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cressidagrey · 3 days ago

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Such A Mystery - Part 7

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Colette Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

Max Verstappen fell in love at the ripe old age of 12 and never looked back.

Colette Leclerc really regrets posting that particular Taylor Swift Lyric to her private Instagram account, because it made George Russell go insane.

The rest of the world has absolutely no idea that the Dutch Lion and Charles Leclerc’s twin sister have been a couple for 15 years and are expecting a baby.

Warnings:

Pregnancy, Mention of multiple miscarriages, Pregnancy complications, George Russell Bashing (he's probably really nice in real life but in this, he's the bad guy, sorry), Jos Verstappen

Author Notes: Huge thanks to @llirawolf for holding my hand through this. Happy New Year! Chapter count is continuing to go up, because I need to halve this chapter after hitting 6k. Should be 10 parts. Hopefully.

Arthur did eventually show up with enough McDonald’s in tow to feed an army.

Fries, Nuggets and even including apology milkshakes.

“I am really sorry,” her little brother apologised to her, looking distraught.

Colette exhaled slowly, trying her hardest not to laugh at the sheepish look on Arthur's face.

"The next time, maybe you should think before you post. But then I clearly didn’t do that either,” she said drily.

“I mean, karma is the guy in the car coming straight home to me, did amuse me very much,” Vic said brightly.

Arthur blushed deeply, and ducked his head in embarrassment. He set down the bags of takeout on the counter, and then looked up to her to apologize again, his eyes wide like a puppy begging for forgiveness.

"Come here," Colette said with a sigh, holding out her arms for him. "I love you, ma petite puce."

"Colette!" Arthur complained with a grimace, but she just grinned.

"Oh you'll always be my little flea," she teased her younger brother.

"Oh god, don't call me that," Arthur complained, letting her pull him into a tight hug. He let out a long suffering sigh. "I said I was sorry!"

"I know you are," she said, patting the top of his brown hair, even when that meant that she needed to stand on her tiptoes to reach. "But the fact remains that you were an idiot before."

Arthur groaned in embarrassment and dropped his head to her shoulder in defeat.

"Eat your fries," his voice was muffled. "And please tell me you have some salad or something in the fridge so Max doesn't kill me for feeding you nothing but junk food."

"I do have some salad in the fridge," Colette said and ruffled his hair. "I'll eat lots of veggies, I promise. And I’ll even tell Maxie that I blackmailed you into getting me fries, if you want,” she suggested brightly.

Vic just snorted. "Let's just get that back in the living room and we can put on Sky News and bitch about the commentators."

"You guys are awful," Arthur protested, but he was already gathering their food and following along obediently. "The comments on Sky Sports are not nearly as bad as you make them out to be..."

Colette rolled her eyes and instead collapsed onto the couch, wriggling to get comfortable, because her back was still killing her.

Arthur was also very wrong. Danica Patricks definitively was that bad. Colette could just stare at the train wreck in front of her.

"Vic. Why in the world has Sky Jos on there to talk about Maxie's anger issues. What anger issues?" she demanded. Max didn’t have anger issues. Who in the world had come up with that? This was utterly ridiculous!

Victoria stared at her. "You don't know?!" she asked, sounding shocked.

"Know what?" Colette demanded. "Enzo deleted every social media app in existence from my phone. Why do people think that Max of all people has anger issues?!"

"George Russell," Arthur mumbled. "He said some...things."

Things. George Russell had said some things.

Colette sat up a little straight at that, her eyes widening in disbelief. "What things?" she demanded. "What did he say?"

Victoria and Arthur exchange a look.

"He may have said that he wouldn't want Max to date his sister because he is sure that his girlfriend is the one dealing with his anger issues?" Arthur offered.

"He. Said. What?" Colette bit out.

No wonder there had been this tone in Max's voice when they had talked this morning...No wonder he had sounded upset, when that George fucking Russell had pretty much accused him of hurting her. And of course, he hadn't wanted to worry her, so of course, he hadn't told her.

Victoria reached out and grasped her elbow, as if she worried Colette would jump up and attack the screen.

"You need to stay calm," Vic said firmly. "You can't get worked up, it's not good for you, and it's not good for the baby," she warned her.

"I will murder George Russell," Colette growled in response.

"No murder," Victoria said in a no-nonsense voice. "You can't kill him, he's not worth it. And you can't have this stress, for your health. And the baby."

Colette huffed but she was still seething.

Only to then have Danica Patrick pipe up from the TV Screen: "What are your thoughts on your son’s supposed anger issues?"

"He doesn't have anger issues!" Colette snapped. "I have anger issues right now! I am going to find George Russell and punch him in the face!"

Arthur stared at her with an ill-hidden combination of horror and fascination.

Victoria laughed again, but it was mostly out of surprise and disbelief. "Well, at least we know that your temper is firmly intact," she said dryly.

"I'm sure Max is going to loooove seeing you this worked up over this," Arthur grumbled.

Colette had a lot of problems with Max's father, but at least for once she actually agreed with him:

"On the circuit…as soon as Max lowers his visor, he turns into a lion. He is really motivated and the only thing that matters is winning. It was always in him. What I see in Max now, I saw in karting," Jos answered Danica's question. "But that’s not the same Max you see when he is at home. On the race track, he is a lion, but at home, he’s a teddy bear. He got that from Sophie. He’s very sweet, very gentle…Incredible protective of the people he cares about."

For the first time in recent history, Colette found herself agreeing wholeheartedly with Jos Verstappen.

"He is a teddy bear," she mumbled in agreement. "The sweetest thing on earth. And that bastard has no idea what he's talking about," she bit out.

"Of course Max is a lion on the track," Arthur said with a scoff. "We've witnessed that ourselves. Everyone in the paddock knows that Max is a machine when he's in his race car, but George has his head up his ass if he thinks that Max is aggressive off the circuit."

"We all know that Maxie is the gentlest, most generous person out there," Victoria agreed, shaking her head. "George Russell is clearly jealous and is making stuff up just to get attention."

Colette just huffed.

"So you don't think he has anger issues?" Danica Patrick pushed.

"What kind of a stupid question is that?" Colette grumbled in response, her shoulders taut with anger.

Arthur laughed and Victoria squeezed her arm.

"No," Jos answered flatly.

Danica Patrick, who was clearly fishing for a different reply, seemed a little thrown by the firm response. But she rallied quickly enough to pivot: "And what can you tell us about your son’s relationship with Colette Leclerc?"

"Oh, come on!" Colette snapped.

"They have been together for a very long time," Jos replied simply, his accent strong as ever. "…since back in Karting. I don’t think anybody believed that that relationship would last, but they did prove everybody wrong."

The answer was unexpectedly charming and sincere.

Colette found herself blinking at that, surprised at how fond he sounded when talking about her and Max. Even Arthur was gaping stupidly, and it looked like Victoria was struggling not to choke on her drink from surprise.

"I think the great thing about Colette is that she understands his life, his career. She has a brother who does the same job as Max, so she was always incredibly supportive of him," Jos continued. "She is there for him. She supports him completely, and she’s been there for him through the good times and the bad. I don’t think Max would be the man he is today without her."

Arthur and Victoria stared at the screen with dropped jaws, stunned into silence.

"Is that Jos actually giving a heartfelt compliment?" Arthur muttered in disbelief.

“I think he is?” Victoria responded questioningly. This was certainly a new experience for everyone.

On the screen, Jos continued: "I have been watching their relationship for over half of Max's life, and Max really did pick the right girl."

"Your son hasn’t talked a lot about his relationship," Danica said leadingly.

"Oh, you won’t get anything from him," Jos said with a snort. "He’s very protective over her, always has been. Especially with her in her current condition."

Colette’s eyes widened and she immediately put a hand over her stomach in a protective gesture.

"Fuck," Victoria cursed.

“Did he seriously just do that?” Arthur croaked. “Did he just tell all of F1 - no, all of the world - that Colette is pregnant?”

All three of them just gaped at the TV.

Danica Patricks looked like a vampire that had just tasted blood. "Her current condition?" she asked, her voice honeyed sweet.

"Yes," Jos confirmed simply. "The baby is supposed to come any day now. We’re all incredibly excited for the new addition to the family. I mean, it took them long enough, they definitely practiced enough."

He said like it was a joke. Like it hadn't taken them the better part of 3 years and 2 miscarriages.

Colette’s whole body had tensed, her heart clenching painfully in her chest as the words echoed in her mind: It took them long enough, they definitely practiced enough. Those words felt like a punch to the gut - like a mockery of all the pain and disappointment and suffering.

All the stress and anxiety and anguish that they had gone through. All the tears and the desperation and prayers for a miracle.

And all of it reduced to a cheap, dirty joke.

"I am going to throttle him," Victoria said, her voice shaking.

"Get in line," Arthur grumbled, looking equally enraged.

Colette just sat there staring fixedly at the screen, feeling like her whole mind had gone numb.

It was one thing when Jos made his snide little comments to them, but it was quite another when he decided to talk about that on international TV. He made it sound like their troubles to conceive had only been a matter of not trying hard enough.

It felt like a gut punch. Colette had always known that Jos had no idea how hard the last couple of years had been for them, but now, in light of his comment, it sounded like he somehow assumed it had all been their own fault.

They had kept both miscarriages quiet...had only shared it with a handful of people. She knew that Max had told Vic about it, but he had never told his father.

Her hands were shaking with anger. The urge to throw something - anything - was almost overwhelming as the words echoed in her head over and over: It took them long enough, they definitely practiced enough.

How could he have been so cruel? How could he go and announce it on international television and make it sound like it hadn’t been the hardest thing that either of them had ever been through?

It felt like a betrayal. Colette had never expected much out of Max’s father, but this? This felt like twisting the knife in a still-healing wound and pouring salt into it.

It felt like a stab to the back. Jos had no idea. No idea how hard it had been to keep the hope up. No idea how much it had hurt with every failed test and every lost dream. And no idea how much they both had longed for the baby that was growing within her.

