two years that he’s known him, Bakugou has never, ever seen Kirishima pick up an acoustic guitar. That’s always been something Kirishima keeps to himself; he has to practice with it, but he doesn’t do so when Bakugou is present.

“I,” Kirishima begins, taking in a deep breath. “I sorta feel like the acoustic guitar is my private self so I’ve never shown you what I can do with it, and I know it’s stupid-”

“For fuck’s sake, dumbass, it’s not stupid. Okay? You don’t have to feel pressured to-”

“No, no, no!” Kirishima hurriedly refutes, before slowing down. “It’s nothing like that. It’s just- I’ve been working on something for you, a cover, and I thought maybe you might wanna see it?”

Kirishima smiles at him so dazzlingly that Bakugou can hardly hold his gaze.

“Well, if it’s for me, you gotta fucking show it to me, dumbass. So yeah, let’s hear it.”

Bakugou sits down beside Kirishima and looks at him expectantly, so the other boy starts to strum.

It’s…it’s really good. It’s as if Bakugou is experiencing another side of Kirishima, something softer, something more personal, and the way his rough fingers gently pluck the opening of ‘Wake Me Up’ by Avicci hits Bakugou straight in the chest. But he’s not even remotely prepared for what Kirishima does next.

“What’re you all sad about?” Uraraka greets Midoriya, setting her tray down opposite him. It’s past ten in the night, but the school is still open and the cafeteria is all Midoriya’s. Well, his and Uraraka’s now. Uraraka is in the same class as Todoroki and himself, and plays the flute so brilliantly that the music practically floats about in the space. She’s also his best friend, and knows him almost inside out.

Note the almost.

Midoriya looks at her pointedly, but she doesn’t relent.

“What? Did the night end too soon?” she giggles, offering him a wink. He blinks at her in confusion.

“What?”

They stare at each other for a moment, before Uraraka continues, slowly:

“Okay, so let me get this straight: when Todoroki rushed out of the recital early last night without even finishing the last song, and spread an announcement through the media covering the concert that his father could go to hell and that he was staying right where he was, that wasn’t all…for you?”

Midoriya spits out his noodles.

“Wait, what?!”

“He was especially off after he finished Waltz in A Minor. That Nocturne was just…wrong,” Uraraka muses, oblivious, until she catches Midoriya’s expression. “What, you didn’t know?”

It seems that the term ‘what’ is commonly used in their conversations. Or at least in this one. But before Midoriya can even process the fact that Todoroki isn’t gone, and he has another chance, let alone launch into the whole ‘I got him roses but I had to leave early so the whole thing flopped’ story, Todoroki walks into the dining hall.

And as soon as he glimpses Midoriya, he turns on his heels and walks straight back out again.

“Wait, Todoroki!” Midoriya yells, scrambling to his feet. He glances apologetically at Uraraka who waves him off, and then runs after the taller boy. It’s like Todoroki’s some sort of mirage or something, the way that he’s only seen around the corner and never close enough, but Midoriya finally catches up to him on the steps outside the large entrance to their school.

“Todoroki!”

Said person stiffens, but stops.

“Midoriya.” The words are cold and detached, and they send an unpleasant shiver down Midoriya’s spine. Nevertheless, he runs down the steps so that he’s facing Todoroki.

“Listen, about last night-”

“Don’t. I get it; I’m not worth your time. You’ve had enough of pretending to be my friend, so you didn’t bother to show up.”

“No, I was there! I…I left after the Waltz,” Midoriya tries to explain, but Todoroki isn’t even meeting his eyes.

“Isn’t that convenient? I looked for you after that very song,” Todoroki says, chuckling humourlessly. “Stop lying to me, okay? You can’t redeem yourself, and you don’t need to. We’re clearly not meant to be friends.”

Tears fill Midoriya’s eyes, and Todoroki has the decency to look guilty for a second or two. This can’t be happening, not after everything he’s already done. Midoriya lets go of his inhibitions.

“I was there for you! I was there, listening to your music and watching the way the shortest strand of your hair come loose like it always does!” Midoriya shouts, the tears spilling over at last. “More than that, I was there with red roses behind my back that I could give to you after the concert was over because surprise, surprise, I’ve fallen for you! I really, really like you, and I would never stand you up.”

Todoroki steps closer, a dangerous fire in his eyes.

“Who told you? Who told you that I…used to like you? Was it my father?”

“I…no! A-and…used to?” Midoriya manages to say. Todoroki nods, glare so livid that Midoriya thinks he may be paralysed.

“Yes, used to. Up until yesterday. Because I can’t bring myself to like someone who stands me up and then lies about it. Leave early? Really? Why? Was it a matter of life and death that you couldn’t have stayed just a little longer for me? I think not. You liar-”

“I’m not-”

“Shut up!” Todoroki roars, the loudest Midoriya’s ever heard him, and he flinches. Even Todoroki realises he’s gone too far, and almost reaches out for him, as if to console him like he usually would. But he controls himself this time. “Just…shut up,” he says quietly, walking down the stairs and away from Midoriya, who stands there for a few minutes, frozen, before breaking down. He doesn’t know how long he weeps for, out in public, before something buzzes in his pocket; his phone.

