#they are literally in a slightly life threatening situation and they are emojiing back and forht

[rrat-king]

i love them so much i can't even say (also oh my god d20 graphics and editing team this is amazing thank you)

[dovesdreaming]

PLEASE I AM BEGGING YOU FOR ETHAN MORGAN X VAMP!READER FICS THERE ARE LITERALLY NO ETHAN FICS I HAVEN'T READ I WILL GIVE YOU MY LIFE AND SOUL 🙏🙏🙏 -🩻

Teeth marks

My first emoji anon hiii!! Thank you so much for your request!! I loved writing this and I’m sorry for the wait. This also isn’t as long as I wanted it to be so when I get time I will write more headcanons for this dynamic!! <3

not proofread sorry

Warnings: none

You had recently been turned into a vampire. While it had its perks it did mean that you were now immortal and it all felt a little daunting, especially when you had to keep everything a secret.

Everything had been going fine, you had been managing to hunt at night so no one saw you and it had been working. Key word being had. This was because tonight while you were hunting small animals you were found by the one and only Rory. You wouldn’t say you were friends, you had only spoken a few times in class to swap answers but now he had seen you sucking the blood from the neck of a squirrel. That was irreparable damage to any future friendship aspects. Or so you thought. You had thought many things, your thoughts racing as he might tell the whole town and you would have to flee but all he did was grin. He got super excited and started rambling about how cool this was. You missed the majority of what he was saying from the shock of his reaction and when you finally tuned back into what he was saying you heard “you’re a vampire too!”. You finally dropped the squirrel and stood up, slowly walking towards him. “You mean you’re a vampire aswell?” You asked Rory with a very confused look. “Of course, Erica and Sarah are too”. You couldn’t believe there were more, you had been suffering this whole time with so many people like you close by.

After your encounter Rory introduced you to the rest of the friend group and they immediately accepted you. Benny and Ethan being the only non vampires of the group were slightly cautious as they didn’t know your tolerance for the smell of blood yet. They quickly warmed up to you though when they saw you could handle yourself better than Rory and Erica.

You took a special liking to Ethan, you found it cute how he got slightly nervous around you. Stumbling over his words slightly. You loved to tease him to make it worse. You did however also befriend him and become close to him. He understood some of your worries about being a vampire (hearing the same worries from Sarah and the others) and he listened to al your other concerns. You were each others confidants. You grew closer until the point where your feelings for each other were undeniable to even yourselves. Ethan would take a while to admit his feelings so you probably ended up beating him to confessing them. Ethan doesn’t mind you being a vampire but he does worry for your safety even if you could handle yourself. He would hate to think of a future where you were still young and he was getting older, would probably consider turning into a vampire for you. Whether he went through with it though is another thing.

Headcanons:

-He completely trusts you around him and doesn’t feel threatened even if you have your teeth out around him. He also feels bad that you’re stuck with someone with such irresistible blood to a vampire.

-he only gets nervous around your teeth if you bring them out while play fighting or cuddling. He doesn’t feel threatened he’s just scared of the power they hold.

-would try his best to help you with any of your cravings, may even offer some of his blood but you would always refuse.

-would be so caring towards you and would always stick up for you in any situation. Especially if you were fighting the weekly problem and they went after you.

-would try and find a spell in bennys book or some cure for you as he knew it troubled you at times. Would never pressure you into anything like that though

-he always felt protected when you were by his side and he hoped you could feel the same when he was close by even if he didn’t hold half the power you did

-would ask advice about vampire stuff from Sarah and would listen to everything she said

-would be in complete awe of you at all times.

-he found you so hot when you used your powers against any supernatural being

-would research and look through ALL the pages of google on vampires to just find everything out about you

-he would trace his fingers gently over the teeth marks on your neck. Occasionally softly kissing them.

-would never judge you in any shape or form

-would just genuinely love you and wouldn’t care that your slightly different from the average person. Would face any challenges along the way with you and stay by your side.

Thank you for reading!!

[rbbalmung]

Pokemon SwSh GPL AU: Get to know ______ P3

It’s time for THE BOYS. My biggest conclusion from putting this together is that while Raihan enjoys pushing everyone else’s buttons, Leon is the only person that can fluster the hell out of him. Please enjoy. 

Get to Know: Leon x Raihan (TrueRivalShipping)

1: Who spends almost all their money on the other? Leon. He feels like the type of person whose love language is gift giving (ex. giving Hop Wooloo and Grookey, giving Gloria Scorbunny, Yamper, and Charmander, ect.). That being said, he’s terrible at getting gifts. He can tell exactly what type of Pokemon a person would want and catch it, but presents? He once got Raihan a charmander watch made for kids without even considering it wouldn’t fit him. 

2: Who sleeps in the other’s lap? Leon. They’re both tall, but Lee’s the smaller of the two. 

3: Who walks around the house half-naked and who yells at them to put on some clothes? Raihan would definitely strut around just to get a reaction out of Leon. Half the time his intentions are to get him into bed, but the other half? Embarrass Leon when he’s on Rotom calls with his mum (don’t worry, he wears pants for those instances). 

4: Which one tells the other not to stay up all night and which one stays up all night anyway? They’re both night owls. They stay up either playing video games or watching Netflix (or whatever the pokemon equivalent to that is). They had to invest in a bigger couch due to how often they have passed out on it. (When I say bigger couch, I definitely mean a futon. They just straight up by the closest thing they can to another bed). 

5: Which one tries to make food for the other but burns it all by accident and which one tells them that it’s okay and makes them both cookies? Hop inherited their mum’s cooking skills. Since Leon spent most of his young adult life as a champion who never really had time to stay at home and cook a real meal, it is up to Raihan to provide. Lee was permanently designated to cleanup duty after nearly burning the apartment down. 

6: Which one reads OTP prompts and says “Oh that’s us!” and which one goes “Eh, not really”? Leon would say,” Oh, that’s us!” and Raihan would say,” Eh, not really?” just to spite him. There is a lot of teasing and playful banter in their relationship. 

7: Which one constantly wears the other’s clothes? Raihan, but only because he would literally murder Leon if he borrowed one of his designer sweatshirts. There’s also the added benefit that Lee’s clothes are a lot comfier. 

8: Which one spends all day running errands and which one says “You remembered [thing], right?” Leon isn’t allowed to run errands by himself because he’d get lost, so Raihan is usually the grocery-getter. Raihan will be in the checkout line and almost always get a last minute text from Leon asking for one more item. It drives Raihan bonkers. 

9: Which one drives the car and which one gives them directions? Leon is the driver, and Raihan is the “direction giver” (let’s be real, he’s more focused on what song they play next than getting them to their destination). If it’s a group road trip, neither of them are allowed in the front because they’ll just end up getting everyone lost. 

10: Which one does the posing while the other one draws? Ok, so I don’t really think one of them would draw the other. They’re much more of an “active, sporty couple” than an “artsy couple”. That doesn’t mean it hasn’t happened, though. During one of their dates, they decided to doodle each other on their napkins to help pass the time. They were both terrible and it got really heated when the waitress chose Leon’s drawing as “slightly less worse”.  

