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meteorrogers · 3 years

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the secret charm of forbidden things | a. b.

summary: you piss off your professor

pairing: professor!andy barber x reader

warnings: professor/student relationship, student humiliation (nothing serious), fluff, smut (+18 pls), daddy kink, spanking, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex (and like the most unoriginal plot); let me know if i missed something!

word count: 3,478 (approx)

a/n: i really tried to avoid writing this shit but my brain just wouldn’t let it go, so i’m really sorry for this. also, i’m not a smut writer so this couldn’t be more poorly written. sorry for that too *nervous laughter* i hope there are some readers out there who enjoy cliché stories lol. oh and i know nothing about criminal law so i just skimmed through the Mass. laws and picked the easiest thing i could create a question of. anyway, if you do read this, i hope you’ll enjoy it and let me know what you think! every kind of feedback is appreciated!!

You’re browsing the internet, looking for some quality e-shop that would offer lingerie you’d like. Or more importantly, he would like. And since your focus is completely on the phone that is hidden from the professor’s eyes (or so you think), you miss the call of your name.

“Miss (Y/L/N)!” the stern and this time louder sound of a male voice brings your attention to the man that it belongs to, standing only a few feet from your seat, thanks to its place in the front row. His expression is hard, a clear sign that you’ve been caught and you shrink into your chair, your cheeks becoming warm. “If you want to pass my class, I suggest you turn off the phone and focus on the lecture.”

You do as you’re asked and put the phone away but you don’t expect him to address you again.

“So since you seem to have enough knowledge that you don’t even need to listen to me,” he pauses and comes closer to you, crossing his arms. “Tell me what the punishments for organ trafficking are.”

You hold your breath, not even realizing it as you’re trying to think of the correct answer, however, that’s a little difficult with him towering over you, and your eyes can’t help but flicker to his crotch that is aligned with your vision. When you look up again, there is an amusement painted over his face which you almost miss to notice.

“Um, imprisonment?”

The professor keeps looking at you expectantly and when you don‘t say anything more, his chest heaves in a deep sigh, and his eyebrows rise as he looks at the floor in disappointment. “You’ll be having a hard time getting clients, Miss (Y/L/N),” he tells you and goes back to his desk to lean his backside on it.

Okay, you weren’t paying attention but you also thought that the times when professors publicly humiliated students had been left behind. So, now you are not only embarrassed but also pissed.

You just roll your eyeballs and slightly shake your head, taking a pen and doodling in the open notebook laying on your desk in order to calm yourself down and trying not to think about the judgemental stares being sent your way.

“Does anyone here want to remind Miss (Y/L/N) the consequences of organ trafficking?” he asks, before fucking Amelia raises her hand with her all too sugary may I, professor Barber? and you nearly lose it. You watch him as he sweetly smiles at her and prompts her to answer. She does, correctly so, and while she’s going into details, he lets his eyes wander and rest them on you from time to time. You never avert your eyes, glaring at him, hoping he takes notice of the annoyance written all over your face, but he just smirks when she finishes talking and he looks back at her.

“You’re a brilliant student, Amelia. I think you deserve a reward for the hard work.” When he stresses the word reward, he gives you a glance, and you can’t keep your eyes from rolling, again.

“Alright, class, that’s it for today. Don’t forget to send in the paper that’s due Sunday. Enjoy your weekend.”

You pack your things, shoving them into your bag before storming towards the exit, but you don’t make it too far when the professor’s voice stops you in your tracks.

“Miss (Y/L/N), a moment, please,” he says as he gathers his things. You sigh, closing your eyes as you mentally prepare yourself for what’s to come. Turning around, you make your way towards him.

“I believe we need to discuss your work ethic.” when you remain silent, he continues. “Great, since you don’t have any objections, you can follow me into my office.”

You do as you’re told and while you wait for him to unlock the door in the corner of the auditorium, you catch a glimpse of Amelia giving you a smug smirk. Mr. Barber finally opens the door and extends his arm, letting you in before him. You enter and stop in the middle of the office, nervously fiddling with the hem of your pleated black skirt as you hear a soft click signaling that the door is now closed, followed by the snap of the lock.

You gulp, your heart beating faster as you continue to stand there and try not to give away your nervousness. The only sound that follows is the echo of his footsteps as he walks past you and to his desk, putting his stuff on the wooden surface. He doesn’t say anything, unbuttoning his cuffs and rolling the sleeves of his moss green dress shirt up to his elbows and the veins of his forearm are left on full display.

“Mr. Barber, I—“ you finally speak up but he cuts you off, making his way towards the comfy-looking couch sitting alongside the wall opposite of you.

“You wanna tell me what that was about? You know I have a no-phone policy in my class, right?” he sits down and spreads his arms on the back of the sofa.

“I’m sorry, I was just—“

“You were just what? Looking for some skimpy underwear to tease me with during the lectures?” the blood rushes to your cheeks and you look to your left, not able to hold his gaze anymore. “As much as I’d enjoy that sight, I’m still a little disappointed in you. The question wasn’t that hard.” He’s closely watching your every reaction as your body squirms, your thighs discreetly rubbing against each other. “You know, Amelia truly is a great student. She’s slowly becoming better than you since you seem distracted for most of my classes. What reward do you think I should give her?”

And that is what causes you to run out of patience and your head to snap to where he is sitting. Bingo, Andy thinks.

“Are you fucking serious, Andy?” you say with a raised voice. If you blinked, you wouldn’t even catch the smirk that formed on his lips for like a millisecond.

“Hey!” he scolds “Watch your tone.“

You ignore him.

“Since when do you humiliate your students in front of the whole class, huh?” you confront him angrily “It was a dick move, Andy, you know that! And then the bullshit with Amelia? If you want her to wet your dick, just ask her, I’m sure she’ll be up for it.”

“Come here,” he says calmly which unsettles you because you expected him to be furious given the way you’d lashed out at him, but you roll your eyes anyway and turn to leave, however, the sound of your name coming from his lips stops you. “(Y/N).” you inhale deeply and turn back to him. “I said, come here.”

You come up to him, still keeping your distance so you don‘t stand between his spread-out legs. “What?” you bite.

He huffs out a laugh. “You’re walking on very thin ice, sweetheart.” He says and you feel your belly doing flips at the nickname. “How about you lose the attitude and come here like I instructed you to.” You cross your arms over your chest.

“How about you go fuck yourself.”

And that’s the last straw. Andy Barber is a very patient guy but when it comes to a bratty behavior like yours right now, he tends to lose his temper pretty quickly.

He swiftly leans forward and grabs your wrist, yanking you between his thighs. You have to catch yourself on his broad shoulders as you stumble from the firm tug, your stomach flush against his chest. His hand grabs the strap of your bag, putting it on the floor before his fingers fall to the back of your thighs, sliding up and up until they rest just below the cheeks of your ass, holding you against him.

“You wanna be a bad girl today, huh?”

You frown and click your tongue. “Jesus, Andy, I’m not in the mood for this.” You start pushing against his shoulders to put a distance between you, failing miserably.

“Sweetheart, you’re not even trying. You think I’m stupid or what?”

“I’m serious, let me go,” you say, but you don’t even sound convincing to yourself.

“You’re not in the mood, you say?” he asks and you nod your head. “Then why do I smell you all the way here, hm?” his fingers creep higher, playing with the lacy hem of your panties. He snorts. “You’re desperate to get fucked, aren’t you?”

By now, your panties are drenched. After what he did to you in the class, you tried so hard not to be turned on by him, but it’s impossible. Andy is a very attractive man, very intelligent and in combination with his sinful mouth, you just can’t bring yourself to not want to be fucked by him.

He doesn’t break eye contact when he hooks his fingers into your underwear and slides them down your legs, until he leans forward, his cheek brushing your hip so he can pull them all the way down himself. You step out of them and his back straightens up, putting the piece of ruined fabric into his pants pocket.

“Get over my knee.”

“Andy, come on. We’re in school. Can’t you just fuck me now and spank me later?”

“Oh, so suddenly you are in the mood?” he raises his brows “Get over my knee. Now. You don’t wanna piss me off more than I already am.” He says sternly.

You unhurriedly move from in between his legs but you’re too slow for his liking. Before you can react, he’s once again yanking you by your wrist, twisting your body in a way that makes you fall over his thick thighs. One hand gently settles on your throat, holding your head up, and the other starts tickling the back of your knee before slowly creeping up your thigh, tucking up your skirt, until you feel the cool air of the room brush against your wet pussy.

You clutch his pants in your hands, and when his palm leaves your skin you prepare yourself for the first blow. Instead, he gently sets it down on your butt again just to caress it, but even that unexpected touch has you jerking forward. He laughs and before you know it, the hand lifts itself up and strikes your right cheek. This time your body jerks rightfully but the fingers around your neck tighten, preventing you from moving too much.