And now he was just treating it like it had been a matter of not working hard enough, as if it had been an easy task and they had simply taken their sweet time to do something that came naturally to most people.

Her mind would have continued to turn into circles...if there hadn't been a sudden stabbing pain low in her abdomen.

Colette winced as the pain flared. It was a shock, and her hands immediately flew down to press against the source of the pain.

"Are you alright?" Victoria asked immediately. Colette clenched her teeth as the cramping pain seemed to grow even worse, before easing.

"Just...just a cramp," Colette managed to breathe out. "It's fine. It's fine. I just- it just startled me, that's all."

She tried to assure herself that it was nothing. Just Braxton Hicks - just the body preparing for the labor, the pain sometimes got intense. But something about it felt...off.

"Is that the first one today?" Victoria asked her. "You winced a few times this morning."

Colette thought back to this morning, recalling how she had woken up with a stabbing pain in her lower back. She hadn’t thought much of it then, since her muscles hadn’t been happy with her in a long time at this point - and it had passed pretty quickly after a few minutes.

"I'm not sure, I-" she started, her breath catching.

There was pain again, another stabbing contraction.

"Are they getting stronger?" Victoria asked, her voice sharpening.

The pain receded after a few seconds, and Colette had to force down the urge to curl up on the couch with her hands on her stomach as she tried to take deep breaths."It's nothing. I still have 4 weeks," Colette said with a shake of her head.

The words sounded like a prayer. Because she wasn’t due for at least another month, after all. This was just the Braxton Hicks contractions that her doctor had warned her about. The practice contractions that were supposed to help get her body ready for labor, nothing to worry about.

It was just her body preparing for the birth, that was all.

But the pain came back again, and this time, Colette couldn't quite suppress the gasp as she closed her eyes and tried to breathe through it.

"Colette," Victoria said, her voice sharp. "I don’t think they’re just practice contractions. The way you’re tensing and wincing...this is the real deal. I think you’re going into actual labor."

“No,” Colette said, her heart lurching in her chest. “No, no, I’m not…I’m not supposed to go into labor until January, this is- this is not supposed to happen.”

She had just hit her 36th week, and she was due at the start of January. It was far too early for the labor to start.

"I don't think the baby cares about that," Victoria said with a laugh. "Come on, we'll need to get you to the hospital."

"No, I can't be in labour. Max isn't here," she disagreed.

Colette felt a fresh wave of panic wash over her. The very last thing she wanted to do was start labor without Max there, and Max was currently in the middle of a race on the opposite end of the world.

“Where’s your hospital bag?“ Victoria asked her, all business. “Where’s are the car keys? Arthur is driving.“

“What, no!“ Arthur squeaked. Arthur clearly looked terrified, his eyes growing like saucers as he stared at them. "No - no, I don’t think I can-"

But Victoria was already rounding on him. "Oh yes, you can. Just get the keys and get the damn car ready. I‘ll help Colette get her things, and you'll drive us."

The authority in her voice was intimidating enough that Arthur didn’t dare to disagree with her, and he nodded mutely and hurried away to look for the car keys.

Colette was torn between laughing at her brother’s expression and panicking over the fact that her labor was actually starting.

Just like that, she felt frozen in place a few moments longer, before Victoria snapped her fingers in front of her face. "Hey, no freezing up. We need to get moving. We need to get to the hospital, and your kid doesn’t care that it still needs 4 more weeks. So come on, come on, get your things."

It snapped her out of her temporary daze, and she managed to focus back to the present again. "Right, yeah," Colette mumbled, and she quickly went to get her hospital bag.

She had already packed it, just in case - but she had definitely not expected to actually use it.

Her hands were shaking as she picked it up, the whole situation still not entirely sinking in yet. Max was not here. She was going to have her baby without him here - that wasn’t how it was supposed to be!

But the pain came back again, and her body seemed to agree that there was no time left to waste.

She winced through the contraction, and Vic’s face tensed as she saw it.

"How are you doing?" she asked, watching her worriedly. Colette had to take a deep breath, trying to keep breathing as the pain faded out again. "I’m-” she started, but that was the same second that Arthur appeared again with the keys.

"The car is ready," he said, sounding very much like he’d rather bolt.

"Right," Victoria said, and she looked at Colette. "We gotta go. You good to go?"

Colette felt a surge of panic as the truth of leaving to go to the hospital finally sank in - she felt very much like her entire body had seized up. But Arthur was already waiting at the door with an expectant look on his face that did not look at all reassuring, and Victoria had picked up her hospital bag and was ushering Colette’s towards the hallway.

The contractions didn’t seem to care about any of her feelings, anyway.

"Come on," Victoria told her quietly. "We're gonna go and have a beautiful birth, and when you're done, there’ll be a healthy baby in your arms, okay?"

Colette was sure that her face had gone pale, and her hands were shaking as she slowly made her way through the hallway. Victoria led her the entire time, supporting her as they moved.

She was more than grateful to slip into the backseat of the Audi and her hands could claw themselves into the buttery soft leather interior.

“Are you sure we can’t wait for an adult?“ Arthur asked weakly.

“You are an adult. You literally drive race cars for a living,“ Victoria snapped.

Colette would have laughed at Arthur’s terrified expression in any other situation, but at the moment, she really wasn’t up to find anything funny.

“Just drive the damn car, Arthur!“ Victoria snapped, and Arthur flinched, his eyes wide as saucers.

A whimper escaped Colette as another contraction gripped her, and she curled up in the back seat, both hands clawed in the seat as the wave of pain ebbed away again. Her breathing was ragged, and she felt like she was slowly coming apart at the seams.

"Keep breathing," Victoria’s sharp voice came from her left side, and she felt a cool, smooth hand on her forehead. "Just keep breathing. You're doing great."

The words managed to cut through the panic, and Colette managed to gasp out a shuddering breath. “I-” she choked out, “I can’t…I can’t do this without Max, I-”

"You are doing it," Victoria cut in, her voice steady and sharp like a blade. "You are doing it, and you are going to be fine. Max will be by your side the moment he can, but you will make it until then. Just keep breathing and keep talking, you’re doing great."

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fourteenacross · 6 years ago

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octet - 5/25/19, 2pm

Hello, hello, I'm back from New Jersey! Which, you probably didn't even know I left, because I never post here anymore, but since we've yet to find a new platform for fannish happenings, I don't really have anywhere else to post show notes and the like.

Anyway, we saw Octet and Hadestown over the long weekend. I saw Hadestown at the NYTW in 2016, but I saw it the same day I saw Hamilton for the first time and my notes are lost to the ages. More about that later, though. (Tomorrow, probably.) For now, I'm going to focus on Octet.

So, here's what I knew about Octet going in: - Part of Dave Malloy's five year residency at the Signature Theatre - internet/discourse - Alex Gibson - a cappella? - support group?

The day before I did a little bit more digging, but I was kind of into going in blind, so I didn't dig too much.

Overall, I really liked it! My above the cut review is that, like all good Malloy shows, it brought up a lot of interesting concepts and shined a light on very relatable behaviors and ways of thinking. It doesn't really have a plot or narrative, and seems to largely exist to explore different types of internet denizens. As such, the characters vacillate between being actual people and being archetypes. I think all of this is fine--not everything needs to be a tautly plotted story, it's okay for this to be a song cycle, not a narrative musical. But I'm putting that out there for anyone who's thinking about going, just so you're aware when you head in.

First off, the set dressing is amazing. It looks just like a ratty church all purpose room, down to the way the light switches are labelled and the signs on the wall with clean-up instructions for group leaders. The walk in is papered with flyers advertising self-help groups, tutoring, charity walks, etc.

The show is set up like a support group meeting. A couple actors come in before the start and clean up the detritus of a bingo game and set up for the meeting, and then the group gathers and they begin. The group is “Friends of Saul,” and group members are told to put their phones off and in a basket against the wall, as they're here for various screen addictions.

Hymn: The Forest: This was a very Malloy song--it starts off a a meditation on a beautiful forest and takes a left turn. Delightful. Halfway through, Velma comes into the meeting and joins the other seven folks for the end of the hymn.

Refresh: Paula, the group leader, welcomes Velma to the group and tells them that Saul can’t be here this week, but he’s asked her to lead. She then asks if anyone wants to share. Jessica acquiesces and talks about how she was the subject of a viral video and has been "egosurfing" ever since, a compulsion to read all the shitty things strangers are saying about her without knowing her at all. (Unsurprisingly, Malloy says this song was heavily influenced by his feelings post-Comet.) Margo Seibert kills this song, which delves into our kneejerk tendency to pile on, sometimes without knowing or caring about context. It made me think a lot about how this goes both ways--the song focused on the negative, but obviously Milkshake Duck Syndrome is the same basic concept at its core.

Candy: Henry offers to share next. He talks about how his life is going okay at the moment, he's been on a few dates, but he hasn't had the heart to tell the guy about his "problem" yet, which is that he's addicted to video games. The song obviously invokes Candy Crush, but also refers to various other games including MMORPGs, FPSs, RPGs, and other phone puzzles games. I love this song--it is insanely catchy, Alex Gibson is delightful, and it's also profoundly sad and relatable. Henry eventually reveals that he uses games to avoid the real world and he's fairly sure he doesn't care if he dies, so he uses these games to string himself along and pass the time. Ouch. Also hashtag relatable content.

Glow: Paula shares next and talks about how she and her husband are both screen addicts and how they'll lie next to each other in bed, each on their own devices, ignoring the other, and how she wishes he would stop bringing the catastrophes of the world into their bed. She's lonely and sad and he doesn't see it because he doesn't look up from his phone. Starr Busby is incredible and, as a person who had to take an eight-month twitter break because she couldn’t handle the constant barrage of despair, I feel this song pretty hard.

Fugue State: Paula sets a metronome ticking for a five minute silent fugue state. The characters cycle through various thoughts about social media and the internet, calling out specific formatting for jokes and call out posts and "um actually"ing other people's comments in a whirlwind of commentary on how we interact with each other online. It's a very well put together song, but it's another one of those moments where it's clear this is a collection of songs about a concept rather than a narrative story.

