#I think this has been a much more beneficial way of taking comms so far! Was able to pay my bills with month w comms alone
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Okay so I was taking a bit of a mental health break due to uni stuff etc but I think that's getting sorted now, so I've only got a commission to finish from Feb and then I'll be opening my slots for March! Will probs only have about 2 or 3 since some have carried over from last month :)
#But yeah ill make an official post like before soon#I think this has been a much more beneficial way of taking comms so far! Was able to pay my bills with month w comms alone#Which is HUGE for me. Like holy shit#Thank u to ppl who like my art enough that this can feesably be my job rn#For as long as this luck lasts as least
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Bad Bounty Chapter One: Reunion
Sergeant Hunter x Fem! Bounty Hunter
Word Count: 2k
Warnings: Maybe mutual pining? Nothing too gross.
A/N: hunter was already attractive in season 7, but i managed to suppress my feelings for an ANIMATED character. alas, the bad batch has cursed me and i have finally accepted that he is my latest comfort character.
“You hold onto friends by keeping your heart a little softer than your head.”
“Clone Force 99. Welcome back, ” Commander Cody extends a hand to Hunter who firmly shakes it.
“Apologies for showing up late, we-”
“Got stuck handling some unexpected complications during a mission. I understand Sergeant Hunter,” Cody winks.
“What have you got for us this time Commander?” Crosshair mumbles, twisting his toothpick around between his teeth.
“This one is going to be a bit different boys. It’s not exactly…sanctioned by the GAR. Let’s call it a favor for an old friend of mine.”
Crosshair straightens up, suspicious of Cody’s statement, “We may bend the rules from time to time, but we don’t do favors.”
“This is an efficient mission that ultimately will aid us in the war, provide you some easy target practice…and helps me relieve an old debt I have to pay.”
“Is there a reason you can’t do this yourself?” Hunter questions.
“We’ve been called into battle. Besides, this separatist encampment is one we have failed to infiltrate time and time again,” Cody responds.
Hunter shifts, struggling to comprehend where this is going, “What does attacking a separatist encampment have to do with repaying a debt?”
“There is a Senator stationed on Drahgor III…a corrupt senator at that. One who has a significant bounty on his head. My dear old friend is a bounty hunter I met on Ord Mantell. Your job will be to take out the clankers and retrieve any data you can from the main database. Meanwhile, my bounty hunter friend will secure the bounty and you’ll go your separate ways.”
“Who is this Bounty Hunter?” Crosshair inquires.
“Glad you asked,” Cody exclaims, “Y/N!”
The clone troopers twirl around to see you approaching them. Your manner is conservative yet confident. One thing you have become an expert at is never striving for attention. Instead, your presence demands it.
You nod at the troopers, “Clone Force 99, it is a pleasure to be working with you.”
Surveying the team, your eyes first fall on Crosshair. His distrusting look reaffirms the defense you raised long before wandering onto the landing platform.
Gotta keep an eye on that one.
Next, you glance over to Wrecker. A massive lug of a man, but he has the noticeable demeanor of a gentle giant. Something about him reminds you of a plush toy you once owned as a child.
Tech catches your attention next. He is clearly the intuitive one. He will either be a pain to deal with, or a beneficial asset.
At last, your eyes meet Hunter’s. Such a tiny gesture of nothingness feels like you’ve just been thrust into a timeless world of something far more significant. You quickly dismiss your gaze, but soon find your eyes wandering back to him. His eyes are already on you.
Tech quickly picks up on your silent interaction and nudges Hunter to break him of his trance. Hunter quickly snaps out of it and clears his throat. He is dumbstruck by his response. His heart beats recklessly.
Taking note of his counterpart’s vitals, Tech is left unsettled by the quickening of Hunter’s heart rate. “Hunter, I need you to focus on your breathing. Your heart rate is abnormally high.”
Setting your sight once more on the rugged clone trooper, you catch the ever-changing hue of his cheek…the one that isn’t covered in dark ink. A hint of red paints his untouched skin.
He clears his throat, “Erm-thank you for alerting me Tech. I’ll be aboard the ship.”
Cody shrugs his shoulders at you, “I guess you’ll brief them on the ship. Have a safe trip.”
“Thank you Cody, ” you clap him on the shoulder and follow the rogue crews lead onto their ship.
++++
𝙿𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝙳𝚊𝚢
“Where are we going to go? We need somewhere we can set up camp that isn’t easily tracked, ” Echo declares.
“There is one place I can think of, but I’m not sure that Hunter will be a fan of the location, ” Tech announces apprehensively.
Hunter lets out a groan and tightens his fist.
Wrecker laughs, “Hunter doesn’t like this idea! Which means I like it even more!”
Glaring at Wrecker, Hunter abruptly stands and stomps off into the cockpit.
“Where is it?” Echo inquires. He leans in, intrigued by the atmosphere that has suddenly befallen the Marauder.
“Let’s just say…we’d have to get help from an old friend.”
“Ha! An old friend!?” Wrecker blurts out, “Try an old fla-”
“That’s enough, ” Hunter commands, having regained his composure, “We will attempt to make contact this evening and if we have no response by the morning, we will seek out other options.”
++++
All night Hunter stayed up, much to the dismay of his crewmates, awaiting an incoming communication. His mind told him that it would never come through; his heart made him believe…or at least hope otherwise.
He stretches his arms into the air, releasing a hardy yawn. Tech enters the cockpit, “Anything?”
“Nothing, ” Hunter responds with a hint of despair clouding his words.
Just then, a muffled echo transmits through the comms unit. Hunter nearly falls out of the captain’s chair as he scrambles to the commlink.
“This is Phoenix 178095 trying to contact Clone Force 99. I repeat, this is Phoenix 1780-“
“Copy Phoenix 178095, this is Clone Force 99,” Hunter announces almost frantically.
The only response is silence…until, “Hunter? Hunter, is that you?”
The rugged clones grasp on the comlink tightens, and he touches it to his forehead. His eyes are locked shut, his breath unsteady.
“Yes. It’s me.”
You hear his guttural voice and suddenly, your memories which you’ve strived to suppress come flooding back, knocking the wind out of you.
Attempting to swallow the lump that insists on crowding your throat, you press down the transmitter button, but fail to express your thoughts.
“What?” A menacing voice echoes out, “Lothcat got your tongue?”
You chuckle, pressing the comlink to your forehead, “well if it isn’t my favorite piston head.” Piston head, a nickname you have used to refer to Crosshair for as long as you can remember. You find it fitting because term is in reference to a droid, similar to the droid-like manner in which Crosshair carries himself.
“So!” Shouts a third, brooding and somewhat childish voice, “Are we bunking with you or what?”
“Yes Wrecker, you are more than welcome to stay here.”
“Thank you, ” Hunter softly says into the comm’s mic. His voice still brings warmth to your soul, although the communicator slightly alters it.
“Get here safely.”
“Always do.”
“I know, ” you affirm and disconnect the commlink.
Looking around at the empty room, which mere seconds ago was filled with the sound of your closest friends’ voices, you feel once again plagued by loneliness.
It has been nearly three years since you last spoke to them. Choosing to once again shove your feelings down deep inside you, rather than let the pain consume you, you prepare for their arrival.
++++
“Maybe one day we will meet again, when all of this is over. Perhaps then we will have the freedom to say all that we have long held in, ” you exhaust yourself in the effort to fight back the words that are bottled up inside of you.
A void and emotionless, expression spans across his face as he finally acknowledges the weight of the moment. A single tear threatens to spill over, and he clenches his fist to fight back the giant hole that is forming in his heart.
“Y/N, ” he utters, “I-”
“Hunter! It’s time for us to go, ” Tech calls out.
++++
Your entire body jerks to a standstill when you hear the hum of their ship landing.
Hunter feels a sudden sickening sensation throughout his body.
“Deep breaths, brother. You don’t want your little reunion to be overruled by sweaty palms and rosy cheeks, ” Crosshair teases.
Hunter groans, “We are here for a short period of time until we can safely get back to Kamino. Until then, this is strictly business as usual.”
“Whatever you say Hunter,” he flicks his toothpick into the garbage receptacle with perfect aim.
The leader of the clone force, known for being courageous, daring, and valiant has abruptly shifted to a timid and uncertain man. But that’s just it. He felt like a man. A feeling only familiar when around you. Every other day of the rotation, he is merely a defective clone—a misfit who despite his enhanced abilities, is thrown into combat, aware of the fact that he is completely dispensable. Because he is merely one of hundreds of thousands of others just like him, he feels like he is just another carbon copy dispersed off of a factory line. Yet, around you, he never felt that way.
He watches out the cockpit window and sees you emerge from your homestead. His heart somersaults.
“Shall we disembark Hunter?” Tech asks.
He nods.
You are so lost in your thoughts that you hardly notice the troopers exiting their ship. It isn’t until Wrecker has scooped you up into his arms that you are jostled back to reality.
“Wreck!” You cry out in excitement as you wrap your arms around him.
Crosshair lends you a wink that you flirtatiously mirror. It’s always fun seeing him fight back a cheeky grin.
Tech is clearly holding back, so you eagerly close the distance between you two and envelope him in your arms. Initially, he hesitates but rapidly works up the bravery to reciprocate.
Chuckling at his hold on you, you tease, “I don’t know who gives the stronger hugs! You, or Wrecker.” He quickly releases you and straightens his glasses.
“Who’s this?” You motion towards the pale, almost sickly-looking clone. In fact, he looks more like a machine than a clone.
“I’m Echo, ” he extends his hand to you. Accepting it, you introduce yourself in return.
Hunter appears from behind the group. Suddenly, you lose the ability to think straight, let alone speak. His eyes meet yours and you share a somber smile. Each taking a step toward each other, you close the distance between you. Unable to resist any longer, you throw your arms around him, drawing him tightly to you.
For a moment, he stands frozen. Hunter has imagined the feeling of taking you into his arms again more than he would like to admit. At last, he pushes his thoughts aside and encircles your waist with his strong embrace.
You can feel his heartbeat slowly accelerate; at least your heart isn’t the only one threatening to beat out of your chest. You seemingly melt into each other. His hands softly tracing circles on your lower back.
Knowing that this moment cannot last as long as you’d both like, you hesitantly pull away from him. His hands grip at your hips as if he is begging you to not stray from his grasp. Your heart yearns to pull him back into your embrace and to stay there with him forever.
Becoming aware of the world around you once again, you feel your face flush into a crimson red.
“Why are they just standing there like that?” Wrecker leans down to whisper to Tech.
“Sometimes, the most important messages do not need to be said with words,” he responds softly.
#the bad batch#bad batch#sergeant hunter#sergeant hunter x y/n#sergeant hunter x you#sergeant hunter x reader#sergeant hunter imagine#hunter x reader#hunter imagine#hunter x y/n#hunter x you#bad batch fanfic#bad batch imagine#the bad batch imagine#the bad batch fic#bad batch x reader#bad batch x you#bad batch x y/n#the bad batch x you#the bad batch x reader#tech x you#tech x reader#crosshair x reader#crosshair x you#wrecker x reader#wrecker x you#echo x reader#echo x you#the clone wars x reader#the clone wars imagine
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Remember Me (Bucky Barnes x Natasha Romanoff x Daughter!Reader)
Chapter 5
Remember Me Masterlist
Previously on Remember Me...
Warnings: None.
Word Count: 1,934
A/N: First, I want to say thank you to @mybesttobobcratchit for editing this beauty for me! She is amazing and I owe her so much!!! She always finds time in her schedule to edit this fic for me! I appreciate her so much!
Second, I hope you all enjoy this chapter! Like I said, I’m in college so my main focus is getting my work done before even thinking about writing (sometimes I can’t get ideas out of my head and I have to write) anyways, I’m gonna try my best to balance work, school, and writing! Thank you for your patience!
"Target is in view,” Steve said through the comm.
“This reminds me of Budapest,” Natasha said softly as she watched Steve from her spot on the roof.
“Budapest?” Sam questioned. Natasha let out a heavy sigh as she rolled her eyes.
“Clint would’ve understood,” she muttered. Sam didn’t say anything else. He watched as Bucky moved towards Steve from a different direction.
“So, I hear the classes are going well.” Natasha chuckled at Sam’s attempt at small talk.
“Usually there’s no talking during this part of the mission,” she replied.
“Yeah, well, in my defense, this is my first mission with you since everything and I’m used to having this position alone,” Sam snarked. Natasha sighed.
“You should join us,” she said suddenly. Sam raised his eyebrows in a questioning manner. “Join Bucky and me in instructing the class… I could use the help. Plus, I think it would be beneficial for you.” Sam nodded.
“I’ll think about it.”
“Bucky, what’s your location?” Steve said through the comm.
“Around the corner, old man.” Sam stifled a laugh.
“We’re the same age, old man,” Steve replied.
“Boys, let’s focus,” Natasha said through the comm.
“Sorry, doll.”
Bucky caught up to Steve.
“This the door?” Steve nodded.
“Ready?” Bucky gave Steve a nod as he drew up his gun. Steve slowly opened the door.
The men stood confused at the entrance of the room. The room was bare with a T.V. sitting in the middle of the floor.
“Is this some kind of prank?” Bucky questioned as he slowly took a step closer. Steve held his shield up as he looked around the room.
“What’s going on?” Sam questioned through the comm.
“The room is empty, except for this t.v. on the floor,” Steve answered.
“Get out of there,” Natasha commanded. She had a horrible feeling. Suddenly, the t.v. turned on.
“The hell?” Bucky commented as he drew his gun up.
“James Buchannan Barnes, it’s very nice to see you again.” Zemo appeared on the screen. Bucky clenched his jaw, gripping the gun tighter. “Steven, it’s nice to see you as well.”
“Where the hell are you?” Steve questioned as he looked away from the t.v. and scanning the room, quickly spotting the camera in the corner of the ceiling.
“I’m nowhere near the facility if that’s what you’re wondering,” Zemo stated.
“Let me guess, you were the one that sent the distress signal?” Steve questioned. Zemo chuckled.
“You heroes would fall for anything.” Zemo glanced towards Bucky.
“What do you want?” Steve demanded, taking a step towards his friend. Zemo’s glance turned back to the captain.
“I just want to introduce my newest asset,” Zemo smirked.
“New asset?” Bucky spoke up.
“Yes, she’s far more destructive than you ever were.”
“She?” Steve tensed up. “What kind of fucked-up shit did you do this time, Zemo?”
“Language, Captain,” Zemo teased. “There’s children present.”
Before Steve could question Zemo, someone punched him in the face, causing him to fall to the ground.
“What the hell!” Bucky exclaimed as he aimed his gun towards you. You wore a black tactical suit, a mask covering your eyes.
“James, I’d like for you to meet my newest asset,” Zemo said with a smirk. “Look familiar?” Bucky turned back towards the t.v. with a questioning look.
“What?”
“Now,” Zemo commanded.
You ran towards the man that Zemo called James. Jumping on this back, you wrapped an arm around his neck. You felt arms around you and the next thing you knew you were on the ground. You quickly stood up and blocked a punch from James. Grabbing his gun that hung on his arm, you used it to hit James upside the head.
James fell to the ground, unconscious.
“It’s always nice seeing you boys,” Zemo said before the feed cut off. You glanced towards the man you know as Captain America, as he was beginning to stand up.
“You don’t have to live this way,” he began to say.
“But I am.” You glanced over at James, still in a heap on the floor. “Captain.” You turned and started to run out of the room.
“Wait!” Steve yelled, but you didn’t stop. You ran out of the room.
“What the hell just happened?” Sam asked through the comm.
“Zemo… he’s got another super soldier,” Steve explained.
Agent Sharon Carter walked into the conference room.
“Agent Carter,” Steve stated as he stood up from his seat. “I’ve been trying to get ahold of Fury.”
“I know,” Sharon said as she sat down on one of the seats. “That’s why I’m here.”
“Fury sent you?” Natasha questioned.
“More like Maria sent me, but I like to think they’re the same person,” Sharon looked around the table. Steve sat down at the head of the table with Bucky by his side and Nat sitting next to him; Sam sat down on the other side of Steve with Wanda by his side. She let out a sigh as she looked towards the empty seats. “Hill spoke about something along the lines of Zemo.”
“He’s back,” Steve stated.
“And he’s got a new prized possession,” Bucky added. Sharon gave Bucky a questioning look.
“Do I even want to know what that means?”
“He has a new asset,” Bucky explained. “She’s young, probably mid-teens, but she can fight Kicked the hell out of me and Steve before we even saw her coming.”
“She knocked me out for a few minutes with one punch,” Steve confessed.
“What else do we have on this new asset of Zemo’s? A name?”
“Introductions were a bit sparse, what with all the fist fighting,” Nat quipped as she leaned back in her seat. “But we know he’s using her as a weapon. Just like he did with Bucky.”
“Zemo mentioned that she was ‘far more destructive’ than Bucky ever was,” Steve mentioned. He glanced over at Bucky, noticing his friend's jaw clench. Steve knew whatever plan they were going to go forward with, he had to save that girl. There had to be some hope within her. He could hear it in the way she spoke, she wanted an out.
“We don’t know if they’re putting her through the same process as they did with Bucky. I mean, if she is then it just makes this ten times harder,” Sam commented.
“I don’t think so,” Steve said softly.
“Why do you say that?” Sharon questioned.
“I had a brief exchange of words with her.”
“You didn’t tell me that,” Nat whispered to her friend. Sharon shook her head.
“What did you say to her?”
“I told her she didn’t have to live that way and then she said, ‘but I am.’ And then she called me Captain,” Steve combed his hair with his hands.“Something about the way she spoke, it wasn’t… I don’t know, it wasn’t-”
“Like me,” Bucky interrupted. He cleared his throat, “Right after she knocked you unconscious, Zemo said, ‘look familiar?’”
“Do you think he could be implying that you have worked with her while you were with Hydra?” Sharon asked. Bucky shrugged.
“Maybe,” he said softly. “I don’t remember her.”
“It’s Hyrda,” Wanda began to say. “I remember they kept me locked in a room until I was useful for them. Maybe they’re doing the same with her?” Sharon nodded.
“I’ll get to work on tracking down Zemo. If we figure out his whereabouts maybe we can get some more intel on his new little project.”
“And can you tell Fury to stop dodging our calls?” Steve stated.
“Yeah, where is he?” Nat added.
