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theoriginalmysteryincorporated · 2 years

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4. Sleepover

i’ve been traveling so this one is a little late, but hope u enjoy nonetheless

Sasha had taken her skateboard to Marcy’s house, rather than ask for a ride from her father and his new girlfriend. There was a whole minefield involved in that situation that she was trying very hard to ignore, which usually ended up exploding in her face, to the surprise of nobody. But in twelve hours, her mom would be home again, and she wouldn’t have to acknowledge that either of them existed for the rest of the weekend.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket as she arrived in front of Marcy’s house, the small fountain outside the door bubbling in time with the incoming call alert. She swiped to ignore it, and then dumped her phone back into her pocket as she kicked her skateboard up by the tail, then slid it under her arm so the bright pink graphic was visible to everybody. Marcy had commented on the messy sketch of the pink flamingo splashed against a black and white background a few times, always seeming to forget that she’d told Sasha the fact about where the color came from the last time she’d seen it.

Marcy opened the door almost as soon as Sasha knocked, and Sasha wondered if she’d been sitting by the window waiting for her. “Sasha!”

“Hey, Marcy,” she replied, feeling her phone buzz again as Marcy pulled her into a fast hug, then into the house.

“You’re the first to arrive. Anne is still at the restaurant finishing up her shift.” Sasha listened as she dropped her board in the usual corner near the door, hoping to avoid Marcy’s parents so they’d stop scolding her about not wearing a helmet. She could hear them talking in the kitchen, and Marcy’s mother called out a greeting that Sasha replied to before answering Marcy.

“I’m sure we can find some fun to get into without her,” she said, retying her hair and watching Marcy eyeing the board, probably thinking again about the algae and brine shrimp that gave flamingos their color, or the fact that they alternated legs regularly, which some ornithologists assumed was to protect them from overexposure to the alkaline waters they typically liked to reside in. She patiently waited for Marcy to make some remark about it.

“...you really should wear a helmet, Sasha.”

Sasha rolled her eyes with a scoff. She recognized Marcy parroting her own parents, and didn’t take the advice too seriously. “Not everyone is as much of a klutz as you, Mar-Mar. C’mon, can we get this party started already?”

Marcy nodded after a moment’s more inspection of the board, and empty space beside it that could fit a helmet. “It’s your call. Anyway, I couldn’t convince my parents to buy us spray paint, but! I sold Vince a paper for English in exchange for his supply. Though I can’t guarantee all of them are actually full. It’s kind of a mystery box deal. Like all the trades you make with Galbosh in the QuarryConstruction graveyard! It was very exciting to be a part of my first underground “black market” deal.”

Sasha laughed softly with a fond shake of her head. “I never expected you to go to such lengths, Marce.”

Marcy made some sort of hand gesture that Sasha vaguely recognized from an old sci-fi movie she’d had her and Anne sit through one time. “Anything for the preservation of the sacred sleepover rites,” she replied solemnly, before breaking into a smile.

Sasha smiled right back. “C’mon, show me what we’re working with.”

Sasha took the stairs two at a time to Marcy’s room, with Marcy trailing behind her. The bag of spray paint was sitting in her gaming chair, the zipper frayed and caught on the fabric. Sasha ripped it open and examined the colors they had to work with.

Marcy sat on her bed. “I think Vince wants that bag back.”

“Trust me, I’m doing him a favor, this thing smells terrible.”

After a moment, she set a can of black spray paint on Marcy’s desk, then a green can beside it. Marcy stood up to take a look. “Where should we go?”

Sasha responded matter-of-factly. “The library.” She didn’t look up until the prolonged silence penetrated her concentration. As her eyes fell to Marcy’s, she was met with surprising discomfort. She lifted an eyebrow, slowly putting down the can of blue beside the green, giving Marcy a chance to collect her thoughts.

“I’m not going to vandalize a library, Sasha.”

The small act of resistance was clearly uncomfortable to Marcy, who often surprised Sasha with her willingness to ignore rules that seemed counterintuitive, oppressive, or obstacles to curiosity. She’d never minded flirting with rule-breaking as much as Anne did, but she was always far more concerned with the consequences than Sasha thought they deserved.

“Relax, Mar-Mar, it was just a joke.” She backed off, slamming down the last bottle of spray paint, a deep pink color with a broken nozzle. “We can just go to the abandoned movie theater again. Nobody will see our tags there.”

Marcy opened her mouth to reply, and then closed it again. After a moment of reconsidering her original statement, she finally said, “I don’t mind if people see it, Sash. But I like the library. I feel at home there. I don’t want to damage it.”

Sasha forced a smile, and wondered how you were supposed to know if a place felt like home. “I get it, Marcy. No library.”

The words felt sharp leaving her tongue, and the quick response got Marcy to go quiet. Sasha bunched her fist, angry at herself for not controlling her temper. Her phone buzzed in her pocket again.

“...I need to take this.”

Marcy nodded mutely, and Sasha excused herself into the bathroom across the hall. She could hear Marcy’s father discussing something in the kitchen, breaks in the conversation suggesting that he was on the phone. For some reason, the low murmur filled her with a quiet dread. She quickly closed the bathroom door, then stared at the notifications she’d been dutifully ignoring since her arrival at the house.

One (1) Missed Call from: father

Text (father): Sorry I couldn’t pick you up. Jess should be there soon.

Heat flashed in Sasha’s cheeks; he didn’t even know she was missing when he’d called. Her eyes darted to the next message.

Text (father): Next time you find another ride, could you let us know, please? Have fun tonight, Sasha.