11: If they were about to rob a museum, which one does backflips through lasers and which one is strolling behind with a bag of chips? Are you kidding? They’d both try to out-do each other. Both backflippers. 

12: Which one of your OTP overdoes it on the alcohol and which one makes the other stop drinking? I feel like even though Leon has more body mass than Raihan, he’d be the lightweight of the two. Both have been in the League since they were in their late teens, but Leon’s public image had a lot more specifications than Raihan’s. That meant Raihan got to go to a lot more college parties on his nights off and build up his tolerance. Leon’s public relations manager didn’t let him even look at alcohol until he stepped down as champion. He had to “set a good example for his young fans”. (Sufficed to say, Gloria quickly got a new PR manager when she filled his role). 

14: Which one keeps accidentally using the other’s last name instead of their own? Raihan learned that if he used Leon’s last name, he could get special treatment. It’s an abuse of power! Especially when they’re having dinner at the Hoffman house and Raihan casually slips in that he’s planning on taking Lee’s last name once they marry. Leon’s convinced his grandparents like Raihan better than they like him at this point.  

15: Which one screams about the spider and which one brings the spider outside? Raihan, though he’ll go to an early grave before admitting that. He just doesn’t want them getting webbing on his new shoes! Yeah...that’s it. 

16: Which one gives the other their jacket? Leon. It was mentioned above, but Raihan has to be in a really good mood in order to let Leon borrow his stuff. It isn’t that big of a deal, thankfully: The Hoffman boys are like personal heaters.  

17: Who keeps getting threatened by the other’s overprotective older sibling? Ok, ok, ok: Raihan is slightly intimidated by Hop. He just wants the best for his big bro! If that means calling Raihan out of his shit from time to time to keep him in line, so be it. Raihan can’t fight back either, because that’s his boyfriend’s little brother! One of the only things Leon gets testy over is people bullying Hop, so Raihan has to do it when he isn’t around. 

18: Who’s the first one to admit they have feelings for the other? Leon. It wasn’t one of those things where they’ve always liked each other, but after being friends for so long, their feelings blossomed into something new. Lee is a big flirt and never officially came out, so Raihan just figured he didn’t mean it whenever he complimented him. Leon literally confessed to Raihan at least five time before it sank in that he was serious. 

19: How good would your OTP be at parenting? I think they’d actually be pretty good! Leon helped raise Hop and he definitely has the dad act down, so adopting children would be something he’d be super interested in. Raihan may struggle a little bit at first (especially with where the line of what he could and couldn’t post on social media was), but he has a big heart. They would always be there for their kids. If Gloria and Hop are the cool parents, Leon and Raihan are the embarrassing ones. Would tease their kid lovingly. 

20: Which one types with perfect grammar and which one types using numbers as letters? Leon has sent a lot of professional texts because of his former position as champion, so he’d win by default. If they’re texting each other, it is all in numbers, emojis, and abbreviations. Sonia, Piers, and Nessa hate being in group chats with them. 

21: Who gets attacked by a bully and who protects them? Lee is the more protective of the two, especially when it comes to people bullying Raihan online. Raihan tries to tell him that he doesn't have to do it, but he’s secretly very flattered.  

22: Who makes the bad puns and who makes a pained smile every time the other makes a pun? Leon makes the worst dad jokes in the world. Sometimes he does it just to embarrass Raihan. 

23: Who comes home from work to see that the other one bought a puppy? They take turns. Raihan will catch a Hakamo-o to beat Lee’s Aegislash, only for Lee to catch an Azumarill from the Isle of Armor a week later. It’s a never ending game of trying to one up the other. 

24: Which one gives the other a piggyback ride when they’re tired? Leon. He’s pretty buff, so carrying Raihan around is nothing. He usually does it without asking if his boyfriend looks tired and flusters the heck out of him. 

25: Which one competes in some sort of activity and which one does the overzealous cheering? Ever since Leon left he league, he makes it a priority to go to every one of Raihan’s matches. He often dons ridiculous disguises in order to not get recognised, but he always gets recognised. There is an online forum just made up of pictures of him in different, weird attire. He might’ve even been able to slip by public notice if not for the fact that he tries to make AS MUCH NOISE AS POSSIBLE to cheer his boyfriend on.   

26: Who takes a selfie when the other one falls asleep on their shoulder? Is there even a possible different answer than Raihan? The man takes selfies as a living. You better believe he has 8 different folders of pictures of Leon. 

27: Which one would give the other a makeover if they asked? Raihan. Leon is so close to having style, but then he’ll throw on his signature snapback and a cape and ruin everything. You know the cape isn’t even a requirement for the champion to wear? Yeah, Lee just chose to wear it. He counts it as a small victory whenever Leon decides to buy something at one of Rai’s favourite stores.  

28: Which one owns a pet that the other is absolutely terrified of? Raihan tries not to get between Leon and Charizard. It’s a similar situation to the Hop one: Charizard is Lee’s baby, which means Raihan isn’t allowed to tease them.  

29: Which one holds the umbrella over both of them when it rains? Raihan, but he purposely will move the umbrella out from above Leon to get him soaked. It’s payback for all the other stuff he does. 

30: If your OTP went on vacation, where would they go and what would they do? Who would take the pictures? Like Gloria and Hop, I think they’d travel to all the regions. They’d have to do it on off seasons and couldn't stay long due to their duties in Galar, but they like seeing the new types of pokemon. Once again, Rai would take millions of pictures. He has a photo album per vacation, not just vacation in general.  

[sunlightdances]

Public Relations (Bucky x Reader Oneshot)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader Prompt: “I’m a woman with a brain and reasonable ability” Author’s Note: Written for @captain-kelli​’s 500 Fam Writing Challenge! Congrats, Kelli, and thank you for hosting! Takes place post-Endgame, but with some adjustments to canon (Tony and Nat are alive, Steve stayed). This has a lot more dialogue than I initially planned! Hope it’s not too choppy. My love of commas is also evident in this piece. *shrug emoji* Disclaimer: I don’t own Bucky, Marvel, or any other related characters or events. The other details of the plot are mine, including the characterization of the “reader”. Please don’t post my work on any other sites without my permission! If you liked what you read, please consider reblogging to help my work be seen. I would love you forever!

Let’s clear one thing up straight away: Bucky Barnes is not an asshole. He has a chip on his shoulder, sure, and it’s also true that he can be grumpy from time to time.

But can you blame him, really?

His life after age 26 has been one giant shit show that he’s just starting to get back on track, so he thinks the world at large could forgive him if he’s not super nice to the reporter hanging around outside the coffee shop or if his resting face sometimes looks like he wants to punch someone.

Still - he’s working on it. Trying to appear a little softer around the edges, trying to remember how to be the person he once was, not because he thinks it’s healthy to try to go back to that time, but because that’s the last time he actually remembers liking himself.

But, again, he’s not an asshole. Or, he tries really hard not to be. A fact he has to keep reminding his friends of (and he uses that word loosely, sometimes), especially when you’re around.

Everything just comes out of his mouth wrong when you’re there.

Probably because you’re around all the time, and you’re smart, and funny, and pretty, and-- nope. He’s not going there. Because reminding himself all the reasons why he likes you just makes him feel more guilty about the way he acts around you. He’s just too chickenshit to admit that he likes you, and ends up being a dick.