Hymn: Monster: There's a five minute break, in which Henry approaches Velma, who's been quiet up to this point. She launches into a fast and awkward explanation of how she's on a self-imposed internet hiatus because she keeps getting tied up in discourse that's not good for her. She talks about being a part of a previous group that was not good and how she's since gotten into tarot instead, but there are parts of that group that aren't good, too (she delves into the Sephora Starter Witch Kit debacle), so instead she's taking a break and only talking to her one friend, whom she refers to constantly as "my friend." It was a very stark moment of self-recognition, tee bee aitch, and Velma is definitely the closest to the fannish millennial internet archetype. She says she found the group after Saul broke into a chat with her friend to tell her about it, so her friend said she had to come to check it out. After her monologue about all of this to Henry, the others return from their break to sing a hymn called "Monster" that talks about online trolls and how engaging with them and reading their exploits poisons your brain.

Solo: Karly and Ed alternate in this song, coming together in moments of similar sentiment. It's really an interesting way to handle the topics in question. Karly is singing about dating apps and how hard it is to find a dude who actually cares about her and the thin line between being asserting herself and the possibility of being the impetus for another MRA mass shooting. Ed, meanwhile, is a lonely dude who is on the verge of turning to the incel community because they can relate to his feelings of rejection and isolation. The whole thing is creepy and awful and very well blended--there's some empathy on both sides, while also making it clear how awful these dudes are.

Actually: This is Toby's song. Toby is a former punk kid turned conspiracy theorist. This is the song I struggled with the most. I just couldn't follow it narratively--I wasn't even 100% positive about the "conspiracy theorist" part until I could come home to read the lyrics. The lighting in this song was wonderful, though, and the ensemble was great. It just didn't click with me and it was harder for me to follow.

Little God: Dang, I loved this bit. It was the weirdest, and also had a distinctly Douglas Adams flavor, which was especially apt as I was attending the show on Towel Day. (So, honestly, it’s not surprising that I liked this bit so much, in retrospect.) Marvin, a neuroscientist, is up late with his new baby daughter when he has a vision from god. He chalks it up to a dream until god appears to him again the next morning. He goes to his lab, where all the other scientists have had a similar experience, and god appears to them in the visage of a little girl, whom they call Little God. They do a series of tests to prove whether god is real, and can manage to find scientific explanations for them all, trapped in this cycle of seeing wonderful things and then dissecting them clinically. Velma ends his story by telling him he's "The Hanged Man," the tarot card that represents everything one believes about oneself being flipped on its head.

Tower Tea Ceremony: The group starts a tea ceremony, passing around cups of tea, after which Paula comes around adding drops of something to the cups. Velma nervously asks what it is, and Paula calmly explains that it's a powerful group psychedelic that induces a five minute coma. Everyone else is chill with this, but Velma is visibly startled and nervous and does not drink her tea. Everyone else passes out, leaving her alone.

Beautiful: While everyone else is passed out, Velma sings her story. She was lonely and felt ugly and fat and stupid. She spent a lot of time alone and cut herself, but eventually found another girl just like her on the other side of the world. She had the same interests and liked the same things and felt the same way. She tells Velma that she's worthwhile and that there's light inside of her and, through seeing the same within her friend, she's able to start to accept that about herself. Kuhoo Verma is something else entirely on this song. It felt so personal and quiet and perfect. And, to be honest, it really anchored the show for me. After almost twenty-five years of being a nerdy, lonely kid on the internet, I tend to be very kneejerk protective of internet friendships. When people deride the internet as toxic, my urge is always to defend it because it's the source of all the good things in my life. I didn't have a lot of friends as a kid and I was socially anxious, but the internet was a way for me to meet other people who liked the same weird things I liked. These days that's a much more common, accepted story, but it was weird and new in 1996, so I spent a lot of years either lying about how I knew my friends or insisting that the internet wasn't just pedophiles and murderers. Obviously in the years since, the internet has grown into something bigger and, frequently, more toxic than I could have imagined at ten, eleven years old on the AOL Jonny Quest message boards. The urge to defend it has never gone away, however, and so I was obviously a little nervous about this show. But I trust Dave and I know that he's a big ol' nerd like the rest of us and doesn't pretend to be above our petty, silly forms of entertainment. And I'm glad I did, because it's important to me that this was the song he ended on--a quiet reminder that there's good to be found on the internet, that it's not all bad, that parts of it can be life-saving.

Hymn: The Field: The show ends with the group closing out their meeting with another hymn. Paula tells everyone next week’s meeting will be somewhere else and that she’ll email the details. Velma says she isn’t sure if she’ll come back, and she’s told that it doesn’t matter—the same people don’t always come week to week, but Saul will make sure there are eight people in attendance. The hymn is a nice, sweet song about coming together beyond the fighting and ugliness to appreciate each other and the world.

So, yeah, overall, I enjoyed it. I really needed to sit and think about it for a little bit after first seeing it, and I think repeat listenings will find a lot more to enjoy about it. Like I said, there’s not so much a story or narrative to get lost in, but the individual songs hold up well in the loose framework of the show, and a lot of them are both catchy and thought-provoking in a very Malloy way. I’m glad I got to see it, and I’m interested to see where it goes from here, if anywhere.

#octet #dave malloy #show notes

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spidergwenstefani · 6 years ago

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Aaaand these are the last bits I’ll post, but here’s the intro to a high school AU and a moment from my DC crossover chapter 2

Clint lets his converse thud against the diner counter, sipping on his strawberry milkshake and trying really hard to ignore the unreadable look Natasha is giving him.

She wants something.

Natasha makes him free diner food all the time. He says it’s because she doesn’t like having nothing to do. She says it’s because he can’t be trusted to feed himself on his own. They both pretend it’s not because Clint’s stomach is always growling and his wallet keeps getting emptied into the my-idiot-brother-needs-more-money fund.

So he gets free diner food any day of the week, which makes the plate of fries in front of him not at all amiss. The milkshake, though? Natasha never makes him milkshakes.

Not unless she wants something.

“What do you want?” Clint asks, but only once the milkshake is halfway gone. Natasha leans over the counter, playing up the puppy dog eyes and pouty lips because they both know popping the buttons on her old-timey waitress uniform isn’t going to work on him.

“Tony Stark wants to ask Steve Rogers to the homecoming dance,” she says, twirling his straw wrapper around her finger in a way that’s not at all casual.

“Steve hates Tony,” Clint says, because he does. The two of them have been at each other’s throats since Tony came to town last year, all loud and gilded and grating against everything Steve Rogers has ever been about. Natasha rolls her eyes.

“Steve thinks he hates Tony. He won’t shut up about him.”

“He won’t shut up about how much he hates him,” Clint says. Natasha balls up his straw wrapper and flicks it at him.

“Trust me, if they spend a little more time together, Steve will get his head out of his ass and realize Tony’s trying harder than he thinks he is.”

“What does this have to do with me?” Clint’s getting a brain freeze so he abandons the milkshake in favor of fries, stuffing a few in his mouth as Natasha dials the pout up even further. Never a good sign.

“Where Steve goes, Bucky goes. And Bucky really does hate Tony.”

Clint pauses his work on the plate of fries. Bucky Barnes is like Steve’s bodyguard. Ever since they were kids and Steve was still a scrappy string bean of a thing. He’s got the looming death glare down to a T, but he’s more than just a scowling accessory. Bucky’s one of the most popular guys in school. Probably the most popular, now that they’ll be starting senior year. He’s charming and handsome, the star quarterback even after Steve hit his growth spurt and joined the football team. He has a cherry red Mustang convertible and a varsity letter in football and track. He’s so far out of Clint’s high school experience that thinking about him tends to make him dizzy.

Natasha is giving him a searching look, so he swallows his mouthful of fries.

“I still don’t get it.”

“You’re impossible,” she says. “If Bucky’s there while Tony’s trying to woo Steve, it’ll never work. We need you to hang out with him, get the two of them apart so Tony has a chance.”

Clint drops one of the fries, the ketchup he globbed onto it splattering on the linoleum. He makes a noise of disappointment, ducking below the counter to pick it up.

“Why am I the one hanging out with him?” Clint asks, voice muffled as he tries to reach the fallen fry without getting off his stool.

“Because Bucky Barnes has had a ridiculous crush on you since sixth grade.”

“What?” Clint comes up too fast and slams his shoulder into the underside of the counter, sending napkin dispensers rattling and knocking over a few laminated menus. By the time he manages to get his head above the counter, Natasha is barely holding back laughter. She hands him a napkin which Clint takes resentfully, glaring at her as he wipes the ketchup off his hands. “Why didn’t you tell me?” It’s not a joke. Natasha never jokes about things like this.

“Clint,” she sighs, pushing the shake towards him. An obvious yet effective distraction technique. “You literally ran away and joined the circus. Twice. Bucky Barnes brings trouble everywhere he goes, and you find enough of that on your own.”

“That’s just because he hangs out with Steve,” Clint mumbles as he drains the rest of the milkshake, although they both know that’s only a little true. His head is spinning, and not just because he slammed it on the counter.

“Which brings us back to the original topic,” Natasha says. “Will you help me or not?”

“Why are you so invested?” Clint digs the cherry out of the shake glass, popping it in his mouth, stem and all.

“Believe it or not, I do get tired of drama sometimes. As entertaining as all the unresolved sexual tension is, I’d rather see Steve and Tony just get over themselves.”

“So what?” Clint asks around the cherry stem in his mouth. “You want me to go out with Bucky? You think I could seduce a guy who won homecoming king two years in a row?” He spits out the cherry stem, years of habit making him proudly show the knot to Natasha before he can remember he’s sort of mad at her. She just smirks.

“Maybe show him that trick.”

Clint can feel himself turn red, pointedly ignoring the comment.

“Just because he liked me a while ago doesn’t mean he still does. I can’t compete with, I don’t know. Sharon Carter. Or Bobbi Morse.”

“You’re an idiot,” Natasha says fondly, reaching over the counter to ruffle his hair. “Trust me, he’s halfway gone on you already.”