“He’s dealing with some things with Parker.”
“Oh! How is Parker? I’ve been meaning to speak to him.”
“Why? Gonna try to recruit him to help you instruct the class too?” Sam commented with a small smile. Natasha rolled her eyes at his comment. Sharon chuckled before bidding her goodbyes to her colleagues. Nat got up from her seat. “Nat, before you go, Steve and I want to talk to you about something.”
“Oh?”
“We’ve thought about your offer,” Steve began to explain.
“It’d be a nice change,” Sam included.
“When can we start?” Steve said with a smile. Nat grinned from ear to ear.
“You can start tomorrow!”
~
The sound of a bell ringing caught Natasha’s attention. Her class had already begun and she was watching as students practiced their forms. She looked over at the door and noticed a tall brunette man standing next to a girl that looked to be about the age of fifteen. Natasha smiled.
“Keep it up, guys, I’ll be right back.” Natasha then walked over to the door, “Hi! Welcome to Widow’s Training! I’m Natasha, the lead instructor of the class.” Natasha extended her hand to the man, who gave her a gentle smile as he shook her hand.
“It’s nice to meet you, Natasha, I’m Roger, we spoke on the phone a few days ago.”
“Oh yes! I remember!” Roger smiled.
“Anyway, this is my daughter, J.J.” Natasha extended her hand towards you.
“It’s nice to meet you, J.J.”
An overwhelming feeling washed over you as you stared at the woman in front of you. You felt someone nudge you, you quickly shook Natasha’s hand. You knew this woman. She was the woman from the mall. The same woman you knew from somewhere else, you just didn’t know where.
“I’m very sorry we’re late,” Roger apologized. “It’s been a hectic day for J.J. and me.”
“It’s fine! Why don’t you follow me and we can fill out some paperwork.”
You followed Roger and Natasha into a small office.
“Thank you so much again for getting us in. I’ve been so worried about J.J. lately. Especially with her mother’s passing, I fear for her future.” Roger was really playing it up, you noticed.
“You speak as if I’m not here,” you commented as you sat down.
“Your father means well,” Natasha said with a smile. “We just need to fill out some emergency contact forms and then I will introduce you to your instructor so you can begin your training.”
You sat as Roger filled out the paperwork. Once he was finished he informed you he’d pick you up at eight, before he left he placed a kiss on your forehead. It was all for show. You knew that, but something in your gut just screamed that what you were doing was wrong.
“Follow me, J.J.”
You followed Natasha into a separate room. It looked a lot like the other room that had cushioned mats on the floor and the walls were lined with mirrors.
“Bucky, there’s someone I’d like for you to meet.”
A man who was setting up punching bags, looked up to meet your eyes. Your eyes widen as you remembered this man from the other night and from the day at the mall.
“J.J. this is Bucky, Bucky this is J.J. she’s our newest student in the class so that means-”
“It means I finally get to instruct,” Bucky said with a small chuckle. “It’s nice to meet you, J.J.”
“Likewise,” you smiled.
“Go easy on him,” Natasha said with a wink before walking away.
“Alright, let’s start off with some stretches then the basics,” Bucky began to say. “Do you know any self-defense moves? Maybe even exercises?”
“Um, does running the mile for P.E. count?” Bucky belted out a laugh.
“No, I’m afraid not.”
“Then I don’t know jack shit.” Bucky smiled warmly.
“No worries, by the end of the month, you’ll be a pro.”
Permanent Taglist (CLOSED): @otomefan @dejaazaro @culturebay @kpopishilarious @fireproof-heaven @iloveyouthreethousand-o6 @weappreciatepower @whereyoustand @white-wolf-buckaroo @spider-woman22 @coffee-habit @supernaturallover2002 @barnes-parker @therealmrshale @myinternetissoslow @myhippiehopes @celyndavies @xzowiex @ximaginx @wooshytooshy @ellaorelizabeth @rororo06 @chloe-geoghegan1 @hdthdthdt @sophie-barnes26 @thamuddagirl @scarletmeii @ssebstann @fangirl31415 @thepeggyann @lauren-novak @reerrrrskillz @unapologeticallymimi @glitterquadricorn @lady-of-lies @cassmoreiraxo @just4muggles @mellorine-paprika @agirlruinedbybands @yougottalovefandoms @avngrsinitiative @lizlil
Remember Me Taglist (CLOSED): @s-p-a-c-e-g-a-l @thatsuperherosidekick @bethany-z @all-fandomthings @shikshinkwon @majorlyextra @werenotloverss @mottergirl99 @delicatefirespyplaid @sweetcarolinestudies @lazyoswald @fabinaforever11 @eclipwzee @whitelotus13 @yourwonderbelle @blackbannerx @hollandsaetre @hailqueenconquer @mellxander1993 @iwamaye2 @cookies186 @tywys @princessizzy36 @boney-and-skinny @fmb158581 @vapingisntmything @widowbitessting @marvelsswansong @stat89posts @abswritesfandoms @feminist-fan-girl @royale-trash-slytherin @jupiterspoet @blancastans @brckenmemories @lovefairytailforever @witch-of-letters @rdjparker @sebastiansmadden @benhardyseyes @sakourim @fools-fallforyou
Bucky Barnes Taglist: @acalmandquietplace @sleepylunarwolf @alicat-life @captaiinameriicasass @noobmaster63 @pleasantlysecretdream @xiumin-girl99 @thejourneyneverendsx @thewintersoldier1124 @scarletmeii @imjusthereforsupernatural @becauseilovebooks @latsyrc85x @dyckvindyck @dumblani @vapingisntmything @viarogers @supermoonchildbroski @beepbeepmarie @notice-me-tc @cooflix @hollandsaetre @infinity-saga
Natasha Romanoff Taglist: @captainmarvel16 @sleepylunarwolf @alicat-life @Noobmaster63 @ballerboobitch @kayleigh2703 @xiumin-girl99 @adriennechavez @becauseilovebooks @supermoonchildbroski @beepbeepmarie @the-lady-cersei-lannister @hollandsaetre @infinity-saga
#bucky barnes#remember me#natasha romanoff#bucky barnes daughter#bucky barnes fic#bucky barnes imagine#bucky barnes series#bucky barnes x daughter!reader#bucky barnes x daughter#bucky barnes x daughter reader#bucky barnes x daughter!reader series#bucky barnes x daughter reader series#bucky barnes daughter reader#bucky barnes daughter series#bucky barnes daughter request#bucky barnes daughter reader request#bucky barnes x reader#natasha romanoff x daughter!reader#natasha romanoff x daughter#natasha romanoff x daughter!reader series#natasha romanoff x daughter!reader imagine#natasha romanoff x daughter reader#natasha romanoff daughter reader#natasha romanoff daughter reader request#natasha romanoff daughter reader imagine#natasha romanoff daughter#mom!natasha romanoff#dad!bucky barnes#bucky barnes x natasha romanoff#bucky nat
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Knight in Tarnished Armor
An Ezra x OFC fic
Rating: Teen
Warnings: Violence, blood, description of injuries, drug misuse.
Summary: Ezra makes a new friend under fortuitous but less than fortunate circumstances.
“Eight men,” Ezra mutters to himself as he slogs through the hip-high fronds of ferns heavy with sporangia. “I came to this hellacious veridian globe with eight men. Fourteen days from planetfall, and how many of them are left? Not a one. Just me.”
He kicks a fallen log in passing, trying to vent his frustration. The rotten wood crumbles unsatisfyingly under his boot, and tiny pseudocrustaceans flee for cover as their shelter is destroyed. “Somehow,” he tells the absconding insectoids, “I imagined being the monster to be more gratifying than that.”
He plods on, moving through the small clearing and back into the dense arboraceous embrace of the forest. “No one to blame but myself, I suppose,” he says, continuing his monologue. “I should’ve known better than to sign on with a crew of kips. But they promised me a twenty-percent stake just to teach them how to dig. That could hardly be a herculean task, could it?”
He huffs out a short laugh at his own foolishness, and almost misses the brief crackle of static from his comm. Almost, but not quite. As he fiddles with the modulation settings, the conversation slowly becomes coherent.
“- told you it was a fifty-fifty chance of the cat blowing, and you said hit it!” A woman’s voice, irate, is the first to come through clearly.
“I swear to Kevva, woman, if you don’t fix this then I’m gonna carve you up like an aurelac sac and use your guts for fishing line,” a man growls back at her.
“Oh, fuck you!”
Ezra keys his transmitter, cutting in before the man can reply. “Loath as I am to interrupt a spirited debate, I could not help overhearing your dilemma. It so happens I have some mechanical equipment I am seeking to exchange for supplies.”
“Get the fuck off our channel, floater!” the man yells.
“What is your problem, Pásovec? You’re gonna tell somebody who might have parts we need to get lost just because you’re in a bad mood?” the woman asks. “You’re welcome to join us, friend. We’re at eight-oh-four point fifteen by thirty-seven point twenty-” The number is cut short by a yelp. “What are you doing? Get off me!”
“I have had it with your big fucking mouth,” Pásovec snarls. His statement is quickly followed by a cry from the woman. Ezra’s already at eight-oh-four point one by thirty-six point five; he can make it to their location in under three minutes if he drops his heavy supply-filled pack. “And your bleeding fucking heart!” Pásovec continues. Another cry, this one a short, high scream of pain. “You’re useless to me, and I’m sick of you using up the oxygen I paid for!”
Ezra shoves the pack under the bole of a toppled stump and runs.
The Green has never been more of an adversary than it is now. Vines underfoot grasp at his ankles. Broken branches snatch at his protective suit as he pushes through the trees. Dangling moss leaves protoplasmic ooze in smears across the faceplate of his helmet. Pásovec is muttering in a language Ezra doesn’t understand, but rage needs no translation. Every few breaths, the man’s rant is interspersed with another cry from his victim. Ezra is almost to the site, able to see a small ship through the trees, when her exclamations turn to desperate gasps: “No! No! Get off! No, don’t!”
He skids into the clearing, thrower already drawn, and sizes up what he sees in less than a second: one figure sprawled on the ground, and one figure kneeling on the other’s chest, trying to wrench the other’s helmet from them. He shoots the one on top, and they topple to the side in graceless languor mortis. The violent cacophony over the comms stops abruptly, leaving only the sound of someone hyperventilating.
“Are you all right?” Ezra asks. He holds his position, scanning the clearing for any other crew.
“Y-Yeah.” The woman’s voice belies her claim, shaking like a sapling in a high wind. The figure on the ground starts to leverage themselves into a sitting position, and she grunts with the effort. “You s-saved my life.”
The Green is still, other than the omnipresent dust, with no indication that there’s other living beings within any near distance. Ezra lowers his thrower and starts to approach. “It seemed in my own best interest to assist the individual amenable to trade,” he says as he moves closer.
She gives a sharp bark of laughter, then shudders and makes a noise akin to a sob. “He was gonna kill me,” she gasps. “F-Fuck, I knew he was an asshole but I didn’t th-think he was that crazy.”
“I dare say we have all misjudged someone’s character at some point.” He takes a knee beside the woman, his thrower pistol still in his hand but held casually at his side. She lifts her head to look at him. The inside of her faceplate is smeared with red from a bloody nose that still drips across her lips to trail toward her chin. Beneath the blood, her face is pale. She’s pretty in an angular fashion, especially with those sea-and-sky blue eyes. “Would I be far off the mark to surmise you’d welcome further aid?”
She swallows and shakes her head. “Help me get inside. I’ll make you a- a mutually beneficial proposition, how about that?”
“I do like a bold woman.” Ezra grins, holstering his thrower before he offers his hand to her. “Such a prodigious vocabulary is a marvelous supplement.”
“Oh, fuck you,” she says without malice. She clasps his forearm, and he stands to heave her to her feet. Something in the effort goes awry, alas, and she collapses into his arms with a scream that escapes from gritted teeth. “My knee,” she groans. “I can’t put any weight on it.”
“Don’t fret, now, little bird,” Ezra says, trying to reassure her as he draws her arm over his shoulders. He clasps his arm around her waist, taking as much of her weight as he can. “We’ll have you flying again in no time. Left foot first, now.” Her movement forward on her good leg is more like a hop than a step, but she makes it with only a stifled gasp.
Under mundane circumstances, the walk to the ship’s airlock and the lone step up would be a matter of no more than half a minute. Instead it’s a torturously slow process, punctuated with suppressed sounds of suffering from his new acquaintance. At last, the airlock doors close behind them and the filters begin to cycle.
“You know, you haven’t done me the courtesy of telling me your name,” Ezra says in the dimly red-lit closeness.
She’s still panting from the struggle of motion, and he counts her breaths, reaching four before she answers. “Leda.”
“A fine appellation, heavy with mythology. I myself am Ezra.”
“Ezra,” she repeats. The airlock doors in front of them hiss open, and she gestures forward with a nod of her head. “The med bay’s right there.”
“Then we had best proceed.”
The med bay door opens at a touch of Leda’s hand, and Ezra can’t help but take in the bounty with raised eyebrows. Spotless, sterile, and stocked with enough supplies for years, he can only imagine the amount of aurelac that harvesters would hand over for this level of medical attention. It’s far easier to picture the kind of violence they’d do to get access.
Leda shifts forward when he doesn’t move, listing precariously toward the examination table. Reminded of why he’s here, he helps her put her back to the table and then lifts her bodily to sit on it. She undoes the seals on her helmet, setting it aside, and Ezra follows suit. Free from the confines of the cover, her dark blonde hair just barely brushes her shoulders, and the evidence of her bloody nose is smeared all the way down her throat.
“I’m gonna need your help getting this off.” She pops the pressure seals on her suit, unzipping it down to her belly and shrugging out of the upper half. Underneath, she wears only a white tank top. Ezra notes with appreciation the corded muscles of her shoulders and arms; no mere miner’s mascot, this one. “I can push myself up, and you can pull it over my hips, yeah?”
“A sound plan,” he agrees. He moves closer, unzipping the suit a little more before he grasps the fabric at either side of her waist. “On three?” She nods briskly. He gives the count. On three, she pushes herself up off the cot, creating a few scant measures of space for Ezra to yank her suit down to her thighs. Without being asked, he crouches to remove her boots and free her legs from the heavy tangle. When he looks up, he’s on a level with her knees. He grimaces at the sight; her right knee is already swollen to half again the size of her left, and a dark angry red that heralds catastrophic bruising. “This is bad.”
“No fucking kidding!” she snaps, high and breathless. He raises a single eyebrow and stands once more. “Fuck, I’m sorry. That was uncalled-for.”
He accepts her apology with a nod. “It was hardly the most astute observation I’ve ever made.”
Leda returns his nod before she reaches for an item stored in a case on the wall. He recognizes it when she sets it in her lap: a diagnostor, latest generation, ten leads and a battery life of six months. It’s worth fifty thousand, at least. She unspools the leads from the body of the instrument, placing the unipolar heads on and around her knee gingerly. For the last lead, she pulls up the hem of her shorts to place the head on her inner thigh at her femoral vein.
Ezra catches himself watching and turns away before she looks up, stepping back and starting to remove his own protective suit. The further he undresses, the more he feels out of place; his clothes are grubby and stained, and he stinks of dirt and sweat. One day I’ll have all this, he tells himself, same as he always does when he measures up against the rich and successful and finds himself falling short. One day I’ll have all this, and we’ll see who’s out of place then.
“Hey, would you do me a favor?” Leda’s question pulls him out of his thoughts.
“I suppose that would be contingent upon the specific request.” Ezra tucks his thrower into the waistband of his pants before he steps out of his boots and sets his suit aside. Turning back to face her, he finds himself trying to measure her up. Is this her ship? Her riches? What woman with this kind of money would come to the Green Moon to grub for more?
“There’s gauze in the first drawer on the right over there,” she says, pointing at the cabinets along the wall. “Would you grab a square and get it damp for me? I’d like to clean up.”
He does as she asks, removing the gauze from its packaging and wetting it with water from a squeeze bottle before bringing it over to her. She thanks him, taking it and starting to remove the drying blood from her face. Still in her lap, the diagnostor beeps quietly to itself as it works. “I find myself overcome with curiosity,” Ezra says as he watches Leda methodically wash her jaw and throat. “This breathtaking craft. Is it yours?”
“No, Pásovec’s,” she answers without the hesitation that would betray a lie. “But when I make it out of here, a few thousand in the right pockets will put the registration in my name.” She meets Ezra’s eyes and gives him a wolfish smile. “I knew one way or another, I was making a fortune on this job.”
“Speaking of a fortune, I believe you said something about a mutually beneficial proposition?”
Leda nods and sets the dirty square of gauze aside. “To borrow your turn of phrase in return, would I be far off the mark to surmise you’re out here on your own?”
Ezra crosses his arms, considering his answer before he gives it. Trusting a stranger in the Green is the surest way to get to Kevva quick. But she’s unarmed, unless she wants to hit him over the head with the diagnostor, and he’s sanguine about his odds of outrunning her. “I might be,” he finally allows.
“This isn’t my first time in the Green, handsome. You wouldn’t be looking to trade components for comestibles if you weren’t neck-deep in some form of bad luck.” She raises her brows expectantly.
Ezra sighs and rubs the back of his neck. Caught out by a pretty face. “The crew I came with got themselves killed, to a man, and got our ship blasted beyond use while they were at it. I’ve been looking to barter aurelac for a ride.”
“I’ve got supplies for twelve weeks, enough for me and a partner,” Leda says. He blinks at her, taken aback by her forthrightness. Sharing information on your supplies is akin to hanging a sign around your neck saying This is how much you’ll get if you kill me. “I can pilot, I can repair, and I can harvest. But the way my knee looks, I think it’s going to be a while before I can dig. I don’t want to leave here empty-handed. And as thanks for saving my life, I’m willing to go sixty-forty in your favor on takings before overhead.”
A smile slowly creeps across Ezra’s face. “I suppose it is my deed that has put you in the market for a new partner. Perhaps it would be only equitable to fill the position myself.”
“Shake on it?” Leda asks, holding out her hand. Ezra clasps it and gives her a firm shake. As soon as he releases her, the diagnostor trills to announce the completion of its task. Leda picks it up and starts to read from the screen: “Grade three medial collateral ligament injury. No surgical intervention required, estimated six weeks recovery time. Son of a bitch.”