“Not so tough now, huh?” he strokes the sore skin. “How many do you think you deserve?” you shrug as best as the restraint allows you to. “If I remember correctly” he pauses, just to brush his fingers against your pussy lips, smiling to himself when he feels the arousal leaking out of you “You weren’t paying attention in the class.” He spanks your other cheek. “You were using your phone even though it’s forbidden.” For that, the next hit lands on your right cheek again and you don’t think before you dare to open your mouth.

“Really? You are gonna lecture me about what is and isn‘t forbidden? You’re fucking your student for God’s sake.”

“Just for that, I’m adding 5 more to the ones for raising your voice at me, lying to me, and disobeying me.”

He spanks you for everything he listed, caressing your sore butt in between each hit and you are on the verge of crying, the tears in your eyes about to fall down your cheeks. When you think he’s finished, you release a relieved breath, but suddenly, he strikes you three more times, without any break and you cry out, squeezing your eyes shut, the tears finally rolling down.

“That was for the eye rolls I received throughout the day.” He says angrily before leaning down, brushing his lips against your ear as he whispers. “Now, what do you call me when we’re alone?” You just need a minute to catch your breath to reply but he’s not having it. “Answer me right now, or I’ll spank your ass raw, you won’t even be able to sit right. What do you call me?” he asks again.

“Daddy.” You whimper quietly and he smiles.

“Good girl.” He forces your body up with the hand on your throat and throws you on the couch, but before you can make yourself comfortable, he flips you on your stomach and grabs your hips, pulling you up so your ass is in the air.

His touch disappears for a moment and when you adjust your head to be able to get at least a little peek at him, your cheek pressed into the couch, you see him loosening his tie. He grabs your arms and crosses them at your wrist on the small of your back, tying them together with the piece of fabric.

He kisses each palm and then continues up your bare arm, licking, sucking, and biting, until his lips reach your shoulder covered by the short sleeve of your white t-shirt. “You okay, sweetheart?” He knows you are, but just to be sure.

“Yes, daddy.” You smile and he tugs the neckline of your shirt away for a second just to kiss your skin.

Then, he kneels on the floor behind you, coming face to face with your weeping cunt and he needs to adjust himself at the sight. He curls his fingers around your thighs and starts kissing them, getting closer to your core and his eyes close on their own accord when he inhales your smell. His lips finally make contact with your lower ones, his tongue licking a stripe from your clit to your entrance before he pulls away and hums, leaving you trembling.

“Andy!” You whine from the loss as your frustration grows, and he bites the tender skin of your ass.

“Baby, call me Andy one more time and you won’t be coming for a very long time.”

Your breath shudders when you exhale. “I’m sorry, daddy.”

If it was any other time and any other place, he would take his time to properly punish you, but someone could knock on the door any second and he’s honestly been dying to devour you all day.

He spreads your cheeks and leans forward, finally burying his face into your cunt, his tongue finding the little bundle of nerves and you moan, your eyes rolling in your head from the feeling of his soft tongue relieving the ache combined with the feeling of his rough beard scratching your inner thighs.

Andy takes the bud between his lips, sucking harshly and you buck your hips, causing him to grunt and the vibrations go straight into your clit, more slick dripping from your hole. He doesn‘t let a single drop go to waste as he licks up to your entrance, slurping the juices along the way before he starts plunging his tongue in and out of you. You bite your lip, trying not to make too loud sounds.

“That feel good?” he pulls away to ask, replacing his tongue with his thumb as he waits for your answer, rubbing your clit in quick circles.

“So good, daddy. Let me cum, please,” you whimper and he smirks.

“You’re lucky we’re in my office right now, otherwise I’d take my sweet time to take this sweet pussy apart,” to emphasize it, he thrusts his thumb into you and pinches your sensitive clit between two fingers, another moan escaping your lips. “I wouldn’t let you cum until you were crying and screaming out apologies.”

He slides his thumb back down to your clit, quickly circling it as he dives into you again, massaging your walls with the soft muscle until the knot in your belly starts tightening and you bite on the cushion to prevent yourself from screaming as the dam finally breaks and you’re cumming, Andy drinking up everything your pussy has to offer and he needs to force himself to pull away, your taste almost too addictive.

Before you know it, the sound of his belt clanking reaches your ears and a moment later, you feel his hand on your hip while the other gets a hold of his cock, positioning the tip at your entrance before pushing himself slowly into your heat. He groans while you mewl, filling you to the hilt and giving you some time to adjust to his size.

He starts with slow thrusts once he feels you constrict around him and the hand that isn’t bruising your hip grips the knot that holds your wrists together, giving himself leverage when he begins to quicken his pace.

“Fuck, you feel so good, baby. So tight.”

And he feels amazing, too, his cock reaching all the right places, the familiar tingling reappearing again as your thighs start to quiver. He leans over you, his chest to your back as his hand on your hip slides down and starts rubbing your clit.

“You gonna cum, sweetheart?” his warm breath hits the shell of your ear. “You’re close, aren’t you? I can feel your pussy squeezing around me. God.”

“Please, daddy.” You mewl and he growls at your innocent voice, picking up his pace even more so, his thrusts becoming harder and your tied hands grasp his wrist.

“Cum for me, baby. Cum for daddy.” He nips at your ear and with a few more thrusts, you’re cumming again, not able to hold in the moans anymore. He rides you through it, chasing his own orgasm and when you feel his hot cum filling you up, he stills, his breath brushing your cheek as he pants.

Once he comes down from his high, he kisses your jaw and stands up, pulling himself from your heat and you hiss at the feeling. He puts his cock into his boxers and zips his pants before he unties your hands, revealing the light red marks on your wrists. You stretch your hands a little before you bring them under yourself to lift yourself up, your skirt falling back down around your thighs and covering your now-glistening intimate parts.

Turning around, you stay kneeling on the couch, looking up at Andy with those big eyes that make him weak in the knees. The corner of his mouth lifts at the sight of your fucked out state, your hair is messy, there are imprints from the cushion on the cheek you were lying on, and the wet trails from your tears are almost dried.

He leans down and kisses you slowly and deeply as his fingers tangle themselves in your hair, his other hand gently cupping your cheek. Jesus, he doesn’t know how you do it but his dick is already twitching in his pants so he breaks the kiss because otherwise, he’d have to fuck you again. He pulls you up on your feet and bends down to pick up your bag, slinging it over your shoulder before his hands fall to your hips. You smile and adjust the strap.

“So, when will I see you in the new number?” he smirks.

“Well, I didn’t even get to pick any,” you reply with a smile and a raised eyebrow. “And I have Mrs. Harper next and I wouldn’t dare to use my phone during her class since her punishments are actual punishments.”

“Are you saying my punishments are ineffective?” he feigns shock.

“I’m just saying if you fucked every student for using their phone, they’d be doing it on purpose, professor.”

He laughs and pulls you closer. “That would be exhausting. But those kinds of punishments are reserved for my favorite student only.”

“Should I be worried? You seemed pretty delighted with Amelia.” you joke, but half of you is a bit insecure because Amelia is a pretty girl with glowing skin and a brain big enough to impress him. And like the amazing person Andy is, he sees right through you and gives you an adoring smile before his lips touch your forehead, your eyes fluttering close.

“You are my favorite student. Nobody else,” he assures you once he pulls away.

Your smile widens and your belly twists at his sappiness, but you wrinkle your nose when you suddenly become aware of the slickness between your legs.

“I need my panties back.”

He snorts and shakes his head.

“I’m gonna keep them.” Your jaw drops. You have two more classes today, you can’t go that long with Andy’s cum leaking out of you! “Oh, you thought your punishment was over? I want you to come over to my place right after school. And don’t even think about going home to change.” His stern voice is back and he takes your chin between his fingers.

“I hope you finished your paper. We have a long weekend in front of us.”

the end.

a/n2: thank you for reading!!!!!❤️❤️my other works can be find under #writer luci !☺️

#andy barber #chris evans #andy barber x reader #andy barber smut #andy barber fluff #andy barber oneshot #andy barber imagine #andy barber fanfiction #chris evans imagine #defending jacob imagine #defending jacob #professor!andy barber #writer luci

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master-sass-blast · 5 years

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Found Family, Part Two --Neena.

HELLO.

Okay, this fic covers a LOT of ground. Like, it’s not long (not by my standards, because nothing is EVER going to seem long in comparison to Gatekeeper EVER AGAIN), but it jumps through a lot of fics I’ve already written.

Thus, I have a list (not in order of how it lines up in this fic) of links to the different fics I include different side scenes for or reference: Authority Issues, “Myshka,” Rubber Meets Road, and Decisions, Decisions.

Summary: an overview of your siblingship with your coolest big sister ever, Neena.

Rating: T for mention of injuries, mention of kidnapping, allusions to abuse, allusions to rape (like you can tell what they’re talking about but it’s not graphic/it doesn’t happen to you or Neena), and mild moments of angst.

Pairings: Piotr Rasputin x Reader.