As soon as he walks into the Tower, you’re there.

After Thanos, the Avengers returned to New York City. There’s not much left of the Compound upstate to live in right now until the rebuild is done, and he’d been thinking about Brooklyn anyway. Manhattan is different, but he feels better in the city. He thinks the rest of the team likes it here too - it reminds them of the old days, or whatever.

“Sergeant Barnes,” you greet him coolly, matching his stride as he heads towards the elevator. “There’s a meeting in fifteen minutes in the main conference room.”

Bucky makes a noise of acknowledgement, stepping into the elevator and hitting the button for the tenth floor. “Do I have a choice to attend?”

“No you do not.”

“Great.”

He thinks you’re trying not to smile. He grinds his teeth.

“Good afternoon, Sergeant Barnes,” FRIDAY’s voice comes through the overhead speaker. “Captain Rogers requests that you, and I quote, don’t even think about it.”

You snort, and Bucky rolls his eyes. “Punk,” he whispers. “Thanks, FRIDAY. Tell Captain Rogers I said, and I quote, to shove it--”

“Thanks, FRIDAY,” you interrupt, “Thank you so much.”

The few remaining minutes in the elevator are in silence, and you push your way out of the elevator before he can even take a step when it stops. Bucky follows you reluctantly to the conference room where some of the rest of the team is waiting.

Nat looks barely awake (she has trouble sleeping after literally coming back from the dead when Steve returned the stones, what a shocker), Sam is spinning in his chair, and Steve is patiently listening to Peter prattle on about some project he’s working on for biology.

“We’re just waiting on Tony, Bruce, and Scott,” you say, heading towards the head of the table. “Wanda is on a mission with Clint, and Thor is off world. No word from Carol in a few days, either.”

Steve waves you off. “Don’t worry about it. We can fill them in later.”

Bucky’s brow furrows. “Wait, this is your meeting?” He asks you. “What was the point of the AI-assisted lecture from you--” he pointedly glares at Steve.

“Because I knew you’d try to get out of it, so I asked for some help.” You smile sweetly at him.

The rest of the team files in over the next few minutes, and Bucky watches as you shuffle through a few papers before turning on the overhead projector. He has to admit, while he absolutely despises public relations, he has a lot of respect for what you do.

He knows it’s not easy wrangling Tony’s ambitions plus whatever manic situations the team get themselves in on a daily basis. Trying to do press for the Avengers is probably akin to wrangling cats, he supposes.

“So,” you clap your hands together, “the event at Children’s Hospital is in two weeks. Can we please, please avoid any earth-threatening situations that might take precedence over this? We missed it the last few years, obviously, so we need to get out there and make some kids happy.”

A murmured agreement goes throughout the room, and Bucky tips back in his chair, counting down the minutes until he can go literally anywhere else. It’s not you, really. It’s the idea of public appearances. He hates them. People still think of him based on who he was, not who he is now. Despite the fact that Steve and the rest of the team have publicly vouched for him and are working on clearing his name, he sees how people look at him.

You’re tied to that feeling, even though he knows that isn’t fair. He has a hard time separating you from your job.

“The next thing -- and I don’t want to hear about it --” You look around, eyes landing on him meaningfully, “-- there’s a magazine feature for the anniversary of the Battle of New York.”

“Well, that’s me off the hook,” Bucky says flippantly, grinning smugly at Sam, who high fives him.

“No, it absolutely doesn’t,” you argue.

“I wasn’t there, in case you forgot.”

You glare. “Thank you for the reminder.”

“Guys--” Steve tries to interrupt.

“You have to participate, because this article is about the team and how it’s grown since the inception of the Avengers.” You say, almost sounding bored. Probably because you and Bucky have this argument at least once a week.

“Bucky, it’s an hour.” Steve says gently, trying to barter.

“Whatever.” Bucky grumbles, “You know what they’re going to ask,” he says, suddenly angry. “Where was the elusive Winter Soldier during the Battle of New York? Do I remember it happening, or was I in the middle of being frozen or wiped for the thousandth time?”

You shift your weight, looking down at the floor. He feels guilty for a half second. “I won’t let them ask.”

His heart thuds weirdly in his chest at how earnest you sound, but he just can’t help himself, apparently. “Because you’re so sure they’re going to listen to you.”

Hurt flashes across your face so quickly he thinks he’s imagined it, but he knows he hasn’t. Again - he’s not usually an asshole. He still hates himself for it, though.

“Alright, we’re done here.” You say quietly, gathering your paperwork. “I’ll email you all the details.”

Sam elbows him, and across the table, Steve is giving Bucky a look that he’s come to associate with a lecture.

He sighs and rolls his eyes before getting up and heading out of the room, his friends at his heels.

“Wow, a five minute meeting,” Sam is saying, sarcastically. “Gotta be a new record, don’t you think, Rogers?”

Bucky’s new plan is to ignore Sam at all costs. It’s not a plan he thinks is going to work out in his favor, but it’s what he’s sticking with.

“You can’t ignore me forever.”

“Are you a mind reader?” Bucky asks, hitting the button in the elevator for the residential floors.

“It’s two events, Buck.” Steve sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You can handle it.”

“Yeah? Why don’t I let you field the questions I normally get, and we’ll see how you like it.”

“I’m not doubting you. I just don’t understand why you always have to take it out on her.” Steve’s voice is so disappointed, Bucky almost wants to laugh. When his best friend turned into such a mother hen, he’ll never know.

“Don’t be late!” Sam calls as Bucky gets off on his floor, leaving the other men in the elevator.

Flipping him off over his shoulder, he hears Sam’s chuckle and Steve’s sigh before the doors close, and finally he’s alone with his thoughts.

.

.

.

Turns out the interview happens before the hospital visit.

Bucky is in an uncomfortable chair, a reporter across from him, and you behind the reporter, fidgeting slightly. He feels almost relieved that you seem to be as nervous as he is.

“Mr. Barnes,” the reporter begins, a smile Bucky already hates on his face.

“It’s Sergeant.” You say quietly from behind him, and Bucky meets your eyes briefly, seeing the resolve there.

“Of course.” The reporter says smoothly, offering another smile to Bucky. “Sergeant Barnes, you weren’t in New York for the Chitauri invasion, were you.”

“No.”

If the reporter thought he’d elaborate, he doesn’t let on. Bucky saw these questions coming a mile away, and isn’t going to give anyone the satisfaction of saying something he’ll regret. Well, he won’t regret it. But it’ll be a pain in the ass for everyone if he can’t keep his cool.

“This was the first official Avengers event. Do you remember hearing about it?”

Bucky wants to laugh. “Do I remember-- no. I don’t think I was awake for much of 2012.” You fidget again, shifting your weight, and Bucky sighs, grinding his teeth. “I’ve been fully briefed on the invasion and know that what the Avengers did that day saved the world.”

The reporter looks at him for a long moment before shifting the papers on his lap around a bit. “The Avengers have changed a lot in all those years since that first mission. Can you tell me a bit more about your role with the team?”