>>=========>

“So what, I just walk up to him and ask him out?” Clint squints up at the blue of the sky. It’s been three days since Natasha presented her plan to him. Three days of Clint’s head being filled with nothing but Bucky Barnes and his dark red letterman jacket. To make matters worse, school’s started again, and Clint’s head full of Bucky Barnes daydreams keeps getting derailed by the presence of actual Bucky. Clint spent the whole first day tripping over himself every time Bucky said hi to him. And then he spent all of lunch mulling over how Bucky’s always said hi to him.

“That’s usually how it’s done, yes.” Natasha says, combing her fingers through his hair. After Clint stumbling through day one of senior year like some crush-addled zombie, they’ve taken up their old spot on the bleachers of the football field. There’s always a mad rush in the parking lot, and Natasha is not known to be kind to permit drivers, so they watch football practices for a while instead. Clint’s laying on his back, head in Natasha’s lap.

“I can’t do this,” he groans, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Tony said he’d pay you.” Clint cracks an eye open to see Natasha’s amused smirk.

“Really? How much? Wait, no. That’s gross. I can’t believe I even thought about it. Oh. I feel gross.” He waves his hands in front of his face as if he can shoo the thought away.

The shrill sound of a whistle comes from down on the turf, weird and tinny through Clint’s aids. He pointedly does not watch the field. He knows Bucky’s running drills and he doesn’t need any shiny football pants added to the montage in his head.

“Well,” Natasha says looking at something across the field. “It looks like you won’t have to walk up to him.”

Clint bolts upright in time to see Bucky Barnes climbing the bleachers, blatantly ignoring the designated steps in favor leaving muddy footprints across the seats. He has his helmet tucked under his arm, his face sweaty and glistening under the sun, but when he beams at them, Clint feels blinded for an entirely different reason.

“Hey,” Bucky says a little breathlessly as he stops a few rows below Clint and Natasha. “How was your summer?”

Clint just gapes at him, any conversational abilities evaporating at the sight of Bucky Barnes combing his fingers through his sweaty hair. He hates Natasha. He hates her for planting this seed in his head. This never used to be a problem.

“Pretty uneventful, you?” Natasha jumps in, and Clint loves her. He loves her so much for saving the moment before he stretches it into an awkward silence.

“Same. I spent most of the time helping my dad at the garage.”

And that’s a real shame, because now Clint’s head is swirling with images of Bucky in a tank top, mechanic jumpsuit tied at the waist and engine grease smudged along his bicep. He must have made some kind of noise, because now both Bucky and Natasha are staring at him expectantly.

“Do you want to see a movie on Friday?” Clint blurts out, too loud and not at all smooth. Bucky’s eyebrows shoot up and his helmet slips right out from under his arms, clanging against the metal of the bleachers. He scrambles for it, missing the way Natasha pats Clint approvingly on the arm.

“Wha- this Friday?” Bucky manages, and the small part of Clint’s stomach that didn’t drop into his shoes starts to feel a little giddy at how much Bucky is blushing. He recovers a little bit, gripping his helmet with white knuckles “They’re playing E.T. at the drive in.”

“I love E.T.,” Clint says, and he does, but if Natasha held a gun to his head and asked him what E.T. was about at this exact moment, he wouldn’t be able to answer.

“Cool. Awesome. Cool.” Bucky has a big goofy grin to match Clint’s. “I’ll. Um. I’ll pick you up at seven?”

“Yeah. Okay. Seven is great.”

“Great,” Bucky echoes, hugging his helmet to his chest. Natasha clears her throat, and Bucky turns to her as if he’s just realized she’s still here.

“I think Steve’s trying to get your attention,” she says with a smirk. The three of them turn to the bottom of the bleachers, where Steve Rogers is waving his arms in the air.

...

“Start talking,” Batman orders, his eerily pointed gloves clacking against the keyboard. “I want to know exactly how much our universes match up.” He pauses, turning towards him, and Clint gets the sense that he’s being scanned through the opaque eyeholes of the mask. “Your name wouldn’t happen to be Oliver Queen, would it?”

“Nope,” Clint says, rubbing absentmindedly at his still sore wrist. “Try Barton, Clinton Francis.”

One quick search later and the computer yields no matches, which puts Clint more at ease than Batman. It’s nice to know there’s not another one of himself running around in this dreary universe, but Batman doesn’t seem quite satisfied.

“You don’t know who I am, but you aren’t phased by the cape and the mask,” he rumbles. Batman’s toned down the demon voice to a low growl, but he’s still got a hoarseness that could rival Wolverine. “You’ve seen plenty of our kind before. Who are the heroes of your universe?”

“Well,” Clint says, weighing his options for all of two seconds. Batman still gives him some major heebie-jeebies, and rattling off intel on his teammates might not be the best tactical move, but he needs to earn some trust here, not to mention his Earth has dealt with way worse threats than some guy in a bat suit that spends his nights beating up old-timey gangsters. “That’s kind of a loaded question.”

Batman leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. Clint get the sense that there’s one raised eyebrow behind his cowl.

“You mean you don’t have good guys? Sworn protectors of the common people?”

“Well, when you put it that way,” Clint huffs, because it kinda seems like the guy that lives in a Doctor Doom lair and dresses like a vampire on super serum is accusing his world of too much moral ambiguity. “There’s all the Avengers, obviously. Iron Man, Captain America, Thor, Black Widow. Our roster isn’t really set in stone, you know? And there’s the Young Avengers, the Defenders, the Guardians, the X-Men, the Fantastic Four, A-Force, the Howling Commandos, New Warriors, the Thunderbolts, uh, sometimes. Alpha Flight, if we’re counting Canada. Then there’s-”

“That’s enough,” Batman says, which is probably good because Clint hasn’t even gotten to the spin-offs yet. “No Justice League, then?” Clint snorts.

“That’s a little on the nose, don’t you think?”

“The Avengers?” Batman says. “The Defenders?”

“Well it’s not the Vengeance Guild is it? It’s not the Group of People Who Defend Things.” There’s a muscle twitching in Batman’s jaw, and Clint remembers a little belatedly that he’s not exactly a welcome guest. “So, um. No overlap, I’m guessing?”

“Not with the names you gave,” Batman says. He pauses, and his next words come out more cautious. “You’ve never met Superman, then? Or Wonder Woman?”

Clint tries really, really hard not to smile, because what is with this universe and names? Something must show on his face, though, because Batman sighs wearily.

“‘Captain America’ and ‘Iron Man’ aren’t better.”

“Yeah, I bet Superman’s name is a holdover from the World War II propaganda machine, and Wonder Woman is just a big fan of Black Sabbath.”

“You haven’t given me your name,” Batman says, more gravel edging into his voice. “What is it, Purple Arrow?”

“That’s just lazy,” Clint says, hopping down from his perch so he can puff out his chest properly. “No, you’re in the presence of Clint Barton, AKA Hawkeye. The world’s greatest marksman. The people’s avenger. The greatest sharpshooter known to man. The-”

“The public knows your identity?”

Clint deflates a little, because he was really just getting warmed up.

#wip

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theclaravoyant · 7 years ago

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She... plays softball. Plays for the other team, as it were.

a Skimmons Coffee Shop AU, ft. happily platonic FitzSimmons, and ever-helpful gayngel & captain shipper Bobbi Morse

taking a leaf from the wonderful @the-nerdy-stjarna’s book to re-release an old fic with a new banner for @aosadvent2017 prompt “food”. I love Coffee Shop AUs, I have one for every occasion, but this one seemed especially fitting as I wrote the fic itself for last year’s @skimmonssecretsanta.

Rated G/T. ~3600wd. the original fic post is here, you can read it on AO3 here, or below. Enjoy!

Swinging my way, Baby?

It was a Tuesday afternoon, when it had first happened.

A Tuesday, around 3:30 in the afternoon. When recounting later, she was unable to consistently say what month, let alone what date, because it had begun just like every other Tuesday, and had continued much the same, save for a moment of lightning in the middle.

Jemma Simmons, aspiring PhD, was meeting up with Fitz for Chem study, just like every other Tuesday afternoon. She wasn’t running late, because she never did, but surprisingly, Fitz was already there, and talking to another girl. A girl whose face Jemma had memorised from across the classroom, but had never seen up close like this before. A girl whose name she probably knew, but couldn’t pick out of a lineup, for all the face was familiar to her. A girl with sharp black eyes, a quick smile, and a tank top bearing shoulders that made Jemma’s knees quake.

With considerably less smoothness and dignity than she might have liked, Jemma feigned indifference to Fitz’ visitor. She took her usual seat at the large library table and began separating out her books and notes with precision. Still, she couldn’t help peeking every now and then, up at where Fitz and his friend were talking. Her hair was short, about shoulder length, and flared about her face, bouncing as she spoke or animatedly responded. Her bag was slung over one shoulder, and one of Jemma’s covert glances caught her hitching the bag up, causing the muscles of her shoulder to ripple. Jemma’s face flushed at that, and she buried her nose in her books until Fitz and the girl parted ways and he came to sit down.

“Sorry I’m late,” he greeted, scooting his chair in and scrabbling to pull his notes and books out of his bag to catch up with Jemma.

“It’s no problem.” It was a nice view. Jemma bit her lip, and instead tried, with a casualness that was on second thoughts, too forced to have been worth the pretence, asked, “who was that?”

“Who?” Fitz glanced over his shoulder. “Oh, Daisy. Yeah. Daisy Johnson, you know, she’s in Computing with me. She was just after some help with a Physics assignment.”

“Oh. So. She’s not – I mean…You don’t…like her?”

Fitz laughed.

“I used to have a crush on her, actually,” he explained, amused by the memory. “We almost went to the middle-school dance together. ‘Cept turns out she, you know, plays softball.”

“Softball! Of course!” Just in time, she stopped herself from commenting on how those arms would be wasted on anything else. But still, Fitz shook his head.

“No, I mean – well, yes, she does play softball. And football, actually. But I mean she, you know. Plays softball. Plays for the other team, as it were.“

“Oh. Right. Right. Yes. I’m with you now. I follow. I – yes.”