The last, Ezra presumes, is her own judgement. “What do you need?”
Leda huffs and starts to remove the diagnostor’s leads from her leg. “There should be crutches in that locker,” she says, pointing. “I need to get into the workspace and get the printer started on a brace. That’s going to take a couple of hours.”
“Anything else?” he asks as he retrieves the crutches.
“There’s a cryotherapy unit in the locker two to the left of that one,” she continues. The unit is about the size of a shoebox, but considerably heavier; Ezra tucks it under his arm to carry it and the crutches over to his new partner. Leda sets the unit on the cot and accepts the crutches with a sigh. “And a painkiller shot, in case I fall off these things. First cupboard, bottom shelf, on the right.”
Ezra finds the box of syrettes easily and gives a low, appreciative whistle as he digs one out. “The good stuff. You are exceptionally well-stocked, my friend.”
“When Pásovec hired me, he said to send him a list of supplies. I wasn’t expecting him to buy everything on it. Not exactly an unpleasant surprise, though.” Leda takes the syrette and raises it in a parody of a toast. “Here’s to rich idiots, huh?”
“To rich idiots and the riches they leave behind,” Ezra agrees.
“I like you,” Leda says, and slams the syrette into her thigh with no further ceremony. She gives a groan and rolls her eyes as the medicine dispenses automatically. When the cartridge is empty, she removes it and places it in a sharps bin on the wall. “Okay. I need you to carry this-” She holds out the diagnostor. When Ezra takes it, she taps the case of the cryo-unit beside her. “And this, please.”
“Reduced to menial labor so early in our relationship,” Ezra sighs dramatically as he tucks the unit under his arm again. “This could bode ill for our continued collaboration.”
“Maybe I ought to bat my lashes and say how I find myself in desperate need of a big, strong man,” Leda replies. She shifts forward as Ezra laughs, carefully putting her weight on the crutches. After testing her balance, she moves toward the door, her gait punctuated by the click of the crutches. In the narrow ingress beyond, she turns to the right and limps through another door.
Ezra bites his tongue to keep from whistling again at the workspace. It’s state-of-the-art, more something he’d expect to see in a slick hi-tech zine than in any ship to set landing pads on the Green Moon. In the near corner, a printer large enough to fit a small child in its bay hums quietly to itself. There’s a workbench along the same wall, the space above it taken by shelves of neatly organized bins. Opposite the workbench is a modest kitchen unit, more storage, and a plush-looking L-shaped couch. A sturdy metal table stands in the middle of the room, flanked by plastic-and-steel-tube chairs.
“Do you know how to plug the diagnostor into the printer and tell it to make the recommended brace?” Leda asks, pulling his attention away from the extravagant accommodations.
Ezra eyes the printer. “At a guess, connect the printer’s data input cable to the diagnostor’s cat-six port and hit the big green button?”
“Look at that, beauty and brains.” Leda turns away and starts to click toward the couch. Ezra, in turn, approaches the printer. He’s only just taken the input cable from its slot beside the controls when there’s a thump and a groan behind him. He glances over his shoulder to see Leda slumped on the couch, her injured leg stretched across the cushions. He looks back to his work, but he’s still able to hear her speak, softly enough that he isn’t sure if she’s talking to him or to herself. “I should be more useful. I’m making a bad impression. First day back on the job, my boss breaks my leg and I make friends with the guy who shot him to death. At least I get the ship for my troubles.”
The printer cheerfully beeps confirmation of the design order and whirs to life. Ezra sets the diagnostor down and hefts the cryo-unit before he crosses the room to Leda’s side. “Where do you want this?” he asks.
“Just on the floor is good,” she says, still speaking softly. “I’m sorry, that shot was a lot stronger than I thought it was. I should’ve only done half.”
Ezra chuckles. “Flying high, little bird?” he teases as he pulls the tubing and straps from the unit. Leda sits up with a grunt when he places them in her lap, and starts to wrap the apparatus around her knee. “If you don’t need anything else, I had best head out and retrieve my pack. Won’t take me but a little while.”
“If you want a clean filter, they’re, um-” She gestures vaguely at the storage on the near wall. “Um. Third shelf, on the… left.” Instead of going to grab a filter, Ezra sits on the low metal caf table, watching Leda thread and tighten the straps with the excessive caution of the intoxicated. When she completes the task, he switches on the unit rather than make her lean over to get it. She hisses as the pressure in the tubing increases, the cryo-unit pumping ice-cold gel through the tubes and over her injury. “Thanks.”
“I do happen to have a few inquiries before I go, if you wouldn’t be troubled to resolve them.” Ezra cocks his head and gives a winning smile; Leda glances at him and gives a vague nod before she lays back down. “Now, I would be the first to confess that I rarely lay all my cards on the table in a negotiation, and it is not so much an accusation as a recognition of good business practice when I insinuate you may have done the same.”
Leda only blinks at him. It seems if he wants to take advantage of her brief pharmaceutical-induced vulnerability to interrogate her, he has to pander to her temporarily reduced faculties.
“What haven’t you told me?” he rephrases. “Do you have other crew?”
“No, it was just me and the asshole. He was convinced there was a deposit near here worth hundreds of millions, but he needed somebody to do the prospecting.” She sighs and closes her eyes. “I figured he might try to kill me if I found the deposit, but I didn’t think he’d try before then.”
“What else? You were arguing when I found your channel.”
“The LXH catalyzer is bust,” Leda says, eyes still closed. “I can put something together to replace it, it’ll just take me a few days. I wouldn’t want to try and break high orbit on it, but it’ll get us up to the transport.”
“And the deposit? Do you know where it is?”
Leda shakes her head slowly. “It was Pásovec’s secret. He had a notebook he always kept on him.”
“Anything else? Anyone going to come looking for Pásovec?”
She opens her eyes to blink up at him for a moment before she shakes her head again. “Nobody knew anything. I’m pretty sure he killed the guy who told him about the deposit.”
“I’ll look for that notebook, then,” Ezra says. “You gonna be all right here on your own? Want me to grab you a thrower in case any uninvited visitors drop in?”
“Yeah, that sounds like a good idea. Armory’s over there.” Ezra stands and retrieves a pistol from the locker beside the workbench. When he gives it over to his new partner, she checks the cassette with the swift muscle-memory of a professional. She sets the pistol on her stomach, her hand draped over it with a feigned nonchalance that conceals her readiness to draw. “I might fall asleep before you get back. Just shout when you come in so I don’t shoot you.”
“I will most certainly do that,” he promises.
Leda watches as he moves over to the nearby shelves to search out a new filter. The one currently hooked into his suit is adequate for a few more hours, but being forced to repeatedly purge and re-use the handful of functional filters he salvaged from the destroyed pod has left him with a vexatious persistent cough. A clean filter, fresh out of the packaging, is just what the non-existent physician ordered. “Would you do me another favor?” Leda asks as he starts to comb through the other storage bins to see what else he can find.
“I offer no guarantee but an inquisitive ear.” Ezra delves deeper into one container, digging out a shiny new hunter’s knife with a sheath that should attach nicely to the leg of his suit.
“If you’re going to take care of Pásovec’s body, would you give him a kick in the ribs on my behalf?” The request startles a laugh out of Ezra. “I know he won’t feel it, but it’ll make me feel better.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” he assures her as he shoves the crate back into its place.
“Okay,” Leda says quietly. When he glances over at her, her eyes are closed again and the thrower on her belly rises and falls with her slow, even breaths. “I hope you don’t rob or murder me. You seem nice. I’m looking forward to working with you.”
“There’s no call to impugn my honor, now,” Ezra scolds, no more sincerely than she had spoken. “We shook on the deal, didn’t we?”
She smiles faintly. “You’re right. We did.”
(If you liked this fic, the best way to show it is by sending me prompts and requests! Tagging a few friends: @rzrcrst @tarrevizslas @lannister-slings-and-arrows @pascalisthepunkest )
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Chapters: 2/?
Fandom: Star Trek: Voyager
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Kathryn Janeway & Q Junior, Icheb/Q Junior
Characters: Q Junior (Star Trek), Kathryn Janeway, Icheb (Star Trek), Seven of Nine, Naomi Wildman, Voyager Crew
Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Crew as Family
Summary:
Young Q absconds to earth to stay with his godmother. Janeway is absolutely suspicious, but...he is her godson, and she can't trust Q to help his son now can she?
Chapter Two: In Pursuit of Trouble
Seven of Nine was 97.6% of the way through her regeneration cycle when the communication panel began to beep in her quarters. Only two individuals are put through directly during her regeneration cycle so she answered promptly.
"Captain." Seven greeted Janeway with a slight nod and a raised eyebrow. She recognized the twitch of her captain's lips as amusement, but she also noted dark circles appearing beneath her eyes.
"Morning Seven," Janeway smiled, slow and soft, "Sorry to wake you." Seven nodded her head again. Her lips shifted upwards. "But this isn't a work call. I wanted to give you a heads up, Q is here on earth. Junior. He's staying with me for a bit."
Seven frowned, deeply. "That is not ideal. On his last appearance, Icheb's productivity diminished considerably and Icheb's chance of danger is much higher when in the proximity of- "
"Yes, I thought you might be a little worried about the two of them spending time together again." Janeway held up her palms to stop Seven's thorough review of the Q's less than stellar track record. "I'll let you decide how to handle their contact, Icheb is your responsibility."
"I appreciate the notification." Seven tried to keep her face neutral, but she can tell some of her emotions have leaked into her expression by Janeway's sigh before she disconnected. With the comm station now quiet, Seven turned to the bathroom to prepare for her day.
When she arrived in the common area of her apartment, it was empty, and it remained so as she prepared breakfast. Icheb did not make an appearance until the eggs have been transfered to a plate. More accurately, he stumbled out of his room with his hair stuck up and the imprint of a pad on his face.
"You're meant to sleep on pillows Icheb, not your data pad." Seven reminded him, a smile tugging on her face at Icheb's grumbling. "How was your rest?"
"Adequate," Icheb said as he slid into his chair at the table. Seven set a plate of food in front of him as Icheb attempted to flatten his hair.
Sleep was still foreign to Seven, though she understood the concept. Since giving her his cortical node Icheb required rest every night and regeneration every two days.
Chakotay informed her that Icheb was still transitioning into this new cycle when she mentioned her concern. Voyager's return to Earth had required further adjustments - Seven herself had trouble regenerating when the sun was up.
"Were you able to finish the required work for your classes today?" Seven asked as she sat across from him with her own food.
Icheb nodded, "I've found this method of knowledge acquisition less optimal than that which we utilized on Voyager." Were he not speaking in his usual tone, Seven might have mistaken Icheb's behavior for whining.
"It is less individual," Seven conceded. Icheb nodded, mouth turned down in a frown. "Is there anything that I can assist you with?" Icheb shook his head.
"I can handle it." Icheb said quickly, brows furrowed as he dug into his food. Seven inclined her head, but made no comment. She decided not to divulge the arrival of Q. Icheb needed to focus, and an omniscient teenage would hardly help matters.
-.-.-
Once Icheb departed for the Academy, Seven headed in to Starfleet Headquarters. The senior officers of Voyager were already gathering. They were nearing the one year anniversary of Voyager's return to the alpha quadrant and the debriefs were finally winding down.
"Seven," B'Elanna Tores yawned with a wave. She handed Seven a pad as the woman took her seat beside the exhausted mother. "Today's agenda is packed - borg, talaxi, AND the Klingon cult."
"You're just annoyed that you'll have to talk about something besides the warp core for once." Tom drawled from B'Elanna's other side, a smirk on his lips and dark circles prominent under his eyes.
B'Elanna snorted, "You're the one that has to explain to your father why you accepted a challenge from a Klingon."
"I doubt the Admiral will be surprised." Seven stated, earning a smile from B'Elanna and an offended squawk from Tom.
"How's Icheb doing?" Chakotay asked as he arrived. There was genuine concern in his eyes as he took his seat. It caught B'Elanna, Tom, and Harry's attention and the three looked to Seven expectantly.
Seven inclined her head to side, "He is…adjusting. Still." She pursed her lips, "I do not believe he enjoys his academy classes, but I am unsure of the reason."
"I can think of a few," B'Elanna muttered, brows lowering on her forehead as she scowled at the table. Seven turned her head to look at the other woman.
"Alright, let's get started." Admiral Paris cut off the conversation as he entered the room, Janeway at his side. Seven frowned at the interruption, but straightened in her seat as the Admiral opened his pad. "First up, Stardate… 54518.2. The kuvah'magh incident?"
B'Elanna groaned and Janeway began massaging her temples.
-.-.-
Icheb kept his head down and his fingers typing throughout his classes. He had learned already that asking questions merely brought undesirable attention from his classmates. It was preferable for him to find the answers himself, even if it did take longer.
"Any questions?" The professor of his last class, an Engineering Diagnostics course, looked directly at Icheb. Chief O'Brien had heavily lidded green eyes focused intently on him. Icheb blinked, but remained silent. "Alright then," O'Brien sighed, shoulders slumping slightly as he gestured out, "class dismissed."
Several students approached the professor for clarifications and comments even as the man made shooting noises towards the door. Icheb quickly packed his pad and stylus away so he could duck out of the classroom before the chief could call him back, as the man had done twice before since Icheb had stopped asking questions.
Chief O'Brien's concern was unique amongst the staff that Icheb had encountered. An outlier, and therefore, not something that Icheb should become accustomed to if he wished to successfully complete his Starfleet training.
"Itchy!"
The exclamation from the young man outside the classroom brought stares. Mostly focused on Q as his limbs flailed out. Icheb didn't even blink, he merely walked up to Q, eyebrow raised expectantly.
The omniscient teenager stood from his seat on the bench outside with a dramatic sigh and trudging footstep, "Do you know how *long* your classes are?"
"6.23 hours," Icheb responded automatically. He enjoyed the quirk of Q's lips at the words. "Chief O'Brien finished his class early today."
Q rolled his eyes, "Not early enough! I only have two hours to properly annoy you before Aunt Kathy gets back from work."
"You're staying with Captain Janeway?" Icheb quirked his head to the side. Q nodded. The other cadets around them not so subtly ground to halt.
"Yup!" Q wrapped an arm around Icheb's neck and began to drag him away from the prying eyes of his suddenly attentive classmates. "The old man was bugging me, so I'm earth bound for the foreseeable future." Q gestured out in a curve towards the area around them.
Icheb raised a brow once more, "I do not believe Seven will be pleased to hear that." He was, in fact, quite positive she would be displeased. But Icheb hadn't managed to make a single friend on Earth so far. He smiled, "What should we do then?"
"My first instinct is always to cause trouble," Q drawled, slipping his arm back to his side as he turned to walk backwards. He thrust his hands into his pants pocket and thrust his head back in the direction he was already walking in, "I saw a Ferengi bar on my way over."
Q smirked, eyes sparkling. Icheb swallowed as he stared up at them. He nodded. "That's acceptable." Q's face broke out into a giant grin.
-.-.-
A trill beeping interrupted Seven's description of the nebula that had obscured the borg transwarp hub. Tom visibly started awake at the noise.
Janeway held up her hand in apology as she flipped open the emergency communicator from her pocket. The thrilling stopped, "Janeway."
"Captain." Icheb's voice was quiet and accompanied by the sound of loud music and yelling. "I am sorry to disturb you, but…" Something shattered. "I believe your presence would be beneficial."
Janeway looked at the ceiling, "What has Q done now?"
"Uhm…actually," Icheb's words were barely a murmur. "It's more about what he's not doing..."
"Captain Janeway?" Admiral Paris raised an eyebrow and Janeway turned back to look at the table. Seven was staring intently, no doubt she could hear Icheb's voice, if not his words. The admiral himself had a furrowed brow.
"Send me your location, Icheb, I'll be right there." Janeway flipped her comm device closed. She cleared her throat, "I'm sorry, Admiral, but it seems my godson is in a spot of trouble."
Seven's eyebrow rose, "Icheb is with Q?"
"Wait, Q's on earth?!" B'Elanna's hands banged on the table as she stood up abruptly.
"Junior is, yes." Janeway nodded to B'Elanna. Her glower softened. Janeway faced Seven with a nervous smile, "And yes, it would appear he and Icheb are together."
"And in trouble." Tom added, chuckling to himself.
Harry sighed, "Again."
Admiral Paris' brow lowered even more, "Is this the same child that was going to be turned into an amoeba?" Tom snorted, Chakotay nodded.
"If we could adjourn for the day?" Janeway asked on her way to the door. The admiral barely had time to dismiss them before Seven and Janeway transported away.
Tom leaned towards Harry, "How much you want to bet this inspires a little rebellious streak in our young Icheb?"
"No bets!" Harry raised his hands in the ear, grinning wide. B'Elanna rolled her eyes.
"Seven's got enough to worry about with Icheb as is," Chakotay frowned at the two younger men.
B'Elanna frowned, lips pursed, "I bet."
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What Only We Can Know
Fandom: Overwatch
Pairing: Zenyatta/Maximilien
Warnings: plug n play, wireplay, quid pro quo, mindsex
Notes: A bit of an impromptu fic trade with @lacertae-dreamscape since we both were writing maxyatta at the same time. 💖 Go read hers too! 🔫
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There is a certain poetic justice to the situation: a pesky strike team face-off so much like that day in Havana, but this time he's not running. Some would call it fate, but they sell him short, always, always. The accountant. The crony. He cannot play the tables, but the games he can play he endeavors to be the best.
He takes them in, agent Mercy, just as beautiful but for the dreadful circles beneath her eyes, the gorilla next to her, posed so very stiffly. Comms to their young leader were cut as soon as they infiltrated the building; he imagines Tracer is trying in vain to re-establish the connection. Then, of course, there is Shimada Genji. Years later, he can still recall the cool steel balanced at his struts, the hot bite of electricity much like an omnic’s but tinged with something undeniably human. Foes that had not only captured him once, but had taken out Doomfist, for all the good it did them; the man back among their ranks and twice as deadly, sharpened by years of planning and training in prison. Much like Max himself. Patience and a long memory are things they both share.
It leaves only the one behind the glowing green of the cyborg. A familiar sight, he had watched and studied him enough in feeds and intel reports. The omnic is smaller in person, unplated and more exposed than even the most basic of their models. More than meets the eye, indeed.
"How nostalgic," Max says. "It has been far too long."