At least Jess hadn’t tried to call her this time. The last time that’d happened, they’d gotten into an exhausting screaming match that neither one of them had wanted to confess to her father. He was still convinced that Sasha “just needed time”, and that she’d learn to get along with her if she “gave her a chance”. Yeah, right.

She ignored the messages, and ignored the strange flutter in her chest that almost felt like guilt. When she returned to Marcy’s room, Marcy had dumped the spray cans into an old satchel, and was stuffing in a paint-stained t-shirt so they wouldn’t rattle too much.

“Is everything okay, Sash?”

She blinked, then nodded. “Yeah. Fine.” She hadn’t intended on elaborating, and Marcy didn’t ask, but her gaze betrayed a hint of concern, so she sighed. “My dad just wanted to make sure I got here safe.”

She didn’t have to worry about any sympathetic advice from Marcy like she did with Anne. The response didn’t alter Marcy’s expression of concern, but she didn’t pry into her feelings, and Sasha actually felt grateful for that.

“That makes sense.” The expression she said it with contradicted the sentiment, but at least she wasn’t asking any awkward questions. “So, I was thinking that when Anne gets here, we could take our bikes to the park. There are a few lampposts that we could add our names to. It could be an ultra stealth mission, because that park ranger has elf eyes or something.”

Sasha chuckled quietly; he did always seem to pop out of nowhere when they least expected him. “I have a better idea. The park’s right near the bus depot. That’d be even more of a stealth mission.”

Marcy squirmed, but ultimately nodded. “Is that the scare dare?”

“That’s the scare dare.”

“Alright, well, we can make it official when Anne gets here. I’m going to throw an outfit together if we’re really going to go rogue. What do you think, fingerless gloves? I think fingerless gloves.”

Sasha fell into the gaming chair and spun from side to side by the heels of her shoes, pulling out her phone. “Yeah, that sounds good, Mar-Mar.”

Marcy enthusiastically went to work selecting the appropriate outfits for roleplaying a major stealth mission, asking for Sasha’s feedback now and then, which was always tersely supportive. When the time came, she’d just wear the beanie, but for now, there was no reason to quash Marcy’s fun. Anne would help her rebound, because Anne would definitely wear the stupid outfit.

–

Sasha held Marcy to her chest on the back of Domino 2, Anne flying them far from the destruction of the flying palace. She looked so small, now, without the mask of eyes. She still wore the suit with the large, red gash down the middle. Neither she nor Anne had wanted to mess with that until Marcy could tell them if she needed it to live, but it somehow felt like the Core was still watching them.

Marcy slept soundly despite the sounds of bombing and shelling below them as the army surged forward into Newtopia. Sasha was happy her friend was sleeping through all of her worst emotions, which had swirled together into a monstrous, confusing concoction. She was angry and scared, sad and relieved, guilty and happy. She was every shade and spectrum of every human emotion.

Marcy just looked calm.

“...We’re going to get you home safe, Marcy,” she murmured when she was certain that Anne wouldn’t be listening.

She froze when Marcy stirred softly against her, barely daring to breathe.

“Thanks, Sashy.” Her eyes flickered open, but she was too weak to keep them that way, and groaned, shutting them again. “I’m sorry.”

“We can talk about that later. Get some sleep, okay?”

“Okay. Way to pull off your stealth mission, Sash.”

Sasha almost laughed, but it would’ve been too watery. Instead, she leaned down and kissed Marcy’s hair. It didn’t need to be said that she’d learned everything from her friendship with her.

#sasharcy #sasharcy week #sasharcyweek #sasha waybright #marcy wu #my writing

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justcourttee · 4 years

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And They Were Roommates-Pt 2

Marinette woke to the piercing ring from her alarm clock. With a groan, she blindly hit her nightstand, trying to find the snooze.

“Marinette! If you snooze, you’ll be late again! Professor Brookes may like you, but she did threaten that one more tardy to the meetings and you’ll be fired!”

Tikki pulled at a strand of Marinette’s hair trying to pull the girl from her bed.

“Tikki it’s just five more minutes, please!”

“Dupen-Chang, Tikki wanted to wake you the nice way but if you don’t get your ass out of bed in the next five seconds, I will dump a cup of ice down your shirt.”

Marinette’s eyes flew open as she sat straight up, scowling at the sight of Chloe and Tikki high-fiving.

“I hate you two.”

“Mhm, now go shower. You look and smell like you just wrestled with pigs.”

Chloe’s nose scrunched up as she threw a towel at the girl. Marinette rolled out of bed with a heavy sigh, trudging to the bathroom.

“Chloe, will you pick me out an outfit?”

“Already done, now hurry up!”

Turning on the water, Marinette noticed the dark ink covering her skin. A beautiful robin stretched from her wrist to her elbow, every last detail drawn with care. She sucked in a sharp breath as she allowed her fingers to trace over the artwork. As she stepped into the shower, her eyes never left the picture, scared her soulmate would erase it before she had a chance to photograph it for later inspiration.

Turning off the water, she wrapped her towel around her body tightly before racing back to her room, almost diving for her phone. Her tongue stuck out of her mouth from the pure concentration of capturing the art at the right angle. Once she was sure it was photographed properly, she fumbled for the pen on her nightstand.

“I love waking up to your artwork, would you mind leaving it for the day?”

She stared intently at her hand, waiting for his response that couldn’t seem to come fast enough.

“Dupen-Chang! If you want a ride, you better be dressed in the next five minutes!”

Chloe's voice echoed through the apartment, snapping Marinette out of her trance. Within three minutes, she pulled on the dress Chloe had laid out and managed to pull her hair back in a messy bun, sticking a pen through it just in case. She was working on the heels when she finally felt the tingle.