Unknown number

I’ve found you, finally

Who is this? you may ask

I’ll give you a hint

S H G R K I

But sshh

Don’t tell anyone

Come alone to the address attached

Cos I’ve got Shouto and you reallllly don’t want me to hurt him

Be there ASAP

Midoriya reads the texts three, four times. He’s just lost Todoroki, and now, Shouto’s gone too. Kidnapped. Unless he walks into a trap for him. How the hell is a person meant to withstand this? But he’s not just Izuku, he’s Small Might, too. And he knows who to go to.

His conviction doesn’t stop the tears, though.

(He wonders if anything will ever stop the tears).

“Feel my way through the darkness,” Kirishima sings, almost whispering, so shy and unsure in his own ability, that Bakugou wants to yell at him that he sounds like an angel. Since when has Kirishima been able to sing? And where did he learn to sing like that? Bakugou recalls that Kirishima is doing this for him, and something begins to click into place. “guided by a beating heart. I can’t tell when the journey will end, but I know where to start.”

And Bakugou can’t help it; he joins in. He misses a line, before singing, falteringly:

“’Say I’m caught up in a dream...”

Their voices are low, hesitant, and so fragile together that even the slightest wrong movement could shatter them. But this is something they could build on. Bakugou understands now, and the moment is perfect; he wants nothing more but than to make this, the way he feels, the way Kirishima looks at him, to last for an eternity.

Which is exactly why the universe has to cut it short. The shitty nerd slams the door open, face tear-soaked. Kirishima instantly stops playing and nearly drops the guitar in surprise. But Deku is fixed on Bakugou.

“Kacchan,” he chokes out, voice cracking, “I need your help.”

And Bakugou wants to say no, wants to close the door in the nerd’s face and pretend that he and Kirishima are alone, completely alone with no-one else but themselves.

He can’t do that, though, because if there’s anything he’s learned from his shared history with Deku is that Deku is not a foe; he’s a friend. A fucking good one at that, and damn but Bakugou’s gone soft because he can’t just say no to his oldest friend anymore. And judging by the tears, it’s probably got something to with someone he cares about.

Bakugou knows how that feels.

“I’ve gotta go with him,” Bakugou mutters to Kirishima, and it breaks him to hear how much it sounds like a rejection.

“Yeah, cool; I’ll be packing up and heading home now, I guess. See you tomorrow?” Kirishima replies with forced cheeriness.

Bakugou simply nods before grabbing Deku and stomping out of the room. He turns to confront his short friend.

“Now fucking what?”

“H-he, he’s got S-Shouto, and, um, he left me, uh,” Deku stutters between tears, “a t-threat. He I have to c-come alone or he’ll, he’ll…” But he doesn’t get anymore out before he openly starts sobbing.

Bakugou sighs and pulls the nerd into a hug.

“You go after him,” Bakugou commands quietly, “but attach the comms unit and take the signal locator so Red Riot and I can follow you there. We’ll be there in half an hour to give you some time to assess the situation.” He pulls Deku back slightly so he can look him properly. “Don’t do anything stupid, don’t fall into any dumbass traps, and don’t you fucking worry; we’re going to get him back for you. Got it?”

Deku sniffles, but nods, eyes taking on a determined glimmer.

“Got it.”

And then he’s off sprinting down the hallway, and Bakugou pulls out his device, sending an emergency signal to Red Riot. But there’s one thing he’s gotta do before he join the redheaded hero:

He’s gotta stop at Kirishima’s house and sort their mess of a relationship out, because he never wants to see the guy he’s half in love with fake anything towards him again.

He wants Kirishima to be genuinely happy, for as long as humanely possible.

Todoroki sits uncomfortably, blindfolded, and hates himself.

He hates himself for overreacting. He hates himself for making the one he loves cry. He hates himself because he can’t stop loving him. But most of all, he hates himself because the whole situation distracted him so much that Shigaraki was able to kidnap him. And even if a future with Midoriya is gone, he could’ve maybe had something with Small Might. But Small Might is inevitably going to end up hurt if he comes after Todoroki alone like he’s meant to. Todoroki only hopes that he at least consulta Ground Zero first. As rash as the hero is, Small Might and Ground Zero know each other in person, so there has to be some sort of backup Ground Zero can offer.

“Oh, Shouto; I can scare you, you know,” the deluded villain taunts. Todoroki grits his teeth.

“As if.” Physical pain is nothing to him.

“Hmm, but I know who you are, who you really are, and I’m sure if I revealed your true self to, say, Small Might, for instance, he’d somewhat recognise your face from the media. Your cover is blown.”

Todoroki’s blood runs cold. Of course, being him, the son of the musician Endeavour, most people in the city know his face, his voice, and even his hair, which is why he so completely covers himself up with his costume. Small Might would instantly recognise him. All the…the stereotypes and the rumours about Todoroki would cloud Small Might’s judgement.

He’d lose the special connection they had.

“You’re bluffing,” Todoroki growls. Shigaraki laughs.

“Are you sure about that? Only, that was an awfully long pause…Todoroki.”

Shit.

“Now,” the villain continues. “Do you think I can scare you?”

No reply. The villain snarls and repeats his line.

“Do you think I can scare you, Shouto?”

“What does it matter? There’s nothing wrong with being scared if you can be incredible anyway!” The voice belongs to neither himself or Shigaraki. Todoroki would recognise that modulated sound anywhere: it’s Small Might.