Bucky relaxes a bit. This is the part he prepped for, the part he could recite in his sleep if he had to. Whatever instinct he had back in the day that allowed him to lead a unit and report to his CO is still there, especially for questions like this. “I work mainly with Captain Rogers and Sam Wilson to coordinate missions and do strategic planning. Recon and research are my main areas of focus, but I go on missions too if needed as backup, or if it’s an all hands on deck situation.”

“So you’re not handling any weapons?”

Bucky blinks. Over the reporter’s shoulder, you frown.

“All Avengers team members undergo weapons training.”

“During the War, you were a sniper with the 107th, correct?”

“Yes.”

“So you’d say that you’re pretty proficient with a gun?”

Your eyes are flashing now. “I’m sorry - none of this was on the list of pre-approved questions.” You interrupt, and the reporter holds up a hand to stop you, causing you to make an affronted face.

Bucky would laugh if he wasn’t feeling so sick at this turn of questioning. Every time. No matter who they vet, no matter how many times reporters insist they aren’t trying to catch him in a question he can’t or doesn’t want to answer… this is why he hates interviews.

“I’m just saying -- you’re one of the world’s most accomplished assassins. I guess I wanted to know why you’re doing research and recon when you could be on the front lines with the team? Are they worried you’ll have a setback?”

Bucky barks out a laugh.

You start, taking a few steps forward. “That’s enough. We’re done here.”

Bucky’s already standing, pulling out the chair from behind him as you come around to follow him out, until the reporter stops you, a hand firm on your elbow. You freeze, and Bucky’s eyes narrow on the point of contact, an unfamiliar feeling surging through him.

“Do you know who I work for?” The reporter hisses. “You told me I’d have a half hour.”

“That was before I knew you were going to ask questions that have nothing to do with your article.” You reply, face darkening when he still hasn’t let go.

Bucky waits, waits for one more sign that you’re uncomfortable before he steps in.

“If you ever want to get another high profile piece done on your team you’ll let me finish here.” He threatens, hand tightening.

You sigh, almost looking bored, and in one swift move, you’ve shifted enough of your weight to turn, pulled the elbow he was holding out of his grasp, and driven it into his ribs, simultaneously kneeing him in the groin.

Bucky’s eyebrows raise, and you look at him, rolling your eyes. “What?”

“Didn’t know you had it in you,” he says, letting a smile slip out so you know he’s kidding.

The reporter is doubled over, still making threats, but neither of you pay him much attention as you walk out the double doors of the conference room in the unfamiliar magazine office, heading towards the lobby.

In the car that’s waiting for you outside, Bucky watches you carefully as you roll your shoulders a bit, clearly smarting from the move you pulled back there.

“If I would have known you could do that, I would have been a little nicer,” he teases, but there’s an undercurrent of truth to his words. Not that he thought he’d ever piss you off enough for you to hurt him, but that he wishes he was nicer to you in general.

You glance at him, face neutral. “It wasn’t that hard. Everyone who works for the Avengers goes through basic self defense training, and I’m a woman with a brain and reasonable ability.”

Bucky nods. “Still. Thank you, by the way, for putting an end to that.”

You sigh, sitting back in your seat, all the fight leaving you. “It’s nothing.” You dig your phone out of your pocket and he watches as your thumbs fly across the screen before you hold it to your ear. “Hi, Steve.” A pause, “No, that’s cancelled. You’re not doing it. Tell Tony I’m cancelling the rest of the interviews. We’ll find some other place to get it published.”

He knows he’s staring and he knows he should stop before you notice, but he just… can’t take his eyes off you. The way you stood up for him, the way you promised him you would even when he was being a total asshole… he has no idea what he did to deserve it, but he’s damn grateful.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” You ask, your tone softer than he’s ever heard it.”

He shakes his head, looking down at his feet. “No reason. Just-- sorry I’m such a dick sometimes.”

You laugh, and he immediately wants to hear it again.

“I mean it,” he continues, “I don’t mean to be. You don’t deserve it.”

“Bucky.” Your voice is even softer, quiet, and he struggles to think if you’ve ever called him by his name before. You wait until he meets your eyes. “It’s fine. We’re all-- just trying to get through this.” You shrug. “I know it’s not easy for you. Just… Trust me sometimes, will you?”

“I do trust you.” He replies immediately, absolutely sure of himself for once.

It’s your turn to be a little surprised.

He rubs his hands together, a nervous tick he’s never gotten rid of. “I’ve been trying to distance myself because I like you. And that honestly scares the shit out of me. I don’t know--” He stops, frustrated. “I don’t know how to do this anymore. And all I keep thinking about is what could go wrong.” He takes a chance and glances up at you, and the look in your eyes… it’s more than he expected. He feels his heart take off in his chest.

“We’re both so stupid, Bucky.” You tell him, but your words are light. “You should have said something.”

He rolls his eyes. “People always say that. But when has a conversation like this one ever been one that someone wants to have?”

“Maybe when the other person feels the same way?”

Bucky can’t breathe. He never even considered it. It was always a forgone conclusion in his mind. He thinks you’re beautiful, and you never think about him at all. That was always the truth that he thought he knew. “Go out with me.” He blurts, and then feels his face redden. “I mean-- let me-- will you let me take you to dinner?”

The car stops in front of the tower and you’re opening the door before you say anything, making him panic a little. A look over your shoulder, “I’ll see if I can pencil you in somewhere.” You say, and then with a wink, you’re gone, leaving him scrambling to get out of the car to catch up to you.

Before you can, Steve is there, a shit-eating grin on his face.

“Not now--”

“Can’t help it. She called a meeting.”

Bucky stops in his tracks, and laughs. “Did she.”

“She must know how much you love them. Come on.”

Upstairs he finds his usual seat next to Sam and across from Steve, but when you gather your notes and meet his eyes, yours absolutely sparkling, he finds he’s not dreading this one at all. He still wants to take you to dinner though, so he might have to try to break his own record.

A 5 minute meeting so he can convince you to go on a date with him? He thinks he can swing it.

End

[notcanoncompliant]

hi! i'm the anon from the earlier starker request (78). maybe seventeen and eighteen? or just eighteen and eighteen, if you're more comfortable with it. i think ill pop up more often, so ill use an emoji. does 🌻 work? - 🌻 (possibly)

Hope you're still around Anon! Here's your request (from like four months ago...😅)

78. "Don't fucking touch what is not yours."

*****************************************************

Peachy

***************

Peter can take care of himself just fine. He's been doing it his entire grade school career, doubly so since he presented as an omega; he definitely doesn't need some knothead alpha to fight his battles for him.

But, oh man, Tony Stark is hot when he's angry.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, Beck?"

And the alpha over Peter by his locker is an idiot, because he seems to interpret Tony’s nearly prowling approach as non-threatening.

Peter shivers involuntarily when Tony gets close; the alpha smells like petrichor and ozone and the tang of saltwater, a literal force of nature.

Beck snorts and doesn't put any distance between himself and Peter. “I don’t see your name on him, Stark. Get your own.”

And Tony must be near a rut, because Peter’s hardly spoken to the other teen outside of class, and Tony’s kind of an ass, but he wouldn’t just slam one of his teammates into the lockers with teeth-rattling force over some random omega...but against the lockers is where Beck ends up, the collar of his shirt twisted in Tony’s fists.