Smooth, Jemma. She stuck her nose into the nearest book and hoped she wasn’t sweating as profusely as it was starting to feel like she was.

And then it happened. The bolt of lightning. The realisation that she might, in all honesty, have an iota of a chance. It was like flicking a switch, turning a fleeting fantasy into a blooming, consuming desire in the blink of an eye. Situational affection? A mind-boggling if temporary crush? Or cupid’s arrow through her heart, turning everything Daisy into diamonds in an effort to lure Jemma into a love story for the ages? Not knowing was half the fun of it. And more than half the terror.

“Why do you ask?” Fitz wondered after a moment. “Do you like her?”

Jemma fidgeted in her seat.

“I was just thinking about trying out myself,” she said, as smooth a derailment as she could hope for under the circumstances. “For softball, I mean.”

Fitz snorted. “I’d like to see that.”

Jemma slapped her pen onto the desk.

“I totally could!”

“I’m sure you could! I just don’t think it’s your style. Hideous uniforms, pointless running around in circles, lots of sweating and effort for no discernable reason –“

“Except fitness! And – and fun! And teamwork! And competition, you know I love competition –“

Soon enough the argument shifted away from Daisy, and even from softball, and onto the two of them challenging each other’s sporting abilities and willingness to suffer hard work and dirt. Jemma’s crush didn’t fade though. It only took a back seat. For a few hours, she even had herself convinced that she should indeed pick up a bat and try out.

Eventually, of course – and for which Jemma was eternally grateful - the heady optimism of inspiration faded and she realised that she had neither the skill, nor the money, nor even the desire to try out for softball, or any other kind of sport really. She would never be able to maintain it, if nothing else. Plus, her running around getting sweaty and failing at everything was, to say the least, not nearly as alluring as she would like to come across. Instead, after a few days of denial and indecision, she picked herself up and sought out Carter’s, the café where most of the campus’s sports and arts – and queer – communities were reputed to hang out. Being a hard science student who spent most of her time across campus these days, Jemma had not been to Carter’s for some time. It was not as she remembered it, and as she walked in, a combination of nerves, surprise and marvel took her breath away.

Only a few steps through the door, Jemma’s purposeful stride faded into a slow turn, like a young woman in a film arriving in The Big City. She stared so wide and for so long she felt like a freshman. She probably looked like one too, but she couldn’t help it. The place was decked out like a 1950s milkshake bar or diner, right down to the stools at the lunch bar, juke box in the corner, and musk-candy colour scheme of pink and green. Not to mention, the pillbox hats and matching collared uniforms that the feminist in Jemma was a little ashamed to admit, made her heart flutter. It felt like she had stepped back in time, or at least into one of those handcrafted, overly perfect horror-movie villages in Florida where nothing was ever as it seemed.

A chill ran down her spine at the sudden expectation that something might jump out at her. Nothing did, but she was unceremoniously dropped out of her timeless bubble and into a world where she should, by all accounts, order something or sit down. One look at the tall, muscled blonde behind the counter, making fiercely cheerful eye contact with her latest customer and smiling that familiar smile, told Jemma she was not up for that yet. So she sat, simply grabbing for the nearest empty table and pulling out her notebook and anatomy textbook. She’d come in here to eat – or at least, that’s what she had been planning to tell anyone who asked – but there was always work to be done.

Soon enough, in fact, she was so absorbed in her readings that she didn’t even notice the true reason for her presence there slip in through the door.

Daisy Johnson.

Carter’s had been a staple of Daisy’s college life. Situated between the gym and the theatre, it was where some of the most interesting people gathered, and where many of the girls on her team – both literally, and euphemistically – worked and hung out. Being near the theatre as it was, and relatively near the food and design schools, Carter’s tended to go through renovations a lot. Its latest incarnation resembled a 1950s diner and aside from its renewal of her love for Back to the Future, Daisy didn’t care for it all that much. She was hoping for something more outrageous next, like a Wild West saloon, or some kind of situation in which everybody wore rollerblades. But for now, at least the food was good and the milkshakes – and the uniforms, of course – were widely celebrated.

“Lookin’ good, Bobbi,” Daisy greeted, as she dropped into the stool nearest the cash register. Barbara was today’s resident supervisor’s intensely loathed full name, and in the spirit of the vintage theme under which she currently worked, she had easily heard it more times in the past three months than in the three years before that. Even so, Daisy had to bite her lip to stop herself bringing it up for a laugh. Bobbi glared, and Daisy beamed innocently and ducked her head below the counter for a moment, trying to reach simultaneously for her purse, and for the pastries under the cover beside the register.

Bobbi rolled her eyes good-naturedly, and lifted the cover for Daisy’s blindly reaching hand.

“Pink or sprinkles?” Bobbi asked.

“Surprise me.”

Bobbi handed Daisy a pink one with rainbow sprinkles, just as Daisy’s head reappeared over the counter. Her eyes widened at Bobbi’s selection and she took a large bite, humming in satisfaction through the mouthful of donut.

“Ah, you know just how I like it.”

Bobbi eyed her with an exaggerated expression of disgust as Daisy fished out coins from her purse, the donut now dangling from her mouth where she had sunk her teeth into it in order to free up her hands.

“Not if you like it like that, I don’t,” Bobbi remarked.

“Shut up.”

Daisy took the donut out of her mouth and added a coffee to her order, but as she did so, looked over her shoulder. It had just now clicked in her brain that she had recognised somebody when she’d come in. Somebody who didn’t usually come here, and who fit in a little too well, with her A-line skirt and pastel colours, and the way she kept twirling her fingers in her stray lock of hair.

“Oh my god.”

Daisy swung back around to the counter and ducked, wishing she had a menu or something to cover her face, though that hardly would have been less conspicuous. Blushing furiously, Daisy tried to recover by taking a sip of her coffee, and burnt her tongue instead. She cursed herself as Bobbi asked, inevitably,

“Who’s that?”

“A girl. Just a girl. No biggie.” Coffee, coffee. Ouch! Damn it.

“No biggie because she barely reaches my elbow?” Bobbi speculated. “Or no biggie in the lesser known, ‘if I hide behind this menu and she never sees me I’ll never have to confront my feelings,’ sense of ‘no biggie.’”

Daisy sighed.

“Ah, I really hope you become a fully fledged bartender one day,” she said, resignation in her tone. “Your talents are wasted here.”

Bobbi pouted, and reached for a towel just so that she could brush it across the counter and lean on it dramatically.

“So this girl, huh?” she inquired.

Daisy sighed again. Feelings confrontation time. “Her name is Jemma, she’s in my Physics class.“

“You take Physics?”

“Yes. What did you think I was taking?”

“The Science of Harry Potter?” Bobbi suggested. Daisy glared.

“Don’t even joke about that. I would kill.”

Bobbi smiled, and prompted: “So, Physics.”

“So Physics. Anyway. She’s there and she’s pretty and, well, I thought that was the end of the story…“

“Buuuuut…“

“Iiiiiiif you’d let me finish….but see, I’d thought she was with Fitz. I’d just assumed. Only, I mentioned something about it - y’know, them – to him today and I’m pretty sure he’ll still be laughing at graduation. They’re just friends! So totally friends! Kinda weirdly close friends, but still!”

“So why the long face?”

“I got my hopes up for a bit. But then I remembered. Jemma’s had certified boyfriends. Milton, Will. So I’m back where I started. At least I was. Til just now. And she’s here. I mean…do you think she knows? About this place?”

Daisy raked her hands through her hair, anxious, only to find Bobbi smirking, a mischievous glint of victory in her eyes.

“Oh, sweetie, she knows,” Bobbi assured Daisy. “And as for that ‘certified boyfriends’ thing…she’s had certified girlfriends too.”

Daisy’s eyes narrowed.

“Me!” Bobbi confirmed, with a flourish. “She’s a bit of a Bambi but don’t be fooled. That girl can go.”

“So what happened with you two?” Daisy wondered. Bobbi shrugged, her expression softening.

“We were both high achievers,” she explained, “and both in the same field. Competing for attention, grants, grades… Neither of us wanted to compromise and well, too much competition stops being fun. It put a strain on us and luckily, we stepped out before we snapped. No hard feelings. Some that suck, of course, but we don’t hate each other, so that’s a plus.”

“Hmph.” Daisy’s shoulders slumped, and she resumed picking at her donut, pensive and somewhat put out.

“Hmph?” Bobbi repeated, curious.

“Well, Jemma’s still a high achiever. She probably wouldn’t have time for me anyway. It’s just going to collapse, it’s not – Never mind, I’ll just get over it.”

Bobbi shook her head, made a note on a cup, and passed it to the coffee girl without taking her eyes off Daisy for more than a moment.

“There’s only one way to know for sure,” she insisted. Daisy moped, but Bobbi slapped down an apricot danish in a napkin and drew her attention.

“Ask. The girl. Out,” Bobbi commanded. “Bring her something, make her laugh, get a conversation going. Come on, Daisy, I don’t have to coach you.”

“I don’t even know what she likes!” Daisy whined, though her defenses were falling left right and centre. “I could get her an Americano, that’s what I have- but then, what does that say about what I think about her? Or me? Cheap, basic, unoriginal. Great. But then if I get her something else, something fancier, she might not like it, or she could be allergic. Or tea? Maybe she likes tea. I mean she’s English, they must like tea right? No, that’s ridiculous. Not all English people like tea. So what then?”

Daisy met Bobbi’s eyes, desperate.

“As the ex, it is my duty to let you work all this out on your own, young Padawan,” Bobbi informed her sagely. But before Daisy could give up, Bobbi received her secret order from the coffee girl and pushed it across the counter to Daisy, alongside the apricot danish. Bobbi met her confused glance with a wink, and added: “As your best friend, it’s my duty to wingman you to the best of my ability. It’s a fine line.”

“You’re fantastic. I love you.”