“Sorry Angel, important interview today. I’ll leave you something tomorrow though. Promise”

Marinette let out a defeated sigh, but tried to push it out of her mind. After all, she couldn’t be mad, he had a life too, one he didn’t want to publicize and she could respect that. Putting the final touches on her outfit, she grabbed her purse, leaning down beside the dollhouse to allow Tikki to fly in.

“Dupen-Chang!”

“Coming Chloe!”

Tikki let out a giggle as Marinette rolled her eyes. It was going to be a long day.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

“Ms. Dupen-Chang, can I see you in my office please?”

Marinette internally groaned as she plastered a smile on her face. She picked up her design book, throwing a cover over the mannequin before she turned to walk toward the professor's office.

“What can I do for you Professor Brookes?” Her smile was sickly sweet as she stared down at the woman.

“Sit, please.” Brookes didn’t even look up from her paperwork, just made a vague gesture to the seat in front of her desk. After several minutes, she finally looked up, making a show of clicking her pen shut.

“Do you know why I called you in Marinette?”

“Because you were lonely and wanted someone to talk to?”

She offered the woman a pity smile, but Professor Brookes was not having it.

“You have refused every offer I have arranged for you in the past three months. Marinette, what did I tell you when you accepted this position in my work field for young entrepreneurs?”

Marinette let out a sigh, her eyes falling to the ground.

“It’s easier to work under a big name and break away than it is to build your own empire. But Professor-”

“Exactly. So tell me, why exactly have you refused not only Giorgio Armani and Karl Lagerfeld, but now I hear that Audrey Bourgeois has been after you for years now and you’ve refused her as well!”

Marinette bit her lip, trying her best to level her breathing before she snapped at the woman.

“With all due respect Professor Brookes, they don’t want my name on the designs. I can’t make a name for myself if everyone else is taking credit for my work. If there’s any way you can find me an internship under someone who will let me be myself I’d be more than glad to take them on.”

It was Professor Brookes turn to sigh as she slipped off her glasses, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“You’re a talented girl Marinette, nobody is denying that. But you just don’t understand how the business world works. This work field is for entrepreneurs who will listen to my advice, not do everything in their power to ignore it.”

“I understand if you want me to relinquish my position Professor Brookes. I’m sure you could fill it easily.”

The professor looked up, her face unreadable as she stared down the designer. Several minutes passed and a sinking feeling began to settle in Marinette’s gut.

“Ms. Dupen-Chang, what you’re asking me to do is to find you a sponsor. They’ll put their good name on the line for you, allow you to take credit for your work, and in return you’ll give them a portion of your profit. That’s anywhere from 5%-25% depending on how the sponsor operates. If I do this for you, you are going to have to up your production levels from one outfit a week to three, which means you’ll need to be here for three days instead of just one. Is this something you really want?”

Marinette’s heart pounded in her chest as she felt her body flood with relief.

“It is. I really want a sponsor.”

“Then it’s settled, I’ll need you to complete a portfolio including pictures of models wearing your designs and at least three test designs that I can send to possible contenders. The test designs allow them to view your work up close and personal to look at stitchwork and such. I’m assuming you already have models in mind seeing as you live with two of them?”

Marinette nodded, her heart feeling as if it were about to explode with joy.

“I won’t let you down Professor Brookes.”

The designer stood hastily, practically running back to her workstation.

“I’ll need all of that before the first day of spring semester Marinette!”

The professor's voice echoed in her ears but she was too stunned to care. She was getting a real chance and that meant she had to put everything into the next month. Sitting on the spinning chair, Marinette pulled out her phone to view the picture she had taken earlier. Admiring his sketch, an idea began to form in her head as she cleared the workstation, laying out her various pencils.

After a couple minutes of sketching, her phone began to buzz. At first she ignored it, trying to focus on her design, but after the third time, she finally gave in.

“Chloe, I’m sorry, I know I said 3 but it’s looking like 5 or 6 instead, I finally got the break I was hoping for.”

“Well that’s great Dupen-Chang, but you see, I have a guy here responding to the ad placed this morning and I just wanted to ask if we could interview him without you.”

Marinette sat down her pencil, her eyebrows furrowing in concern. She distinctly remembered emailing Julia for the spot, but she never sent in the ad. So either Julia’s newest boyfriend was applying or someone from the news team was.

“He’s not dating Julia is he?”

“I don’t know, let me ask. Hey! You! You’re not dating Julia, right? No? He said no.”

Marinette shook her head as she looked up at the ceiling, trying her best to send apologies to the boy.

“So?”

“Go ahead Chloe, that’s assuming you haven’t chased him off already. I’ll be ready to go in an hour.”

“Great, you’re the best. Congrats on your break, I’ll order some food from that italian restaurant near our apartment to celebrate.”

Before Marinette could even respond, the line went dead, leaving her to stare at her sketchbook in slight despair. The poor guy would be scared senseless before she even got a chance to meet him. With a sigh, she returned to her sketch, determined to finish at least one design before she left for the day.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Marinette waved bye to Professor Brookes before she made her way up the stairs to her apartment. She had texted both Chloe and Adrien several times, but neither came to pick her up, something she was going to lay into them for.

“Hey guys what’s the deal-”

She stopped in her tracks as her eyes couldn’t process the sight in front of her. Adrien was playing Ultimate Mecha Strike V, but that wasn’t the problem. No, the problem lied in the fact that some guy she had never seen before was battling him using her lucky controller.

“Hey Mari! Meet Damian Al Ghul, our new roommate!”

The guy stood up, offering his hand, but Marinette’s eyes weren’t focused on his. Instead, she watched in horror as he tossed her control backwards onto the couch, the force sending it flying to the floor.