Special thank you to @leo-writer for proof-reading this to make sure I wrote Neena right since I still haven’t seen either of the Deadpool movies sdhflksdjlsfjdls.

@marvel-is-perfection, @chromecutie

You didn’t grow up with siblings. You’re pretty sure your parents only had you to fulfill the societal expectation of having children and creating a family. They definitely didn’t have any kids after your mutation presented –one “abomination” had been enough for them, fuck them very much.

You hadn’t realized just how deeply, desperately lonely you were until you escaped to the Institute, until you were surrounded by people every day and could talk to them, hang out with them, laugh with them.

And Wade’s a godsend, if God exists and has a really weird sense of humor. He’s a ball of chaos and has the best sense of humor. He sticks to your side like glue most days, and you don’t know what you’d do without him.

But Wade isn’t always around. And, despite his best efforts, he doesn’t manage to take care of all the things you need to learn.

Fortunately for you, you’ve got the coolest big sister to lend a hand whenever Wade’s off running a mission –or his mouth, as the case may be.

Neena “Domino” Thurman.

Neena is, without a doubt, the single coolest person you’ve ever met. She’s stylish. She walks with swagger. And, unlike Wade, she actually has her shit together.

You don’t get to see as much of her as you see of Wade; she has her own apartment and does work out side of the X-Force stuff, but she occasionally pops over to the X-Mansion to train with some of the people there or talk to Xavier.

Point stands: the two of you haven’t spent much time together. You’re usually running around with Wade anyway.

Until one morning, she pulls out the chair next to yours at the breakfast table and sits down next to you. “Do you have a bank account?”

You, unfortunately, are in the middle of horking down as many pancakes as you can in one sitting. You try to swallow the mass amount of mush in your mouth –and when it’s clear you won’t be able to do that without choking, you just shake your head.

“I didn’t think so.” She smiles and pats your arm. “I’m training with Logan today. Come find me when you’re done eating. I’ll help you get one set up.”

You blink after her as she walks away. You’re not exactly sure what just happened –or why it just happened—but you’re pretty certain that the coolest, most together person you know just offered to help you get your life in order.

Well. You’re definitely not gonna turn that down.

The two of you set up shop in the dining room when she’s done training. As fortune would have it –part of you is starting to wonder if Neena’s probability powers extend through time and space—you’d had the foresight to grab your birth certificate and social security card before running away from home. Add the laptop Wade bought for you, and you’re all set to make your own bank account; you don’t even need to leave the mansion –bonus!

Wade pops into the mix in the middle of it all. He’s resplendent in his suit, freshly back from a mission with Cable. He cocks his head to the side when he see your documents and laptop on the table. “What did I say about giving your information to Internet trolls!”

“Nothing. Ellie taught me about Internet safety, not you,” you fire back. “And I’m not!”

“I’m helping her set up a bank account,” Neena explains.

Wade goes quiet for a moment as he processes that. “Huh. Yeah, that’s probably a good idea. Hey, let me know when you’re done; I can give you some cash!”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Sure I do! What are siblings for? Besides, I don’t do my taxes, so this a good way to make sure that my dough gets distributed.” He ruffles your hair, then stares at his gloved hand. “I probably shouldn’t have done that. There’s so much blood on my suit.”

“Ew!” You wipe at your hair with your hands, then shove him away from you. “Go take a shower, you fucking cretin!”

“Ooh, ‘cretin!’ That’s a fancy insult! Very—” Whatever he’d been about to say next is abruptly cut off by a very tired, very pissed Cable grabbing him by the collar of his suit and yanking him back, effectively choking him.

“Shower, you walking, talking dildo,” Cable growls as he shoves Wade in the direction of the locker rooms used for clean up after training and mission.

“Ooh, is this the part where we shower together? Shit, I don’t think I have any lube on me –ow!”

Neena shakes her head as the two men disappear from view. “I don’t think I’ll ever understand how Cable hasn’t killed Wade yet.”

“Who’s to say he hasn’t? It’s not like it’d stick.”

“Fair enough. Alright, click that box –that gets you a debit card. You’re gonna want that for shopping and stuff. Cash is good, and you’ll definitely want to stick with it if you have to go under for a bit, but plastic’s good for regular life stuff. Helps set up a paper trail and all that.”

You do as she instructs, then glance over at her. “Thanks for, uh, helping me with all this. I don’t think I would’ve ever considered to open my own bank account.”

The corner of her mouth turns up in a smile. “I had to figure this all out on my own after I left Essex House. Even if I’m lucky, I still wish that I’d had someone to help me with this shit.” She looks over at you. “Always pay it forward. Be the person to others you wish you’d had.”

You nod, humbled.

She studies you for a moment, then nods at the laptop. “Alright. Let’s get this wrapped up for you.”

You don’t see much of Neena after that. You’re busy training –and breaking shit with Wade—and she’s busy having her life together and being super cool—

Until you run into her in a hallway at Xavier’s. “Oh! Neena! Hi!”

She grins at you. “What’s up?”

“Oh, nothing much.” You heft the laundry basket you’re holding. “Laundry day.”

She frowns at the small pile of clothes in the basket. “You don’t have much to your name, do you?”

“I kinda had to take whatever would fit in a backpack when I left,” you explain. “I can’t exactly fly with a suitcase.”

“Makes sense.” She cocks her head to the side. “Do you have any plans for today?”

“I mean… I need to put my clean laundry away.”

She smirks. “And after that?”

“Uh… not really, no.”

“Cool; me either.” She grins. “Let’s go shopping.”

She takes you out to a couple stores, helps you stock up on shirts and pants and pajamas and –everything you’d wear day in, day out, basically. You need just about everything.

The two of you swing by a coffee shop after to get a bite to eat.

You marvel at the stylish purple and blue exterior. “How’d you learn about this place?”

“Lucky find.”

You squint at her. “Do you ever get tired of saying stuff like that?”

She grins. “Nope.”

The two of you –and the hundred million bags from your excursion—bump into Colossus as you make your way back into the mansion.

“You had very busy day.” He frowns as you wrestle with your armload of bags. “Do you need help?”

“Uh, I think—” You curse as one of the handles on the bags breaks. “Yes, actually. That’d be great.”

He takes the majority of the bags –he’s got the hand size and arm strength for it—and the three of you head up to your room to get everything sorted.

You’re chattering a mile a minute about your day, what the stores were like, the coffee shop. “—and they have a trivia question of the day, and if you can answer it correctly you get a free pastry with your drink! I thought that kind of thing only happened in TV shows.”

“It’s pretty common,” Neena says with a chuckle. “If it wasn’t, they wouldn’t have it in TV shows.”

You shrug. “It’s not common in the middle of nowhere.” Your jaw clenches involuntarily, and you start digging through your bags and tossing clothes on your bed before you’re swamped by bad memories. “Look! I got so much cool stuff!”

Colossus chuckles at the flurry of fabric. “Perhaps you should take tags off first.”

“Oh, yeah.” You try tugging the price tag off the shirt in your hand, then tug at it with your teeth when it doesn’t give.

“Myshka—”

“Hang on.” The tag breaks, and you spit it on the floor with a triumphant laugh. “See –aw, fuck. The little plastic thingy didn’t come out.”

Colossus smiles at you and shakes his head. “Wait one moment. I will get scissors.”

Neena smirks as he walks out the door, then gives you a look when his footsteps fade down the hall. “I’m pretty sure he likes you.”

You roll your eyes. “No. We’re just friends.”

“I know you like him,” she fires back.

“Well, that doesn’t mean he likes me,” you retort, ignoring the way your heart squeezes painfully in your chest. “So there.”

Neena shakes her head. “Whatever you say –but I’m usually right about these sorts of things.”

You quash the hope swelling in your chest and go back to unloading the bags from your shopping trip. It won’t happen. Don’t get your hopes up.

Your outings with Neena become a regular thing after that. She helps you fill out your closet, pushes you to apply for a library card, takes you to various shops around New York when you both have time.

She also becomes a bit of a confidant when you’re dealing with stuff you don’t want to talk to Wade about; he’s wonderful and hilarious and surprisingly wise, but Wade’s also unhinged and unstable. Cable –Nate—is aloof and just as lost in the present as you are.

And, sure, most of the X-Men come from unhappy pasts, but Neena just… gets it in a way that the X-Men don’t.

Sometimes, even, you think she gets some of it better than you do.

Case in point, when she walks into your room and drops a basic padlock, a set of real handcuffs, and a lock picking kit on your bed. “How was your day?”

“…Good.” You look at the stuff on your bed, then look at her. “What’s all that for?”

“I’m teaching you how to pick locks.”

“I can do that with my powers.”

She grimaces. “You won’t always have them.”

You shrug –she has a point after all. You open the kit and pick up the padlock, then stop and look up at her. “Won’t your presence affect my ability to do it? Like, make it easier?”

“Practice is practice,” she says simply, and that’s that. She shows you how to do it once, how to hold the tools properly, and then sits down on your desk chair while you have at it.