“Small Might, don’t! Don’t come any closer!” Todoroki pleads, but it seems that Small Might isn’t going to listen, because the sounds of heavy steel boots get louder. And it’s selfish, he knows; he’s primarily trying to stop the other hero from finding out that he is a Todoroki. But his concern isn’t just for himself – he has to keep Small Might safe, too.

The echoing sound of multiple guns resonates throughout the space, and Shigaraki pulls Todoroki’s blindfold off. The hero is faced with a grotesque, peeling face, before Shigaraki steps away and says, gleefully:

“Behold, my two henchmen!” Either side of Small Might appear two men holding guns at point blank range to the hero. Shigaraki reveals his own gun and aims it at Small Might, so that the only way he can go is backwards. “Oh, it was a struggle to get anyone so short notice, but these two kind men took my limited money and accepted the job! So now, Small Might, you have a choice: flee, and live, or try to protect your dear hero friend, and die.”

“I’m not leaving.”

Shigaraki laughs, louder this time.

“But of course not; you’re a hero!” He turns to Todoroki. “So really, the choice is yours, Shouto; reveal your identity to Small Might, and allow him to live, or refuse to, and be the cause of his death.”

The air is silent for a short while, before Todoroki manages, shakily:

“My hood and mask. Take it off.”

There really isn’t a choice, and Todoroki only prays that Small Might will accept him for who he really is, and not confine him to the Todoroki Shouto that the public knows.

“Why, certainly, Your Highness,” Shigaraki quips childishly, stepping up to Todoroki again. “Brace yourself.”

And with that, he whips the mask off and shoves the hood back. Before the villain can even announce his real name, Small Might blurts:

“Todoroki?!”

Shigaraki grins, and Todoroki feels like he may possibly throw up.

“Oh, who was I kidding, of course Small Might would recognise you! You see, I also know who Small Might truly is, and you two…well, I’ll let your eyes speak for themselves.” He pushes the gun into Todoroki’s temple harshly, and turns to Small Might. “Mask, off, or I shoot him.”

And it’s the same situation, except Small Might doesn’t even hesitate for a second. The green material flops onto the floor, and the sight he sees knocks the air out of his lungs. It can’t be.

Izuku Midoriya is stood before him.

And this is the worst time to think back to yesterday, and to think back to how Midoriya said he had to leave early. Was it a matter of life and death? Todoroki had asked. And now it all makes sense.

The tears spill before he even realises he’s going to cry.

Bakugou hadn’t accounted for traffic. He’s now only got ten minutes left before he’s got to be with Deku, which is why he barges into Kirishima’s room without knocking. Kirishima’s parents had let him in, and Bakugou doesn’t have a second to waste.

But none of that prepares him for finding Red Riot in Kirishima’s room.

Kirishima steps out of the bathroom in his full Red Riot outfit. He’d gotten an alert from Ground Zero about twenty minutes ago, and it takes him at least five minutes to get his hair set, so he’d responded immediately.

(And he wants to see Ground Zero as soon as possible, too; is that really such a bad thing?)

But now he has to explain why he’s dressed like this to Bakugou, his year-long crush, and he really doesn’t know what to say.

“…Red Riot?”

Okay, so Bakugou’s heard of him. Maybe he can spin this to his favour.

“Yup, that’s me!” he starts fully intending to pretend that ‘Kirishima is out and we’re friends, haha’, but then realises he’s yet to put his voice modulator on.

Oh no.

“…Tell me you’re not the Red Riot. The one that works with Ground Zero and stuff. Please,” Bakugou utters. Okay, so now he’s a bit offended.

“Uh, yeah. Yes, I am. Like, the Red Riot, I mean. That’s me,” Kirishima tries (and fails) to assert. Bakugou sits down on the bed and groans.

“Tell me this is not happening.”

“It’s not happening.”

“…Fuck off.”

“No, no seriously,” Kirishima says, “we can pretend this never happened. I know it’s super really weird to find out that your best friend is a vigilante when you yourself are just a normal music student, and I know my motives probably don’t make sense-”

“Tch, think again, Shitty Hair,” Bakugou mutters, and Kirishima stops mid-sentence. There’s only one person who calls him by that nickname.

“Y-you’re Ground Zero?!” Kirishima screeches, and Bakugou rolls his eyes.

“Congratu-fucking-lations, you guessed it,” Bakugou deadpans.

“N-no, it’s just that- it’s good! Really good!” Kirishima backtracks. Bakugou looks at him suspiciously.

“Why’s it good?”

“C-cos….oh god, this is going to sound weird, I’m so sorry, I have to say it,” Kirishima mumbles, before clearing his throat. “Because I have a crush on you and on Ground Zero and I was really torn between the two but now it’s all sort of a lot more clear and also who wouldn’t want to be superhero partners with their best buddy?”

“Huh.”

“What?”

“You…you basically voiced my thoughts.”

Kirishima looks at him for confirmation, wondering if Bakugou could possibly mean what he thinks he means. The red tinge to his best bro’s cheeks says it all, and suddenly, Kirishima can’t stop grinning.

Without giving Bakugou a second to react, he tackles him in a bear hug, and they both topple back on the bed.

“Hey, Kirishima?” Bakugou says from underneath him, and Kirishima pulls himself up a little to look at Bakugou.

“Yeah?” he responds a little breathlessly. Bakugou smirks, surging forward and pressing a chaste kiss to Kirishima’s lips.

“We’ve got people to save.”