“Damian huh?” She pushed past his outstretched hand to pick up her controller, examining it for any cracks or chips in the paint job.

“Yes?” He moved his hand to awkwardly rub the back of his neck, trying to figure out what he had done wrong.

Marinette sent a sour look at Adrien who only shrugged.

“Damian is a double major as well Mari, history and business, sound familiar?”

“I hear you are quite competent in both subjects.”

Marinette rolled her eyes, setting her controller on the coffee table before standing to face the man.

“I’m more than ‘competent’, I excel in both with a perfect 4.0 GPA.”

Damian scoffed sending a wave of fury through the girl. Just who did this guy think he was? Adrien watched the interaction, amusement clearly written on his face.

“So Mari, you want to play the winner of this round?”

“No, thanks. I’m going to study. My first final is on Tuesday, just ask Chloe to leave my food in the microwave, I’ll get to it later.”

Without another word, she marched back to her bedroom, shutting the door harder than she meant to. She pulled out her sketchbook, opening it to her unfinished design from earlier. Her pencil hovered over the page as she tried to remember the feeling she had earlier.

“Tikki, how did I manage to let him get under my skin in less than five minutes?”

She let out a groan as she fell backwards onto her bed as the kwamii let out a giggle.

“He’s got a unique personality, very straightforward Marinette. He almost reminds me of Chloe when I first met her.”

“That has to be it. PTSD from when I was 13 and Chloe was still a menace. I just don’t think I’m going to be able to get back into this design tonight.”

“That’s okay Marinette, let’s work on the last essay for your Grad school application!”

Marinette sat up to reach for her laptop, pulling up her browser that never closed. The Metropolis University website was still up, her application reading 95% complete. She clicked on the textbox and attempted to zoom in on the final question that had been bugging her for a week now.

‘How will you use your education to benefit the world?’

“Why does my degree have to benefit the world Tikki? I just want to do something I love, can’t that just be enough?”

“You’ll think of something Marinette, you always do!”

“Yeah,” the girl huffed out a puff of air, leaning forward to reread the question for the hundredth time. “I always do.”

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Around 10:30, Chloe stumbled into their room, tearing through her closest.

“Marinette, come clubbing with me and Adrikins! He needs a distraction for the night or two if you know what I mean.”

She let out a giggle as she pulled out her favorite dress, not even bothering to shut the bedroom door before throwing off her top.

“Chloe! We’re living with another guy now!”

“Yeah yeah Mari, you’re the only straight one here so there’s no problem!”

“Just because you’re not straight, doesn’t mean he can’t oogle at you.”

Chloe stood up, her eyes narrowing as she looked at the girl.

“Oogle? How old are you? 75?”

Marinette rolled her eyes as she stood up to pull her dress over her head. With her help, Chloe finished touching up her makeup.

“So you gonna come with us?”

Marinette shook her head at her, earning a pout from the blonde.

“Boo, you and Damian are both lame.”

Picking up her clutch, she opened it long enough for Pollen to fly in before shutting it tight.

“You losers have fun tonight staying home.”

“I think I’ll just barricade myself in here instead.”

“Whatever.”

Adrien appeared in their doorway, equally tipsy as he offered Chloe his hand. Marinette watched with worry as they made their way to the front door, both stumbling over their feet at every other step.

“Are you guys taking an Uber at least?”

“Yes mom!” They both looked at each other in shock before dissolving in a fit of laughter. Marinette rolled her eyes, waving goodbye as they slammed the front door shut.

With a sigh, she made her way to the microwave, hitting the reheat button for her pasta inside.

“Is that an every weekend occurrence?”

Marinette jumped, whipping around to find Damian leaning against the kitchen counter, his face expressionless.

“How about next time a warning like ‘Hey Marinette’ or ‘Whatcha doing?”

He didn’t reply, just remained stoic as he waited for her answer.

“No, it's not, just an occurrence whenever Adrien gets his heart broken. So try a monthly thing.”

He nodded in response, watching her carefully. Marinette shifted under his gaze, trying to keep her cool and not melt into a puddle. He may be a jerk, but he was still a hot jerk. The ding of the microwave severed the tension between them as she opened the drawer beside her, pulling out a fork. Sliding out her pasta, she didn’t even check to see if it had heated all the way through before she rushed past Damian and back to the safety of her room.

He didn’t follow, but she heard him let out a thoughtful hum before he made his way back to his room, shutting his door. Letting out a sigh, she stirred through her pasta, reaching for the pen beside her bed.

“How’d your interview go?”

She was halfway through her pasta when she felt the tingling.

“Aced it. How was your day Angel? I apologize for not writing sooner.”

She rolled her eyes at his formalness, trying not to let her smile get the best of her.

“I finally got my break. I’ll be getting a sponsor!”

Finishing the last bite of her pasta, Marinette weighed the risk of running into Damian again if she went to put up her dishes. Deciding it was too great, she set the plate on her nightstand, mentally preparing herself for the backlash she would get from hungover Chloe in the morning.

“That’s fantastic, I hope it works in your favor habibti.”

A shiver ran down her spin as her cheeks flushed red. She had used google translate a few times of the names he gave her and was surprised to find the Arabic traces. When she asked him about it, he just brushed it off to being from his mother’s side, never bringing it up again. Picking up her pen, she etched a small Robin on her arm, leaving a space beside it to write;

“Your pictures always inspire my designs. I can’t wait to see what you leave me tomorrow.”

A minute hadn’t even passed before he responded.

“If you wash your arm off now, you won’t have to wait.”