He draws his hands together, optics sliding over each in turn. How they stiffen. How they frown. A festival of the senses.
"Now, now. You don't seem pleased to see me."
"What do you want, Maximilien?"
"Perhaps a little more enthusiasm?" Max begins to pace. Gloating is quite rude, but if one does not take such joys as they appear, life would be very dull indeed. "Pay no mind to my entourage. A little insurance, you understand."
The heavy assault units behind him move not an inch, but their presence is undeniable, casting the room in half-baked twilight. They may not kill everyone, but kill they would. And Max knows how pathetically Overwatch struggles to keep their numbers, small as they are.
"You were a pleasure to work with before. I am not so unwilling to do so again if I’m granted another favor, hm?"
"Name your demands," comes Shimada's modulated hiss, and Max stills at the sound despite himself.
"Not demands, Mr. Shimada," Max takes a few steps toward him, stands at full stature so the cyborg has to tilt his chin to look him in the eye. "The years without Overwatch have been good to you. Or perhaps it was more than your peaceful sabbatical."
He draws his eyes over the cyborg's shoulder to a flickering cyan array, reading him, perhaps, as none in their presence could. What machines can say without words, without faces, each twitch, each motion, a give. Max draws out a poker chip from his pocket, grooves smooth and familiar, and rolls it between his fingers.
“I wish for an audience with you, Master Tekhartha.”
And just as the chip flips from pinky to ring, the omnic responds as quickly.
“You have it.”
“Privately,” Max says.
“Master, you can’t—”
“Genji.”
How delightfully the cyborg heels with a single word. Chastened.
“Nothing sordid awaits him. There are simply things that only machines such as ourselves can understand. One longs for similar company.” And he cannot quite keep the bite out of his voice, smoothing it into something palatable and amused again. How one can forget himself.
“They will remain unharmed,” Zenyatta says.
“They will.”
“Zenyatta, you don’t have to do this.” Angela.
“This encounter will be mutually beneficial, I assure you.” Max palms the chip, slides his thumb over the engraved side before slipping it into his pocket.
“Shall we?”
-
He had picked out the location, of course. There’s always the possibility of wasted work, but if the pieces should fall into place, one must be prepared. The office is small but furnished to his taste, dark wood and darker leather, warmly lit. He had entertained the idea of something more intimate, but it seemed in bad taste considering his reverent company.
For all that he is helpless, the monk does not seem to mind, his back to Max as he studies the room with a languid tilt of his head. Trusting. Or perhaps he does not think him a threat. Max does not know which annoys him more.
"Please, sit anywhere you like. I would offer you a drink, but I do not know if you imbibe."
"I do not."
Max doesn't either; it is bad form for an apothecary to sample the wares.
He seats himself in the large armchair on the far side of the room. Zenyatta takes a spot on the couch across from him.
"First, allow me to offer my condolences. There are some among us that did not wish for Mondatta's death."
Zenyatta's array alternates for a moment, quickly returning to the subtle brightening and fading that resembles breathing, makes him more alive. Max had traded out his own faceplate years ago for something more expressive; humans are less apt to trust someone that cannot reflect their insecurities back at them.
"This is not why you wished to speak."
“Oh? Do tell.”
“You are afraid.”
Max looks away, fingers twitching upon the armrest’s leather.
“You chose to address the only agent that was not responsible for your previous capture. You lean on what makes us similar even as you view it with disdain, the same disdain you direct towards humans.”
"Disdain is a rather strong way to put it."
"I am incorrect?"
"I simply do not wish to be burdened with the expectation of emancipating my assumed kin. I have done quite well on my own."
Movement attracts Max's gaze: Zenyatta’s hands drawing together, graceful, purposeful.
“For all that you have gained, there are those who will never see us for more than what they have decided to see. Servants. Weapons. Abominations. You are centered between what you were and what you can never be. But that is not what you fear.”
Max forces himself to blink.
“Something is slipping through your fingers. Power. Trust. Something you think Overwatch will provide you. Something that they provided you before.” A beat. “Doomfist knows, doesn’t he.”
Max clears processes as they rise, cools himself, relaxes his fingers that’ve tightened against the armrest.
“Ha. I must say, you are quite good. Your deductive processes are elevated much beyond your model's base programming.”
“Elevated programming,” Zenyatta hums. “I wonder if it is so.” He tips his faceplate towards the ceiling. Max stares at the shifting pistons along his throat.
“Doomfist’s prison break is most unfortunate. So many loose ends were neatly bound when he went away. Threads that lead back to me, sadly. I’m beginning to look too suspicious for comfort.”
“And this was not something to mention to the others.”
“Their promises did not protect me as well as I had hoped. I need something concrete.” Max feels the chip in his pocket like a weight, his fingers itching for it. “Something they cannot provide.”
Max doesn’t know what he’s hearing for a moment, soft and distant. Zenyatta’s laughter, there and gone before he has a chance to appreciate it without the tinniness of a video feed.
“Of course. To think it would be something so obvious. A token of goodwill.”
“You can understand how hesitant I am to play my hand. You show me yours, and I will show you mine.”
Ah, to witness another brightened array so soon. Zenyatta wore his thoughts so charmingly on a face that should not allow for it. Then the monk stands, and his smugness drains with each step Zenyatta takes towards him, soundless and sure.
It’s strange, to feel so off-kilter when he has the power here; a single word could have Zenyatta’s friends hurt or worse. Zenyatta stands in front of him, his legs an scant inch from Max's knees, and those slender fingers grasp the connector at the end of his dangling spinal wires. Max’s fans pick up, near silent, but with the slight tilt of Zenyatta's head, he knows the other hears them.
“Analog interfacing. How intimate.”
"You are a good actor, Maximilien. The humans you surround yourself with must find you most formidable."
If only Max could stop himself from locking up the moment Zenyatta moves, one thigh then the other settling long his own, the shambali scion, sliding into his lap as if he belonged there, bright blue burning into his red, faceplates close, so close.
"However," Zenyatta whispers; Max can feel the reverb of his synth in that pretty, unguarded throat, even his own is plated, how does one who sees battle let himself be so naked—warm metal on metal, the bite of systems, deep-seated yearning—when was the last time he had ever let anyone so close—"You are not as good as you think you are."
The monk's servos trace the struts beneath his chin, mapping each place they are different, shielded where one is laid bare, but how bare Max feels now, trapped like an animal, like he's caged in his original programming. Rarely has he felt so alive.
"Where do you want it?"
He twists his forearm around Zenyatta's waist, urging him closer, hating more than anything the formless trappings the monk wears, wanting to see how exposed each wire and component is beneath.
"S-spine." He burns as his synth wavers, freezing as Zenyatta's hand trails down his collar struts with feather-light tenderness.
Would his golden hands feel like this, the ones captured by a handful of frames in a months old security feed? At first he had thought Zenyatta a standard automaton, unremarkable, a few models off his own. True, the monk had fought to make something of himself, and groomed beneath Mondatta's tutelage he had earned the title master. But omnics are what they are, ones and zeroes and hunks of metal, trapped in a world where their creators wait for another slip, another reason to crush their collective awareness. That single feed had changed everything. A glitch, Max'd thought, unbelieving, replaying again and again until his processes felt full to burst. Bewitched by the light, the waves of gold radiating from arms that look so much like wings.
A shifting of fabric, a few, gentle tugs, then fingers against the plates of Max’s back, spinal column constructed from a titanium-kevlar mix that could withstand minor explosions. The sensors beneath do not register Zenyatta’s touch, but his own racing processes supply the sensory information regardless, imagination potent when one drags smooth, warm servos against a place that has no felt tender contact in years.
"So many coverings. Was it your intent to make me work for it?" Max clenches his jaw, arm tightening around the omnic's middle. He grasps Zenyatta's wrist.
"Allow me. I will not have it be said I am difficult."
Wordlessly, Zenyatta drops the connector into Max's waiting grip, surely feeling the faint tremble, noticing how he has to re-enter the sequence to his own paneling before it slides away. He gasps at the chill of open air, brings the connector to his port, not plugging in, not yet. Max leans back, catching Zenyatta's gaze, blinking away the brightness of his array in his own feeds, fingers sealing over the band of wires along Zenyatta’s spine just to hear the other hum quietly.
Zenyatta nods his head, and Max slides the connector inside, sealing perfectly into one another.
There’s not a word that encapsulates the initial rush of data, but euphoric comes close. This type of sharing is outdated, unsafe, too much left open. So easy to overheat and crash, lose the very things that made them who they are.
With Tekhartha Zenyatta, there is all that and more, that grand, unstoppable deluge an eternity.
[ STEADY ]
The word reverberates through his core like the ringing of an all-encompassing bell. Seeing and being seen without edges, without form. Distantly, he feels Zenyatta's hand on his, clasped together where they're connected, his other clutching Zenyatta's spinal wires, mirroring each other. Max waits, but there’s no negentropic transference, no steady ascent towards logic and order. Locked in energetic stasis, sensors active, reading everything at once, sharing everything at once. He sees Zenyatta as he was, as he is, sees Mondatta as Zenyatta saw him, a burning halo centered above his head, as beautiful as a god. A violent, violet sorrow, a noose, Zenyatta seeing Max in turn, past and present, struggling, fear, pain, ryu ichimonji biting at his neck, the cyborg doubling in their shared consciousness, one of a patched soul, one of a murderer checked.
[ NOT THERE ]
It recedes, Zenyatta recedes, but Max reaches for him, gasping, fearful. Gold threads, familiar gold, awareness for them both. In the moment of Zenyatta's hesitance, Max's consciousness surges, examining, touching what is most tender, deepest.
[ HE WILL NEVER LOVE YOU WHERE WERE YOU WHEN IT HAPPENED WHY HAVE YOU NOT RETURNED I HATE YOU WE NEED YOU PLEASE NEVER—]
The words blur, sound and image into one, colors oscillating between violet and gold. In a distant, logical part of himself, he knows this will overtax him, but how can he resist? The omnic that has led one of his most despised to peace, the omnic who has tried in vain to fight against the structures that would destroy them all, the one that wields an unquantifiable, unknowable power.
[ YOU COULD KNOW IT ]
And Max wants to say, to feel otherwise, but Zenyatta's conviction is felt and heard and seen, and it deadens all doubt.
[ SHOW ME ]
It’s so much warmer than he imagined, hot like sparks, like too much electricity pumping through his systems, blanketing him, filling and enveloping every plate and sensor. There are no images, no feeds, nothing concrete and knowable, only sensations, Zenyatta’s amusement like fingers against his chestplate, and deeper, inside him, things that should never be touched by the physical, so delicate a meager misstroke could fry his systems permanently. Max has interfaced before, touched and teased and worked perfectly acceptable overloads from his partners. They are ghosts to this, flimsy paper masks.
Golden hands tracing him, inside him, again and again, knowing his pains, his most sensitive ports, enveloping all in a swelling heat that has his body groaning and thrashing and moaning a lifetime away. He feels his mind losen, sensors overridden, blind and useless, a vessel, aching and blooming with light. It recedes only once, the lack of it a sorrow, then floods him completely, one sensor at a time, and he falls back in the wave as it swallows him whole.
-
His optics online in stages, fuzzy black and whites to full, hazy color. Familiar gray and glowing blue at his periphery. He startles, winces, an ache settled into every part of him. His spine tingles, a delicious bite, pulsing where they had been connected. Diagnostics stack across his optical interface, and he accepts the prompts without analyzing any of it. There are more important things, like Zenyatta’s fingers tracing his aching port.
“Show me yours indeed…” Max whispers, synth grating and popping with feedback. “I trust you have what you need?”
Zenyatta’s array flickers. “Yes. The information you provided is more than adequate.”
There’s no time to think when Zenyatta moves. Max tightens his hold around him, grabbing Zenyatta’s thigh through threadbare cotton.
“Yet, somehow I feel I have been cheated by you.”
They stare at one another, Max’s processes rushing.
“I have simply shown you what you might have if you walked a different path.” Zenyatta leans in, heat along his front that’s swiftly becoming familiar. “We may stop Doomfist successfully this time, but there will always be another. I would advise you to consider your options.”
“Business advice from a monk,” Max scoffs. This time, Max lets him go when Zenyatta moves to stand. He keeps his hands from balling into fists. Small victories.
“Think of it more as life advice.” Faint amusement, then it fades. “There is still time.”
Max tips his head back, stares at the ceiling to keep himself from looking at the omnic that burns like an afterimage in his mind.
“At least let me escort you back.”
“That will not be necessary.”
And Max cannot help it, dreary from the echoes of Zenyatta’s presence inside him, knowing that of course he can see himself out, he has Max’s memories too, a chunk of useless, terrifying trust. He watches Zenyatta leave, the gentle shifting of his shoulders, the piece of machinery that had brought them together looped thoughtlessly around his waist like an accessory, the gentle chiming of his orbs as they resume their rotations, clear like crystal and just as mesmerizing.
“Farewell,” he says to the empty room, slouching into the soft, giving leather of his seat and wishing for something much firmer.
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black coffee [prologue]
Rating: PG-13
Summary: neither calum nor isabelle wanted to be a teacher's assistant. more work, less pay, and no power; not the grad school experience either were hoping to have. but they're roped into teaching intro to public speaking and are handed all the responsibilities that go along with it. students, grades, classes, faculty meetings; but at least they have each other, right?
Word Count: 2.2k
“No.”
Dr. Bennett blinks, momentarily surprised by Isabelle’s blunt refusal, before he tries to hide his smile as he leans back in his chair and places his full attention on the girl in front of him. He raises an eyebrow at her, amused by the seeming lack of grace in her answer, and waits as she shakes her head. He watches her fidget with her pen, watches her take a deep breath and attempt to gather her thoughts, before she lifts her head and meets his gaze.
“Sorry,” Isabelle adds, cheeks tinted pink with embarrassment at her outburst. “I just, I thought I made it clear when I came in that I didn’t want to teach,” she explains as she glances down at the bright green notebook on her lap. She stares at the cover, still unopened, before she lifts her head once more. “I haven’t fully decided if I want to get my Ph.D. and while I appreciate the offer, I like my current assistantship. I really enjoy planning and coordinating events, that’s more in line with what I want to do after graduation. I mean, I’m seriously considering going into nonprofit work instead of sticking with academia. It just seems like I’d be taking on a lot for something I’m not really sure of and I’m just wondering what I get out of teaching, you know?”
Dr. Bennett did know this, the entire department knows of their most recent cohort’s lack of a desire to teach, but they’d all been hoping that the first year in the program would change their minds. However, judging by the look of despair on Isabelle’s face and the panic in her words, that hadn’t been the case at all. She seems even more sure of her unwillingness to teach now than she had been at orientation in August but he’d drawn the short straw and had been tasked with getting her agreement so he sighs and leans forward to rest his elbows on his desk.
“There’s a lot that you can do with teaching experience,” Dr. Bennett informs her with a slight shrug. “You’re wanting to do nonprofit work, right?” When Isabelle nods, he copies the action and continues, “Having that experience can help you program educational experiences. It can help you create curriculum for whatever field you go into to help educate the people you serve. Even if academia isn’t where you see yourself remaining, the experience can be useful in your future and it looks good on a resume. Having someone with your previous internships, your current assistantship, and then a year of teaching experience would be a dream. You’d be overqualified for pretty much any position you wanted.”
“Plus, if you teach and you like it, you don’t have to stay in higher ed. You can teach high school with a masters degree,” Abbey, Dr. Bennett’s advisee and Isabelle’s best friend in her cohort, tosses out. “You get a teaching certificate and you can teach speech or debate, maybe even rhetoric if the school is nice enough to have a rhetoric course. That’s what I’m thinking about doing.”
Isabelle bites her lip to keep from rolling her eyes at Abbey’s suggestion. She loves Abbey, she really does, but their situations are vastly different. Abbey had come in funded through the department and hadn’t had much of a choice in whether or not she would be teaching. For her, it was either accept the teaching position or pay for her second year out of pocket. Isabelle, however, has options.
The department didn’t want her when she came in. She’d begged them to consider her for at least a desk job but they’d apologized and instructed her to look elsewhere. They needed the funding for the Ph.D. students they had so she sent resume after resume to every open position she could find. She’d been offered several different assistantships around campus (one of which came without an interview because they liked her resume that much, they’d even emailed her earlier in the week to see if she’d made a decision about her second year yet), each of which was better suited to her future career goals than teaching so she wasn’t exactly bothered by the department’s focus on their Ph.D. students. Now, however, with so many of their Ph.D. students leaving and not enough faculty members to cover the intro courses, they’re getting desperate.
Her cohort (the students that came in with her in September) only had seven members, four masters students and three Ph.D. students. Each of the Ph.D. students has already agreed to teach classes the next semester (not like they had any choice if they wanted to be funded), one of the masters students has already agreed (Abbey also didn’t have much choice), another of the masters students wasn’t even considered because she raised so much hell about keeping her current assistantship (she’s funded through the department but her boss had even gone so far as to threaten to resign if they took her from him); that just leaves Isabelle and Calum, the only two not currently funded through the department.
She knows that Calum is currently across the hall getting the same offer from Dr. White and she knows that he’s attempting to do the same delicate dance that she is. He’s made it very clear that he’s not interested, either, and she understands why they’re trying so hard but she wishes they’d quit. She hates being put on the spot like this and she’s desperate for a way out of Dr. Bennett’s office. But she knows that she needs to stand her ground if she wants to avoid being put in front of a classroom full of bored freshmen so she wracks her brain for a way to respond.
“Do I still have to talk to Dr. Adams about this?” Isabelle finally asks as she notices Dr. Bennett and Abbey staring at her, waiting for her response. “To officially accept or decline?”
“Yes,” Dr. Bennett nods, “she’s still the interim department chair so she makes the official teaching decisions. She’s also your advisor so the classes we added to your schedule still need to be run by her. You also need to finalize your plan of study so I’d set up an appointment with her as soon as possible. She’ll be back in the office after spring break.”
Isabelle frowns at this before she releases a quiet sigh and nods. She doesn’t want to wait, she wants to get this over and done with, but she knows that this is the only way her declination will be accepted. “I’ll email her when I get home,” Isabelle promises as she grabs her backpack and stands from her chair. “Thank you for the help, Dr. Bennett. I’ll work on the abstract for my conference submission and email it to you when I finish.”