“I’m sorry,” Todoroki whispers in his broken voice, and Midoriya catches his meaning straight away, giving him a small smile that’s both sad and hopeful, and it breaks Todoroki’s heart even more to see it.

“Well, as…sickeningly sweet as this all is, I’m afraid it’s all going to come to end,” Shigaraki mocks. “But don’t worry; I’ll position your dead bodies like Romeo and Juliet, if you’d like.”

But then two figures spring down from the walls and knock out the two henchmen; Ground Zero and Red Riot have arrived.

(Really, Shigaraki should’ve hired at least a few more men).

“Maybe I’ll position your dead body like fucking Macbeth or some shit, you twerp!” Ground Zero yells…except he isn’t wearing a voice modulator, or a mask, and neither is Red Riot.

Which is why he’s seeing Bakugou and Kirishima, two people in his year at school.

To call it a coincidence would be the understatement of the century.

“Okay, yeah, yeah,” Bakugou says when he catches Kirishima, Midoriya, and Todoroki looking at each other in bewilderment. “Kirishima and I came clean to each other accidentally, and that fucktard made you reveal yourselves, I’m guessing. Can we kick ass now and ask questions later?”

Kirishima chuckles.

“That we most definitely can do, bro.”

Shigaraki doesn’t stand a chance when Midoriya knocks the gun out of his hand; the four as a team are pretty much invincible, and being able to see each other’s faces does a lot for communication.

Todoroki could get used to this.

“Oh my god, stop sucking face,” Bakugou groans, and Midoriya pulls away from Todoroki guiltily.

“You’re one to talk,” Todoroki says, raising an eyebrow at Kirishima and Bakugou’s joined hands.

“That’s different!” Kirishima exclaims. Midoriya simply laughs, and tucks into his food.

It’s been a month since their identities were revealed to each other, and whilst they’ve gone back to the masks to keep any other villains from finding out about them (they’ve ensured Shigaraki and his two henchmen won’t be talking), they’ve adapted the designs so that they can communicate more easily.

They’ve also discovered in school that highly controlled drums and acoustic guitar really uplift a classical song, and that electric piano and violin add a touch of unique expression that sounds pretty awesome.

But by far the best discovery they’ve made are double dates. After that night, there was no more beating around the bush. Todoroki and Midoriya had a long, meaningful talk which ended in a soft embrace and the beginning of a relationship, and Bakugou and Kirishima…well, they just sat with an acoustic guitar and sang songs together, which was good enough for them. The mutual agreement of a loving relationship came from the sound of their voices melding together (in more ways than one).

“So are we going to patrol tonight?” Midoriya asks, and Kirishima stares at him, aghast.

“Dude! We’re going to the cinema tonight!” he cries. Midoriya laughs sheepishly.

“Oh, right. Sorry, I’m just nervous about that new group…”

Todoroki slings an arm around Midoriya’s shoulder comfortingly and pulls him close.

“Don’t worry about it. We’ll take them down if they’re a threat.”

“Damn right we will,” Bakugou agrees. “After all, we’re famous now.”

“Not us,” Midoriya insists. “Just our hero counterparts. No-one knows it’s us!”

“Yeah,” Todoroki hums. “And let’s keep it that way, this time.”

They’re so engrossed in making conversation and plans that they don’t notice their friends listening from the other table.

“Oh?” Kaminari calls.

“Famous?” Mina repeats.

“Hero counterparts?” Sero adds.

“Keep it what way this time?” Uraraka asks.

The four heroes look at each other, and collectively groan.

#tododeku #kiribaku #todoizu #bakushima #tododeku fic #kiribaku fic #vigilante au #music school au #i am sick and tired #oof #but maybe enjoy it?#ughhhhh #the art of happy endings

125 notes · View notes

eviipaiadin · 6 years

Text

oh i never made a post about it but my current d&d campaign is almost done. we had our ‘finale’ session on saturday and will have our ‘grand finale + epilogue’... eventually

the ‘final’ battle against the demon lords (mostly just yeenoghu) was pretty brutal and horrifying with a few pretty easy encounters before that to wrap up some loose threads

with just the final battle against my semi-homebrew demon lord who has been known to help the protags before but has now kidnapped one (1) of them for ‘’’’reasons’’’’, i have some overall thoughts about my experience running this campaign (under the cut cuz this gets long)

so i’ve attempted to run campaigns before, mostly using the old pokemon tabletop adventure system but i also did a short star wars campaign with some irl friends and i honestly am shocked that we are going to finish this campaign

i’ve always had issues with time management and committing to long-term goals. arceus knows i’ve written half a billion wips and often flake out on group roleplaying and other things so the fact that this campaign that we started over two (2) years ago is gonna finally be completed is very shocking to me.

for all the shit i talk about out of the abyss, i’m so fucking glad i’m running a module. sure, i’ve homebrewed a lot of stuff in the process but it gave me a framework to build from. the idea of running my own campaign, set in my own setting, with me having to come up with all the plot beats myself, is kinda horrifying but i really do want to do it.

making and buying maps and using roll20 in general has also been a big help. i’m a very visual person and the few times i’ve played games theater of the mind style, i’ve lost track of everything.