“Ah, save it for Bambi!” Bobbi shooed Daisy away from the counter and Daisy went, gleefully, singing in her head, over to Jemma’s table. She had a moment to take in the dusky pinks and browns of Jemma’s outfit, and the way the light seemed to fall softer on her, and then Jemma looked up.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “can I help you?”

And just like that, the moment was gone, evaporated by the sudden grip of panic.

Jemma looked up, and she could have sworn her heart skipped a beat. Here was Daisy, so close her eyes were sparkling, and with an absent smile on her face like she didn’t have to think about it. And with an apricot danish in one hand, and what appeared to be a chai latte – though the label was partially covered – in the other. Jemma’s stomach rumbled. It was like a vision from the gods.

“I – I’m sorry,” she stammered, snapping herself out of her distraction. “Ah, can I help you?”

“Um. Yes. Maybe.” Don’t look at Bobbi, don’t look at Bobbi. It had been far too long since she’d had a proper date, especially with someone like Jemma. And even though Bobbi had promised, Daisy still wasn’t sure…

“I was wondering…”

Make her laugh.

“Did you swallow a magnet?”

Jemma blinked. “What?”

“Did you swallow a magnet?” Daisy repeated, her mouth bone-dry all of a sudden. “Because…you’re attractive.”

Jemma snorted. “That’s terrible.”

“I know,” Daisy groaned.

“No, I love it!”

“Really? Because I’ve got plenty more.” Daisy cleared her throat and leaned into the cheese, listing off pick-up lines in a variety of voices as she slid into the seat next to Jemma’s. “’Baby, I’ve got my ion you.’ ‘What’s your sine?’ ‘Are you full of berillium, gold and titanium? Because you are B-E-A-U-Ti-ful.’”

Jemma snorted again and curled up, giggling.

“Ten points for delivery,” she awarded.

“Oh! Speaking of delivery, these are for you.” Daisy pushed the gifts across the table, and Jemma bet into the danish with relish.

“Thank you, my favourite!”

“I had help,” Daisy confessed with a smirk. “A little birdie told me.” Jemma raised an eyebrow over Daisy’s shoulder at Bobbi, who shrugged innocently and went about wiping down and rearranging the counter.

“Well, are you having anything? I don’t have my little birdie on me today, but I’d be happy to return the favour.”

“Not a favour,” Daisy insisted. “A gift. A…hm, a –“

“A date?” Jemma grinned broadly. “With me? Really?”

“Wait, did you not get that?” Daisy frowned.

“No,” Jemma replied sarcastically, “the string of pick-up lines was completely lost on me. Yes, of course I got it! I just thought it was sweet how you got all flustered. I’ve been too intimidated to speak to you all year.”

“Intimidated?” Daisy laughed. “Why?”

“Because…” Jemma blushed. “You’ve swallowed a magnet.”

“Aw! That’s terrible!” Daisy crooned, flattered, as if the word terrible was sweet.

“I know!” Jemma moaned, but she couldn’t help smiling. “I couldn’t even remember your name until the other day, I’ve just been sitting in class pining all year!”

“You should’ve asked Fitz to hook us up! Does he know? About you?”

“Yes! I don’t know why I didn’t think of that. I guess it still feels a little weird to talk to people about it. It’s strange being bi, I feel like I’m faking it half the time. Plus, I mean, I didn’t even know that you were – that you could even be interested until he told me. Oh, I hope you don’t mind about that, by the way.”

Daisy shrugged. “I’ve already told him I’m cool with it. I’m pretty out.”

“Oh. Good.”

“Obviously not out enough, though, if you didn’t pick up on it. I should start wearing rainbow flags to school…or plaid, at least. I could rock some plaid, don’t you think?”

“You already play softball!”

“I do roller-derby too, actually,” Daisy added. Jemma’s eyes widened.

“I have always wanted to try that!”

“It’s a load of fun. You will get the crap beaten out of you though.”

Jemma’s eyes lit up immediately.

“Any gruesome injury stories?”

“Ew! We’re eating!”

“Well, I’m eating,” Jemma corrected. “And I’m a bio student. I’m used to it.”

“You fascinate me,” Daisy said, more sincere than she had been expecting. Belatedly, she realised Jemma was right and that she still did not have her food with her. She glanced over her shoulder at it, and saw the coffee and donut and her bag still by the counter.

“Um. I’ll be right back.“

Bobbi met her eyes pointedly, and pushed the coffee and donut across the counter with a salacious sparkle.

“I’ll bring you guys a lunch menu later.”

“Shut up,” Daisy scoffed, blushing.

She returned to Jemma’s table, to find Jemma eagerly awaiting her arrival.

“We don’t have to talk about gory injuries if you don’t want to,” Jemma clarified. “I can be a bit gross. Sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. I have some killer stories! I just like to keep my blood and bones separate from my icing and sprinkles.”

“Fair enough. We’ll just have to find something different to talk about, then.”

Jemma pulled her anatomy notebook toward her and Daisy frowned, confused. Shouldn’t they be heading away from blood and bones? But as she watched, Jemma turned to a blank page, tore off a corner and started writing on it. A phone number.

“Just in case you wanted to tell me those stories some other time,” she explained as she slid it over to Daisy.

“Can’t wait!”

“But for now, blood-free, hm?” Jemma mused. “Well, okay, let’s start at the beginning.”

She held out her hand for a shake.

“Jemma Simmons. Biochemistry.”

“Daisy Johnson. Counterterrorism.”

From there, they launched into a lively conversation, swinging from favourite foods and seasons of the year to mockeries of dating advertisements, anecdotes, relatives and ancestors, life goals and hobbies and home and everything in between. They had lunch, and then Jemma walked Daisy to class, and grinned at nothing and rocked on her heels and shivered with delight after Daisy went inside. Daisy had given Jemma her number too, and Jemma rolled and flipped the paper between her fingers gleefully. It had been a long time since she’d had a date with someone special, lost track of time, kept them on her mind. It had been a long time since she’d felt this sort of chemistry with anyone, or had it reciprocated so enthusiastically or with a warmth and vibrancy that reminded her this is real.

Jemma ambled toward home without a rush, floating on the high of her blissfully, unexpectedly successful day. She sat on the train, barely but contentedly containing the urge to introduce herself to everyone that walked on with, “hi, I’m Jemma Simmons, I have a girlfriend. She’s amazing.” Then, as they pulled away from the station at last, her phone buzzed. A message from Daisy.

Remind me to show you a proper bat grip tomorrow. McLean Field, 9am.

Jemma smiled so wide she had to bite her lip to contain it, and proceeded to spend most of the rest of the trip home entering their next date, with care and flourish, into her diary.

#skimmons #bioquake #aospositivitynet #aosfemslash #buskidsnet #aosficnet2 #aosadvent2017 #prompt: food #clara's fic tag

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theamazinguchihabruhs · 7 years ago

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Getting A job Part 3

Read part 1 and 2: https://theamazinguchihabruhs.tumblr.com/post/164227575161/getting-a-job-part-2

Part 3

“Two milkshakes-” I slipped over a wet spot on the floor, causing me to fall forwards right on the lap of the first customer while my tray fell on the person sitting next to him. “What the-?” I looked behind me at the water on the floor.

“If you mop the floor, put a sign out! Everybody can sue us!” I hissed getting up, rubbing my head. Everything was swirling for a moment. I looked at the man and I gasped seeing the milkshake spilled on his lap.

“I am so, so sorry! Let me get that for you!” I grabbed a bunch of napkins I leaned over the first man to reach the second lap to clean the mess I made. “Please don’t tell my boss, this third time this week, he is going to scold me for sure this time” I said. I wanted to grab more napkins, but the man suddenly stopped me, crossing his legs and putting his briefcase on his lap.

‘It is fine, really” He said.

“Are you sure?” I leaned slightly in, “Your face is as red as a tomato, are you alright?”

“Y-Yes!” He said, sweating nervously.

“Well, I guess you are in luck, I love tomatoes” I said, “I will get your milkshakes right away”

I walked back to the kitchen to get him a new milkshake. I saw Foxy lean against the counter, looking slightly annoyed.

“It is so busy” He said, “It has been ever since you started working here��

“Hnn, coincidence?” I said. He walked towards me, adjusting my cat ear that had apparently shifted when I fell.

“They are probably all very eager to see you” Foxy said.

“Me?” I laughed from the idea. I was such a lousy waiter.

“You should take your lunch break, let Bunny handle your tables” He said, putting my tray on the counter and shoving it to Bunny.

“Shoot” I said.

“Why did you take this job?” He asked.

“Cuz money” I said. I meant it more as a joke, remembering how I threw the cash over Izuna only to be able to shout “Makkeee it raaaiiinnnn~!!!”

“You are providing for your family too?”

I blinked a couple of times, looking at Foxy cluelessly.

“What?” I asked.

“Yeah, my father died when I was ten, my mother is sick, she is in a wheelchair, I dropped out of school to work and provide for my younger sisters”

Wow...now I felt like jerk.

“What about you, Kitty?”

“I...I am an orphan…” I whispered.

“Oh, you poor thing” He suddenly wrapped his arms around me, “You are all on your own, you don’t deserve this...” He whispered. Now I felt like a bigger asshole than before!

“Uhm...it’s really not that bad...I have five brothers-”

“You are providing for your five younger brothers? You are such an angel-” He kept talking, but the sudden guilt just became bigger and bigger. Why did people with sad back stories ruin my mood. Now I am the jackass!

“Not at all-” I was going to come clean, but I suddenly heard a familiar voice from all the people in here. From customers to employees. I always recognised that one voice.

“What is this, dattebayo?”

I turned my head to the door, seeing Naruto enter the cafe with three other guys. I suddenly ducked under the counter, causing Foxy to give me a weird look.

“T-That blond! He cannot see me!” I hissed.

“Who is he? He is hot” Foxy said.

“He is…he is my…ex…” I was not gonna say the love of my life that doesn’t know I am his yet.