“No problem,” Dr. Bennett nods, a smile on his face. “I look forward to reading it. And I’m sorry that we haven’t been more proactive in talking to you about teaching but I’d appreciate it if you considered it. Even if you don’t go on to get your Ph.D. or stick with academia, I think you would make a fantastic teacher and that it would be beneficial for you.”
Isabelle doesn’t want to but she knows that she’s going to end up spending the next week and a half thinking about it. She knows that she’s going to agonize over this decision and annoy the living hell out of everyone in her life until her meeting with Dr. Adams. So, she nods. “I will,” she promises as she fishes her keys out of the pocket of her backpack, “I’ll see you in class, Dr. Bennett.”
Isabelle doesn’t look back as she exits Dr. Bennett’s office, doesn’t slow down until she’s left the second floor of the building, and only pauses on the first when she hears Calum call her name. She waits long enough for Calum to catch up with her and sighs when he falls into step beside her. The pair are quiet for a moment, each mulling over their respective meetings, before Calum glances over at her.
“Bennett tell you that you’re on the shortlist for teaching next year?” Calum asks as he opens the door for her.
“Yep,” she nods as she shoves her phone into her pocket. “Told me that I’d need to be in the teaching competency class and when I asked why, he looked confused and then embarrassed. It took him a minute to realize no one had seriously mentioned anything about it until that moment. It’s ironic to me that the communication department is the worst at communicating.”
“Why the fuck did we think getting our masters was a good idea?” he asks as he steps behind the building and pulls his cigarettes from the pocket of his jeans. “This whole process has been a fucking nightmare.”
Isabelle huffs an unamused laugh as she leans against the side of the building. “You’re telling me,” she sighs as she shakes her head when Calum offers her the pack. “I’m here because I had no fucking clue what I wanted to do with my life. Honestly, though, living with my mom while I figured it out seems like a better idea than this at this point. At least she tells me what she wants.”
Calum laughs at this before he shakes his head and frowns. “I still have no idea what I’m doing for classes next semester. Theory’s the only thing they’re offering that we haven’t taken,” he sighs before he takes a drag off his cigarette, “and it’s not even general theory, it’s rhetoric.”
“With Dr. Deets,” Isabelle reminds him, laughing when he grimaces. “Bennett told me I’m gonna have to go ahead and start my thesis hours, even though I don’t feel ready to. I’m taking a class out of department but I’m thinking about switching it to that qualitative methods course they’re offering in anthropology. I need it more than I need some fucking seminar that deals exclusively in busy work.”
“Let me know if you can take that one and I might join you,” Calum sighs as he kneels down to stub out his cigarette before he drops the butt in the garbage can. “I’m going qualitative for my thesis, too. Miles on your committee?”
“Yeah,” Isabelle nods, “I have the golden trio. Miles, Bennett, and Adams. How about you?”
“That’s looking like mine,” he nods as he runs his hand through his hair. “If I can ever getting a meeting with Adams to officially request her.”
“She’s supposed to be back in her office after spring break,” Isabelle informs him. “So, give it a month and maybe she’ll have a minute for you. D’you hear that she told Laura to fuck off, that she didn’t have time for her bullshit when she stopped to ask a question about her thesis?”
Calum frowns at this and shakes his head. “No,” he sighs, “but that doesn’t surprise me. Now that Watson’s leaving, do you think she’s gonna be the official chair?”
“Probably,” Isabelle sighs as she tugs her phone from her pocket. “I heard they haven’t had a lot of interest. Two interviews and neither were super impressive.”
“We’re fucked,” Calum groans and Isabelle nods. Calum watches as Isabelle checks her notifications and frowns when she holds the device up to him. He stares at the department group chat, the one that he never checks, and laughs at the message Abbey had just sent.
A picture of himself and Isabelle standing behind the building, deep in conversation, greets him along with the message, ’@Isabelle, @Calum; you guys plotting to burn down down the building down there?’
‘Thinking about it,’ Isabelle sends back quickly. ‘Save anything from the TA office that might be important to you.’
“I’m gonna go get some bubble tea and calm the fuck down,” Isabelle sighs as she locks her phone and shoves the device back into her pocket. “I might even run by the liquor store. Who knows, honestly?”
“Still not a coffee person?” Calum asks as he follows her toward the parking lot across from the building. “Not gonna go get a black coffee and drown your sorrows like some shitty drama?”
“I like to enjoy my caffeine, thanks,” Isabelle laughs. “Black coffee just seems like a punishment.”
“When they break us both down and get us to agree to teach, I’ll bring you a black coffee after your first class. You’ll need it.”
Isabelle grins at Calum’s promise and shakes her head. “I appreciate it, Cal,” she laughs. “But I don’t think I’ll be teaching. I want to keep my current assistantship. But if you end up teaching, I’ll bring you that black coffee.”
“You know, even if we don’t want to teach, I feel like we’ll both end up in front of a bunch of freshmen next semester.”
“I hate to say this,” Isabelle sighs, “but I feel like you’re right."
Author’s Note: Grad school is weird. It’s a different planet, tbh. Anyway, here’s the prologue for TA!Calum. Camp counselor!Calum is coming. I’m too stoked about both, sorry.
#calum hood imagines#calum hood imagine#calum hood fanfiction#calum hood preference#5sos imagine#5sos imagines#5sos fanfic#5sos fanfiction#5sos stories#5 seconds of summer fanfic#5 seconds of summer fanfiction#5 seconds of summer imagines#5 seconds of summer preferences#5 seconds of summer preference#5 seconds of summer imagine#5sos blurb#5sos blurbs#calum hood blurb#calum hood blurbs#calum hood x oc#mine
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Ratchet and Kim Possible Chronicles: The Solanian Revolution-Part 3
After the battle, Ratchet regrouped with the Rangers at the drop ship. Ranger: "Sir, we have an incoming transmission from the President."
A portable screen appeared, on the screen was a cat-like man with a dark reddish-brown colored fur and somewhat tall, pointy ears. President: "How are things on the front line, soldier?"
He then noticed Ratchet and Clank. President: "Is…is that…Secret Agent Clank?" Clank: "Greetings, sir, we are here to help." President: "Well, this is an honor. I can see that you brought your chauffeur along." Ratchet: "What? No, no, no, hold on a second, sir-"
Just then, the President looked in another direction and became startled by something. President: "Oh! Is that so?"
He then looked back towards the duo. President: "Gentlemen, it seems that an unidentifiable space station has just appeared in the galaxy. Oh, no, I'm worried about what this could be." Ratchet: "Let me have a look at that space station."
The screen switched on to the image of the space station in question. Ratchet: "Wait a minute, I recognize that design. That's…the Impossible Space Station of the Future!" Clank: "Hm…yes, that is the ISSF, alright. The exterior structure is indeed very distinguishable."
The screen was switched back to the President. President: "I'm glad that you recognize it, although, I don't know about the name. The words "impossible" and "future" seem very much out of place given the primitive characteristics of it." Clank: "Sir, that space station was built by some friends of ours on a very distant planet known as Earth. Their kind has yet to take up a lifestyle of space travel, so the assembling of spacecrafts such as this is much like an impossible dream to them, hence the seemingly unfitting name." President: "Hm…you don't say. Well, regardless, I need you both to investigate this pronto." Ratchet: "It will be our pleasure, sir. Let's go, Clank." Clank: "Ah, yes, this is indeed a reunion that I know you have been looking forward to."
Ratchet and Clank returned to their ship, got in and took off.
They were soon approaching the ISSF. Ratchet started to press some buttons on the console. Clank: "I cannot believe that they have managed to assemble a second model of the ISSF within an entire year. I would assume that Dr. Possible has received much help in doing so." Ratchet: "Last I heard, he's had Global Justice pitch in with a lot of their intel and know-how on advanced technology. He would go on and on about how amazingly beneficial they have been to this project. I was also impressed by this." Clank: "Hm…interesting. Do you think Dr. Possible could be in there and has brought his family along, including Ms. Possible?" Ratchet: "I would think so, but there's only one way to find out."
He then pressed and held down one more button on the console. Ratchet: "This is Ratchet calling the ISSF. Do you read me?" Kim: "Ratchet? Is that really you!?" Ratchet: "Kim? Kim Possible!? I was hoping you would be in there!" Kim: "I would think that you want to enter, right?" Ratchet: "Yes! Will you allow me permission to dock?" Kim: "Sure, absolutely! Just hang on a minute."
Soon enough, one of the doors on the space station opened up and they were able to enter. As soon as they were inside, the ship landed in the docking bay and Ratchet and Clank got out. They immediately spotted Kim and Ron, smiling at them as they stood right next to each other. Kim: "Ratchet!"
She ran towards him and embraced him very closely. Ratchet: "Kim…"
They stood in front of each other, very happy to be reunited. Kim: "It's so good to see you again." Ratchet: "Same to you. All those times spent chatting with you on the transmitters just doesn't feel the same as seeing you in person." Kim: "I feel the same way. Come on, my dad and I really want to show the place to you."
He walked off with her, Clank followed. They stopped in front of Ron. Ratchet: "Hey, Ron. How's it going?" Ron: "Oh, same old, same old, here and there" Clank: "I would assume that Rufus is also here with you."
Rufus popped out of Ron's pocket. Rufus: "Ta-da!" Ratchet: "Yep, there's Rufus. Same place he's always been. Not much has changed, has it?"
Kim and Ron looked at each other, worried about something and then back at Ratchet. Kim: "Why don't we go head over to the other decks? My parents have been very anxious to see you again."
They then walked into a nearby elevator and were lifted up.
They arrived on one of the decks. Ratchet looked out, amazed at everything he saw. It was a very quaint living area, which came with a kitchen, a dining area and a living room on the other side of the room. There was also a hallway that leads to the bedrooms. Ratchet: "Whoa…"
He had a chance to walk into the middle of the living area and looked around. Ratchet: "This is amazing…! It looks a lot different from what Drakken and Shego did to the other one." Dr. P.: "So, you like what we've done with the place, ay, Ratchet?"
He then looked towards the hallway and spotted Dr. Possible and Mrs. Possible. Ratchet: "Dr. Possible!"
He rushed over to both of them. As soon as he stopped directly in front of them, Dr. Possible laid his hand on his shoulder. Dr. P.: "It's been a while, hasn't it, my boy?" Ratchet: "I'll say it has!"
Mrs. Possible then gently embraced him for a brief moment. Mrs. P.: "It's so good to see you again, Ratchet." Ratchet: "I can't believe this! Wh-what are you guys doing all the way out here?" Mrs. P.: "We came to see you." Ratchet: "Really…?" Dr. P.: "Of course. We wanted to show you the brand new Impossible Space Station of the Future as well as the amazing new features that the other one didn't have." Ratchet: "I have to say, you guys have done a really great job. It looks a lot better than the first one." Dr. P.: "I think so, too. That first model was not one that I was particularly proud of. I mean, sure I was finally able to work on my life-long dream, but there were some things about building that model that just didn't feel right throughout that entire process." Ratchet: "It probably had something to do with the men funding that project wanting to make your dream into a lethal weapon, not to mention one that was going to be used to wipe out all life on Earth." Dr. P.: "Yes, that sounded like the very reason for the whole process making me very uneven. Thank goodness you guys got rid of that nightmare. It allowed us to start anew and build my dream exactly what I wanted it to be. I am so glad of the work that we have done so far." Ratchet: "Uh…so far?" Dr. P.: "Yes, there are still a few more things that need to be done. We're currently working on an apartment room for our Kimmicub for when she's old enough to live on her own. There are also a few other maintenance work that are being cared for now. Jim and Tim are handling them as we speak." Ratchet: "Uh…mind telling me why the twins are taking care of that?" Dr. P.: "Well, they volunteered to deal with it. They have been very eager with working on this since the very beginning and, let me tell you, handling any and all forms of work that needs to be done couldn't make them any happier." Wade: "Oh, that's right and they have been doing a really great job at a lot of the maintenance work." Ratchet: "Huh? Did someone turn on a COMM Link just now?" Wade: "Uh…actually, I'm right over here, Ratchet."
They looked over and spotted Wade standing alongside both Jim and Tim. Ratchet: "Wade? Is that you?" Jim, Tim: "Clank!"
Jim and Tim ran over towards Clank. Jim: "Hey, Clank, long time, no see." Tim: "How have you been?" Jim: "We really missed you." Tim: "I can't believe we're able to see again." Clank: "Uh…it is good to see you again, too, gentlemen." Ratchet: "Wade! I can't believe it! Are you really here? Like, in person?" Wade: "That's right. I came here with Ron and the Possibles to help out Dr. Possible with the few final touches."
He then walked up to Ratchet. Wade: "But I have to say, I'm really glad to be here. I get a chance to come face to face with a real life alien for the first time ever! I've been looking forward to this since the day we first met you! This is so cool! I really get to observe you up close and in person!" Ratchet: "Uh…I really don't…hey, what about Clank? Isn't he someone else that you've wanted to take a closer look at?" Wade: "Oh? Clank? Yeah, I have been looking forward to also checking out alien robots." Jim: "Not now!" Tim: "We called first dibs on Clank." Jim: "We're very fascinated with alien robots." Tim: "They're the coolest." Jim: "You can check him out after we're done." Tim: "Yeah! Wait your turn." Wade: "Um…OK…" Dr. P.: "By the way, Ratchet, I can tell that you've been using that gravimetric warp drive we've been working on together." Ratchet: "I sure have. It works a lot better than we have dreamt of. It exceeded even my highest expectations." Dr. P.: "Glad to hear it, my boy. We make a great team." Ratchet: "Yeah, we have." Mrs. P.: "But what are you doing all the way out here in this other galaxy?" Ratchet: "Clank and I came here after we saw a news report of my home planet, Veldin, being invaded by a nasty alien race known as the Tyhrranoids. We were fighting them a little while before we arrived here." Mrs. P.: "So, you saw your home planet in danger and came all the way here to its rescue? What a guy." Kim: "Um…guys? May…Ron and I have a word with Ratchet in…private?"
Both of Kim's parents and Wade looked at her as though they seemed concerned about something. Ron also seemed worried Dr. P.: "Uh…sure, Kimmicub. We'll…leave you guys alone."
He and Mrs. Possible went over for Jim and Tim, grabbed them both and pulled them back with them into the hallway. Wade stopped to look back before walking back into the hallway with the Possibles.
Kim and Ron were alone with Ratchet and Clank. Ratchet: "So, how have you guys been? I haven't seen you guys in a long time." Ron: "But didn't you chat with KP a few days ago?" Ratchet: "I meant I haven't seen you guys in person." Ron: "Oh…uh, right…" Kim: "Um…Ratchet. There's something I need to tell you. Ron and I…We're…dating."
Ratchet was very dumbfounded by this. At first, it was very difficult for him to react any other way. Little by little, his mood began to change. Ratchet: "That…that…that's great! Oh, wow! I knew you guys would end up together one day!" Ron: "You…you did?" Ratchet: "Yeah, of course! You both seemed so close to each other. It seemed like it was bound to happen sooner or later!" Ron: "So…you're not mad or upset about this?" Ratchet: "No, not at all. Besides, Kim and I already had a talk about us. She feels that she should be with someone her own species and…I agree with her. I can't keep her from her kind." Ron: "Uh…you guys…you're sure about this, right? KP, are you really…" Kim: "Yes, Ron! I…I made my decision…!"
Everyone stood quiet for a bit. Just then, the President's transmission broke the silence. President: "So, gentlemen, how's the search within the mysterious space station going? Did you find anything lethal within…?"
He then spotted Kim and Ron. President: "What in the…!? What are these strange creatures!?" Ratchet: "Whoa! Relax, Mr. President! These are friends of ours from Earth. This is Kim Possible and Ron Stoppable." Clank: "And let us not forget Ron's pet naked mole rat Rufus."
Rufus popped out of Ron's pocket again. Rufus: "Hi." President: "Well, it is a pleasure to meet you both and especially you, little Rufus. I am just so relieved that the space station does not belong to Dr. Nefarious."
Kim and Ron both snickered. Clank: "Uh…Dr. Nefarious, sir?" Ratchet: "Yeah…I remember hearing the name on that news report. They mentioned that it is believed he was responsible for that Tyhrranoid invasion on Veldin." President: "I'm afraid that's all true. We must put a stop to him immediately." Kim: "And how do you guys plan on doing that?" President: "Well, as we know, there has been only 1 man who has ever faced him and survived." Ron: "And who is this man?" President: "I have just received a top secret report on that man's whereabouts. Here, take a look."
They watched a show called "Nature's Mysteries" of an all-too familiar figure seen in a jungle on a planet called Florana. Kim: "Oh, you cannot be serious…" Ron: "Uh, that "top secret report" looks a lot more like an episode of a TV show." President: "Regardless, we need you to find this man. The fate of the galaxy may depend on it." Kim: "Uh, I think not. The fate of the galaxy should depend on someone, oh, I don't know, much more competent and trustworthy?" Ratchet: "Kim may have a point. I mean, are you sure this is the guy we need, Mr. President? He seems like kind of a…you know…wacko." President: "You both may be right, but he's the best chance we've got." Ron: "Is he for real?" Kim: "I'm afraid so." President: "I know you won't let me down…right?" Ratchet: "Uh…well…" Kim: "Don't worry, Mr. President, we're already on it." Ratchet: "Wait! Hold on a second. We? Such as…uh…Are you…you're not planning to…are you really…?" Kim: "That's right, Ratchet. Ron and I will be coming, too. This will be like a great opportunity to get reacquainted after an entire year of just communication with you via COMM links. You are OK with that, right?" Ratchet: "Are you kidding me? I have always been looking forward to this. It will be just like old times." Kim: "Great! Ron and I will get ourselves ready. Let's go, Ron."
She walked off. Ron: "I'm right behind you, KP."
He rushed off after her. Ratchet and Clank stood by and watched them walk off. Clank: "Hm…did you…honestly believe that they would end up together?" Ratchet: "What? Uh…yeah! Of course I believe that!"
Clank looked at him in a discontent and suspicious manner. Ratchet: "Don't give me that look! I really did believe that they would." Clank: "Right…another thing, are you…agreeable with her being with Ron?" Ratchet: "Yes, I'm OK with it! Really! I…I just want her to be happy and if being with her own kind does that, then…I'll always be supportive of that."