in regards to my competence as a dm, i think i’m a solid like 6.5/10, which is way better than i thought i’d be going into this. my organizational skills are not great and i would on occasion be running things by the seat of my pants. there were a few sessions that really sucked (namely everything involving the cyrus goes to jail arc, the gang gets attacked by a beholder and their small army, the ‘people get items’ session, and the maze engine) but also some that were really great (the purple worm nest, the tomb of pharaoh phasulias, the kobold keep, and the maze engine). there were also lots of just good sessions and some that weren’t awful but had moments that fell far flatter than i thought they would because i overestimated how threatening something would be (rip namagus, the world’s biggest disappointment).

i learned about how important having well-stated house rules prior to the game is. not even like just mechanic stuff but also what kind of stuff someone is comfortable with having their character do/have done.

i also learned that i really can’t do generic scary villains. all my villains are way too goofy to be scary. when i make demogorgon, the prince of all demons, into just some snarky asshole that constantly tells people to just like kill their friends and family and burn stuff, it kind of... makes it less enjoyable? at least for me.

that isn’t to say i don’t enjoy comedy characters. nappa the compulsive lying moss lurker, themberchaud the fat cat red dragon, ree asho the french thieving fake item salesperson... and of course, buppido the russian idiot derro that somehow survives every bad encounter. my favourite characters are easily jokesters or just plain jokes but i really wish i could better turn off my obsessive need to try and be funny all the time to make actually menacing villains.

i’ve also realized (related to the bad session stuff earlier) that i cannot balance stuff for shit. i like the heroes fighting a few powerful things which you can kind of get away with in smaller parties but with a party of (usually) six (6) pcs, they get focus fired too fast for anything too interesting to go down. that and my constant disrespect for magic bites me in the ass constantly when the party wizard plays far smarter than i could ever dream of, making any attempts at ‘mastermind’ archetypes a big ol’ waste of time.

now if you’re like a fledgling dm or someone who is thinking of doing it, don’t let this big ol’ thing freak you out. this is just my first go at it and it won’t be perfect the first time, obviously. you just gotta like do your best and learn what works and what doesn’t.

at the end of the day, i had a lot of fun dming this. was i stressed the fuck out at times? hell yeah. did it all work out? hell yeah (x2). people are forgiving and i’m sure most of my players would say i’m better than a 6.5/10 dm. except maybe kota but he has this weird thing called ‘standards’.

#Evii plz #long post #just a really rambly thingy since i'm feeling self-reflective #also protip for anyone who thinks of doing out of the abyss as their first campaign #fuckin dont #it's a mess and curse of strahd does the horror stuff better

6 notes · View notes

crasherfly · 4 years

Text

I thought I’d have something important to talk about today...

About 30 minutes into my therapy appointment I had run out of things to talk about. I had done my best to summon...something...anything...to the surface.

But I had nothing. I got nothing for this space either.

I’m doin’ fine. Like, I’m not any worse than normal or anything. I just...am having kinda a blank week/month. It happens.

I’m trying to get back into running now that the gym is closed. It’s hell. I miss my weights. I know I’m going to be okay. It’s just going to take some time to really get my head around this. There are bigger problems in the world than my personal fitness and self-image. I have better safeguards in place for myself, emotionally, so I know I’ll come out of this better than I did during the the start of the pandemic. I’m taking this as an opportunity to improve and come out stronger in a different way.

I’m still sober. Haven’t decided if I’ll have a beer or two for Thanksgiving. I didn’t give this much thought when I started. But now I’m here. I guess I’ll have more thoughts when and if I end this streak. I wouldn’t say that it’s been a lifechanging experience, but it’s been good to break routines and try something new.

Haven’t done much else beyond the usual gaming and other nonsense. More on that below. :)

Aight let’s talk about games.

I picked up a new TV this week at Best Buy! I’m uh, like, a third of the way ready for the new generation! If it’s a bad tv, please don’t @ me. We got the one that made the most sense for us.

Now just gotta find a Series X and a Yamaha receiver that can do 4k. Simple. Right? RIGHT?

Had sorta a light week for games. I worked a lot on DND stuff this week- more on that below, or, if you’re especially curious, you can find my DND blog HERE.

Red Dead Redemption 2 (PS4)

I’m not sure what prompted me to get back to the world of Red Dead Redemption 2. I had no prior inkling that there would be anything newsworthy happening in RDR2- but of course, we now know that soon Red Dead Online will be a stand-alone game of its own, the single player campaign relegated to the backseat as an add-on feature.

I first spent time with the single player world. Needless to say, spoilers to follow here, so if you’re still behind on this game’s story- well, read no further.

Still with me? Great. Okay, so it’s no shock that Arthur dies at the end of RDR2. It had to happen. It’s a damn shame because i found him infinitely more relatable than John Marston of the original game, but to each their own.

Arthur dies and you go through a kind of reset where you take over the story, such as what’s left of it, as John Martson. It’s a bit of a momentum killer, from a power curve point of view, but from a narrative view- it’s necessary. The ending to the main “campaign” is pretty good. You get revenge and the story wraps up nicely in anticipation for the the start of the game that...released a generation ago.

I...okay, I’m not getting into this here. This isn’t about my thoughts on the campaign, which I swear are mostly positive! (I actually think RDR2′s story is far and away superior to the first game’s, and it’s not a close contest, prequel issues aside) This is about why I came back to RDR2.

I guess I needed a big, immersive game world to get lost in for a while. And RDR2 certainly offers that. It doesn’t quite have the variety of its big brother, Grand Theft Auto 5. And it isn’t nearly as spontaneous as say, Yakuza 0. But it is still very, very big and chock full of narrative secrets. So much so that I found myself surprised by how much game was still there after the final credits rolled.