Her heart picked up pace as she rushed into the bathroom, scrubbing furiously at her arm. She returned to her bed, toweling off the few wet spots as she watched in awe as pen strokes tickled her skin.

“He’s so talented Marinette!”

Marinette smiled as she watched his delicate art slowly cover her arm, her mind drifting from the stress of the day.

“He really is Tikki, he really is.”

Tag List:

@damianette-is-life @ladybug-182 @fusser90 @thestressmademedoit @dast218 @thezestywalru @jardimazul @olynix @dorkus-minimus @xahriia @kris-pines04 @urbanpineapplefarmer @moonlightstar64 @itsmeevie01 @little-lady-bird @alexandriamw @lozzybowe @emmdaenovice @loysydark @toodaloo-kangaroo @jessigurl-design @aegyobutpsycho2 @stark-morgoona @kris-pines04 @rebecarojas07

#daminette #maribat #roommates

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junionigiri · 6 years

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Work In Progress [BNHA] [Preview of Chapter 1!]

Rating: T for strong language (since Bakugou is in it )

Summary: For the year’s Interscholastic Fantasy Festival, Class 2A is working on a musical! The reluctant Bakugou is assigned to work on the script with Uraraka, who proves to be a more eccentric writer than he thought.

Relationship: Kacchako <3

Notes/Warnings: This is a preview of a part of chapter 1. Since there’s the main story and the story within the story, the chapters are pretty darn long. I’ll start publishing the chapters in full once I’m five chapters in ^^’ Apart from Bakugou’s language and liberal 4th wall breaks I don’t think there’s anything to worry about in this fic~

Bakugou seriously did not want to work on Uraraka’s dumbass script. It’s not that he was bad at writing--in fact, beyond his good grades, he knew he was pretty good at it. Principal Nezu had personally informed him that the essay he submitted on “Why I Want To Be A Hero” was one of the most well-composed ones he’s ever read.

It’s just that Bakugou hated fantasy. And hated fiction-writing (because fiction was not real, therefore it was a waste of his fuckin’ time).

Most of all though, he hated having to work with other people to achieve any kind of common goal. Look at his damn stats for cooperativeness in the character book and anyone with half a brain would get it. And to cooperate for a stupid ass waste of time like the Fantasy Festival? Who the hell thought up of the stupid Fantasy Festival anyway?! Weren’t there more important things in society to worry about?

And the fact that he was working with Uraraka fuckin’ Ochako was in itself pretty aggravating. It’s not that he hated her--in fact, she was one of the few to earn Bakugou’s (grudging) respect, since their infamous Sports Festival encounter when they were first years.

However, since their encounter at the festival, Uraraka learned not to be the tiniest bit afraid of him anymore. He knew that this girl wouldn’t be the type to just shut up and do what he tells her to, and he really didn’t feel like making such an effort just to write a stupid play.

But now that he knew that fuckin’ All Might was counting on him to write the script, well… he couldn’t get out of it now, could he? Bakugou was many things, but a disappointment to All Might, he’d rather not be.

So that was how he found himself stomping his way away from the common areas to his room, with Uraraka bouncing right behind him. They were going to sit down there to look over her draft, but it was overrun by the costumes, set-design, and props people with all their shit.

“Why your room?” Uraraka said, huffing as she struggled to keep up with Bakugou’s pace. “I don’t think girls are allowed there…”

“Let ‘em try to kick you out, Round-Face,” he growled as he tapped on the elevator button impatiently.

“If you say so, Explodey-face,” she teased, earning her a growl which was received with a giggle. This was what Bakugou was talking about. This damn girl knew no fear.

They eventually made it to his room, with Bakugou stomping the entire way and Uraraka skipping like an oblivious little red riding hood romping through the forest with a picnic basket, the purest picture of ignorance and innocence, unwitting of the ravenous wolf who lurked in the foreboding shadows of the dark, nightmarish wood.

Ugh. Really, Bakugou? Already gearing yourself up to write this fuckin’ fantasy shit? You guys haven’t even sat down yet. Don’t be too fuckin’ eager.

“Uwaa, your room’s amazing, Bakugou! I didn’t think it would be so neat and sparkly~”

Much to his annoyance, Little Pink Riding Cheeks was already making herself right at home next to his desk. He felt a vein or two pop over his forehead, like in animes if they were in an anime. “Why the fuck wouldn’t it be neat and sparkly?! You expect a guy like me to just live in a dump?!”

“I’m just sayin’, I wish my room was as neat. I knew you were great at lots of things, but even cleaning?” she said wistfully. “Hey, I have an idea! Next time, let’s go to my room, and--”

“I ain’t helping you clean your damn room, Round-Face.”

She pouted and innocently twiddled her thumbs. “I -wasn’t- going to say that, but, you know, now that you mentioned it…”

He grit his teeth so loudly Uraraka gasped and asked him if his teeth were okay. “Let’s just…!!! Get this fuckin’ script over and done with already!”

“Eh, fine, fine. Sorry for teasin’ ya! Watch yer blood pressure, a’ight?” She reached over to open her bag and pulled out a messy folder that was crumpled, filled to its limit with papers with tags pointing in all directions. A post-it with a messy scrawl on it flew out as she pulled out the mess. “So, this is what we’re gonna be workin’ on!”

“What the fuck is that mess? Did you fuckin’ sit on it and flush it down the toilet and set it on fire?”

“How rude!” Uraraka puffed her cheeks. “I only sat on it once! On accident! And I don’t bring homework to the toilet! That’s just unladylike.” She opened up the folder and revealed a disorganized array of handwritten scripts scrawled on legal pad, post-its, sketches, more post-its, reference photos of their classmates with post-its on them, receipts, a grocery list, and a few folded-up paper bags from Tokyu Hands.