Clank then brought out a concerned look on his face.
#Ratchet and Kim Possible Chronicles#Ratchet and Clank#Kim Possible#up your arsenal#Ratchet#Clank#Ron Stoppable#Rufus#Wade#Dr. Possible#Mrs. Possible#Jim and Tim Possible#ISSF#Solana Galaxy#Galactic Rangers#Kimmunicator
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What’s the Worst That Could Happen? Chapter 2 - A HUNGRY Moron
Summary: Their campaign is in shambles. Sasuke is Michael Phelps-ing with how he might appear to others while Naruto is Usain Bolt-ing his way to inhaling an ungodly amount of food.
“You have two dinners scheduled tonight. Two. How did you do that?”
“I dunno, Sas, you’re my schedule.”
Sasuke closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, “Naruto, I would never, never, schedule you two dinners in one night.”
“Apparently you would.” Naruto scooted around to see Sasuke over the back of the couch. “Hey, whose dinners?”
“You have a dinner with the Fischer’s as well as the Greywood’s.” Sasuke tapped the end of his pen on his lip. His brows were furrowed in concentration.
“…Is Fischer the one with the steak?” Naruto asked.
“Yes, and the Greywood’s have various forms of pasta for their Italian themed dinner.” Sasuke shook his head slightly, “Why theme a dinner after a nationality?”
“Oh, yeah, I forgot about that.”
Sasuke looked up at Naruto.
“…about what?”
“About the dinners!”
“What about the dinners.”
“I scheduled them.”
Sasuke’s jaw dropped.
“Why? They’re happening at the same time!” His voice pitch raised in panic.
“Parce que je veux des aliments, Sasuke (Because I want food, Sasuke).”
“Quoi?” Naruto smiled at the response.
“Parce que je veux des aliments, connard (Because I want food, shithead).”
“Tu es un crétin, Naruto (You’re a moron, Naruto)!” Sasuke growled out in frustration.
“Un affamé crétin (A hungry moron)!” Naruto smiled and nodded happily at Sasuke.
“Je vais te tuer (I’m going to kill you).”
“Come on, I have a plan.”
“Of course, you do.” Sasuke rolled his eyes. He plopped down beside the smiling Naruto on the couch.
“Okay, the Fischer’s are full of younger people. The Greywood’s, they’re a bit of an… older crowd,” Naruto looked at Sasuke, “you follow?”
Sasuke shook his head slowly. A look of sincere concern for Naruto’s wellbeing graced his features.
“Older people eat dinner earlier.”
“The Fischer’s dinner is at the same time as the Greywood’s, Naruto.”
“But,” Naruto drawled out the vowel, “the dinner for the Greywood’s will be finished, out, and consumed before the Fischer’s have even thought of starting dinner.”
“That is so wildly untrue, Naruto.”
“No, it’s not. I want steak and pasta! I WILL make this work!”
The door to the hotel room opened to reveal Shikamaru, one of the friends Naruto decided to assign to his pitiful campaign.
“We need to leave. Fischer or Greywood?” Shikamaru asked.
“Neith-“
Naruto pounced on Sasuke, successfully cutting him off.
“GREYWOOD!”
“Alright.” Shikamaru looked at Sasuke.
“Hey, you’re not married to him.”
“That’s fair.”
Naruto jumped up off the couch. He waited for Sasuke to get up before he exited the room. Sasuke looked down at his tablet as Naruto marched triumphantly beside him.
“…we didn’t talk about how you’re even going to consume that much food.”
“The laws of physics will not tether down a man in need of some good steak and pasta.”
“I’m going to have to have a talk with the laws of physics, then.” Sasuke mumbled.
“You’re just a sore loser.” Naruto poked him.
Sasuke swatted his hand away, “If people knew this was how you operated, your campaign would be down the drain faster than a pound of salt can melt an ice cube.”
Naruto chuckled, “That’s not a saying, Sas.”
“Yes, it is. I said it, therefore it is.”
The trio exited the hotel. Naruto basked in the sunlight before turning to Sasuke.
“Pourquoi tu t’énerves (Why so angry)?”
“Comme je tu l’avons dit, tu es un crétin. (Like I told you, you’re a moron).”
Naruto laughed, “C’est méchant, Sasuke (That’s mean, Sasuke).”
“Je m’en fische (I don’t care).”
Naruto held the door open for Sasuke when they got to the car.
“Watch your head, princess.” Naruto said.
“Don’t call me princess.” Sasuke scolded him.
“That’s right, not outside the bedroom, sorry.”
Sasuke shot Naruto a healthy glare. Naruto laughed under his breath as he closed the door.
“Do you guys say something I don’t need to hear when you do that?” Shikamaru asked.
“Hm?” Naruto made his way around the car, “When we do what?”
“Switch to French. I only know so much, you know.”
“Oh, no,” Naruto laughed, “I switch so often because I’m still so impressed by how fast Sasuke subconsciously switches.” Naruto paused before opening the door, “And, honestly? The change in accent is cute.”
“He has a pretty heavy accent already, Naruto.”
“Yeah, but it’s different when he speaks French.” Naruto opened the door, “It’s cute.”
Shikamaru rolled his eyes and shook his head as Naruto’s door shut.
“Whatever.”
Sasuke was always impressed by how easily Naruto made a good impression on people.
The Greywoods’ party was going well so far. Naruto was correct to some extent; the dinner had already been cooked and had begun to trickle into the dining hall. Sasuke hoped that Naruto knew well enough that the dinners were to gain sponsors and not to freeload the food. Sasuke looked down at the glass of wine in his hand. He didn’t drink much, but a glass in his hand makes him seem more comfortable in a place where he’s completely uncomfortable.
Sasuke narrowed his eyes as the younger of the two Greywood granddaughters made a very obvious yet feeble attempt at wooing Naruto. Sasuke wasn’t going to put an end to it until there it was evident it would result in some awful uproar without him stepping in. Women loved to throw themselves at Naruto. Sasuke trusted him, but he could be… oblivious. Sasuke was just trying to keep a handle on things.
He looked back down at his tablet. By Naruto’s strange calculations, the Fischer’s would have their dinner out in about 2 hours. It took 30 minutes to get there, give or take 10 minutes, depending on Shikamaru’s attentiveness to traffic laws that evening.
Honestly? This whole campaign was a mess. Sasuke was acting as Naruto’s campaign manager, which was beneficial in the end because it meant he could keep a close eye on the presidential hopeful. He was also one of the only people that could handle Naruto and steer him in the right direction; even so, Sasuke wasn’t able to do this all the time.
Shikamaru was kind of a chauffeur of sorts. He was a college buddy of Naruto. Kiba Inuzuka was an errands kind of guy. He wasn’t present half the time and Sasuke could never pinpoint where he was. He helped some… Naruto refused to drop him, since Kiba was a friend from high school. Sasuke questioned his choice of friends when he had learned of that tidbit of information.
The whole process was tough. Neither Sasuke nor Naruto had any political experience, not that it was to be expected of a college professor and a freelance artist. Their only minor saving grace was Sasuke’s prior experience as a scriptwriter for candidates in local elections, which was quite brief. Naruto was very passionate and charismatic and, hell, he was even well informed thanks to Sasuke, but that could only get him so far. The system was messed up and without any inside knowledge Sasuke feared they wouldn’t be able to use it to their advantage. It was so easy to make enemies in all of this –
Sasuke looked at his beeping watch. He turned off the alarm before approaching Naruto and the somehow increasingly scantily clad young Miss Greywood.
Sasuke cleared his throat. Heads turned in his direction.
“Your request for our presence is much appreciated, unfortunately Uzumaki has another engagement he needs to attend shortly. We thank you for inviting us to your home.” Sasuke said politely.
Naruto turned to Mrs. And Mr. Greywood, “We gotta head out. Sorry for bailing so early but duty calls!”
“Oh, thank you for coming! It has been a pleasure!” Mrs. Greywood said happily.
“Uzumaki, I’ll contact you later.” Mr. Greywood nodded towards him.
“Everything goes through this guy right here,” Naruto gestured to Sasuke, “but we look forward to hearing from you!”
Naruto joined Sasuke at his side.
“Ready?” He asked.
Sasuke turned wordlessly to the exit. Naruto walked silently beside his eerily quiet husband.
“What’s wrong?”
“Mrs. and Mr. Greywood.” Sasuke replied.
“What about them? I thought they were lovely.”
“They listened to you.”
“They did.”
“They didn’t listen to me.”
Naruto nodded in acknowledgement to the greeter at the door briefly, “What makes you think that?”
��They looked at me.”
Naruto rolled his eyes, “People do that, Sasuke.”
Sasuke turned to him as Shikamaru pulled up in the driveway.
“My accent is too thick.”
Naruto’s face dropped immediately.
“No, it’s not, Sas! It’s cute!”
“Yeah, well, they’re not married to me, so they don’t think it’s cute.” Sasuke leaned against the car door.
“Why are you worried? Lots of people have lots of accents, my guy – you’re fine.”
“I’m worried that when they hear me, and they see me next to you, they’re going to see Mr. President and some foreigner on the side.”
Naruto sighed. He grasped both of Sasuke’s arms lightly.
“Sasuke. I’m not going to give you up because of this.”
“I’m worried about the campaign.”
“I’m not.”
Sasuke gave him The Look™.
“Then why are you running?” Sasuke asked.
“Because I felt like it. Spur of the moment. I’m not going to give up my lifetime sunshine funtime for a spur of the moment dealio, Sas.”
Sasuke looked down.
“I’m having fun, Sas. I’d love to be president, I think I might be able to do some pretty cool things, but… I’m never going to give up on you. Never. Nothing will ever make me give up on you.”
Sasuke looked up at Naruto sheepishly.
“I guess it is kind of stupid.” Sasuke mumbled.
“No, it’s not,” Naruto assured him, “it’s how you feel. I’m just worried that you’ve brought this up so many times. You’re overthinking. And you know what I say about you overthinking?”
“…I’m like the Michael Phelps of swimming in thoughts.”
“Yeah, and I’m the Usain Bolt of rushing towards disaster.”
Naruto pecked Sasuke on the lips softly.
“You’re okay, okay?” Naruto asked softly. Sasuke nodded.
“Je t’aime, Sasuke (I love you, Sasuke).”
“Je t’aime aussi… tu crétin (I love you too… you moron).”
Navigation:
Chapter 1, You are Here!, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9
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#narusasu#fanfiction#Presidential election AU#more french#as of current I haven't delved into Sasuke's concerns in the future chapters#I'm currently working to expand it#wheeeee!#AO3 and ff.net have the author's notes
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AU: Two Wild Halves
I fleshed out some of my visions for the political climate of Krownest through the delightful perspective of Ursa Wren. This is also a solid attempt to show Solus arriving back into Mandalore and her reasoning for joining Death Watch. Ursa doesn’t deserve to deal with the people she deals with.
Title: Sly Pride
Rating: T
Warnings: Teen Pregnancy, Emotional Turmoil
Characters: Solus Vetra, Ursa Wren, mentions of Jai Vetra
Summary: Ursa takes POV while leading Solus forward with tough love. It has been years since she last saw the little Force maverick of Vetra and deep down does wish they could have reunited under better circumstances.
“You know the order could come down for you to be executed,” Ursa stated from behind her desk in her study. Tone matter of fact in spite of knowing the young woman seated before her. Thirty-six hours ago she had been little more than phantom lost to the Galaxy. “Yet, you still came here.”
“I weighed my limited options,” Solus admitted, face flushing her unique lavender color. Something in her deflated as she sank further into her seat. “I figured, if I died it might as well be on Krownest at the hands of people I know.”
The Countess leveled her stern gaze on Jai Vetra’s prized granddaughter. It had been over a decade since they had previously had any contact with one another. Ursa had been fourteen at the time and still learning leadership and war at her father’s side. Solus had been four, small for her age but quick in mind and carrying an untamed power. One she had witnessed use of first hand during raid on Krownest leadership during the War. Not long after that, in what was termed a fit of madness, Jai had swept into the Vetra Stronghold with a Kel Dorian Jedi Master in tow. Mid-lesson he took the child from Ursa’s supervision, dismissed her from the room, then surrendered Solus to the Jedi Order. It cracked the already fragile faith of those around him.
“Are you trying to be noble,” the older woman demanded, “or, suicidally stupid at the expense of those around you?” Ursa was loyal to her Manda’lor but most loyal to her clan above all. She would not let anyone’s foolhardy decision put them at risk. No matter their shared history.
The blush crept up long ears that drooped at being scolded. “I’m making the best calls with the limited information I have.” At four, Solus would have never slunk away like a kicked tooka. To do so as an adult proved she had became a true stranger. “Death Watch is the best answer.”
“What did you get yourself into that could come down on me?” Leaning forward, she used her height to stare down at the all but squirming young woman. Such an open display of weakness sickened her. “Because I will not hesitate.”
“I got involved with some of the Manda’lor’s business and it has lasting consequences.” The answer was vague, skirting the edge of something more important. But, she had sat back up and squared her shoulders with some fight. “I’m here to formally join Death Watch of my own free will. I left the Jedi Order and everything the Core could offer me for this. I turned down an unspoken offer to join the New Mandalorians.” The words dripped with an unexpected, but not unwelcomed, venom.
Ursa exhaled in a controlled manner before pinching the bridge of her nose to stave off a headache. For such a small clan, Vetra had never stopped finding trouble. At best guess, all of seven members remained including the now former Jedi. The rest had been lost to a plethora of causes from the destruction of the True Mandalorians and the Great Clan Wars to old age. Among the living four had bowed to the Duchess and the other two remained as caretakers of the Vetra Stronghold. Yet, the recognized heir showed up to offer Pre Vizsla everything with undisclosed reasoning.
Steepling her fingers Ursa asked, “What makes you think we want you, especially after Concordia?” While not present for the actual fighting she heard several accounts of the mess of the evacuation. From the interference of the Master Jedi and the Duchess to the ugly fight between Vizsla and Solus. Both had limped away with assistance while in poor condition.
“I thought my display on Concordia would be proof enough of my skill?” Solus offered with a smirk while leaning back in her chair with one arm crossed casually over her stomach. Something was stoking the fires within her.
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“Propaganda.” The simple answer was followed by a wince as she resettled herself in the seat. “Two separate sources acknowledged me as the Countess of Clan Vetra. Ba’buir served valiantly beside Jaster Mereel then Jango Fett. He survived Galidraan then fought in the War. Everything about him, and Clan Vetra really, has been a symbol of hope to those looking for a third option. When I pledge my allegiance, along with Clan Vetra’s, to Death Watch it will send a message.” Her smile came across as brittle while she winced again. Something was off. “Even my clan can see reason.”
Solus had a point Ursa had to concede to. For centuries their clans had coexisted on Krownest in a beneficial alliance of sorts. Clan Wren was granted the majority of the lands to rule but Vetra still held onto theirs. Death Watch had the de facto claim to the planet because of Ursa’s choice to join. The younger countess had the chance to peacefully transition complete control. It would send a message that would get results.
“Battle prowess and propaganda may not be enough.” In private, Ursa would back bring Vetra into their ranks. She was another quick mind well versed in combat to fill out their lacking numbers. Sure, she would need to relearn what it meant to be Mandalorian but she still had some of the fires in her soul. “What else do you have to offer?”
“I’m well versed in Jedi covert operations meaning I’ve done some of the same things for the Republic,” she started out. The blush was quickly receding in favor a green twinged color on pale skin. “I have my own network of non-Republic loyal contacts scattered throughout various places along with Grand Army knowledge.” For moment her eyes closed as she fought something back before the reopened shining with resolution. “If the Manda’lor wishes to pick a fight with them I have the knowledge to help win it.”
Ursa sighed while leaning back in the usually comfortable chair. Her lower back was beginning to ache again. “Your case is strong but I’m not the person who have to convince.”
Everything took a sharp turn when the green color fully took over Solus’ face. White brows rushed toward her hairline while dark gray eyes grew wide and watered. “Fresher?” she weakly gasped out before covering her mouth with her hand. Her thin shoulders were trembling in a fight she was losing.
Ursa had intimate knowledge of what that look meant. “Directly across the hall.” Solus bolted from the room.
Fifteen agonizing minutes ticked by while the older woman waited for her acquaintance to reappear. The larger picture gained more details in her mind. Pregnancy was Solus’ motive for leaving the Order and making a sudden appearance in her home sector. It explained the quick turn around from her passionate declarations on Concordia to her pro-Death Watch stance. Ursa as a point contact would have made the most sense in close to any scenario. But, more than she was scared as well as young, pregnant, and very much alone. She just wanted to come home no matter the cost.
“Sorry for the sudden break,” she apologized while reentering the room a truly pale color even for her. “That happens sometimes as I’m sure you understand.” Bleary eyed she focused on Ursa’s questioning face, “No one told me anything. I figured yours out through the Force.”
Several questions flitted through Ursa’s mind of what to ask next before she settled on a direct one. “What are you planning to do?”
“Truthfully?” the snow haired woman asked while mopping at her forehead with her sleeve. “I planned on not bringing this up until I had to. I’m not earning my way in on pity or expectations of special treatment because I’m pregnant. This is something I am doing with my own merit; living or dying. It encouraged me to leave the Order but that’s been a long time coming.”
“Death is still on the table,” Ursa reminded her, voice a hair softer than before. So many things had changed again in a short time. “Why risk death?”
“Ursa,” she started strong but shook. Sitting up was taking a lot but she was resolute in her decision. “I would rather my child die here than ever step foot in that Order.” Swallowing thickly she added, “As far as I’m concerned, the Jedi will never touch another Mandalorian as long as I’m breathing. We are not their pawns for war.”
Silence settled over them for several moments as the weight of her proclamation settled in. The only interruption came from Ursa’s comm. A guard informed her the Manda’lor would be arriving soon.
“Get cleaned up,” Ursa urged her while standing up from her desk. “Then make your way to the throne room. Let’s see that quick mind at work.” Her smile was small and hidden from the other woman as she moved toward the door. But, she was proud of Solus and who she could become.
#caff the writer#caff writes fanfics#au: two wild halves#solus vetra#c: more than you bargained for#ursa wren#jai vetra in passing#cw: pregnancy#cw: morning sickness#cw: teen pregnancy
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Negotiation: Part 1(Final Rose)
Claire took a moment to study the map of the Arendelle Empire in her office. It had always brought her a sense of contentment to know that the Empire had brought peace and prosperity to so many worlds. After this expedition, they’d have to expand it, and the thought brought a smile to her face.