I took my hand at bounty hunting, bought a few new pieces of equipment I hadn’t seen before, and trolled around towns as a downtrodden, violence prone John Marston. I found some new secrets I hadn’t seen before, including a couple of cinematic moments with characters from the previous story. It was fun! I killed probably...5-7 hours just trolling around the virtual West.

I will say it got a little tiring hearing everyone I met tell me how great a guy the previously killed protagonist was. Like. I know he was great! I played as him! I wish I still was! Ah well.

This experience has me thinking about how...SERIOUSLY...we analyzed RDR2 when it first came out. Like, the discourse surrounding this game’s narrative experience was freaking BREATHLESS. But I think something that got lost in all that talk about the story- and more importantly- the culture of the studio behind it- is just how incredible the world they built really is.

The world the devs for RDR2 built is simply...massive. Massive to the point that it might actually be unknowable. The only scale I can think to compare it is that of the Bethesda RPGs, and even then, that feels like a rough comparison.

Of course, size isn’t everything. They have to populate the world too, and again, they manage to do so with striking detail. Every city, town and settlement feels real. I mean, I still remember the first time I rode into Valentine and was struck in the face by the sheer choreography of it all. It actually made me want to make my character WALK instead of run, ‘cuz I didn’t want to break the immersion of the moment. That’s the arresting power of this game world.

Rockstar announced that the RDO experience will live on for at least the foreseeable future. There’s going to be plenty more written about the culture of Rockstar and the indulgent microtransactions that their games are trending toward. I’ll leave that to the journalists.

But as a player? I’m glad the game world will continue to find life. It’s too massive, too finely crafted to merely be discarded by something as arbitrary as the passage of gaming “generations”, if that’s even really a thing anymore.

I have more thoughts specifically on playing Red Dead Online, but I’ll have to save them as this is already running long as it is. I also don’t think my thoughts are terrible revealing. You know what RDO is gonna be when you log in, and for the most part, that’s what you get. I think it has fewer problems than GTAO, but it is still a tightly controlled experience- likely by design.

Muse Dash (PC)

Muse Dash is a rhythm game where you tap a combination of 2-3 keys on your keyboard to the beat of a catch J-Pop song. Your character, or muse, on screen, dispatches foes who serve as visual cues for your keystrokes. You must string together as many perfect sequences as possible. There’s a combo meter and HP system in there too, if you’re into that kind of thing.

I first encountered Muse Dash on V-tuber Gawr Gura’s livestream. Unfortunately, the video appears to be missing from her archive now. I was struck by how much its short, energetic tracks reminded me of a different rhythm gaming experience- Dance Dance Revolution.

Fun fact- I used to be a DDR FIEND back in my high school days. Had my own mat and everything. I even used a barstool for extra support so I could hit those really intense combos.

*sigh* To be young and able to play DDR without risking a heart attack...

Anyway, suffice to say Muse Dash caught my eye. An endless supply of J-pop tracks, cute anime visuals, and some low-key rhythm gameplay? Tag me in!

It’s made for a good, chill change of pace. The price of entry is low...like, five bucks on steam? And you can purchase more songs if you’re into that. I recommend it!

Dungeons and Dragons: Ghosts of Saltmarsh

As I said above, most of my freetime last week went into prepping for my local DND group’s campaign set in the world of Saltmarsh.

If you really want to hear a play-by-play, I’ve linked my related blog above.

Overall? I really enjoy the world of Saltmarsh. It’s spooky and moody. There’s pirates, but there’s also no shortage of sea monsters, ghosts, cultists and even vampires to keep you busy. It has strong Dark Shadows feels, where many of its included modules feel reliant dramatic tension and investigation ahead of a dramatic showdown with a big, bad monster of the week.

I still have a lot more prep to do, but at least for the moment, I can take a breath and ease up. The first session went well and the players seem curious. I hope that keeps up as we really start to dig in to the world itself. I’ve never run a full city before, and finding ways to insert all the separate modules as plothooks has been a challenge unto itself. I’ll be sure to let you all know how it goes!

Anime

I haven’t watched much lately, and that admittedly sucks. I tend to go in phases, and lately, my time just hasn’t been going to anime the way it has in other seasons.

I’m still very into Jujutsu Kaisen and am tracking with the season ending to Fire Force. I’m avoiding season 2 of Re:Zero like the plague, partially because I need to wait until the full season is done so I don’t have to torture myself by waiting week to week, and partially because I just know season 2 is going to absolutely destroy me in ways I’m not sure I can fundamentally handle right now.

I keep meaning to go through my queues and create a proper watchlist across VRV, Crunchyroll and Funimation. Maybe I’ll do that later tonight.

That’s all for this week! Hope everyone has a good and safe Thanksgiving.

Haven’t played anything on multiplayer for a while now. As always, if you have a specific game you’d like to play online, my DM’s are open. Please feel free to send me an invite <3

1 note · View note

mittel-schmerz-blog · 6 years

Text

ava and olivia

I’m looking at the impossible amount of dust motes and hairs that have worked themselves into minute tumbleweeds in the space between the toilet and the wall. My cheek is pressed against the cold tile and I’m wondering how long I’ll stay down here. I was planning on just using the bathroom as usual... but then I felt a jolt.