You work at the padlock with the lockpick, but you can’t help but notice the way Neena’s knee bounces up and down boot rubbing against the carpet with a soft scuffing sound.

You glance up at her after a moment, note the way her arms are crossed over her chest and she’s staring off at nothing. “You okay?”

She swallows visibly. “Job,” she offers after a moment, as if that explains everything.

And you guess it does, sort of. You’ve been around Wade and Nate after jobs have gone wrong. Wade’s always a little twitchier after, a little more homicidal; Nate doesn’t have many visible tics, but throws himself into work like the world depends on it.

Which, considering the jobs he does, maybe it does.

But this is the first time you ever seen Neena rattled.

It’s disconcerting.

“Didn’t go well?” you venture.

She shrugs. “Got paid.” She sighs when you put the lock and pick to stare at her –a clear sign that you want her to talk. “I was hired to rescue some rich millionaire’s daughter. The paycheck was good, he’s an environmental and queer rights activist, so I figured why not.” Her mouth tugs into a harsh grimace. “Didn’t make it in time.”

You stomach drops –and then you frown. “But… why would you get paid…”

She shakes her head. “Not that kind of ‘in time.’ The other kind.”

It takes you a second, and then— oh.

Oh.

No wonder she’s so rattled.

“It just… it reminded me of when your parents hired bounty hunters to get you back,” she admits wearily. “If Colossus hadn’t gotten there when he did…”

You shudder at the memory. “Yeah.”

She looks at you, finally. “You’re not always going to have your abilities to help you. The more tools you have under your belt, the better –whether they’re ‘ethical’ or not.”

You nod. You get it.

You start practicing on the padlock again.

Neena’s the one that teaches you how to drive after you crash a car with Wade, too.

She’s smirking at you when you when you walk into the garage at Xavier’s. “What, exactly, made you think that Wade fucking Wilson would be a good driving instructor?”

You scowl a little, even though you deserve it. “I wasn’t exactly thinking. At least, not about that.”

She laughs and nods for you to get into the driver’s seat.

She takes you out on back roads –and keeps you at the speed limit, unlike Wade.

You drive for a while, getting the feel of the vehicle, how to turn properly, how to avoid potholes.

Eventually, Neena speaks. “How are you and Pete doing?”

“Better,” you say as you steer the car around a curve. “It’s been a little tense for a couple days, but I think we’re alright.”

“Story is that the two of you had a pretty bad fight.”

You let out a huff. “Something like that, yeah.”

After an hour and a half, the two of you are back in the garage at the Institute.

Neena pulls out a bag of tools before you can make a break for the mansion. “We’re not done yet.”

You frown at the tool bag. “What are those for?”

She grins. “I’m teaching you how to hotwire a car.”

“Wow. Hold the fucking phone for a minute.” Neena stares at you while you work on picking the lock on the driver’s side door. “‘As much as I deserve having to deal with each escalation in your behavior the longer you refuse to deal with void left by your parents.’ He actually said that to you?”

You grimace, but nod. “He was mad at me.”

“No shit. Doesn’t make it right.” She leans against the hood of the car as she watches you work. “You’re staying with him after that?”

“That’s the plan.” You toss a quick glance her way. “You think I shouldn’t?”

She shrugs. “Hey, it’s your choice. Frankly, I’m a little more worried about his control issues than anything else.”

“Ah. That.” You chuckle a little. “Yeah, I’m good with that.”

“You sure?”

You nod after a moment of thought. “Piotr’s tendencies… it usually isn’t about shit like this. It’s about little stuff. It’s about how the fridge is organized, or his teaching schedules, or me eating enough vegetables. Stuff I don’t necessarily care about, stuff that doesn’t hurt me or anyone else.”

Neena nods in understanding. “And what happens if it turns into something worse? Something that does hurt you?”

“That’s a bridge I’ll have to cross if and when it happens,” you say with a shrug. The car door picks that moment to pop open, and you let out a whoop of victory. “Awesome!”

There’s the sound of footsteps outside, and then Piotr’s striding into the garage. He frowns when he sees you and Neena. “Myshka, what are you doing?”

“I’m teaching her how to hotwire a car,” Neena says amicably. Her expression sharpens when Piotr’s turns to exasperation –and suddenly you can see the well-trained mercenary and fighter that hides just underneath her skin—and she points a finger at him. “She’s already been kidnapped once. If it happens again, knowing how to hotwire a car is a skill that she will need.”

Piotr relents with a grimace, even if it’s just barely. “I came to tell you dinner is almost ready.”

“Alright. I’ll try to be done in about twenty.”

He sighs, but doesn’t argue. “Will you be staying, Neena?”

She smiles. “Sure.”

She stops by to visit you after Wade and Nate move out after the incident in Hell’s Kitchen.

You’re out on the back patio, enjoying the late afternoon sun and the warm weather –with that damn wheelchair nearby, because heaven forbid you try to go anywhere without it.

You’ve got new sympathy for Charles, that’s for sure.

There’s the familiar sound of Neena’s boots in the kitchen, and then she appears by your side -with a box of Poptarts in hand, bless her. “I bring gifts.”

You grab the box from her and tear it open; you rip open a package –strawberry flavored, one of your favorites—and shove half a pastry in your mouth with abandon and complete indifference to whatever judgement you might receive. “You’re my hero.”

She laughs as she sits down in the seat next to yours. “I figured Pete would be keeping you on a clean diet. Thought I’d hook you up.”

She’s dressed in a distressed, light wash denim jacket, a white tank top that has ‘i do it better’ written on it in pink lettering, green shorts patterned with four leaf clovers, her boots, and sunglasses.

She’s the coolest person you’ve ever seen, bar none.

“How’s your leg?” she asks as she swipes a packet of Poptarts for herself.

You let out an annoyed huff, partially at your injury, partially at the pastry theft. “Hurts, even with the meds. And I can’t do anything for myself –though Piotr does have to help me shower, so…”

She cackles when you let your voice trail off and waggle your eyebrows suggestively. “Yeah, yeah, you’ve got a sweetheart of a man who loves to get you off whenever you ask for it. We know. Rub it in, why don’t you.”

You mime rubbing soap on her arm, then let your hand drop back in your lap. The two of you giggle for a bit, amused with yourselves.

“What happened?” you ask after the laughter dies off completely. “After I was taken into the hospital. Why isn’t Piotr talking to Nate? I mean, I know they’re mad at each other…”

Neena chuckles darkly and clucks her tongue. “You know you almost died, right?”

“Yeah. Piotr said as much.”

She nods. “Just checking. Anyway, he—” She chuckles again. “He hauled off on Cable as soon as the medics took you into the hospital. I’m surprised he didn’t break his nose; he might’ve been armored down, but he swung hard.” She goes quiet for a minute, considering, then adds “I think that’s the angriest I’ve ever seen him.”

“He punched dad?” You almost can’t believe it. You know Piotr gets angry, but his version of aggression is usually verbal or emotional.

Well, he’s hauled off on Wade once or twice, but Wade is Wade.

You never thought he’d do it to anyone else.

“He was pissed with him,” Neena says evenly. “Blamed Cable for taking you into a mission you didn’t have enough training for.”

You groan and pinch the bridge of your nose. “Seriously?”

“Castle sided with him, too,” Neena says. “Said you were too green for the environment.”

And, well, they might be right on that, but punching people is not the answer, Piotr, for Christ’s sake.

“What do you think?”

“I think you’re not a mercenary and usually don’t go against people with guns. That makes you green.”

You slump in your seat. “Fair enough.”

Neena pats your shoulder. “It’s not your fault.”

“I know.”

The two of you sit in silence for a bit.

This is the one thing that Neena’s better at than Wade by miles. Wade doesn’t do silence; he always has to be doing something, always has to be saying something.

You get it; you used to be the same way. But since getting into therapy, Alyssa’s had you working on being more comfortable with quiet, with stillness.

Neena’s a good person to practice with, if nothing else.

Eventually, though, you bite the bullet and ask her the one thing you know Piotr won’t tell you. “How bad was it? When… when I…”

She squeezes your hand reassuringly –and then tells you the truth. “It was bad. You almost destroyed the dock.”

“I killed people.” It isn’t a question.

She nods. “All of the traffickers. A couple of the victims, too. There’s always collateral with this kind of stuff.”

You let out a shaky breath and try to keep that at the forefront of your mind.

You only partially succeed.

“You’re a powerhouse,” Neena says casually, like it would fit alongside ‘pass me a fork please’ or ‘put milk on the grocery list.’ “I didn’t realize how strong you were until I saw you at the docks.”

“You’ve seen me fight before.”

“Yeah, but I’ve never seen you cut loose. It’s impressive.”

“Just once, I’d like to ‘cut loose’ without losing it.”

“You’ll get there,” she says, squeezing your hand once more. “I know you will.”

“You can’t know that,” you argue.