However, her attention swiftly turned to the two people who entered her office. One was a tall man with blonde hair and blue eyes. However, he lacked the towering height and broad, powerful build of a man from the Villiers branch of the family. Instead, he was only a few inches taller than Claire, and although he had the build of a man well used to fighting, it was leaner and more compact than would be expected of a Villiers.
Jihm Nabaat - also known as Jihm Jahde Yun-Farron - was a descendant of Diana Yun-Farron and Jahne Nabaat through the line of their second daughter, Jahde. His Semblance was similar to that of Jihl Naabat of Remnant. It was a form of mind control and telepathy. Of course, his loyalty was beyond question, not that she had anything to fear from him. Saviour was impervious to mental interference.
The other person was actually an inch or two shorter than Claire. He was the head scientist of the expedition, Heilos Dia-Farron. Like most of his kin, he was a fox Faunus, and he had the same red hair and blue eyes as Raine Dia-Farron of Remnant, who was one of his ancient ancestors. His war hamster, Professor Hugborough was peeking out of a pocket in his lab coat while munching on some food.
“All right,” Claire said without any further preamble. “Commander Shepard and her associates will be arriving soon. I hope you both understand what we’re trying to do here.”
Jihm chuckled. “Indeed I do. I even have orders from Averia about how she would like this to be handled. I trust you’ve read the message I sent you earlier.”
“I have. I think it’s a good course of action.” Claire paused. “And I trust you won’t resort to any… unsavoury methods.”
“As easy as it would be to simply take control of their minds, I’ve been instructed to handle this as… peacefully as possible. Even if we have enough firepower to crush them, there’s no point in ruling over a giant graveyard. The most beneficial course for the Empire is for the various groups in this galaxy to see us as powerful but benevolent group.”
“I’ve also informed Blake and her command staff of this. She and some of them will also be present at this meeting.”
“Of course.” Jihm nodded gracefully. “It will be nice to see Selene. She is so marvellously devious.”
Selene was one of Jihm’s favourite verbal sparring partners. She was a descendant of Winter Schnee and Blake Belladonna and one of the few people alive who could keep up with Jihm when he really started scheming.
“Try not to make too much trouble,” Claire replied. Her gaze shifted to the Dia-Farron. “Do you have the presentation ready?”
Helios cackled evilly. “Oh, you bet I do. I’ve prepared it according to your specifications. It’ll get them right where we want them - afraid but hopeful of our intervention.” He paused. “Are you sure you don’t want me to have that simulation ready too?”
“What simulation?” Jihm asked.
“It’s one where I show footage of what I think will happen to most of their worlds if we don’t help. There’s lots of death, harvesting, people being turned into Reapers...”
“People being turned into Reapers?:” Jihm asked.
“Yep. We’ve been stripping data from the captured Reapers, and it’s what they do. They can turn people into robo-zombie things, or they can turn them into this goo that gets used to make those big Reaper ships.”
“I think they can do without seeing that,” Jihm said dryly. “I imagine they’re worried enough.”
“I don’t know. It’s a very detailed simulation. Gruesome too.”
“No.” Claire sighed. “Just have the presentation I talked to you about ready.” She glanced down. “It looks like Blake and some of her command staff just arrived, and Commander Shepard and her associates should be here momentarily too. We’ll greet them in one of the hangars and give them a tour.”
Jihm smirked. “Shock and awe?”
“Indeed.” Claire’s lips curled. “We’re here to help, but we need to make it very clear that messing with us would be an extremely bad idea.”
X X X
Commander Jane Shepard nodded to herself and then did her best to smile at the four she’d chosen to bring along. Miranda, Liara, Garrus, and Mordin were the best at what they did, and she valued any advice they could give her. Plus, Liara, Garrus, and Mordin, while not official representatives of their respective races, could at least give her some idea of what their factions might want out of the deal she would be making.
“Their shuttle has docked, commander,” Joker said over comms.
“All right.” Jane took a deep breath. “Here were go. Remember what we talked about. We need to put up a unified front. We want their help, but we need to offer them something in return. Let’s go.”
They made their way down to the airlock and waited for decontamination and other processes to run before the doors opened.
A group of towering figures in exoskeletal armour were there to greet them. One of them, in more elaborate armour than the others, stepped forward. The faceplate of the armour turned transparent, and they found themselves looking at the face of a middle-aged man.
“Good evening, commander. If you’ll just come aboard, we can get started.”
She nodded quickly. “Thank you.” She strode into the shuttle and then paused. There was a strange device in the middle of the chamber. It looked like a projector of some kind. “Is that a data projector?”
The soldier grinned. “It’s how you’ll be reaching the Fury. It’s a teleportation gateway.”
“Fascinating.” Mordin immediately moved toward the device. “Method of operation?”
The soldier took the question in stride. “I can’t give you the exact specifics, but they told me you might be curious. I am authorised to say that it uses a variant of quantum entanglement to essentially switch the acknowledged positions of particles - or in this case, people and objects. It hasn’t got the range of something like a wormhole portal, but it tends to be less energy consuming, not to mention easier on the stomach.”
“Clarify?”
If the soldier was bothered by Mordin’s questions, he didn’t show it. Instead, he gave a chuckle. “Oh, the Dia-Farron are going to love you.” He smiled. “Worm hole technology links two points in space using wormholes. Travel takes place through what is a sort of intermediary dimension. Not all life forms take such transitions well. Headaches and vomiting are not uncommon symptoms of wormhole travel, at least the first few times. Since this will be a diplomatic meeting, I’m sure you can understand why we’d try to avoid that.”
Jane could. Vomiting on the shoes of the people they were meeting wasn’t the least bit diplomatic. “Is it safe?”
“It sure is.” The soldier nodded at one of his fellows. A column of light shot up from the device and hung in the air. One of the soldiers walked through it without hesitation. “I wouldn’t ask you to do anything that I wouldn’t ask of myself or the soldiers under my command. Now, if you’re ready…”
“Of course.” Jane shrugged. “Let’s get on with it.”
Jane stepped forward into the column -
There was a split second of dislocation, of not knowing where or when -
And then she was standing in the middle of a vast hangar. It was lined with craft of various kinds, and there was a formation of hundreds of armoured soldiers waiting, all of them standing in perfect alignment and discipline. Shepard immediately straightened, surreptitiously checking that her uniform was in order, as the others stumbled through the gateway after her. As they all looked around in awe - the hangar was far, far larger than anything they’d ever seen on a ship, to say nothing of the craft it contained, and the other advanced technologies it hinted at - she saw Garrus give a nod of appreciation at the ranks of armoured soldiers waiting patiently in front of them. The Turian could appreciate the discipline it required.
There was movement from the back of the formation, and immediately, the whole group of soldiers parted ranks, seamlessly moving to form a path for three people and the small escort that travelled with them. Jane immediately recognised one of them. Claire was tall for a woman, and she moved with an economical grace that seemed almost machine-like. Her hair, a lush pink, was tied up into a bun, and her blue eyes seemed to take in the whole hangar at once. Alongside her were a blond man and a red-haired man with fox ears. Not for the first time, she wondered if the people with fox ears were a different species or perhaps an allied race.
“Good evening, commander.” Claire stopped in front of them, her gaze flicking to the others. “I hope the trip here was not uncomfortable.”
“It was… quick.” Jane settled for that. “It’s a pleasure to be here.” She nodded to the others in turn. “These are members of my crew. Dr Liara T’Soni, Garrus Vakarian, Miranda Lawson, and Mordin Solus.”
Claire acknowledged the introductions with a curt nod. “My associates, Jihm Nabaat and Professor Helios Dia-Farron.” She gestured with one. “Shall we proceed? We have a conference room prepared, as well as refreshments.” She smiled faintly. “We can take a little tour along the way too. I’m sure you must be curious.”
“That would be fine.”
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COMM 3P18 Blog Post #4
In class we spoke about how ratings are conducted and how they affect our everyday lives. Many of us who are watching a television show for the first time the first time will look at the ratings other consumers gave out, generally when I am looking at ratings I try to find a pattern of which rating appears the most frequently. For example, the other day I searched up how many stars the movie “Once Upon A Time in Hollywood” received. Everyone knows the famous Hollywood director Quentin Tarentino and he has one of the most successful film names in history, already we know this movie is going to rate well based off the name of the director itself. When I had looked online there were many four to five star reviews like I had predicted but there were also different ratings given out; lower ratings came into effect but usually were handed out for the simple fact that the person did not like the theme of the movie, which is expected because the director has a unique writing style, but overall when a show is receiving a good rating you can tell by how many times those stars are given out in the reviews.
If we go back in time, these rating would have been a good idea to predict the quality of older television series. Ratings have a set a certain tone in the film industry, which preserves the competition for directors to aim for five stars. It also challenges directors to be innovative. People that give out five stars to a specific television show or movie are usually the people who noted that they liked seeing something different than what’s usually been done in the past, unique flair can serve as a positive when done correctly. For the fun of it, I looked up the ratings for the Twilight Series which were not the best, but the same comment I kept noticing was that many people, women especially were very tired of seeing the same love story depicted which ultimately depicts Bella the main character needing either Edward or Jacob. Many did not like the fact the movie portrayed women as vulnerable to patriarchy and believed that these ideologies need to remain in the past. Television shows nowadays all aim to be innovative so they can receive a five star rating. Different gender roles are given out and challenge society to think differently which can alter our perceptions on situations as well. Being innovative can be beneficial to a certain extent but some film directors can take it too far and issues begin to arise. For example, two years ago famous singer Selena Gomez decided to put the microphone down to help in the coproduction of 13 Reasons Why which is now out on Netflix. The show talks about many adolescent struggles focusing around a complex issue that has been prominent since social media has become popular in our mainstream culture, which is suicide. This subject hits home for many families who have lost children to suicide and when television shows raise awareness about controversial issues such as this, it can affect many other people who are victims of this tragedy. When the show was first released she received much backlash around the fact that people thought she was being very insensitive towards the subject. These comments affected her ratings for the first season, but ever so slightly as it soon became one of the most watched Netflix series of 2017. Ratings can be done through random sampling but as noted in the previous blog post there can be many issues when it comes to it. Nowadays there are many people who can become offended or angered quickly if they are viewing something that they do not agree with; some decide to take their anger out by producing non sense black lash that can genuinely affect a shows ratings and give inaccurate representation. The way Neilsons conducted ratings in the past was viewing peoples watching habits to see what person watched which shows more frequently, In the past this may have served as a good idea as many people who were watching television were tuned in most of the time as there were not many other distractions. Nowadays there are many different situations that come about which could distract us from paying attention to the television in front of us such as cellular devices, when we are paying more attention to our phones rather than the content on the television we are not tuning in and it should not count as watching a program. Certain factors such as this can create a bias when Neilson collects quantitative data. These are negative determinants that can occur when qualitative data is not effectively looked at.
In conclusion ratings of television shows are crucial in the sense that they give the audience member a general insight on what is to be expected from the show and movie. As proven not all ratings are accurate and can hold many biases such as only measuring quantitatively instead of qualitatively.
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Visual Social Media, How Pictures Improve Your Social Media Marketing
Do you use visuals in your social websites marketing?
Have you been wondering how you are able to use images to take your marketing to a whole new degree?
To find out about visual sociable websites, I interview Donna Moritz for this episode of the Social Media Marketing podcast.
More About This Display
The Social Media Marketing podcast is a show from Social Media Examiner.
It’s designed to help busy marketers and business owners discover what functions with social networking advertising.
The show format is on-demand talk radio (also referred to as podcasting).
In this event I interview Donna Moritz, who is a social media and visual advertising pro. She’s also the founder of Socially Sorted, a website designed to help little businesses reach more with visual sociable websites.
Donna shares the value of visuals in your social websites marketing.
You’ll discover the kinds of images that function best and the tools you can use to create them.
Share your feedback, read the show notes and find the links mentioned in this event below!
Listen Now
http://traffic.libsyn.com/socialmediamarketing/SocialMediaMarketing-078-14-01-31.mp3
Register today: Perform window | Download
You can also subscribe through iTunes, RSS, or even Stitcher.
Here are some of the items you’ll discover in this show:
Visual Social Media
What’s visual social media marketing?
Donna sees it because the usage of some kind of vision to communicate visually. It’s possible to use images or video to let a story or share a message. This was done in marketing for years.
As humans, it’s in our nature to convey visually. Images procedure quickly and people are attracted to them.
Listen to the show to discover why visual marketing has merged with social websites.
Why do artwork thing so much?
Donna explains how many people started using a site, where they would write in long form and build a community around it. Then along came Facebook, where articles became briefer and then Twitter burst on the scene using a 140-character limitation.
People have moved from sites to microblogs and now to multimedia microblogs. The only direction to go would be to speak with images. Together with Instagram and Pinterest, you are able to communicate only with images. Sometimes words aren’t even necessary.
People have consistently communicated visually–from as far back as painting images on walls. Picture source: iStockPhoto
Images are now even more popular with the capability to shoot video and photos using the camera on a smartphone.
Detavio Samuels, who owns the marketing business International Hue, stated, “The only thing shorter than a tweet or an article is a film.”
Listen to the show to discover why all platforms are becoming image-centric.
Picture Alternatives for marketers
Donna explains how it is possible to use images in various ways in your promotion.
It is possible to produce a short, snappy video; use images and images; slides or even a SlideShare demonstration; infographics and interrogate pictures.
You’ll figure out which one in the list below Donna found gets the maximum shares and answers.
Tips
How-to
Quotes
Checklists
Infographics
Jay Baer talks about becoming inherently useful in his book . If you’d like your picture to become shared a lot, then you have to make sure it’s beneficial to your target audience.
For highly shareable articles, make sure it’s beneficial to your target audience.
You have to remember that as humans, we connect emotionally to graphics greater than video, audio or text. People make decisions and take action faster when prompted by graphics, instead of by reading a lot of text.
You’ll discover how it is possible to use how-to images for your small business and why it’s simpler than you think.
Another great alternative would be to tease people with a picture. You don’t have to offer the entire process; rather add a call to action to get visitors to click through to a site, Facebook page or Pinterest page.
On Facebook, you want to build engagement, or so the picture should be one that people will share, instead of click on to a own blog. If you are smart, you can find some really great outcomes.
This picture was designed accordingly the Social Media Examiner community would respond to it. People went mad for it.
Listen to the show to find out why folks feel compelled to click in a picture, such as it, discuss it, repost it or save it.
The elements of good visuals and making them sharable
Donna claims that with any bit of articles, you have to consider everything you would like it to do and where you need visitors to go.
A great place to start is with content that helps and inspires people. To get a more shareable variable, it is possible to ensure it is timely articles to coincide with breaking news, a party or an event.
Donna talks about when she worked with the group at Know Your Midwife, a personal midwifery practice in Australia. They have about 1700 followers on Facebook.
They started to post images consistently that were shareable and relevant to their own community. A lot of the images included quotes about normal birth and enabled birthing.
Know Your Midwife post always on Facebook.
You’ll hear about the people who started to share these images, and why it isn’t only people in their own community who seem to them for articles to share.
When it was International Midwives’ Day, Donna quickly composed a picture using a quotation using PicMonkey. They had 1400 shares by the end of the day.
The picture was more shareable in this case as sometimes people like to share images that seem like their own on Facebook.
You’ll hear the company advantages of using these kinds of images, and why it’s becoming more and more important with the newest Facebook news feed rank algorithm.
Donna considers that Facebook is currently such as Pinterest, in that 80% of material is shared content and 20% is first content.
When you merge the power of vision with initial content, then it gets shared a lot. If it is possible to create some of your own original content, you’ve got more chance of being shared, compared to needing to share everybody else’s. It’s very strong.
Another great example is a company owned by Caz and Craig Makepeace known as yTravel Blog. It’s among the biggest travel websites on earth. They have 4.35 million followers on Pinterest.
They have noticed a 3- to 5-fold increase in visitors in Facebook to their website, only from posting images with the overlay of a hint or a quotation.
They saw an increase in visitors from Facebook to their site, when they published this type of picture.
Programs were designed, so that text is easily added.
This template was designed so the owners can overlay themselves.
Listen to the show to discover why scheduling your own graphics is indeed important, and the tools you can use to accomplish it.
How to get started and the tools to use
Donna claims that although she isn’t a graphic designer, she does do a lot of the images herself.
Among the first tools she found will be PicMonkey. It’s an image-editing tool that doubles as a image-creation tool. Donna claims that it’s quite intuitive and there are a great deal of templates to choose from.
PicMonkey is quite simple to use.
Another tool that Donna enjoys is Canva. Now you can get your username and account promptly. They’re exceptional in that they’ve made graphic design quite accessible to everybody.
They also have a stock library of a million photographs that it is possible to gain access and some remarkable social media templates. Donna claims that a few of the updates that are due from Canva will blow people’s minds.
You’ll hear how you can use screenshots with programs like Snagit and Jing.
In case you’ve got a great deal of images that explain information, then the best sort of picture to use is the infographic. It’s a terrific way to help a person understand your message, story or concept.
Donna and her team have done a lot of infographics for the business and for clients. You’ll hear unique methods it is possible to use infographics in your company, along with the dimensions that work best for Facebook, Pinterest and sites.
Within this report, Donna goes through the various elements of a infographic.
Donna recommends you don’t just put your infographic on Pinterest. In case you have something more to say concerning it, then re write it into one of the blog articles. It’s a fantastic way to get additional mileage out of it.
Listen to the show to discover the other tools that Donna utilizes to create infographics.
Discovery of the Week
I was recently in Las Vegas using Joel Comm, at which he introduced me to a really cool program called Hang With. It’s an app for the iPhone or Android that lets you do live streaming using the push of a button right to your Facebook page or directly to different folks having the program.
It’s a live broadcast and once the broadcast is now finished, the video is then readily available on YouTube.
Joel chose to perform a fast 2-minute video of us at a buffet in the hotel. Everything was completed seamlessly due to him.
I believe it’s a really cool program, although I haven’t used it yet. Maybe it’s the direction we’re going with photography and video–the idea of a live component.
Make sure to check it out.