It was Ava letting me know that she’s finished with work and will be here in an hour to pick me up.

When I first got my iBrow done it was radical; now I just think it’s fucking annoying. Eight months ago, I spent $2,500.00 on what was being hailed as ‘the only dermal piercing with a purpose’, but now I’m seriously considering getting it removed.

Honestly, the fact that notifications pop into my line of vision when I’m doing things like driving is just much more unsettling than I had anticipated. Once, I set up a Google Alert for Saint West. Then, that Thursday, as I was driving to work, I felt a shock and he was suddenly sitting right there on my dash, telling me about his latest endeavors.

Maddie sold me on getting this thing implanted in my face even though I was content with my Apple Watch. She told me how totally psychotic I looked talking into my hand in public, that this new low-touch technology would be perfect for my lifestyle. She, of course, kept her Apple Watch because she maintains that she can utilize the technology in an acceptable, ladylike manner and besides, she would look stupid with an eyebrow ring.

“God, Olivia, I don’t see why you’re content to collapse all the time,” Maddie says, exasperated. Right now she’s sitting on my bed, boring holes into my bottom half which is sticking out the door of my bathroom.

Now, sometimes, when I get a text message, I get so startled that I trip and fall. The alert is a low frequency hum, so you feel it more than you hear it. No one else on earth seems to have this problem, however. I asked the technician about it as she was putting the piercing gun to my face but all she said was, “Don’t worry, the mechanism is self explanatory” and pulled the trigger. So now I’m too embarrassed to admit to anyone that I still can’t figure it out. Even after going through all the training modules, I only ever seem to turn it off by accident.

The only thing I can do reliably is turn the whole thing off -- which seems counterproductive -- so I’m just trying to learn to live with it.

“I’m fine,” I say, but it comes out muffled because my face is glued to this floor.

Maddie can make out what I’m saying from this position even though my voice has to travel around the toilet, off the tub, and out the door to reach her. We have been here before.

“Bullshit,” she sniffs. “You’re always falling into things and then I have to scrape you off of disgusting public floors!”

“Well at least this time I fell in my own bedroom.”

“Ha.” But she’s not laughing. “You know, if you would just talk to Dr. Elano, I’m sure she would prescribe you something to prevent these spells, since you refuse to just, you know...” She Frankenstein-shudders like she’s being electrocuted.

She adds, quietly, “I know you’re down on it, but I really think a little ECT could be just the ticket.”

Electroconvulsive Therapy is the new ‘it’ thing again among celebrities and popular psychiatrists.

As far as Maddie knows, I’ve just had another fainting spell. The first time I fell in front of her, she called me a klutz. But then I got really somber and told her that, I had never told her before, but I suffer from Acute Early-Onset Clinical Ennui and that one of the symptoms was fainting in times of anxiety, and she believed me.

She doesn’t know shit about mental illness, but she reads Us Weekly enough to know words like ‘clinical’ and ‘anxiety’, and she understands them, if only in a very LA kind of way. I should just correct her, but I get a little thrill from the irony of her suggestion that I seek out convulsive therapy for my falling issue, so I let her keep suggesting it. I stifle a laugh.

“You have to admit,” I say, “The episodes are getting less and less frequent. I’m doing better!”

After the latest update, the vibrations are milder and even moderately refreshing. They still catch me off guard sometimes though and then, bam, I’m back on the floor.

“Olivia! You’re on the fucking floor! For Christ’s sake--”

To pre-empt a lecture on how I should 1) get up and 2) stop furrowing my brow she’s just trying to help I say, “Damnit, Madison, don’t start. I’m fine, okay? Just let me live.”

“I would hardly consider this living.” She pauses, pouting. “You could at least clean your bathroom regularly if you’re going to be spending extended periods of time on the floor in there. You’ve been down there for five whole minutes.”

“Nah,” I say, haltingly returning to my feet.

“Well at least take a shower. You haven’t showered in four days. Didn’t Ava say she’d be here at 7?”

“What does it matter? She’s gonna take one look at the hump on my back and leave.”

“It’s not as big as you think it is.”

“Oh really?”

“Listen, ‘Modo,” she croons, “You’re a total catch! Don’t worry about it.”

She thinks that calling me Quasimodo is funny. It’s not an actual hump but it might as well be.

I groan and pretend to shoot myself in the head and stumble into the shower.

Then, as much as I wish I didn’t, I worry about it. I worry about the superfine lines that criss-cross my body. Everyone who got an iBrow before it was debugged in June has the same all-over lightning flowers. Mine are fainter than some others’, only visible in direct lighting, but still noticeable.

The company was apparently made aware in February last year that the the radio waves emanating from the iBrow piercing caused scattered collagen inelasticity, but they didn’t go public with it until November. In the interim, the technicians made a cut on every sample of hydrating serum they could send you home with, plus they made commission on referrals to area plastic surgeons.

A class action lawsuit made it so that anyone who underwent the procedure before the system-wide upgrade is eligible for free monthly Restylane injections to counteract any premature wrinkle development caused by the technology. Getting people hooked on collagen fillers doesn’t exactly seem like justice though.

I’ve seen some of the women in my office when they’ve had to skip their standing appointments with their dermatologists, their skin sagging sadly, their faces looking like tufted couches. It’s tragic, really-- I committed too early. The current technology was so obviously on the horizon.