Bakugou’s fingers itched. He spent so much energy restraining himself from fixing the mess that was now taking over his desk that he barely heard Uraraka’s spiel.

“So, in the meeting which you missed, we drew lots. Everyone’s working on the production and stuff but all of us will be acting in the play too. Some of us bit parts and stuff, but yeah. I asked everyone what they wanted their roles to be. Based on those ideas, I sketched out my ideas on what their characters would be.”

She pulled out the sketches, and Bakugou had to admit, they weren’t badly done. He would go so far as to say that she might have a talent in drawing. They were scratchy and messy, but Uraraka seemed to place great care in drawing out the likeness of each classmate, and the details of each character and costume and even background information were at least 70% fleshed out for each of them.

“So based on the lottery, Deku-kun’s the lead character. You, me, Tsuyu-chan, and Todoroki-kun are gettin’ large roles, plus we gotta pay attention to All-Might-sensei’s important cameo. We’re gonna write the story based on all of this! And, if we want to allot time for practice and stuff, we have to finish most of the script in a week!”

“The f-- I’m gettin’ a large role too?! Nobody said that!”

“It ain’t my fault you weren’t at the meeting, Bakugou-kun.”

The blonde boy scowled as he went through the sketches. The fucking nerd Deku’s role was that of a ‘Squire’ (but his costume made him look like a fucking hobbit). Uraraka had a hood (fuckin’ coincidence from his red riding hood fantasy earlier) and a staff, and she was a ‘Mage’. Frog was a froggy lookin’ barmaid. IcyHot was a Prince (probably of the Land of Half and Halfs where people were always shitty and constipated). All Might was a Legendary Knight in exile (also fitting, in a morbid sort of way).

And Bakugou was… a Bard. His sketch had him wear fuckin’ poofy pants and a stupid fuckin’ hat with a feather on it and a stupid shitty tiny harp that the chubby babies in those old fuckin’ European paintings had. He all but made the paper disappear from a blast from his fist. “Oi, Roundface. Who’s the fucker I gotta kill besides you for giving me this pansy-ass role?!”

“Hey, it’s your fault. You weren’t there yesterday.” Uraraka repeated, not even the least bit apologetic. “And that thing you destroyed was a brilliant joint effort between me, Kirishima-kun and Kaminari-kun. Nice goin’, Explodey-face.”

“Fuck y’all! I’ll kill those idiots!” He shredded the paper further. “Gimme that pencil!” Within seconds, he sketched out something different, muttering expletives the entire time. After he was done, he dumped the pencil on the desk, almost breaking it into tiny little pieces.

Uraraka gasped. “Wow, Bakugou! That’s really impressive! A Dragon Tamer, huh?” She traced his sketch with one finger, which showed him with a fur cape, tattoos, a necklace made of the fuckin’ skulls and teeth of his enemies, pants and boots, and lots of fire blazing in the background for extra badassery. She grinned at him teasingly. “So you have been thinkin’ about this so-called fantasy shit too!”

“Fuck you,” he said, shoving her in the face unceremoniously. “Now I know that I gotta change that fuckin’ script of yours. Let’s just get this fuckin’ shit over with.”

“Okay…” Uraraka pulled out the legal pads, but shielded them from Bakugou. “Um. Just so you know, Bakugou, these are really, really, rough drafts, okay?”

His jaw jutted out in annoyance. “The fuck you mean by rough drafts. I thought I was just gonna edit your shit.”

She gave him a ridiculous look. “Well, you are. But also, I started workin’ on this just a week ago sooooo you gotta help me finish like a teeny bit of it.”

“How fuckin’ teeny do you mean.”

“Um. Like. 50% of it, mmmaybe…?”

Bakugou could almost see the smoke coming out of his own fuckin’ nostrils.

“Anyway, that’s exactly why we can’t waste anymore time, right?” said Uraraka, a positive beam glowing out of both ears. “And don’t you worry! The story’s practically finished in my head!”

There’s probably nothing in there but a single light bulb struggling to survive, thought Bakugou in annoyance. He put his palm to his face and tried his hardest not to yell at her. “Fine, Uraraka. Let’s just fuckin’ start already. No matter what, I’m kickin’ you out of my room by 10 PM.”

“Okay! Glad ya see it my way, Bakugou-kun!” She smiled and pulled out the first page of the script, which read:

- Deku and the Final Fantastic Lord of the School of Wizardry!: The Legend of the Airbender’s Song of Ice and Fire -

(A Work in Progress)

Act One, Scene One: In Which Deku-kun Leaves His House and Adventure Begins

Written by: Uraraka Ochako

“The fuck? Are you trying to outdo Class B’s lameass play from the last year’s cultural festival, Round-face?”

“It’s a work in progress! We can edit it out later.” Uraraka said as she scribbled Explodey McSplodeface next to her name on the by-line.

#bnha fic #bnha #boku no hero academia #kacchako #kacchako fic #bakuraka #bakugou x uraraka #bnha fantasy au #kinda

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toomanysinks · 6 years

Text

The damage of defaults

Apple popped out a new pair of AirPods this week. The design looks exactly like the old pair of AirPods. Which means I’m never going to use them because Apple’s bulbous earbuds don’t fit my ears. Think square peg, round hole.

The only way I could rock AirPods would be to walk around with hands clamped to the sides of my head to stop them from falling out. Which might make a nice cut in a glossy Apple ad for the gizmo — suggesting a feeling of closeness to the music, such that you can’t help but cup; a suggestive visual metaphor for the aural intimacy Apple surely wants its technology to communicate.