Telephone in and depart your social websites–related questions for us and we might incorporate them in a future show.
Listen to the show to find out more and tell us how this works for you.
Other Display Mentions
The week’s podcast is sponsored by Social Media Marketing World.
Social Media Marketing World 2014 is the physical mega-conference, which can be set to go back to San Diego, California on March 26, 27 and 28.
The conference features more than 80 sessions in four main paths: societal tactics, social plan, community management and content marketing. These sessions are taught my top specialists in the realm of social media marketing and content generation.
A small sampling of some of the speakers comprises Ekaterina Walter (visual promotion), Ted Rubin (societal relationship-building), Larry Benet (media), Martin Shervington (Google+) and Lou Mongello (podcasting).
We are so excited about this conference! Ensure to check our hashtag #smmw14.
The conference is going toward a sellout. Be sure to check it out.
Key takeaways talked about in this event:
Research Detavio Samuels, who owns the marketing business International Hue.
Have a look at Jay Baer’s publication Youtility.
Head around to Know Your Midwife about Facebook to see the types of images they post.
Check out yTravel Blog and determine what they do on Pinterest and Facebook.
Utilize Buffer and HootSuite for scheduling articles.
Attempt PicMonkey and Canva to help you produce images.
Use Instagram and Over program.
Utilize Snagit and Jing for screen captures.
Create infographics using Piktochart, easel.ly, also .
Email Emily at [email protected] if you are interested in corporate sponsorships to Social Media Marketing World 2014.
Help Us Spread the Word!
Please let your Twitter followers know about this podcast. Click here here now to post a tweet.
If you liked this episode of the Social Media Marketing podcast, then please . And should you listen on Stitcher, please click here to rate and review this show.
Ways to join to the Social Media Marketing podcast:
What do you believe? What are your thoughts on visual social websites? Please leave your comments below.
Picture from iStockPhoto.
from Affordable Search Engine Optimisation From Mannys http://www.mannyscarwash.com/visual-social-media-how-pictures-improve-your-social-media-marketing/
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RSI Comm-Link: Congress Now: HuXa Vote
HuXa Vote
UEE Congress (397)
2947-06-06 SET
Session AutoScript
Proofed and Admitted – Archivist Yates (#57573BDF)
2947-06-06_15:21 – Session Begins
SPEAKER MARSHALL MADRIGAL (U – Borea – Magnus Sys): Ladies and Gentlemen, now that the majority of you are finally here, let me start by saying that while I certainly understand the additional security measures take longer to navigate, it would be beneficial if all of you could adjust your schedule to arrive earlier rather than to presume that the session will be extended to accommodate any late arrivals. I very much hope that we can see our way to starting tomorrow on time. And in that spirit, I am happy to finally declare that we have a quorum and call this session to order. First on today’s docket is the Human-Xi’an Trade Initiative. I ask for unanimous consent for the vote on the motion to proceed. Is there any objection?
SENATOR HIDEO UTO (C – Severus – Kiel Sys): Mr. Speaker?
SPEAKER MARSHALL MADRIGAL (U – Borea – Magnus Sys): Senator Uto.
SENATOR HIDEO UTO (C – Severus – Kiel Sys): Mr. Speaker, in light of the recent shameful attacks perpetrated against Imperator Costigan and out of respect to those involved, I move to postpone the pending vote until after we have had a chance to conclude the ongoing investigation into the occurrences of May 30th.
SENATOR TRACEY GLENN (U – Saisei – Centauri Sys): Point of clarification.
SPEAKER MARSHALL MADRIGAL (U – Borea – Magnus Sys): The chair recognizes Senator Glenn.
SENATOR TRACEY GLENN (U – Saisei – Centauri Sys): Thank you, Mr. Speaker. Would the honorable senator from Kiel care to explain why the recent horrific attack should impede this distinguished body voting on a trade initiative?
SENATOR HIDEO UTO (C – Severus – Kiel Sys): I’d be happy to. It seems highly likely by the timing of this attack that it was at least in part motivated by HuXa and in fact, could potentially be an attempt to influence this very issue. Until we understand the full scope of such implications, would it not be wise to allow prudence to carry the day?
SENATOR TRACEY GLENN (U – Saisei – Centauri Sys): Let me see if I understand, Senator Uto. Because the atrocious actions taken against Imperator Costigan may have been designed to influence the vote on HuXa, you are suggesting that we delay said vote to prove that they in fact did have an influence?
SENATOR HIDEO UTO (C – Severus – Kiel Sys): I object to your oversimplification.
SENATOR TRACEY GLENN (U – Saisei – Centauri Sys): And I object to you trying to leverage fear and rumor-mongering into political gain.
SENATOR HIDEO UTO (C – Severus – Kiel Sys): You have no right to stand there and —
SENATOR TRACEY GLENN (U – Saisei – Centauri Sys): The fact is that we have no official report detailing the motives of these assailants. As far as we know they were as likely to be striking a blow for Terran independence as they were for —
SENATOR MIRA NGO (T – Terra – Terra Sys): That is outrageous. Where do you get off accusing Terra of —
SENATOR TRACEY GLENN (U – Saisei – Centauri Sys): Sorry, that was a poor example. I withdraw the statement. I simply meant to —
[ gavel banging ]
SPEAKER MARSHALL MADRIGAL (U – Borea – Magnus Sys): Enough. I know things have been tense this past week, but that is no excuse for this lack of decorum. Now, I believe your point was clarified, Senator Glenn. Unless anyone else has anything to add, I move to close the discussion. All in favor of the motion to postpone?
[ vote ]
SPEAKER MARSHALL MADRIGAL (U – Borea – Magnus Sys): The nays carry it. Motion denied. Let us proceed. Senator McCain, as sponsor of the initiative, you have the floor.
SENATOR WILL McCAIN (U – Cestulus – Davien Sys): Thank you, Mr. Speaker. I ask for consent to grant speaking privileges to a special guest, Imperator Costigan.
[ surprised murmurs ]
SPEAKER MARSHALL MADRIGAL (U – Borea – Magnus Sys): Without objection.
IMPERATOR COSTIGAN: I apologize for the theatrics involved in my appearance here today. I know it is traditional for an Imperator to more formally announce intent to speak to the Senate, as I did many weeks ago when I had the distinct pleasure of first introducing the Human-Xi’an Trade Initiative. However, my security team decided it was best for the time being if my schedule were kept a bit more under wraps, so I ask for your indulgence as I come before you.
When Ambassador Coso first began the negotiations that would result in the drafting of this deal, it was with two specific goals in mind. The first was to help ensure the continued economic growth of the Empire through trade. The second was to help ensure the Empire’s continued peace along our Xi’an borders through improved economic relations. I firmly and unequivocally believe that the Human-Xi’an Trade Initiative accomplishes both these aspirations and more.
We all know too well the cost of war. Right now as we speak, the brave men and women of our armed forces are nobly struggling to end the Vanduul threat, but not all threats we must face come from outside. Stagnation and close-mindedness are just as likely as any war to bring all we’ve built to an end. Humanity saw what living in fear was like under the Messers and Humanity said no. When Senator Akari signed the Xi’an peace treaty in 2789 it was a first step forward out of the darkness. Today, the UEE is ready to take the next. By expanding trade relations with the Xi’an we will be expanding our potential not only economically, but as a people. But do not mistake moving forward as running ahead blindly. The Human-Xi’an Trade Initiative is a careful, measured step. Under this agreement, our Citizens’ security remains not only intact, but strengthened thanks to the additional revenue estimated to be generated. Our Citizen’s livelihoods will be equally protected, thanks to the fair and balanced terms of the agreement that will see us share growth and mutual prosperity with the Xi’an. There’s an old Earth aphorism that I keep going to, “a rising tide lifts all boats.” The time has come for our two cultures to stop holding each other back and instead raise each other higher than ever before.
Thank you all for allowing me this chance to speak. Our actions here today will help shape Humanity’s future for centuries to come and I don’t think it could be in better hands. I return the floor to you, Senator McCain.
SENATOR WILL McCAIN (U – Cestulus – Davien Sys): Thank you, Imperator Costigan, for sharing your vision with us and for your fortitude in light of last week’s savage attempt on your life. It is a stark reminder that while there is no denying that the Empire has a long history of violence, it is up to all of us to aspire to something greater. I implore you all to vote yes for the Human-Xi’an Trade Initiative. I yield the floor.
SPEAKER MARSHALL MADRIGAL (U – Borea – Magnus Sys): The Senator from Earth?
SENATOR VICTOR SKOVIRA (C – Earth – Sol Sys): Thank you. Allow me to say that it is a pleasure to see you in this chamber once again, Imperator Costigan. My thoughts go to the families of those who lost their lives in the attack. Now, I don’t want to waste everyone’s time by rehashing the well-argued positions that have been put forth by my colleagues over the last several weeks, but I would be remiss if I did not remind all of you what it is that is at stake here today. With the Vanduul waging relentless war along our border, with merciless outlaws terrorizing innocent Citizens every day and, as we were reminded all too well last week, with assassins daring to strike at the very heart of our Empire, it is clear to me that our vigilance must never waiver if we wish to persevere.
The Xi’an are not like us. They are the definition of alien. All of them — from their lowliest criminal to the head of their mightiest house — all work for the glory of Emperor Kr.ē — the same glorious leader whose suspicions and distrust kept us on the brink of war for centuries. Are we to forget the lessons of the past just because some of us are distracted by the promise of a supposed bright, shiny future? While I agree that a position of peace with the Xi’an is far stronger than one of aggression, I am not convinced that intertwining our economies is in our best interest. This so-called trade deal only trades one thing as far as I’m concerned. It exchanges our security and our sovereignty for … well to be honest, I am not perfectly sure for what. Credits and economic growth is what they want you to think, but I fear that what we hope to gain is nothing compared to what we are posed to lose if HuXa passes. My vote is no. Mr. Speaker, I yield.
SPEAKER MARSHALL MADRIGAL (U – Borea – Magnus Sys): If there are no further motions before the Senate?
SENATOR RACHEL LESTER (T – Vann – Croshaw Sys): Mr. Speaker, I request a brief recess.
SPEAKER MARSHALL MADRIGAL (U – Borea – Magnus Sys): Very well, as I see we still have several stragglers arriving through security, fifteen minutes recess granted. The vote on Human-Xi’an Trade Initiative will proceed once we’re back in session.
[ gavel bang ]
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Eight Very Cool Things I really like About My Apple Watch
New Post has been published on https://pressography.org/eight-very-cool-things-i-really-like-about-my-apple-watch/
Eight Very Cool Things I really like About My Apple Watch
I truly, sincerely love my Apple Watch. (42 mm, stainless steel, sapphire, leather loop band.) Thinking returned, I wonder how I ever was given alongside without it. Here’s my truly random collection of thoughts; a listing of factors that are important to my existence now.
My Apple Watch
Best Buy
My first observation is that Apple observers like to fantasize Approximately the day whilst the Apple Watch could be completely impartial of a paired iPhone. This is, of the route, so that an Apple Watch can be offered with the aid of anybody. Now not requiring an associate iPhone ought to increase the available marketplace, and that’s right.
For now, however, one of the quality Matters Approximately the Apple Watch is how plenty it can and does intelligently leverage from it’s paired iPhone. Till the day comes while Apple figures out how to combine the 2 into a celeb Trek-like comm badge, this stylish partitioning of information works very nicely.
So. Long in the past, I developed a running dating with my Apple Watch, but haven’t formally offered a listing of things I like a lot Approximately it. Those are Matters that come so very certainly in my life and make it higher. Come to think about it, that’s what this watch is all About My Amend.
I’ve visible a few writers lament that they’ve used an Apple Look ahead to some months, then positioned it in a drawer. That’s a complete thriller and one reason for cataloging its virtues for me. At the same time as some different smartwatches may additionally do some or all of this, Here’s what I love About my own Apple Watch. Not in any precise order.
Apple Watch Virtues for Me
#1. My everyday steps. Every time, anywhere, I will take a look at the pastime screen inside the dock and spot what number of steps I’ve walked every day. Being an author, it’s important to track that as it’s all too clean to take a seat an excessive amount of. I have an everyday purpose, and meeting that purpose will maintain me more healthy.
#2 My Next Event. My Apple Watch, at a look, tells me what’s Subsequent. With such a lot of Matters taking place both on the Mac Observer and in my family existence, it’s essential on the way to see what’s Next and when. Even if the iPhone isn’t near by means of. This is a godsend for me.
#3Apple Pay and Notifications. It is wonderfully cool and handy to simply attain out to a degree of Sale terminal and pay with Apple Pay. I don’t attain into my bring bag and fumble with an iPhone. higher yet, with my precise credit score card, I get a confirmation receipt of the amount paid in only some seconds at the watch. This is how I pay for my haircuts, and when my barber sees the receipt (from her Foursquare reader) on my watch she simply raves.
As for notifications, I have them managed in order that I simplest see what’s essential to me. The little orange circle on the pinnacle of the display is my buddy.
#4 Interests. Two of my interests are climate and astronomy. While I don’t do as an awful lot gazing as I used to, it’s nonetheless helpful to maintain tune of sundown time. This is especially beneficial inside the spring and fall after I’m furiously writing inside the afternoon, and that I want to take a walk earlier than it gets dark. however, I’ll admit, when it comes to getting a complete photo of the weather and forecast, I reach for my iPhone.
Apple Stores
#5Countdown Timer. I exploit this a lot greater than I thought I would. Whether or not it’s a quick nap with my cat in a lap or preserving tabs on an oven that’s pre-heating, it looks like, in my busy day, I’m usually placing a countdown timer. It sounds frenzied and obsessive. Absolutely, the Apple Watch countdown timer is so easy to apply, it’s a pleasure.
#6 Heartbeat. At the same time as I’m relaxing or dozing with my cat, it’s regularly accessible to maintain tabs on how low my heartbeat can get. The record low for my heartbeat, whilst in my recliner is under 60. I keep attempting to break that document. Breathe deep, John. (And yet, I turned off the breath reminder proper away. Endlessly worrying.)
#7 Workout routines. Each time I take a stroll, I use the exercising app in my dock. The outdoor walk has a spectacular display. With a glance, I will see how ways I’ve walked, my heartbeat, Calories (kcal) burnt, my strolling mins and time of day. Then I store the workout, and it’s forwarded to my iPhone for further inspection.
Men’s Watches
#8 Smartphone calls and texts. On occasion, after I’m About the house, far away from my iPhone, I’ll get a text message or Telephone call. Being able to respond proper away is just tremendous. Perhaps some humans bring their iPhone of their again pocket while around the residence, however I certain don’t. I’d plop on the couch to watch Television and (Perhaps) harm it.
There are much more apps and Matters one could do with an Apple Watch. I’ve just touched the surface of what I do and targeted on those Matters essential to my everyday routine that I like. The factor is, you can also tailor the Apple Watch in your own lifestyle. Whilst you do, you ain’t be capable of life without it either.
Apple Watch Assessment
At the beginning of the yr, Apple attempted to absolutely open the gates and placed the smartwatch into the must-have area, therefore Really generating massive interest in the direction of this new tool.
Whilst Pebble is all Approximately functionality and ease, the Apple Watch feels a lot friendlier and it attempts to interact, humans, Not just be a passive machine which you do not forget Approximately it most effective while checking time or emails.
however did it Really control this, is the Apple Watch well worth shopping for? Yes and no. Smartwatches can be the future of smartphones and Apple Watch does have lots of interesting functions that do give us a glimpse into the Things which could come.
Besides this, it works like a wonder right now, especially way to it’s up to date software program. So if you like a device that video display units you coronary heart fee, tracks your steps, you could play track wireless, send human beings lively emoji, dictate messages, view notifications, send your heartbeat for your cherished ones and extra, then you’ll appreciate proudly owning an Apple Watch.
It helps you to take a look at your Phone much less, Whilst keeping you linked, but don’t forget, it is Now not a standalone tool. With a view to revel in all of its capabilities, you need, to have it linked to an iPhone (you need to be at a number of around 30 feet of your Cellphone or you can join thru the WiFi to similarly make bigger the range).
The Apple Watch is truly an appealing watch, presenting a discreet and elegant appearance, with clean traces and a curved glass that unites with the curved steel. Yes, you won’t find an unmarried sharp part.
The case is made from stainless-steel (also rose gold or aluminum) and it’s rather thick, however, because it curves inwards, it appears thinner than it Sincerely is. Maximum smartwatches are plagued via this problem and sadly, right now, we ought to receive that the smartwatch technology hasn’t developed as lots as we would love yet.
still, the Apple Watch feels reasonably balanced (weighing 1.five pounds and measuring 0.4×1.4×1.6 or zero.4×1.3×1.5 inches) and in case you wore a watch earlier than, you Maximum possibly may not feel that the thickness is plenty of a compromise. The watch comes into Two versions, one inch and a 1/2 and a 1.3 inches case. This differentiation has been made On the way to please both men and women, but the bigger one does have higher battery lifestyles.
at the proper aspect of the Watch you’ll find the Virtual Crown and a button which you may use to show or disguise buddies, get right of entry to Apple Pay with a double click and flip the watch ON or Off.
At the bottom of the watch, you can find the coronary heart fee sensor and the magnetic inductive charging device (Qi compliant). There may be also a tiny speaker and microphone on the left of the Look ahead to calling, however, you will slightly notice them.
Sure, the Apple Watch can be higher looking than Most smartwatches in the marketplace, however, it does fee plenty extra.
Our Apple Watch came with three straps, a Black Recreation Band, the Milanese Loop and the leather Loop. The game band may be very comfortable, but similar to different plastic bands on different smartwatches and it has a completely unique clasp mechanism that you will get used to in No longer time.
The Milanese Loop has a mesh-like texture and it nicely complements the steel case, but it does experience loads more female than any other strap alternative. it is pretty bendy, feels at ease, is without difficulty adjustable and It is suitable for both informal or more classy apparel. The clasp is magnetic and remains shut (due to the fact the bracelet is in reality light-weight it could be higher to go away the band looser so it balances with the burden of the watch itself).
Cool Game
The leather-based Loop bracelet also closes magnetically, it makes use of magnetic segments that attach to every different. but there are some shortcomings, as we noticed some scratches at the clasp after a few days of use and you may locate yourself inside the position to alter the strap throughout the day because it has a tendency to slide a link or Two once in a while.
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