“He’s mine,” Tony snarls. “You get your own.”

The (somewhat redundant) warning growl that follows rumbles deep in the alpha’s chest, a sound that calls to something in Peter…

...which just serves to piss off the omega.

‘Mine’? Who the hell does he think he is?

Peter scowls, pushes off from where he’d been pinned. “Yeah...I’m just gonna go.”

He’s at the end of the hall, almost to the front doors, when he realizes Tony’s following him. There’s no sign of Beck, but it’s not that surprising; there aren’t a lot of guys who would push a fight with Tony.

(It’s not attractive, it’s not--it’s macho alpha crap, and it is never appealing, not even when Peter’s alone in bed...at night...with his inflatable knot. *cough* Never.)

“Let me drive you home.”

Peter rolls his eyes. “No thank you.”

The alpha just looks at him with exasperation that is definitely not warranted, and it makes Peter’s hackles rise.

“I’m fine, Tony. I don’t need a bodyguard.”

“You do when you smell like you’re about to roll over.”

Oh. Oh WOW.

Peter’s not sure what his face is doing, but when he looks at Tony, the alpha blanches and takes a step back.

“Shit, I’m sorry, that was--”

“That was some designationist bullshit, and I’d appreciate it if you’d leave me alone.”

With a last glare, Peter turns and stalks off towards the doors, pushes his way outside--

--to be faced with a torrential downpour.

The doors open and shut behind him, and Tony comes to stand beside him, his still apologetic (and a tiny bit smug) thunderstorm scent blending almost perfectly with the rain.

“...You sure you don’t want a ride? Not like that--ow, Jesus--”

***

Getting into Tony’s car was a mistake.

It smells amazing inside, a blend of clean leather and Tony and alpha. Peter's still irritated, but he loosens up, melting into the seat with a sigh he doesn’t mean to let out.

Tony smirks over at him. “Cozy?”

“...No,” Peter says, facing resolutely forward.

Tony doesn’t say anything else, just starts the car, but Peter can feel the alpha’s amusement.

He huffs quietly and lowers himself slightly in the seat. None of this should feel nice, none of it should feel so comforting or safe or--

“You wanna tell me where I’m going?”

Peter opens his eyes (hadn’t even realized he’d closed them), and sits up a little straighter, clears his throat, face heating. “Right. Address. You need that.”

He rattles it off and goes back to trying to ignore...well,Tony, but also the obvious warmth in his own face. His own...everywhere, actually. He’s warm. Overly warm.

Oh no. Maybe Tony wasn’t so far off, as crudely as he’d put it.

They’re about halfway to his house when Peter finally gives up, turns to ask Tony to shut off the heat (maybe it’ll make the scent less intense, everything smells like Tony but stronger; is it getting stronger?) but the words catch in his throat.

Tony’s knuckles are white on the steering wheel, his jaw tight, eyes a little brighter, wild.

“Are you...are you okay?” It’s another thing Peter wants to deny, isn’t sure why he asks, why he...fuck, why he wants to hear Tony say it. To hear him say anything. Why he wants to hear the bass notes of arousal that match the increase in Tony’s scent.

“Peachy,” Tony answers tightly, not looking over.

The shortness doesn’t matter; by the time they pull into the (thankfully empty) driveway, Peter's struggling with conflicting impulses to get as far from the alpha as possible or to just straddle him right there in the driver’s seat.

“Thank you, for, you know. The ride.”

Tony’s scent flares, the leather of the wheel creaking under his hands. “No problem.”

Getting out of the car is the next logical step, but Peter is glued to his seat (not literally, thank god; he can’t feel any slick yet, but he can tell it’s a near thing). The only way he’s getting out is--

No, nope. He’s not going to invite Tony inside, he’s not going to do that.

Swallowing, Peter rubs his palms down his thighs, uses the texture of the denim to ground himself. “Well, um. Yeah. Thanks. I’m just...bye.” He un-clicks his seatbelt and climbs out, trying to ignore the tug low in his belly insisting he get back into the cocoon of good-smell.

It’s better this way, obviously; he doesn’t actually know Tony, doesn’t actually like him. Just because the alpha’s hot...and an impressive rubgy player...and on Peter's level in all the advanced classes...doesn't mean he wants to spend a heat with him (a heat Peter wasn't even supposed to be having right now, what the heck is going on with his suppressants).

He's at the front door, fumbling with his keys, when he hears the car shut off. A door opens and closes with a bang, followed closely by the slap of sneakers pavement.

The infuriatingly intoxicating scent of thunderstorms thickens when the porch steps creak with Tony’s approach, and Peter already knows what's going to happen. Feels it with a terrifyingly right sense of inevitability.

Tony stops behind him, not touching, but close enough Peter can feel his warmth.

Peter doesn’t turn around. “I don’t...Did you need something?” he asks inanely, a little breathless.

“I...need you to tell me to leave.”

It’s not what Peter expected. If he’s being entirely honest, he’d been half hoping Tony would just shove him up against the door (or try, anyway); that he’d give Peter a reason to fight back, to shove him away, to deny the instincts pinging like electricity under his skin.

Peter swallows. “You can go.”

“Do you want me to?”

Fuck.

The key slides into the lock, finally, the click of the latch somehow audible even through the sound of the rain pattering on the overhang above them.

“No.”

**

The blend of their scents, of Tony’s stormy, feral arousal and the sweetness of Peter’s slick, is delicious--filthy and thick and everywhere, and Peter knows he’s going to have the scent in his sheets, deep in his mattress, in his skin, for days, maybe weeks.

But, the memories...those are going to be seared in his brain for the rest of his life, probably.

He rocks his hips forward, groaning. “You feel so good--so tight, god--”

Tony just stares up at him, whines around the soaked boxer briefs crammed in his mouth. He looks gorgeous like this, flushed, eyes hooded and dark, gripping Peter’s headboard as tightly as he had the steering wheel, earlier.

When they’d first stepped inside, Peter had been surprised. Tony had kept his hands to himself, followed Peter up to his bedroom without comment, without pushing. The only thing that gave away Tony’s understanding of the situation was his weirdly polite request that Peter give him a quick tour of the kitchen, so he’d know where to go to get Peter food and water, later.

It didn’t jibe with the alpha posturing at school, and not with the smug boldness that is Tony. Did not compute.

Tony had obviously been aroused, his very much alpha-sized cock straining obscenely in his jeans, but he’d just stood there when the got to Peter’s room, shifting restlessly foot to foot, just...waiting, until Peter had finally asked if Tony really wanted this, why he wasn’t doing anything.

The characteristic smirk had made an appearance, weighed down just a little by nerves, and then Tony had asked Peter to tell him what to do.

Peter had definitely been amenable to that request. And to every one that led them to this moment, to Tony on his back on Peter’s bed, flushed olive skin against the navy blue of Peter’s sheets.

It’s beautiful. It’s breathtaking and amazing and so many other things. He can’t believe he gets to do this, that Tony’s letting him inside, in more ways than one. It’s satisfying and weirdly humbling, and Peter’s going to have to process everything later, but right now...right now, it feels good.