“I’m not usually wrong about these sorts of things.” She grins at you. “I was right about Pete liking you.”

You roll your eyes. “Lucky guess.”

“Sometimes luck’s all you need.”

“I could definitely use some more,” you grumble.

“I think you’re doing pretty good, all things considered. Hell, you might even be luckier than me, given all the odds you’ve faced down.”

You huff at that. “I don’t randomly find fifty dollar bills on the sidewalk.”

“Different kinds of luck for different kinds of people,” she says with a smile.

And then Piotr comes out with some water and your next round of antibiotics and pain pills, and you can’t help but smile at the sight of him.

Yeah, you’re pretty lucky.

#sass writes #piotr rasputin x reader #colossus x reader #neena thurman #domino #neena is the coolest person ever #she has swag #so much swag #deadpool fanfiction #x men fanfiction

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girlaboutcampus · 5 years

Text

How I optimised my social media for my mental health

cw: this blog post contains references to food, fitness and dieting culture.

youtube

A few years ago I was working for a chain bookstore over the festive period, mostly on the tills serving customers and occasionally dealing with enquiries and shelving. There was blissfully minimal phone answering too. Bookshops tend to stay pretty busy after Christmas with sales, folks coming in to buy something to read in their remaining time off and to buy dieting books. When I clocked in to take my shift on Boxing Day, there had already been a table of dieting and fitness bibles set up, all on two-for-one deals. Whilst I’m sure this table was set up on corporate instruction, it left a bad taste in my mouth. Bookshops are by no means safe spaces- they’re a place you should go to look for material that challenges and stretches your beliefs, as well as things to help you relax. However, I don’t think they’re a place you go to be judged for your lifestyle, especially if you’re just on the way up to grab a muffin and latte with friends in the cafe. In many ways, this is the experience of being on social media in microcosm.

This summer, I had a bit of a meltdown, which I’ve talked about a little before. Without university to occupy me, I became obsessed with going to the gym. When I didn’t see results as quickly as I had in the past, I started to hyperfocus on my appearance and weight. It quickly became clear that I’d got myself into a dark place, so I started going to see one of the counsellors at my university (which is an enormous privilege you should make the most of if you also have access to it). It became clear to me, in talking to my counsellor, that a lot of my problem was down to the space I had curated for myself on social media. The fitness board I maintained on Pinterest meant that the algorithm was constantly generating unattainable bodies, diet foods and problematic motivational statements. From following some of my younger brother’s school friends on Instagram, I began to feel bad about not having the body shape of a teenager anymore. I decided to clear a whole day to go through all my social media and make it as much of a hospitable space for my mental health as possible. I should be clear at this point that this might not necessarily work for you, though I found it to be incredibly helpful. I’m sharing in the hope that it might make a little difference for someone else. I’ll start with the easier social networks and work my way up to the big guns.

Facebook

This one might be more difficult for you depending on how much use you get out of Facebook. Personally, I use it mostly for keeping up with events, messaging friends and updating family members. One thing you can do if you only use it for the latter two is delete the Facebook app and just keep Messenger, that way you have to be on an actual computer to check facebook. If you don’t want to delete the app, then start to take advantage of the mute button. You can go through the hassle of sitting going through your whole friend list, removing people you no longer talk to, see, or are interested in keeping up with (you can let go of some people from school at this point, face it). However, I find that the experience of unfriending people can actually make me feel more anxious.

The best thing I do- and this one isn’t something you can necessarily do in one day- is mute or unfriend as I scroll down my feed. If someone I once met in a job I had four years ago starts posting offensive and ill-informed political memes to my feed, that’s their time to go. If a friend’s mum posts a lot of things about her New Year’s diet, she’s going to get muted for the time being. If a friend posts a photo of her super cute baby, that’s getting a big heart react- give me more of that good shit. A big part of all of this stuff is trying to train your algorithm to show you the stuff you want, even if it fights back.

Twitter

First huge bit of advice- block all the bigoted reactionaries. That’s your Piers Morgans, Katie Hopkinses, Julia Hartley-Brewerses and that girl who worships guns. This isn’t me openly advocating shutting yourself out of political discourse, or creating some kind of political echo chamber for yourself. It’s just starving people who thrive on outrage of the attention they crave. I don’t care if you have a witty rebuttal. They don’t deserve your attention, views or clicks. Try to find professional journalists, politicians, and pundits whose expertise you can trust and who conduct themselves ethically and responsibly, rather than trying to just get clicks for their work. Also, read whole articles and think pieces rather than just the headlines. Headlines are often written to stir up outrage over something that just isn’t outrageous.

Find tweeters who make you laugh, make good art and whose voices you’d like to amplify.

Instagram (and Tumblr)

Now we’re getting into the heavy lifters. It seems to me that the more image-dense the platform, the worse it can be for your mental health, especially if your mental health is tied up in your body image. Instagram and Tumblr might be the platforms to be most cutthroat with. What you decide to do with this one is really deeply personal, but I would suggest going with your gut and unfollowing and muting anything that makes you feel less than, no matter how nice the person running it seems. My first call was to unfollow more or less everyone who’s ever breathed in the general vicinity of a Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show. A lot of these models seem to be lovely women, but their lifestyles and bodies are the definitions of unattainable. The one exception I make to this rule is Chrissy Teigen because her content is all about earnestly enjoying food, family and travel. Plus, she doesn’t take herself too seriously. Instagram also has a useful feature that allows you to mute stories, posts or both at your own discretion. That way if there’s someone you follow who posts great travel photos but is always talking about weight loss in their stories, you can filter out that content and keep what you like. I found that, personally, having fewer bodies in my line of sight is for the best. I like to maximise the presence of delicious food, cute animals and uplifting messages I follow. Here are some favourites:

Nigella Lawson

Shila and Eddie the Pomeranians

withlovelinh

Hannah Witton

Demi Adejuyigbe

This is the daddy of all the image-based platforms. Whilst probably the least popular of all the platforms listed here, it probably has the most potential to do harm. Don’t get me wrong, I love Pinterest. It is one of the most easily spaces online and the fact that it is image focused means that there is very little text involved, so it’s an ocean of calm compared to a platform like Twitter. However, it also has what might possibly be the most reactive algorithm of any platform. This is broadly a helpful tool, allowing you to locate the exact material you’re looking for, but it can really double down on any harmful material you put into it. It’s the internet’s worst enabler. In this sense, spring cleaning it is work. I got rid of my fitspo board and replaced it with one more focused on self-care. This didn’t mean getting rid of all my fitness-focused stuff- I still pin specific exercise routines- but I don’t pin #bodygoals stuff now. A very important part of changing this is being conscientious of what I am choosing to repin. Specifically, I have to ask myself

“Do I really like this hair/ makeup/ clothing, or do I just want to look like the model?”

If the answer is no, I will ask Pinterest to remove it from my feed. Pinterest also has a zero-tolerance policy for content that encourages eating disorders and self-harm so you can report anything like that. Whilst Pinterest will continue to show you things after you have deleted the boards you can, over time, train it to show you more of the things you want to see. I’ve finally got it to a point where I’m seeing things that make me feel bad far less frequently.

All of this is work and requires a conscious effort from yourself to remove things that are harmful before they get to you. This system isn’t perfect and you will continue to see garbage some of the time. It is still possible to optimise what you’re seeing in order to feel less anxious and down on yourself. Do keep in mind, that it’s just a small part of your life and that if you are genuinely concerned about your mental health to talk to a professional if that is something you are able to access. Also, this isn’t an alternative to minimising your screentime, which we should probably all try to do a little more.

Happy new year!

More like this

You are doing enough.

Did I Keep my 2018 Resolutions?

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2bstudioblog · 3 years

Text

Thoughts on Composer forums, no more negativity...

But before we begin, let’s make it a straight and clear... I don't want to out anybody, but I guess it isn't news because we are all aware that these community/forum problems/people exists, no matter the content or platform.

In the community of film-composers, game-music composers, Audio-directors, Sound-designers and perhaps music supervisors, the film-composer forum/community has been one of the first stepping stones to help and most of all build new relationships with people in the industry.

I’ve always had the image of this community to be about being equal, nobody was above or below, but talking to each other on the level. All that was required to enter was 1 IMDB credit (Internet Movie Data Base), get it verified and then you were in this very exclusive groups.

But so far, the idea was sound, we started to establish a group of a mix of westerners and Japanese composers, and the idea was to share ideas, help people who wants to break into the Japanese scene and the AAA-gaming industry. However, we only had a few meetups and 2 of them happened in a very interesting place in Korean Town in Tokyo. We ended up in the home of former On Tour QUEEN Keyboardist Morgan Fischer, who in turn was one of the first names I remember on an instruction manual for the Yamaha DX7. The first gathering brought about 7-8 members and we talked, showed each other what we do and then we enjoyed general talk, jamming and had a lot of fun. There I also ran into another young guy, who just scored an iPAD app. Let’s call him R2.