“Awkward...I will distract them and you go crawl from under the tables to the restroom and then go escape from the window” He whispered before walking to distract Naruto. I did as Foxy said. I crawled from behind the counter under the first table, but before I made it to the second. I saw the chairs move. I remained under the table, my legs and arms were wrapped around the centered leg to occupy minimum space. I heard some voices and right in front of me I saw a pair of orange and black sneakers. I just knew they belonged to Naruto. It was just my bad luck they took the table that was the same one I was hiding under.

“So why did we come here, Menma?” Naruto asked.

“Because it is basically a daylight stripclub! But instead of a lap dance, you get giggles and fries” An unfamiliar voice answered.

“Giggles and fries?” I could recognise Nagato’s voice...Oh fuck, I am busted for sure. I shook my head and tried to encourage myself. Come on, I had 7 years of military training. I should be able to sneak out here without anybody noticing!

“Yea! Feast your eyes on these hotties” This Menma guy said, “Hey Bunny, is the one with the cat ears around? The one in that crop top and mini skirt?”

I suddenly felt disgusting.

“Kitty? Kitty was around here a minute ago, y’know how kitties get with strangers, they get scared and hide, hahahaha” She laughed.

“That pussy” I heard this Menma comment. I wanted to scratch him, but that would blow my cover.

“We should have gone to the diner near the hospital-”

“Because Sasuke works there?” Nagato teased him.

“Fuck yeah, dattebayo”

“What is it with you and this Sasuke guy, anyway? Kitty is totally your type! Raven, slim, nice ass, juicy thighs, not to mention, little paws to scratch you-”

“...that weirdly sounds like Sasuke” Nagato commented.

“Ew!” Both Menma and Naruto suddenly said.

“Nagato you are married, you are forty years old, keep it in your pants!” Naruto exclaimed, “I will tell Itachi and then we both are on his black list”

“Black list?” I whispered. I should ask niisan about that.

“Aaah, where is Kitty? I was hoping he would drop something and then when he picks it up we get a great ass view”

…suddenly the phrase ignorance is bliss made so much more sense to me.

“You keep it in your pants too” Naruto commented.

“Nah! Daylight strip club” Menma argued.

“Have you made up your minds?” I could hear Foxy’s voice. I had to catch his attention so he could distract them so I could make my escape. I grabbed my collar with the fake bell on it and took it off before throwing it under the table. I saw Foxy’s hand pick it up.

“Hey, that belongs to Kitty right?” I heard this Menma guys ask.

“Ooh, Kitty must be in the kitchen, you know what…? You guys should greet him, he would love that, why don’t you follow me!” Foxy said. Yes, he was a genius!

“I don’t know Kitty, I will just sit here-”

“Nonsense, Kitty...loves meeting people!” Foxy said, “You should go say hello to him!” I am so glad Foxy was persuasive enough. They left the table and I took my chance to crawl away from under it and run to the restroom. I immediately hid in the last stall.

I had to get out of here and fast! I stood on the toilet seat and opened the small window in the corner. I pulled myself up trying to crawl out of it…and I thought I was so smooth and that this was going to work...if it didn’t reach my ass. Yup...my ass didn’t fit. I cursed as I was halfway out. I felt like God was punishing me…and after what I heard about myself doing this job…it made sense why God hated me. I tried pulling myself out, maybe I should get some lube or something! Isn’t there a lube dispenser in this restroom. You would think people come here to jack off before eating their food.

My eyes widened, hearing the door of the restroom open. Okay, I was busted, but there was still this small hope it was either Foxy or my boss or anyone that was not Naruto or Nagato…but I was just not a lucky person.

“Sasuke?” I heard the familiar voice say. I know panick makes people do stupid stuff, but I never really understood why I did what I did.

“Who is Sasuke?” I said in a high pitched voice, “I don’t know who this sexy Sasuke is...I am Kitty”

“Yeah, Sasuke is pretty cute”

“I am not cute, I am sexy, usuratonkachi!” I hissed and then I immediately realized I was set up.

“Yeah, I can recognise that butt out of a million, dattebayo” I could hear him sigh deeply, “What are you doing?”

“I am...catching some air” I said, but the silence made it clear that he did not buy it “I am smoking” I corrected myself, but still didn’t get a reaction “Uhm...weed...I am smoking weed”

“You are stuck, aren’t you?”

‘You think there is an ass diet?” I sighed, “I am stuck”

“Were you…trying to hide from me?” He asked. I heard Naruto stand on the toilet seat. He wrapped his arms around my hips and he pulled me free with one jerk.

“Kinda...” I answered, turning my head around to look at him. He shook his head, putting me on the ground before jumping off the toilet seat.

“Izuna said you worked at the diner” Naruto looked utterly confused. Like he was trying to figure out why I was doing what I was doing. His eyes were fixated on my eyes, it felt pretty forced. Like he kept telling himself not to look down.

“I did…for two weeks…and then I got offered this job and it was so easy and it was so much money…I took it” I said, “Your eyes are making me uncomfortable, just look where ever you wanna look” His eyes immediately lowered themselves.

“Easy money, huh? Are things that tight?”

“No...oh, I am going to sound like a jerk” I sighed “Shisui and Itachi said I had to do something this summer, either an internship at the hospital or law firm and I said...I rather choose a job, so, I took the diner job and I regretted it because it was boring, but it was too late to go back to their offer because it meant they won, so…I got offered this job and everybody kept calling me a natural and saying I was really good and I got tons of compliments and tips and I guess...I did kinda like the attention so…here I am…a month later”

Naruto gave me this confused look before shaking his head.

“I am trying to reason with your explanation, but I can’t”

“Success and money?” I shortened it to the basics.

“No, I don’t get how somebody like you can sink this low to do this just for some attention, are you that mentally fucked? Do you have that many issues?!” He sounded pissed and if this was anybody else...I would have probably told them to fuck off because this was my life...but with Naruto…it almost felt I was getting scolded by my father. I lowered my eyes to the ground. I felt like a ten year old again…

“Is it wrong of me to be disappointed in you? You are smart, talented, funny and…” I felt his hand on my cheek, causing me to look up “Already so beautiful, without those cat ears and super short skirt, why would you ever need a bunch of perverts to remind you of that?”

“Don’t be disappointed…” I whispered.

“Does Itachi know? Shisui? Madara? Obito? Damn, does Izuna even know?”

“No one, but I never lied!” I looked away, “They just never asked-”

“Don’t put this on them, hiding the truth is still lying” He frowned.

“No…” I pouted, “Not really”

“Sasuke” Naruto shook his head.

‘Are you going to tell them?” I asked, “My brothers...I mean…”

“I think this is the quarter-life crisis my dad was talking about last night during dinner...” Naruto let go of my cheek. “Do me a favor...quit and let’s put this all behind us and...deal with this together, dattebayo” He took his jacket off and wrapped it around my shoulders. His hands squeezed my upper arm in a supportive way. I narrowed my eyes when I looked at him.

“Your father and mom are on vacation, I know this because therapy is cancelled for two weeks, so, Uzumaki, explain to me how your father told you about a quarter life crisis last night during dinner, which is also...oddly specific for somebody with the memory of a goldfish”

Naruto’s eyes widened.

“On the phone! When I was having dinner...dattebayo!” I smell bullshit.

“Why would you lie to me about such a small thing...unless…you were not even home last night because...you were doing something you are either ashamed of or don’t want me to know” I slapped his hand off me. “Tell me”

“Oh, I was just...not home-”

“You just said avoiding the truth is the same as lying, you hypocrite!” I pointed an accusing finger at him, “What could be so bad?”

The door of the restroom opened and I got pushed back inside the toilet stall before Naruto locked the door behind him. His hand was wrapped around my mouth while his other hand was wrapped around my waist. He shushed in my ear and I frowned.

“Oi cousin, you in here?” I could hear the voice that sounded familiar. I guess it was the Menma guy from before.

“Just taking a dump, Menma!” I heard Naruto say. Alright, I know Naruto has this protective nature. He could chit-chat with somebody for 5 minutes and still push them off the street when a car comes. But this…this was just weird. I didn’t have to be genius to know this cousin was a pervert, but was it really that bad to hide me? Was he that ashamed of me? Why would he even care? That guy talked very highly about Kitty ten minutes ago!

“Oooohhh~ Taking a dump eh? And when did you grow the extra pair of legs, eh? Little cousin?”

“...about ten minutes ago, dattebayo” Naruto answered.

“Ten minutes, hey slut who is in there getting some from my cousin, is he that bad, couldn’t blondie finish you off in about five, pfff~” He laughed for some apparent reason.

I looked in the corner of my eye and saw Naruto give me a rather annoyed look. I gave him a small nod. Yup, I got his back. He removed his hand.

“It is not me who isn’t finished, damn Naruto, you got some stamina there, I’ve climaxed for the third time-”

“Climaxed...really?” He whispered.

“What? Not good?” I whispered back, “I thought it sounded a better than cumming”

“...it sound weird, dattebayo, anyway, can you mention me having a big dick or something? “

“Mentioning?! Are you telling me-” He wrapped his hand around my mouth and gave me this sweet, pathetic, smile. I rolled my eyes.

“Oh~Naruto~ Your penis is...prodigious!” I said rather loud. He rolled his eyes. Apparently my dirty talk needed some work.

“Uh...sure thing...Naruto hurry up fucking around, I am not going to wait an hour for you to finish fucking some tramp like in the stripclub yesterday”

“MENMA!” Naruto shouted angrily.

“Be safe…hey, there is a condom dispenser in this restroom, classy shit, Nagato and I are gonna order already, dickhead” I could hear the door shut and I looked right into Naruto’s eyes.

“Funny...you are lecturing me for working as a waiter in a skirt that is a little short, but meanwhile you go ahead and fuck some tramp in a bathroom stall...of a stripclub” I shook my head, but couldn't help but to smile a pathetic smile. For a moment, I thought I really meant something to him. I was stupid.

“No, Sasuke, just hear me out”

I took his jacket off and threw it back at him before trying to get out of the restroom stall, but he blocked the way.

“It is not what it looks like-”

“Really? Because I see some hypocrite douchebag blocking my way!” I hissed grabbing him by his collar, “And if he doesn’t get away from the door, I will fucking kick him through it!”