But the reality of trying to use earbuds that don’t fit is not that at all. It’s just shit. They fall out at the slightest movement so you either sit and never turn your head or, yes, hold them in with your hands. Oh hai, hands-not-so-free-pods!

The obvious point here is that one size does not fit all — howsoever much Apple’s Jony Ive and his softly spoken design team believe they have devised a universal earbud that pops snugly in every ear and just works. Sorry, nope!

Hi @tim_cook, I fixed that sketch for you. Introducing #InPods — because one size doesn’t fit all pic.twitter.com/jubagMnwjt

— Natasha (@riptari) March 20, 2019

A proportion of iOS users — perhaps other petite women like me, or indeed men with less capacious ear holes — are simply being removed from Apple’s sales equation where earbuds are concerned. Apple is pretending we don’t exist.

Sure we can just buy another brand of more appropriately sized earbuds. The in-ear, noise-canceling kind are my preference. Apple does not make ‘InPods’. But that’s not a huge deal. Well, not yet.

It’s true, the consumer tech giant did also delete the headphone jack from iPhones. Thereby depreciating my existing pair of wired in-ear headphones (if I ever upgrade to a 3.5mm-jack-less iPhone). But I could just shell out for Bluetooth wireless in-ear buds that fit my shell-like ears and carry on as normal.

Universal in-ear headphones have existed for years, of course. A delightful design concept. You get a selection of different sized rubber caps shipped with the product and choose the size that best fits.

Unfortunately Apple isn’t in the ‘InPods’ business though. Possibly for aesthetic reasons. Most likely because — and there’s more than a little irony here — an in-ear design wouldn’t be naturally roomy enough to fit all the stuff Siri needs to, y’know, fake intelligence.

Which means people like me with small ears are being passed over in favor of Apple’s voice assistant. So that’s AI: 1, non-‘standard’-sized human: 0. Which also, unsurprisingly, feels like shit.

I say ‘yet’ because if voice computing does become the next major computing interaction paradigm, as some believe — given how Internet connectivity is set to get baked into everything (and sticking screens everywhere would be a visual and usability nightmare; albeit microphones everywhere is a privacy nightmare… ) — then the minority of humans with petite earholes will be at a disadvantage vs those who can just pop in their smart, sensor-packed earbud and get on with telling their Internet-enabled surroundings to do their bidding.

Will parents of future generations of designer babies select for adequately capacious earholes so their child can pop an AI in? Let’s hope not.

We’re also not at the voice computing singularity yet. Outside the usual tech bubbles it remains a bit of a novel gimmick. Amazon has drummed up some interest with in-home smart speakers housing its own voice AI Alexa (a brand choice that has, incidentally, caused a verbal headache for actual humans called Alexa). Though its Echo smart speakers appear to mostly get used as expensive weather checkers and egg timers. Or else for playing music — a function that a standard speaker or smartphone will happily perform.

Certainly a voice AI is not something you need with you 24/7 yet. Prodding at a touchscreen remains the standard way of tapping into the power and convenience of mobile computing for the majority of consumers in developed markets.

The thing is, though, it still grates to be ignored. To be told — even indirectly — by one of the world’s wealthiest consumer technology companies that it doesn’t believe your ears exist.

Or, well, that it’s weighed up the sales calculations and decided it’s okay to drop a petite-holed minority on the cutting room floor. So that’s ‘ear meet AirPod’. Not ‘AirPod meet ear’ then.

But the underlying issue is much bigger than Apple’s (in my case) oversized earbuds. Its latest shiny set of AirPods are just an ill-fitting reminder of how many technology defaults simply don’t ‘fit’ the world as claimed.

Because if cash-rich Apple’s okay with promoting a universal default (that isn’t), think of all the less well resourced technology firms chasing scale for other single-sized, ill-fitting solutions. And all the problems flowing from attempts to mash ill-mapped technology onto society at large.

When it comes to wrong-sized physical kit I’ve had similar issues with standard office computing equipment and furniture. Products that seems — surprise, surprise! — to have been default designed with a 6ft strapping guy in mind. Keyboards so long they end up gifting the smaller user RSI. Office chairs that deliver chronic back-pain as a service. Chunky mice that quickly wrack the hand with pain. (Apple is a historical offender there too I’m afraid.)

The fixes for such ergonomic design failures is simply not to use the kit. To find a better-sized (often DIY) alternative that does ‘fit’.

But a DIY fix may not be an option when discrepancy is embedded at the software level — and where a system is being applied to you, rather than you the human wanting to augment yourself with a bit of tech, such as a pair of smart earbuds.

With software, embedded flaws and system design failures may also be harder to spot because it’s not necessarily immediately obvious there’s a problem. Oftentimes algorithmic bias isn’t visible until damage has been done.

And there’s no shortage of stories already about how software defaults configured for a biased median have ended up causing real-world harm. (See for example: ProPublica’s analysis of the COMPAS recidividism tool — software it found incorrectly judging black defendants more likely to offend than white. So software amplifying existing racial prejudice.)

Of course AI makes this problem so much worse.

Which is why the emphasis must be on catching bias in the datasets — before there is a chance for prejudice or bias to be ‘systematized’ and get baked into algorithms that can do damage at scale.

The algorithms must also be explainable. And outcomes auditable. Transparency as disinfectant; not secret blackboxes stuffed with unknowable code.

Doing all this requires huge up-front thought and effort on system design, and an even bigger change of attitude. It also needs massive, massive attention to diversity. An industry-wide championing of humanity’s multifaceted and multi-sized reality — and to making sure that’s reflected in both data and design choices (and therefore the teams doing the design and dev work).