A few months later I was contacted by someone from the U.K community chapter, a young lad, with ideas on how things should be and he asked me if we should meet up and talk a little bit since he knew I’ve written music for Resident Evil 6 at this point, so I felt honored and thought let’s help each other out. Let’s call this guy D2.

D2 is now at first glance, I thought he was an OK guy, and I showed him around the city, we talked a little about ourselves and then I had to get back to my ordinary job as a teacher afterwards. He’s very focused on keeping up a fashion and to look cool... all the time. At this I didn’t really care, but I told him that if you want to have a chance at pitching to get into the industry, perhaps he should meet one of my agents. So I arranged that, brought him over to the agency, took about 1 hour, sitting down talking to one of the toughest and impressive women in the industry. She asked about his ambitions and why he was in Japan for a casual tourist visit and in the end the question came: - “What game would you like to write music for in the future?” -”Metal Gear...” was his answer.

He already told me before the meeting that he always wanted to work on a MGS project but I felt a little bit guilty but I told D2: -”I can’t guarantee anything about the chances of getting that kind of gig as a first from that agency. But they’ll try to find something up your alley.” The agent said that would be hard one to get him into because they only like to work with established artists on their MGS franchise, so getting it would seem to be impossible at this point, since we didn’t know that it was being developed at the moment, or so it had been in secret.

He returned back to Europe and I was on my own again. But we promised that we’d follow each other on the platforms and he said he’d try to promote me to get a few more followers on twitter (Duh, he didn’t, naive as usual.) and give a shout-out on his “incredible” YouTube channel devoted to his brand of a software/kontakt library creator. Nothing came to fruition on that front. I sure did give him a shout-out and told people about him, but I got nothing in return.

A few months later he returns and he decides to meet with me again, so I thought, what is it this time? Well, turns out he was back in Tokyo again for a business meeting or something, however he also met someone last time he was in Tokyo and decided to say hi to his girlfriend. So we all 3 went out to a cafe in Shinjuku area and we sat down and talked about film, games and music since we all were kinda in that industry. But since I know he is passionate about “EPIC” music as he would call it, we (me and his girlfriend) started to talk about Star Wars and he was .... incredibly ignorant. I told him, if you want to hear EPIC music, these are the films you have to see.

I told him: -“John Williams is the reason I am here. The reason I started to do film-scoring and bringing that into cinematic games like Resident Evil 6.” -”Who's John Williams? Never heard of him...” was his response.

Me and his girlfriend were completely flabbergasted of this guys total ignorance of a film-defining classic that changed film-music for science-fiction, approaching it with an operatic execution, giving characters themes, music that flowed with the action like those old golden-era film styles, but modernized for a new generation of movie-goers. It was the biggest risk, bringing in an orchestra for a sci-fi fantasy, but it paid off. Orchestral music was COOL again. Without John Williams, we wouldn’t have one of the first hybrid-action scores in Return of the Jedi with big thick synthbasses in Jabba’s Palace for that ominous uncertain character that turned out to be Leia unfreezing Han Solo from his carbonation chamber. Minimal amount of synth, but it was there.

The ignorance of D2 started to show. But I didn’t want that to be the moment, so I told his girlfriend to sit down and watch those films together. Not sure if they did, but it was here I started to feel the “British twit” mentality, the “I am better than thou”, the “I’m in my 20′s and I have already figured out the meaning of life...” All he had was his own business back home generating the dough in making sample-based kontakt-libraries. Good on him.

Then a few month’s later, I saw something on his YouTube channel that really started to kill my vibe for the dude. Whenever when I work for big companies like Konami, Capcom or Sega, I always sign an NDA. That mean’s I’m not allowed to record or show off my work for projects that are in progress. But here he is, talking about his cues he’s composing in real-time on YouTube. My first thought was, maybe I should tell anybody about this, but I don’t want to be a buzz-kill. I decided I didn’t want to butt in. Perhaps he would learn something from that mistake. Or did he?

A few months later D2 came back, now the game was pretty much in it’s final stages and he decided to meet me up together with R2 and we went out to yet another cafe, talking about software and stuff. Before we even met up with R2, D2 started to ask me if I had any registration keys for some software he didn’t own... I’m now getting even more confused. Is he asking me for pirate copies??? I just can’t make this one slide, so I’ll just stay quiet. R2 shows up, they start to make fun out of my English, my use of words in fun ways. I know the Britt’s and the Australians share the dry word humor, but I told them that I really like to perform on real hardware and twisting knobs for cutoff filters and stuff. All they wanted was to make fun out of me using the words “I like to turn knobs” (English slang for wanking off people, not my intention since we are talking about synthesizers...) R2 however was sucking up to D2 due to his huge following on YouTube and Twitter, so my point of view was completely irrelevant for R2. I had made valid points, but D2 shot me down, R2 is right behind him like a narcissists flying monkey.

This was the moment where I felt I should distance myself from D2 for trying to acquire pirate software keys, asking me if I had any cool software etc. He’s bloody rich. He should buy the software like everyone else, especially guys like me. I pulled a small ploy and pretended I got a phone-call from an agency going;

*hanging up the phone* -”...Sorry guys, it’s seems to me something important has just landed in my lap and I have to leave you here, but I wish you all good on your ventures. Take care and talk to you guys later.”

From that moment, I was just exhausted from R2 and D2. They are a perfect fit for each other. But the ignorance and bluntness from D2 lost all of his credibility for me and I just said to myself quietly I just have to keep fighting my own battle in an uphill, serving D2 with the best kind of courtesy I’ve learned from the Japanese and being shit on in the process. He doesn't respect many of us, so I’ll now don’t give a damn.... I need closure. And with a snap of my fingers, all the bad went away.

After leaving these thoughts to you, I’m ready to let go and start a new future in the land of music production. But one thing is for sure, I'm done with the charade.

Of course there are times when enough is enough. And I've had enough.

#Film #Score #Music #Film-industry #community

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imaginetonyandbucky · 7 years

Note

Bucky leaving his cat at Tony's place for a few days and when he takes the cat back it takes every opportunity to run away to Tony's house. Tony spoiled it buying expensive toys and food during the days he took care of it. Solition: move in together.

A/N: Title and idea taken from Old 97’s song bythe same name. Dear prompter, sorry I switched the character relationshipsaround, but @27dragons recently wrote a story with Bucky’s cat that liked Tony,so I didn’t want to copy that. Also, the idea got away from me, so this story will be divided in three parts (like all of Rome)

Murder (or a Heart Attack)

Part One

When Bucky Barnes ran out of food, he did it in style. There wasliterally nothing in his pantry that wasn’t an ingredient (chicken stock orflour or sugar) or a condiment (capers, pimentos, mustard, vinegar) but nothingto make an actual meal with. Even the half empty boxes of pasta were gone,sacrificed to a careful array of timers as he added different sorts of pasta tothe pot and dosed the whole thing with butter and grated cheese and called itfood.

“Fuck,” he said. He was going to have to give up, put on pants andshoes and go to the fucking store.

The worst thing was, he was actually freaking hungry. Like,stomach crawling out of his throat to go hunt down the wild cup o’ soup, can’twait for take-out hungry.

He couldn’t possibly go to the grocery like that, he’d end up withfifty boxes of Twinkies and a 20-pack of ramen. And an apple, if he was feelingparticularly guilty about his terrible life choices, that he wouldn’t rememberhe had and would go bad in his fruit bowl.

Oh, wait. Apples.

Bucky bounced up onto his toes and shoved the bag of flour out ofthe way. He’d had some plans – he always made plans, and he just never fuckingfollowed through – of making an apple tart. Which meant– Aha! Yes! Score! Acan of apple-pie filling.

He didn’t have the time or inclination to actually make a piecrust, although he did know how, and he had some butter in the fridge. Maybenext time. He dug around in his utensil drawer and opened the can of piefilling. He was still chasing the overly sugary and cinnamon-spiced fruitaround the bottom of the can when the doorbell rang.

Bucky shuffled over to the door. No one ever came to visit andrang the bell; Steve had a key. The UPS driver often did a ring and run, andwhile Bucky couldn’t remember ordering anything off the internet recently, hehad been known to do depression-based insomnia-fueled Amazon Prime therapysometimes. That was always kinda like Christmas, because Bucky never remembereddoing it until the banana slicer or whatever it was actually arrived.

So when he opened the door to a man wearing a three-piece suit,Bucky didn’t quite know what to do.

“Um…”

The man looked him up and down. And then up again. Bucky might…not have been wearing pants. Yeah. Bathrobe with the long sleeves that coveredhis scarred left arm, tee, boxers, and his stuffed animal shark slippers thathis sister gave him as a joke and he wore specifically to piss her off.

Bucky leaned against his doorframe. “Yeah?”

“Look, okay, probably a bad time, but my normal pet-sitter is outof town, and I don’t have anyone else I can ask, and um, I don’t have time tomake arrangements for kenneling, and I was wondering – it really is anemergency – if you could just feed my cat for a few days while I’m out oftown?”