When one of Tony’s hands leaves the headboard, Peter feels a rush of anticipation. “Ah ah, no,” he says, smacks it away before it can touch the erection Peter’s been deliberately neglecting.

Tony makes a helpless apologetic sound through his mouthful, snapping up to grab the headboard again, and Peter shivers, fucks into the alpha’s tight heat a little harder, a little faster, a reward and a punishment.

He won’t be able to maintain this much longer; it’s early enough in his heat that he’s not yet reduced to a single-minded mess of near-delirious want, but Peter thinks he has just enough time to say what he’s been thinking about since he’d been given permission to handle Tony this way.

Curling forward, he leans in to nip and suck at Tony’s chest and collarbones, Tony’s small huffing breaths and pleading sounds in response sending showers of sparks low in Peter’s spine, through his own hot, needy insides.

“You know better than that,” Peter admonishes, voice a little unsteady. “Or, I thought you did.” He sits back, trails his hands down Tony’s chest, his stomach. “You seemed pretty clear on it with Beck.”

Peter shivers, smirking when Tony glares, growling; he can feel the vibrations where they’re connected, and he suddenly very much gets the appeal of angry sex. But he can’t get distracted.

“Shh, Alpha,” he soothes, a little mocking. Tony doesn’t seem to mind, going by the precum that drips anew. “I just thought you understood the rules.”

Peter pulls out carefully, heedless of Tony’s noise of complaint, shushes him as he crawls forward until he’s straddling Tony’s hips.

Tony’s hazy, questioning look vanishes with an almost pained groan when Peter wraps a hand around the base of his cock (tries; his fingers barely touch, fuck) and squeezes, right where the alpha’s knot is going to expand, and stands him up.

“Don’t touch...what doesn’t belong to you,” Peter manages breathlessly, “And this is mine.”

The last word ends on more of a moan than anything syllabic as Peter sinks down--full, full, so fucking full, fuck--and he has to take a second to adjust to the girth, to his...fuck, his first time with an alpha.

Everything’s starting to get hazy and euphoric, now, heralding the point of Peter’s heat where he’ll cease to notice almost anything besides whatever’s pumping inside him, filling him up. But he’s still clear enough to feel a burst of appreciative affection for the way Tony’s trembling with the effort to not move, to not just buck up into Peter’s heat.

Peter reaches out and pulls the underwear from Tony’s mouth, tosses them somewhere off the side of the bed. Leaning down, he claims Tony’s mouth in a deep, sloppy kiss, moaning at the sensation from just a minor change in angle.

When he pulls back, the taste of Tony and himself flooding his senses, he grins.

“Now let go of that headboard and show me who you belong to.”

************************

Everything Tag List: @silkystark, @hoeforthegays, @the-amazing-spidertwink, @starkeroverlord, @smidnite, @cagestark

Again, if anyone wants to be on the Everything Tag list, or wants to be taken off, please let me know!

[empressmedic]

Her

Really, I should never have ended up in this situation with her. I knew her from others, who’d mention her. She was my gym class. I only really cared when she was apparently taking shit. I called her out one day, we argued, and to simply put it, I was star struck. I hadn’t really crushed on a real girl in awhile, so believe me when I say I was rendered absolutely fucking useless. When we’d change in the locker room, I’d look down when passing her, silently and subtlety checking her out, especially during football. We became friendly towards the end of our Freshman year. I had just gotten an Xbox, and our first non hostile conversation was about video games. We became somewhat friends, our first real test being bullying younger kids until they went to tell a teacher. I used words, she kicked their stuff. I knew immediately that I wanted to know everything about her after that day. When sophomore year started, things went on the same. I somewhat abandoned my crush for a crush on a straight girl, which was obviously going no where but I had no say in it. Winter came, and she switched schools, but I had her number, and thus it began. Imagine the scene. Driving down to Ohio for Christmas, just passing a gas station sign with some danky Christmas lights. I’m texting Her in the backseat, telling her about the girl I liked (and her disinterest in me). She got mad, said I deserved more. And in that text, she became the first person in my fifteen years of life to call me beautiful. We began gently flirting, with excessive use of the same two emojis. I was heinously inexperienced, so I let Her take the lead. Those first weeks were gentle, the calm sea before any of our storms rolled in. She asked me out on Xbox, to a movie. I said yes, muted myself, made excited noises, then continued talking. I could barely breathe. We went to see a movie during the next week, and the first thing she said to me was “You grew”. Slightly confused, we went into the theater. After the movie, I went to hug her, but she stopped me, and... fist bumped me. Mind you for half on this movie she was rubbing my thigh and I had my hand awkwardly grabbing her arm. But I was... fist bumped. I walked out, fazed. Did I do something wrong? Did she see someone she knew and didn’t want to do anything? I never found out. She came back to my school not soon after. We became closer as friends, even though we were still flirting. I wanted something with her, I wanted nothing more than the honor of being her girlfriend. I wanted it so bad, and I felt that she was the same way. I was definitely not prepared for “I don’t want to be in a relationship”. I know She didn’t mean to be like this, it wasn’t my fault, but it hurt. I felt so rejected. I fell asleep listening to James Arthur and chose “Impossible” to be the song of us. We didn’t talk much after that. Two weeks later, I found out that She, who didn’t want a relationship, was dating one of my closet friends. When I found out, I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t cry. I was fucking... devastated. I knew then it was just me, She didn’t want to date me, because I wasn’t beautiful like she said, I didn’t deserve her. We talked a little when they were dating, mostly aggressive texts to her boyfriend, but one day the pain and the agony I refused to let out broke me. I threatened to call the cops on her. Just, threatened to call the cops. She had a history of sending nudes, and I just wanted to see her burn. I went full sociopath on her, looking back I was actually criminally insane at that moment. She posted what I said on Snapchat. I thought everyone would hate me. The next day, three different people told me they had “evidence”. I learned She had made enemies beyond me. But it didn’t matter. That February, I almost killed myself, literally. I figured nobody loved me. But I loved my friends and my dog, so I stayed. She broke up with my friend soon after. He was devastated, and I spent several nights consoling him. But at the same time, We started flirting again, but this time, a new tone. We were dirty. So dirty. Our texts got filthier by the day, I was pushing my boundaries, enjoying every minute of trying to turn her on. I loved the attention. I loved the thrill of it. I wanted her... but I didn’t want her sexually. I was so confused, but at that point I’d let her put my head in a lions mouth just to see her smile, so I went with it. Eventually I tried again at the prospect of being hers, and she admitted she was a hedonist, wanting a sexual relationship with no strings. And I couldn’t give that to her. I wanted her, I wanted to please her, but I couldn’t. Luckily, we stayed friends. We’d play Xbox, text a lot, and she became the person who knew everything about me, all my secrets. I trusted her with my life. I made a bet with her one day. If I won, she’d get me a fudge pop, but if she won... she got a kiss. She won. And I kissed her. The upstairs bathroom that was between my biology class and her STEM class. It was fucking magical. It confirmed everything for me, my sexuality, my inner turmoil, and my feelings for her. Summer came swiftly. Before I left, she wanted to go and do something with me, but I had to pack so we never did. That summer we were the same, up until our argument. We argued before sure, but it was different this time. I accidentally hurt her with my aggressive nature, and she didn’t want to talk to me. We argued, and I told her the dramatic story of how she hurt me, and I blocked her. On everything I could. Except I couldn’t bear to block her number. She apologized two weeks later. I forgave her, never said sorry myself, and we were just friends. Close friends. But it’s weird. We never worked out. We know it probably won’t. But when I look at her, I feel so many things it’s hard to discern what to feel at all. It’s liked... I’m connected to her. After everything that happened, I’m linked. An invisible thread that will always pull me back to her, no matter what my head says. I don’t know how to read it. I want to know what role this woman will play in my destiny. I want to know what she’ll be to me in five years, ten years, thirty. I want to know why I depend on her. I want to know why she’s the only one I couldn’t bear to lose. I want to know why, after everything, i look at her and say “where will we be tomorrow”