Another buzz. Ava says she can’t wait to meet me in person finally.

“Olivia! Don’t forget to moisturize!”

I do like she says. After I’ve toweled off and put on my bra and underwear and struggled into a dress with a too-long zipper, I spread melting coconut oil onto my ankles, knees, and elbows and then dab on a light facial sunscreen.

Once it’s had time to sink in, Maddie sits me down, her hands firm on my shoulders.

I must look nervous because she says, “Stop freaking out-- you’re gonna be fine. You like this girl, remember?”

But as much as you think you can know someone, you can never know them until you meet them in person.

Maddie expertly pulls my hair out of my face and positions it over my shoulders. She sweeps light and shadows across my face, adding to me a dimension and depth that I generally lack. She stands behind me smiling as I look at myself in the mirror. Somehow, the lightning blooming across the bridge of my nose looks charming.

Getting here, to tonight, took work. I’ve always felt uneasy about online dating, but having the profiles pop up spontaneously has taken all the pleasure out of it. Each woman seems more conventionally beautiful than the one before her. It also doesn’t help that their profile pictures appear at a 1:1 scale in front of me, which adds a disquieting sense of deja vu to every first meeting. Being single is impossible now.

The InYourFace InterfaceTM is seamless, but now it’s much more difficult to pretend I’m not just ignoring people when I don’t respond right away. It’s overwhelming to be so available all the time. Since January, I’ve steadfastly turned the iBrow off from 9:00 PM to 9:00 AM to preserve my own sanity and a healthy sleeping pattern.

Tens of women have been off-put by my mixed messages: I show only intermittent enthusiasm, according to my stats. But I’ve really, really been trying with Ava. We average 1 message exchange per 20 minutes which makes her my “Soul Mate” according to the app, up from “Sweetheart” last week. It’s the only time I’ve considered someone promising in the last four years, so I’m working my ass off.

I turn to thank Maddie but I don’t have a chance to say anything because as soon as I open my mouth, the doorbell rings. I lope over to the door as slowly as possible, trying to be cool. But I’m too excited and I can’t help but to fling the door open. When it opens, Ava is standing amid the green glare of my porch light.

In this sickening glow, she looks devastating. Her eyes are shimmering and she has these lovely, fluttering eyelashes. Light pools in the waves of her hair, making her tresses more than a little bit mesmerizing. I’m standing there thinking how thrilled I am to see her, this woman who looks so ethereal. Even though we’ve only been talking for two weeks, it feels so full and perfect.

“Hi, Olivia?”

“Ava!”

She takes the two steps between us and hugs me, taking me a bit by surprise. She laughs.

She tells me how great it is to meet me and asks if I want to check out this dive bar over on 4th that serves the most excellent fried artichoke hearts, and also, do I like fried artichoke hearts? Because she loves them.

I can barely move my mouth to respond because I am overcome by the sight of her standing here in front of me, but I manage to eke out, “Yeah! Let’s go!”

I turn around to Maddie behind me who has a grin and two thumbs up. I suppress a laugh and close the door behind me. After locking it, I turn back around and follow Ava down the stairs and onto the sidewalk.

We walk the six blocks to the bar and the conversation is light and funny. We bump forearms and exchange sideways glances, and I feel like I’m standing on the edge of something.

Over nervous beers, we talk about our weeks. I tell her that I’m dying because work is killing me. Some people have two iBrows, one work and one personal, but not me. My face has been numb all week. I tell her about my business-and-pleasure iBrow piercing, and how much I hate it, that I’m scheduling the removal for this week; I just can’t stand being this plugged in, you know? She nods along.

Sizzling golden artichoke hearts appear in front of us before she can respond. I pop one into my mouth, rhapsodic, and she coughs.

“So let me get this straight,” she says, “You hate talking to people.”

“I don’t hate talking... I just don’t like talking all the time… Is that weird?”

I push up my glasses and absently finger the lightning strike on my nose, feeling my face heat up.

“Well,” she clears her throat and shifts in her seat. “It just makes me feel like this whole thing would be kind of an imposition on you.”

“How do you mean?”

“Here’s my perspective, right?”

“Okay…” I lean in.

“I meet this girl. And I’m talking to this girl for two weeks and she seems really cool. I get to her place and I’m so excited to see her in person. We’re on a date and as she’s sitting across from me, all big eyes and dazzling wit, and she tells me that this thing that I’ve really been enjoying and wanting to expand on has been a huge chore.”

“It’s not that way at all! It’s--”

“Oh come on, you just said as much. I mean, you hardly text back-- it’s like, what are you even doing? You always have your phone on you.”

I rear back, shocked.

“For the last two weeks I’ve talked to you more than I’ve talked to anyone else, I have done nothing but swoon since you showed up on my stoop. I’m really tryin’ hard here!”

“It shouldn’t feel like work-- it should just be easy.”

She futzes with her purse like she’s getting ready to walk out of this bar.

“Wait, are you leaving? You’re writing me off after two weeks and one hour?”

“Look, Olivia, you’re entitled to talk to people on your own schedule, but I want to be with someone that wants a partner. It doesn’t sound to me like that’s something you’re interested in.”

I look at her for two long seconds, mouth open.

Slowly, I say, “I don’t know why you’re assuming that… but what you’re talking about… I guess I’m just not wired for that.”

“First of all,” she says hotly, “You are literally wired for it.”

0 notes