Bucky stared at the guy. He was gorgeous, in an upper crust sortof way, with a fancy-trimmed little goatee and a pair of pale orange sunglassesthat should have clashed with the three-piece button up he was wearing andsomehow didn’t.

Mobile readers, more below the break. You can read all of tisfan’s stuff on A03 eventually

“Do I know you?” That probably wasn’t the best question in theworld, because no, of course Bucky didn’t know this guy. Bucky didn’t… dopeople for the most part.

“Um, probably not?” the guy said. “I’m Tony. Tony Stark. I live inyour neighboring unit.” He pointed to the door next to Bucky’s. There weretwelve units total in Bucky’s building, but Bucky usually kept his ball cap onand his head down whenever he left the building at all, so he mostly didn’trecognize his neighbors, except by their footwear. Speaking of… he let his gazedrift downward. He didn’t know those shoes, but he’d recognize those legsanywhere. Yep. Next door neighbor. The one with the great ass.

“Bucky Barnes,” he introduced himself, because that’s what you didwhen someone gave you their name. It was automatic. Instinct.

Shit. Now he’d actually spoken to a neighbor, which meant saidneighbor would probably want to talk to him again, and while this particularneighbor didn’t seem too bad – especially when Bucky could watch him walk away– that would mean other neighbors might start talking to him and… well, maybeSteve could help him get a new place.

Bucky deliberately didn’t think about the fact that Steve wouldprobably not help him get a new place if he said he wanted to avoid talking tohis neighbors. Steve had been adamant that Bucky wasn’t going to leave the cityand live somewhere as a hermit out in the middle of nowhere where Stevecouldn’t at least ocme drag him out of the house once a week.

Not to mention the fact that wanting to move just so he didn’thave to talk to the neighbor – the incredibly hot, exactly Bucky’s typeneighbor – was just pathetic.

Bucky wasn’t quite willing to admit, even to Steve, that he’dmoved all the way from bad-coping mechanisms to pathetic.

“So, can you? I mean, feed the cat?”

“You’re gonna let a perfect stranger into your house,” Buckycommented idly. “What if I turn out to be a psycho?”

“First, you are a perfect stranger,” Tony said, and Bucky was leftblinking trying to figure out what that meant. “Second, if you were a psycho,you probably wouldn’t have brought it up. Third, and maybe you missed thispart, but I know where you live.”

“Well, yeah,” Bucky said, reasonably. “And there’s probably notenough stuff in your place to make it worth the effort of robbing you and thenmoving out.” Wasn’t he just thinking about moving out, though, because he wastalking to the neighbor? Except there was something kinda nice about talking tothis guy. Not quite like talking to Steve, but nice. Not nerve-wracking,weirdly enough.

Tony checked his watch, then grinned. “Just the fact that you’vealready thought of that should worry me.”

You shouldn’t be worried. Bucky didn’t say that.“Okay, so what do you want me to do?”

“Come on, come over,” Tony said. He reached out and grabbedBucky’s wrist, which under most normal circumstances would have had Buckyyanking backward to retreat into his unit. He might even have pushed the deskin front of the front door for a while; forget food, retreat into his sanctumand shudder.

But Tony didn’t set off all those alarms in his head, and just thefact that it didn’t made Bucky’s breath come a little faster.

Bucky got the fastest tour of Tony’s place imaginable. “Here’s thekitchen, there’s the food, here’s feeding instructions. Don’t worry about thelitter, I have an automated scooper, a total piece of shit, ha ha, that was apun, but I did some upgrades to it and now it’s quite efficient and doesn’tscare her.”

“Does she need company?” Bucky asked. He didn’t know much aboutcats, but Steve’s boyfriend had a dog, and the dog got lonely enough during theday that Clint had eventually had to get a pet-walker to come by the apartmenttwice a day while the two of them were at work, and on date night, Clint tookthe dog to a doggy day-care.

“Well, U won’t mind. She’s a lap kitty, but if you don’t want toget covered in orange fur, she’ll be okay for a few days on her own.”

“You named your cat… You?”

“U, like the letter. I dunno, when she was a kitten, I just calledher Hey You while I was waiting for something to occur to me. She’s got anofficial name on her vet records and stuff – Butterfingers – but I just stillcall her U most of the time, so… eh, what can I say?”

“Fair enough,” Bucky said.

“Anyway, here’s a copy of the key, here’s my cell phone number.Text me or something right away so I have your number. Not sure when I’m goingto be back, business can be tricky sometimes, but it shouldn’t be more than aweek, okay? Okay. Thank you very much.”

Tony had said the cat was orange, but what Bucky was expecting andwhat he got were two entirely different things.

Bucky was expecting an orange tabby, what his Ma had calledmarmalade, like Garfield was, theoretically.

What he got was a plush, red Abyssinian cat with huge green eyesand fur the color of the edge of sunset, dark orange, almost red, with blacktips. The cat pounced on him almost immediately when he entered the house byhimself, grabbing hold of his calf with fat, soft paws, claws absolutelynowhere in evidence and a throaty, rusty sort of meow.

“Hello,” Bucky said to the cat. “Hungry?”

The cat gave an answering meow, which seemed like a good enoughanswer, so Bucky went in the kitchen and attempted to figure out the food.There were a lot of instructions written down on a sheet of paper, which Buckyread slowly. U did not appreciate the delay at all, batting at the end ofBucky’s bathrobe and yowing piteously at the delay.

Finally, directions interpreted, Bucky gave the cat her half canof food, plus two treats and a shake of “food seasoning and vitamins” on top.“You eat better than I do,” Bucky commented, putting the bowl down. The cat wassoon eating noisily, but when Bucky turned to leave the kitchen, she cried andchased after him, following him all the way back to the door.

“What? I fed you,” Bucky protested.

“Yow!”

Bucky took a picture of the cat and texted it to Tony. Your catdoesn’t want to eat.

U got between Bucky and the door, stropping against Bucky’s legsand nipping at his ankle whenever he tried to open the door.

New Text from Tony:

She’s a social eater. Go keep her company while she eats, if youhave time. Otherwise, she’ll eat when she gets hungry.

“You want me to sit with you while you eat? Seriously?”

“Yowwwwww.”

Fine, whatever. Bucky trudged back into Tony’s neat little kitchenand pulled out a chair. Satisfied, the cat went back to her bowl and startedeating, making little pleased, purring noises.

Your cat is weird.

New text from Tony:

Like owner, like pet, I imagine.

You’re a social eater? Bucky texted back.

New text from Tony:

I eat with my cat almost every night, so yeah, I guess? Peppersays it’s good for me, I wasn’t eating much before I got the cat. Therapy, Iguess.

Bucky looked around Tony’s kitchen, then curiosity got the betterof him and he found himself peeking in the cabinets and fridge. You could learna lot about people by what they kept in their kitchens and medicine cabinets.

Unlike Bucky, Tony was stocked for some unknown zombie outbreak.Tony had tinned varieties of just about everything, including tinned chickenand tuna, peaches, pears, and jars of chunked pineapple, canned slicedpotatoes, jars of pickles, a veritable mountain of jarred spagetti sauces,plastic containers of individual servings of pudding (chocolate andbutterscotch), multiple packages of bread-maker breads, individual microwavablemug-cakes, four flats of bottled water.

Okay, I know I’m being nosy, but what the hell? Are you expectinga shortage in tinned tuna?

New text from Tony:

I have anxiety. Buying food seems to help. There’s some leftoverpizza in the fridge, if you want it. It’ll probably go stale before I’m home.

Well, so there was. Bucky grinned, delighted.

You eat pineapple on pizza.

New text from Tony:

Yeah, I’m a heathen, I know.

You’re my new best friend and I love you. He probably shouldn’t send that, so Bucky contented himself with, Nah,I like it. My favorite.

Bucky helped himself to the rest of the pizza while U finished herdinner. Then washed her paws and face. Then jumped in Bucky’s lap and turnedaround a few times, eventually falling asleep with her head on Bucky’s knee.

He took another picture and texted it to Tony. Help. I’mtrapped.

New text from Tony:

Ask her if there’s a squirrel at the window.

“Um U,” Bucky said, hesitant. “Tony wants to know if there’s asquirrel at the window.”

The cat was up and out of his lap the instant the word squirrelcame out of his mouth. She raced across the kitchen and over to thedouble-window in the living room, making a little chut-chut sort of noise, taillashing.

Huh. Neat trick.

New text from Tony:

You should see it when there’s actually a squirrel there.