[timeisacurse]

Something happened today

Something happened today that made it different from the other days of my life so far. It had started normal enough. I was sitting at work, vaguely hungover, so out of it that I left the house without grabbing my backpack. I was staring at my computer screen, my eyes buzzing against the harsh white light, realizing the ibuprofen I carry around was still in my bedroom, in that aforementioned backpack, when it happened. I received my first unsolicited dick pic. 

Well, I guess it was a dick snap, but that just sounds unpleasant for everyone involved.

Anyway, let me go back in time by one day. I was sitting there in that same chair I just mentioned, behind that same computer, and I get a message from this guy from my elementary school. For reference, I haven't seen him since 8th grade, and we were not even friends then. But for some reason, he friended me on facebook the day before and suggested we get coffee sometime and catch up. I vaguely went along with the plan, but I did not trust him. He could be anyone trying to lure me into a trap. Yes I am twenty six, but I still feel like kidnapping is a valid excuse not to meet up with strangers.

  So after a few back and forth pleasantries, and him having revealed he had broken up with his girlfriend a while back, his comments and questions got dirty. He revealed to me that he was a private investigator for a private company, and again, I did not believe him, but I did start to refer to him as Detective. For his privacy, that is what I will call him. Detective asked why i called him Detective, and then without missing a beat, asked if I would let him arrest me, followed by some vaguely sexual emojis. I just told him not to be gross and figured that would be the end of it. But oh boy, was I wrong. 

After he found out I was not in any position to accept his advances, seeing as I have a long term relationship I see no reason for destroying, he appeared to take it on as a quest of sorts to get me to follow him down this salacious path. 

And I know I could have just stopped responding, I could have blocked him, but I was so intrigued by whatever was going on in his mind that made him feel so desperate for someone to witness him rather than let him continue to scream into a void. I did not find him in any way threatening- he is a skinny polish ginger by the way, or at least he was impersonating the skinny polish ginger from my elementary school class. He was a half-decent manipulator though, he definitely felt like he was in control of the whole situation, kept trying to bait me with things, claiming he always thought I was gorgeous way-back-when , or saying he touched my boob one time in school.

 I knew he was lying about at least one of those two facts,and when I asked for an explanation, he would just keep telling me we would have to talk about it over drinks. For the record, I was a very physical tomboy in school and played hard- even more so after class- with the boys playing tackle football or even just some sort of last-man-standing wrestling match, so the boob touch was probably a result of that if it ever happened. Though I do not think I would have let him get away with it without leaving some sort of bruise in protest. 

So, the next day, this life-changing day, after a few more suggestions that we should get together to catch up over drinks, I told him I wouldn’t even consider it unless I had proof he was not, in fact, a bridge troll under an assumed name of a skinny polish kid I knew 11 years ago. Proof of identity these days revolves around cameras, so we became snapchat friends. I also reassured him that nothing would come of any advances, repeatedly, and that seemed to continue to fuel him. He tried to convince me otherwise, and I quote, because there is no other way to relay this information,  “I’m telling you- Get to know me- I do not fuck like every other guy out there- I will make you feel every emotion- Emotions you didnt think you knew” How in the hell could I just leave that alone. I must find out more about what happened to this poor creature to make him think this is okay. I found him fascinating and repulsive. I still told him there was no chance, but he still kept talking.

He had been provoking me with dirty talk, wanting to stir up an erotic fiction, and I sat on the sidelines, letting him weave this somewhat lacking sexual tapestry; one you might find in a grubby bathroom of a chinese restaurant. Whenever he asked if he should stop, or suddenly if he had overstepped and tried to half-heartedly apologize and say he was just “hot and bothered” I said I was not perturbed by it, because I really wasn’t. I was mesmerized by his complete lack of filter. I was a complete stranger. Why was he gushing sexual attraction all over my screen. What is the cause of this severe lack of judgement?

Once Detective and I were established snapchat friends, his name literally just being his last name which made me slightly more sure it was him, the first thing he asked was if it was ok to be dirty on that platform as well. He was at work and he was bored. I simply continued my chosen profession of psychotherapist and said that people can and will do whatever they want. I will not be partaking, but his actions are his own. Call me naive, but I was not anticipating what happened next. 

From what I gathered, Detective was in some guys house, the guy appeared to be on vacation, and Detective was just supposed to be waiting around and paying attention.  I thought he just wanted to continue spewing his filthy language and let it wash away down the snapchat drain rather than be catalogued forever within facebook messenger. Nope. Before I am allowed to confirm his identity, there is a rather unimpressive penis chilling on my phone. The fact that it was unimpressive made a bit of sense, but the fact that he was just loitering in a strangers house when he was supposed to be “working”  with his pants down only further proved that there was something seriously wrong with this man. 

Again he tried to express that he had me in his grasp, that I was now also “hot and bothered” when in reality I was staring at his genitals like I was studying some sort of homeless mollusk. I informed him that he was not quite that impressive, because hey, I think he needs some honesty in his life. Detective then asked if I considered him to be small, and I said no, because I have seen my fair share of micro-penis documentaries and I know some men would kill for his equipment. I also informed him his cinematographic technique was lacking and he should stick to detective work. That, instead of being discouraging, prompted him to send a few different angles of him petting the poor, homeless mollusk. It was kind of boring, I was wondering what he was getting out of this whole thing, if this was some kind of kink,  but the last snap he sent while trying to spread his wings and really embrace the art form of dick snapping included his face. Detective was, in fact, the skinny ginger from elementary school. I pictured him back then, pale as a sheet of paper, wide blue eyes and slightly buck teeth  that I fondly associated with Spongebob, and I just wondered what path he had gone down for this to be his life. How am I even on his radar as someone he thinks is even slightly interested in severely amature, slightly public,  pornographic mini-movies? The last physical memory I have of him was at our last school dance - it was mandatory- and we went to catholic school, i haven’t mentioned that yet- and he was jumping up and down in a button up shirt,  screaming along to that Journey song, you know the one. He looks so similar still, though now with some facial hair and his once wide eyes are now lustily squinting into the camera like it is his lover. 