“Just listen! Dattebayo!” He snapped at me, grabbing my wrist and pinned me against the door. My eyes widened. I did not expect this outcome…and I am awkwardly turned on.

“Somebody has been going to the gym” I looked away.

“Yeah~ I have been really trying to work on my bicep game, awh~ thanks for noticing-” He suddenly shook his head. Apparently he didn’t want to go off topic. I was expecting some dramatic speech...but I got none. If I had a watch I would have checked the time to indicate how long he was taking, but not only did I not have a watch. Both my wrists were pinned against the door.

“Is there anything coming? Or are you wasting both our time?” I asked.

“Alright!I was never good with words to begin with, was I at the stripclub?...yes! But does that affect the amount I care about you? No, of course not!”

“Naruto, I have seen Zootopia I know exactly what you are doing” I rolled my eyes. “Now before I kick you in the nuts, have you actually got something useful to say or is this it?”

“Fine! You want the truth, Uchiha?! Have it! Have it all! I hate, no, I despise, no, loath the idea of you working here because I am jealous! I am fucking jealous, if jealousy had jealousy that would be me, right now!” He shouted. “Just the idea of these son of bitches looking at you, seeing the shit which is only supposed to be mine to see - and only mine!- It grinds my gears! After hearing what my fucking cousin said about you...it makes me actually want to break his jaw! But I can’t! Because you are here, willingly, exposing yourself for some fucking tips! I have been waiting three years on your damn ass while apparently I could have just come here and see you bend over the tables - in a different sense!- I am going off topic…” He took a deep breath, “My point is…I am selfish and jealous...apparently for no fucking reason either” He fixated his look on the ground before letting me go. He sat down on the toilet and ran his hand through his hair.

‘Fuck me…” He whispered. A silence emerged in the bathroom, but then there was a huge farting noise and we both turned our heads to the stall next to ours.

“S-Sorry, I ate some bad meat...continue, please” The person said before making some uncomfortable noises when he proceeded to empty his bowels. Naruto and I shared a look, a small smile appearing on our faces. Both holding back our laughter as we covered our nose.

“Say I gave you twenty bucks...will you quit?” Naruto asked. He had a look on his face that reminded me of a kicked puppy. I guess he felt guilty for his own outburst.

“Naruto, I make twenty dollars just by asking people if they want order already”

“I have a gift-card for the ice-cream? Bet you don’t get that a lot”

“True, but I don’t like sweets”

“Well, too bad, that all I have” He sighed.

“Naruto…” I put my hands on his cheeks, lifting his head so he would look at me, “It’s alright, I'll quit” I said. His ocean blue eyes started to sparkle and I guess he was very relieved.

“But not because you told me to” I looked away. I haven’t forgotten what his cousin said.

“You quit because you have self-respect? Dattebayo?”

“Nah, I got none of that, I quit because the chances of my brothers finding out what I actually do for work is getting too high, dude, Nagato is here, he would have told Itachi-nii for sure! I would literally get killed by my brothers if they knew” I said.

“You are awesome, you know?” He wrapped his arms around my waist and hugged me tightly. I allowed my hand to go through his hair a few times.

“Aawww~ Kiss, kiss, kiss -ugh...diarrhea is the worse!” The person suddenly moaned in pain before we could hear another load drop in the toilet.

“Uhm...try activated carbon” I said, letting go of Naruto.

“Where...do I get that?” And there went another load.

“Try the pharmacy” Naruto got up.

“T-Thank you...you two are a cute couple”

“He can’t even see us?” I whispered. Naruto pointed at hole through the wall that went completely unnoticed by me. Damn, was I traumatized by them?

“Ugh” I took a step away from it. Naruto chuckled, wrapping his arm around me.

“Keep hydrated, stranger with diarrhea” He said.

Oxoxoxooxx

I kicked my shoes out when I got home before walking inside the living room.

“Hey y’all, I quit my job, wasn’t worth it, got boring, so about that internship?”

“YES?!” Both Itachi and Shisui suddenly stood in front of me.

“Told you he would quit!” Itachi said.

“Fuck yea, good thing you aren’t determined at all!” Shisui added.

Well…that was mean...I should have known they would react like that. Now I could say I take the internship at the hospital, I would hurt Shisui that way. But I could take the internship at the lawfirm and hurt Itachi that way...if there was only a way to hurt them both.

“So who are you going to choose?” Itachi asked.

“Y’know what, why don’t you two fight to the death and I will go with whoever wins “ I said, walking pass them to the kitchen to get something to drink. In my surprise Madara was already sitting at the bar table drinking some whisky.

“Why are they arguing?” Madara asked.

“Hmm...internship” I said, sitting next to him. He poured me a glass.

“You quit?”

“Yes”

“Odd” He said, looking at me from the corner of his eye.

“How so?” I asked.

“Because last time I went past the diner to get some coffee and to obviously annoy you, they said you quit...about a month ago” He laughed before shaking his head, “It is just so funny because...around that time this maid cafe got very popular because of a new waiter that apparently quit today, according to my sources”

“Ha...what a coincidence” I chucked down the whiskey before grabbing the bottle and pouring myself some more. “They are still going at it...” I tried to change the topic.

“Oh, you know what? They said you couldn’t get an internship at my firm, but what if I offer you a temporary job? As my assistant?”

“...really? How much does it pay?” I heard something break in the background and I swear...I did not want to turn my head to see if I was right.

“I don’t think you are in a position to bargain” Madara said, shaking his head.

“I take it” I said, raising my glass. “Cheers”

“Cheers” Madara said.

“Should we tell them I already took your offer?” I asked.

“Lesson 1 in business school, when you see your two rivals fight each other...just enjoy the show and stab the winner to the death just to see the pain in their eyes”

“That…cannot be really what they taught you in business school” I commented.

“Nope, I was sleeping and fucking around all through university...no idea how I got here, but alcohol works” He said.

Edited by @Failureoftheyear

#narusasu #maid cafe #part 3 #sasuke #naruto

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narcisbolgor-blog · 7 years ago

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Keaton Jones and the Ethics of Filming Your Kids Online

Milkshake Duck is an internet concept when a viral internet star is adored, until its uncovered they have some distasteful or horrible characteristicsuch as being racist. Given the speed at which viral people explode into internet stardom, its no wonder their light can just as quickly become consumed by the black hole of reality. A recent viral star, Keaton Jones, famous for a video recorded by his mother where he calls out alleged bullying, might now be facing his own Milkshake Duck: His mother, who recorded the video, posted suspected racist comments on Facebook.

However, the focus for me isnt whether his mother is racist, disturbing though that discovery is. Many of us seem to have glossed over an earlier troubling question: Why was a parent recording her crying child?

If someone is in a state of shock, sadness, and pain, my first response is not to whip out my phone to record their tears. This is particularly the case for someone I love. Yet, thats precisely what occurred. In the video, Keaton, apparently, has just experienced painful bullying. He describes the kinds of things even I was bullied for, with some part of your body (or your name and your skin color in my case) singled out for mockery. His mother, in a stern but seemingly supportive voice, asks her child questions to get him to elaborate through his tears.

Now, Keaton, being a child, cant properly consent to many activities. Did he know or consent to being filmed and posted for the world to see?

Seemingly, the answer is yes: Keatons mother claimed on Facebook that he asked her to film the video. Nevertheless, Keatons a childso should Keatons mother have posted the video in the first place?

Parents too often treat their children as property, not caring whether they should post images or videosregardless of how cute or inspirationalof their childs activities. Even in 2014, Victoria Nash, of the Oxford Internet Institute, noted what parents should consider when it comes to sharing any information, data or images about their children:

There are two things to be careful about One is the amount of information that you give away, which might include things like date of birth, place of birth, the childs full name, or tagging of any photographs with a geographical locationanything that could be used by somebody who wanted to steal your childs identity. The second issue is more around consent. What type of information would children want to see about themselves online at a later date?

Parents can dress it up as being for good causes, but there are plenty of ways to achieve those same causes without using children as props in videos or pictures made for sharing, likes, and retweets. The problem is were not asking these questions and we dont seem to demand them of parents, because we get sucked into the sympathy or adoration that comes from seeing a younger person fighting back against universally bad acts or performing something supposedly adorable. Being a parent doesnt grant you immunity from actions regarding your child (just ask courts of law)indeed, its parents who are most answerable since they are meant to be responsible for the childs care and well-being.

Again, I dont think the instinctive outpouring of support from an audience is bad, but that doesnt mean we cant simultaneously stress ethical practice when it comes to personal conduct online. After all, its the parentsthe so-called adultsthat are often the problem, not the children. Adults who have a responsibility to these individuals who cant yet consent, and who may come to resent such actions at a later date. When we see a child being recorded, we should immediately ask who is doing the recording and does the child actually know whats happening?

In Jones case, many of us got swept up in standing for a proper moral cause: Bullying is bad. Within apparently seconds, Jones got invited by the Avengers performers to the films premiere and, I dont know, will probably soon have his own morning show. (It was not lost on people of color what a difference black kids and white kids being bullied has on the internets barometer of care.) But, on seeing such content, we should also immediately consider young peoples well-being when theyre recorded.

Social media is a nightmare landscape where weve painted our horrors and fears and a major reason Americans elected a reality star to the Oval Office. But its newness is precisely why theres more reason for us, as ordinary individuals, to think about the moral dimension of our actions, to recognize ourselves not merely as audience but producers and content creators. Social media is a stream of user-generated content, after all. Its important to demand these considerations from ourselves and others, especially those who have a responsibility for the care and well-being of young people.

More people, including and especially parents, should place others well-being and consent above the number of likes and retweets theyd receive from some media theyve created. And we, on the receiving end, should be more hesitant about sharing content featuring children, no matter how cute or brave they may be. We can stand up for bullying without needing a parent to film their crying child for us to care.

We all know what bullying does, we know it exists. No one needs a reminder, especially the bullied child later in life, who was recorded.

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Keaton Jones and the Ethics of Filming Your Kids Online was originally posted by 11 VA Viral News

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