You could say what’s needed is a recognition there’s never, ever a one-sized-fits all plug.

Indeed, that all algorithmic ‘solutions’ are abstractions that make compromises on accuracy and utility. And that those trade-offs can become viciously cutting knives that exclude, deny, disadvantage, delete and damage people at scale.

Expensive earbuds that won’t stay put is just a handy visual metaphor.

And while discussion about the risks and challenges of algorithmic bias has stepped up in recent years, as AI technologies have proliferated — with mainstream tech conferences actively debating how to “democratize AI” and bake diversity and ethics into system design via a development focus on principles like transparency, explainability, accountability and fairness — the industry has not even begun to fix its diversity problem.

It’s barely moved the needle on diversity. And its products continue to reflect that fundamental flaw.

Stanford just launched their Institute for Human-Centered Artificial Intelligence (@StanfordHAI) with great fanfare. The mission: "The creators and designers of AI must be broadly representative of humanity."

121 faculty members listed.

Not a single faculty member is Black. pic.twitter.com/znCU6zAxui

— Chad Loder ❁ (@chadloder) March 21, 2019

Many — if not most — of the tech industry’s problems can be traced back to the fact that inadequately diverse teams are chasing scale while lacking the perspective to realize their system design is repurposing human harm as a de facto performance measure. (Although ‘lack of perspective’ is the charitable interpretation in certain cases; moral vacuum may be closer to the mark.)

As WWW creator, Sir Tim Berners-Lee, has pointed out, system design is now society design. That means engineers, coders, AI technologists are all working at the frontline of ethics. The design choices they make have the potential to impact, influence and shape the lives of millions and even billions of people.

And when you’re designing society a median mindset and limited perspective cannot ever be an acceptable foundation. It’s also a recipe for product failure down the line.

The current backlash against big tech shows that the stakes and the damage are very real when poorly designed technologies get dumped thoughtlessly on people.

Life is messy and complex. People won’t fit a platform that oversimplifies and overlooks. And if your excuse for scaling harm is ‘we just didn’t think of that’ you’ve failed at your job and should really be headed out the door.

Because the consequences for being excluded by flawed system design are also scaling and stepping up as platforms proliferate and more life-impacting decisions get automated. Harm is being squared. Even as the underlying industry drum hasn’t skipped a beat in its prediction that everything will be digitized.

Which means that horribly biased parole systems are just the tip of the ethical iceberg. Think of healthcare, social welfare, law enforcement, education, recruitment, transportation, construction, urban environments, farming, the military, the list of what will be digitized — and of manual or human overseen processes that will get systematized and automated — goes on.

Software — runs the industry mantra — is eating the world. That means badly designed technology products will harm more and more people.

But responsibility for sociotechnical misfit can’t just be scaled away as so much ‘collateral damage’.

So while an ‘elite’ design team led by a famous white guy might be able to craft a pleasingly curved earbud, such an approach cannot and does not automagically translate into AirPods with perfect, universal fit.

It’s someone’s standard. It’s certainly not mine.

We can posit that a more diverse Apple design team might have been able to rethink the AirPod design so as not to exclude those with smaller ears. Or make a case to convince the powers that be in Cupertino to add another size choice. We can but speculate.

What’s clear is the future of technology design can’t be so stubborn.

It must be radically inclusive and incredibly sensitive. Human-centric. Not locked to damaging defaults in its haste to impose a limited set of ideas.

Above all, it needs a listening ear on the world.

Indifference to difference and a blindspot for diversity will find no future here.

source https://techcrunch.com/2019/03/23/the-damage-of-defaults/

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fmservers · 6 years

Text

The damage of defaults

Hi @tim_cook, I fixed that sketch for you. Introducing #InPods — because one size doesn’t fit all pic.twitter.com/jubagMnwjt

— Natasha (@riptari) March 20, 2019

Will parents of future generations of designer babies select for adequately capacious earholes so their child can pop an AI in? Let’s hope not.

The thing is, though, it still grates to be ignored. To be told — even indirectly — by one of the world’s wealthiest consumer technology companies that it doesn’t believe your ears exist.

The fixes for such ergonomic design failures is simply not to use the kit. To find a better-sized (often DIY) alternative that does ‘fit’.

Of course AI makes this problem so much worse.

The algorithms must also be explainable. And outcomes auditable. Transparency as disinfectant; not secret blackboxes stuffed with unknowable code.

You could say what’s needed is a recognition there’s never, ever a one-sized-fits all plug.

Expensive earbuds that won’t stay put is just a handy visual metaphor.

It’s barely moved the needle on diversity. And its products continue to reflect that fundamental flaw.

121 faculty members listed.

Not a single faculty member is Black. pic.twitter.com/znCU6zAxui

— Chad Loder ❁ (@chadloder) March 21, 2019

And when you’re designing society a median mindset and limited perspective cannot ever be an acceptable foundation. It’s also a recipe for product failure down the line.

The current backlash against big tech shows that the stakes and the damage are very real when poorly designed technologies get dumped thoughtlessly on people.

Software — runs the industry mantra — is eating the world. That means badly designed technology products will harm more and more people.

But responsibility for sociotechnical misfit can’t just be scaled away as so much ‘collateral damage’.

It’s someone’s standard. It’s certainly not mine.

What’s clear is the future of technology design can’t be so stubborn.

It must be radically inclusive and incredibly sensitive. Human-centric. Not locked to damaging defaults in its haste to impose a limited set of ideas.

Above all, it needs a listening ear on the world.

Indifference to difference and a blindspot for diversity will find no future here.

Via Natasha Lomas https://techcrunch.com

#TechCrunch

0 notes