To Be Continued

#winteriron #tony x bucky #tony stark #bucky barnes #PTSD!bucky #bucky is a dumpster baby #tony has cats #instead of bots #prompts #tisfan #Anonymous

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arabellaflynn · 4 years

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My response to extended periods of stress is to distract myself by cramming new things into my head. I had a terrible semester at college once and front-loaded the entirety of the sci.electronics.repair FAQ into my brain. It wasn't useful at the time, but I can repair the shit out of a VCR now, so I assume I'll use it someday. I am so overloaded I am about to claw my own face off, so naturally I am teaching myself Hebrew. I've been using Duolingo to do it, which is frankly a very bad idea. (I should really be using Ha'Ulpan, which is where you'd typically go for a crash course in Hebrew before emigrating to Israel, but that costs money, so no.) Duolingo is billed as a way to teach yourself a language, which it is not. It is a way to memorize a bunch of interactive flashcards. This might be effective for people who don't care how language works -- which is most people -- but it's awful for people like me, who hang all of their memorization off of a framework of base patterns. Duolingo explains nothing. The "lessons":

Do not teach the alphabet. Hebrew is written in this sort of half-assed abjad, where most but not all vowels are not marked in non-teaching texts, and some but not most unmarked vowels are actually represented by a placeholder Alef. 'Aba' is father and 'ima' is mother, but they are both written Alef-something else-Alef. Look at that and imagine how the vowel change looks totally mental to someone who spells things in a full alphabet. Alef comes out looking like it says about six different things, one of which is nothing.

Do not explain the orthography. There are several pairs of letters in Hebrew that do, or at least can, say the same thing. Tet and Tav both say /t/; Kaf and Qof both say /k/; Yod and Ayin are both sort of /j/ and sort of not; Vav and Bet can both say /v/, although both also have other readings; Samekh is /s/ and Shin can be read that way as well. Some other apparent character pairs are actually the same letter that has a 'sofit' form when it comes at the end of the word, which on the Hebrew keyboard is a different key (as opposed to the Arabic IME, which auto-corrects to the final form when it kerns all the cursive joining). I still have no idea if there is a rule behind Tet vs Tav; Yod vs Ayin and Kaf vs Qof are almost certainly because they once represented different sounds (Yaa vs 'Ayin and Kaa vs Qaf are still separated in Arabic), but I don't have enough context to guess which is likely to be which in Modern Hebrew.

Do not consistently read new vocabulary words out loud. If you're not going to explain the letters to me, the least you can do is read me the word so I can figure it out myself. Of course, it also never explicitly mentions that you read all this right-to-left, which seems like an important note to give when you're using a left-to-right language for instruction. You would think it would be obvious when everything is right-justified, but this is the kind of stuff you shouldn't take for granted when building beginning lessons in anything.

Do not use any nekkudot. A nikkud ("point") is a diacritical mark, mainly underneath the consonant but occasionally beside, inside, or above it, that explicitly indicates ('dagesh') a pronunciation change or ('nikkud') an unwritten vowel. This is how you teach people to read Hebrew, in Hebrew. You use it for small children. Or, if you have any sense, novice adult learners.

Do not explain any grammar. There is no explanation of why "you" is sometimes 'at' and sometimes 'atah'. No explanation of why sometimes the present-tense verb has an '-et' on the end and sometimes doesn't, even when the subject is 'ani' in both cases. (Answer: Hebrew inflects according to gender of both subject and speaker, which seems like a thing that should be noted for anglophones.) You are left to guess at wtf to do with prepositions and particles like Ha, V', Be, Le, and others.

Do not consistently account for the direction switch of Hebrew input. Firstly, there's no warning that the thing expects you to type in Hebrew; I installed a Hebrew keyboard before I started, but I also have six other keyboard layouts on the phone, because I'm me. If it wants you to type a full sentence, it can get the text running consistently right to left, but there are exercises that want you to fill in just one word, and that breaks it horribly. The words run right-to-left as intended, but they are arranged left-to-right in English order.

Do not listen to its own internal dictionary of synonyms. I have run into this in other languages and it drives me crazy. There are exercises where it asks you to translate a sentence in the target language into English. If you tap 'derech', Duolingo tells you it means a way, a path, or a road. Translating 'derech' as anything other than "way" in the English sentence gets you marked off. If there is some reason why 'Ha'yeled roah derech' could not mean "The boy sees a road" isolated from context, Duolingo does not give it.

I am already cheating by being a linguist who has some idea of how Semitic languages work. My one attempt at an Arabic class was a disaster for non-Arabic-related reasons, but I do know basic things like the idea behind an abjad, handling regular transformations of letter shapes at the end of a word, and how words are constructed by adding vowels/prefixes/suffixes to a triconsonantal root. These would be completely alien to most English speakers. There is a systemic way to accomplish transformations like the one from "(male) child" ('yeled') to "(female) child" ('yaldah') or "children" ('yeldim'), or from the noun "food" ('okel') to the verb for "to eat" ('le'kol'), but it is never actually pointed out.

I also have a living resource who grew up speaking Hebrew and enjoys teaching people things, usually at great length. I can ask the Eccentric all the weird stuff and he'll give me a long, detailed answer, fully 60% of which will have something to do with the original question. Technical grammar questions can be Googled to good effect, but the answers to cultural questions are, at best, unreliable. (Example: "Does Modern Hebrew have regional accents?" Google answer: "Modern Hebrew is very young and spoken in a contained geographic area. While there are some tiny variations in pronunciation and vocabulary, these are so slight it is unlikely a non-native speaker would ever notice them." Answer from actual Israeli person: "Absolutely, remind me next time I see you and I'll do imitations, some of them are hilarious.") [The question of accents is especially pertinent; I am never comfortable in a language until I sound like myself, and since I don't sound like a textbook all the time, this usually means picking a dialect to drop into. My informal Japanese tends to stay Tokyo-standard in grammar but in tone is rather bokukko, for instance. It's marked in speech (although often the actual pronoun boku is used in internet Japanese by female blog authors who don't want to be explicitly female in text), but I am clearly a non-native speaker, and I feel it conveys a proper warning that I am not going to do well by Japanese standards of femininity. There are a few potential accents I could wind up with in Hebrew. American is fairly far down on the list; I'm usually pretty good at not sounding like a Yank. The letter Resh is most universally difficult for non-native speakers. I could probably use the French or German R and be understood (both voiced uvular fricative /ʁ/, the French one higher and more nasalized), but the Resh as given in the only explicit explanation I've found is actually supposed to be a uvular trill /ʀ/, which occurs more towards the hard palate than either of those, and with a rounder sounding chamber behind it. It comes so far forward that it is the closest thing I have ever seen to the theoretically-impossible velar trill. Wikipedia says this is an Ashkenazim thing, which explains why you hear it so much in Yiddish. I would definitely be understood if I used the Arabic alveolar trill /r/, which is noted as a variation common among the Sephardim, but it's also associated with Arabic-speaking refugees, and I feel like that might not be the accent I want if I'm going to be practicing this on Israeli friends. I've no idea which one the Eccentric uses; I gather he has one parent from either tradition and they lived in Jerusalem, so who the fuck knows. It's impossible to pick up from his English. He's made no effort to zero out his accent, but he has had three decades to nail the English retroflex alveolar approximant /ɻ/, and more or less does. Chet is voiced /χ/, and undotted-Khaf is unvoiced /x/, both of which I have.]

An irksome aspect of learning Hebrew is the transliteration system. There isn't one. You notice that my Japanese is italicized and the attempts at Hebrew are in single quotes? This is because the Japanese is brought straight across using a standard Japanese-to-Latin alphabet system used in some textbooks and on the internet. (There are other, more precise systems, but they involve diacritical marks that can't be typed on a pure-ASCII keyboard.) The Hebrew is... uh, approximate. There is no way to unambiguously transcribe Hebrew text in Latin letters that is immediately readable to people whose languages use the Latin alphabet. Duolingo doesn't even try. I type things using the Hebrew IME whenever possible, because I'm trying to learn to spell, but when the Eccentric explains things to me he does it with the regular QWERTY keyboard. It has quirks. Words whose transliteration ends in '-ah', as in the new year's greeting 'shanah tovah', are words that end in He, a letter which normally says /h/ but when word-final represents /a:/ for grammatical reasons. He also consistently writes his Vav as "U'" when it's used as a conjunction, even though it's pronounced /v/. My guess is that this is how it is taught in Israeli schools. There seems to be a system behind it, but it does not make sense unless you also read the original Hebrew.

This is all somehow working anyway, probably because I'm me. I made it to Day 18 of my first ever stab at learning Hebrew before I started scaring up podcasts. It only took me that long because I had to figure out how to search for the word for "Hebrew (language)" in Hebrew, because searching in transliteration gets you nothing. Day 20 I picked up a series of linguistic interviews put out by Leshoniada (לשוניאדה, a word which gave Google Translate shitfits, but which the Eccentric informs me is a portmanteau that comes out something like "Grammar-lympics"). The details escape me completely, because I lack vocabulary, but because Hebrew has a very regular stress pattern (word-final, almost always) individual terms are easy to pick out. Between that and a lot of straight-up imports from Greek, the topic of the first episode was easy to get.

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