While I was busy walking down memory lane, Detective is just sitting on a stranger's couch with his pants down. He asks if I want to see “how much he can grow”. I guess I made him feel like he had to prove himself. He did not even wait for a reply, but at this point I am in it for the long haul. And to his credit, it helped him level up a few notches. I asked if this was normally how he spent his time at work, he said that this is only the second time, and I really did not believe him. 

Anyway, this went on for another minute or so, and when he was done, and yes, he captured that surprisingly anti-climactic moment at well,  he pulled a complete 180 and started asking me about his cat and how he is thinking about getting a kitten for it to have around when he is at work. I had a lot of barn cats when I lived back home, and he apparently remembered that and thought I was a cat expert. He just went on and on about his concerns about getting a new kitten. I told him each cat is different and kept it vague, but demanded images of the cat, because why not, I already had seen his penis, why stop there. So he sends me some saved snaps of the furball, also ginger by the way- literally- his name is ginger in polish-  and then at the end he “accidentally” sent a picture of his topless ex-girlfriend. I assumed that was because he wanted to talk about her, but after some brief talk about breasts, he seemed to become embarrassed, like his actions suddenly caught up with him,  and went quiet, says we would talk later. If trying to start a conversation by saying “pssst” after 11pm counts as talking, then he did follow up on that matter, but I told him to hush since it was bedtime, because I am an old lady in a seventy year-old body.

 Maybe I will hear from him again, maybe he just had to get that out of his system, but in any case, I feel like a changed person. My eyes have been opened to a new form of interaction with strangers I had never experienced. Maybe it is because I interact so little with people outside of work and family life, but I did not think this is how the world worked.  After two short encounters with Detective, I know what his dick looks like, the name of his cat, and that his ex girlfriend had pierced nipples. 

The whole situation was hilarious, but maybe the funniest and saddest part of all of this was that he never asked for proof that I am who I said I was- only proving the point that it did not matter. He just needed someone.

[emouradian]

Grief: 1 Year Later

Well, it’s been a year. I’m all better now. 

I don’t know what I thought was going to happen, as if the one year anniversary of my dad’s passing was really an inordinately-sized, ceremonial switch that was going to flip, once I had succeeded in - what? - surviving the first year without him? Would balloons fall from the sky, and sirens blare, celebrating me as the 1,000,000,000,000th person to have a dad who died a year ago? It seems ludicrous now, standing on the other side of this milestone. To paraphrase Tig Notaro, it was just a day - another day, slightly smaller, because my dad wasn’t in it.

I woke up nervous, like you do when you drink too much the night before. I slowly opened my eyes and took stock of the situation around me: Am I hungover? Did I throw up? Ugh, did I throw up on myself? Are there any clues of another person in here? Wait, am I fine? Wait, no I’m not. Wait, yes, I am.

Bad days, when grieving, have a tendency to sneak up on you like a really good twist from a really great TV show. That lady falls down the elevator shaft, Buffy sacrifices herself, we’re in a flash-forward not a flashback (I called that one, btw, and to date, its my greatest achievement. In life.). It’s not the days that you expect. His birthday, for example, came and went, while my birthday, was a day I was completely overcome, grief washing over me like Robert Redford shampooing Meryl Streep’s hair. My birthday, unexpectedly was a day I fell into that familiar and oddly comforting grief quicksand, where the harder you struggle to get out of it, the further into it you sink. I didn’t see it coming – like finding out we’ve been in the Bad Place all along! – and that shock added to my inability to cope with the day. 

After a weekend in New York celebrating my father and this milestone with friends and family, I ached to be alone.  This, in of itself, is odd, because I live alone, fairly isolated from the bulk of my vast network of support, something I have been homesick for all year, if you can still be homesick at 35 years old (and if ‘homesick’ can be used as an adverb). My cousins, who live nearby, invited me over for dinner, but I declined. My friends called and texted, while I replied with heart emojis saying that I didn’t feel like talking. They were all reminders of why, despite the constant hum, the seemingly endless current of missing my dad, and the distance it has put between me and my life, I am so lucky to have people ready to lift me up. Being alone for me is a choice, a choice many others don’t have. I’m thankful for that. 

I spent the day of the anniversary at the movies. It is an escape I’ve sought out more and more these past few weeks, I suppose a way to be alone, without being completely alone. I saw La La Land, a movie about dreamers and movie magic that I loved despite the current swell of backlash, and Fences, a movie about fathers and sons, so, you know, ouch (But Viola Davis FTW!). I ate McDonald’s for breakfast, like I did when I was a kid going fishing with my dad and cousins, and popcorn for lunch. I got home and went down a pretty deep rabbit hole of Dying Loved One movies: Other People (mother, cancer, dead), One True Thing (Meryl Streep, cancer, dead) and Miss You Already (Toni Collette, best friend, dead). They were all oddly comforting and cathartic in a weird, self-mutilating way. Dazed from so much time spent in the dark, I went to sleep and woke up on the anniversary of the day after my dad died. I FaceTimed with my mom and niece, and agreed that yesterday was just another day. Today would be better, worse, the same - it just wouldn’t be January 24th. 

Years ago, when I first started working with my old boss Jenn, we had a lot of drive time, which is how we forged a bond so strong that I once threatened to drive us both off a cliff in retribution to a piece of feedback she gave me and all we did was laugh about it so hard that I almost did accidentally drive us off a cliff. Once she asked me, maybe a year into working together, if I was close with my parents. I was stunned. I turned to her and stated, simply: We are the Mouradians. It’s kind of like how when people ask me if I like living in Maryland, my answer is a simple: It’s fine, but, I’m from New York. It’s a non-answer that I think is actually the best answer, but, in the end, is the answer that most makes me seem like a dick.

It was shocking to me that someone wouldn’t know that we were close within the first 90 seconds of meeting me. It’s part of my brand - big Armenian family, tight-knit, adorably corpulent. To be fair, I’m not close with my parents in a Lorelai-Rory Gilmore kind of way (Side note: there is a whole dissertation coming on how watching Gilmore Girls: A Year in the Life, with my mom after I had back surgery, was like watching my life unfold on screen), but rather in a Coach/Tami/Julie Taylor way. They are my parents and we are close because they are my parents. I never thought of needing more than that, of that not being enough. Closeness to my parents was about proximity, endless reservoirs of support and love – it’s hard to define and that’s what makes it special, irreplaceable, and as it turns out, unbearable, when missing. 

To that end, as I continued to struggle with the loss of my dad, it was my mother who said to me that she didn’t realized how close I was to my father. And I had to stop, pause for a second and think about what that meant, because I guess, it was something I hadn’t realized either. I didn’t call my dad to talk about the ‘game’, we both would’ve been lost on that front, although sometimes we did that with Survivor;  He loved fishing, I loved reading while he was fishing. In the end, we had more in common, more core traits and similarities than a love of the same things. As it turns out that brought about a closeness that is deafening in his absence because it could only exist once he was gone. I had never made any kind of important decision in my life without talking to my dad, without knowing he was in my corner, without his support.  Without that I feel lost, even unsafe, and untethered. Less so every day, sure, but still there, a part of me, a voice hollow and echoing, rattling around my brain like a movie quote you can’t quite place or a commercial jingle you keep humming. 

There are a lot of things that I’ve learned this year, things I’ve tried to work through with all these essays. Sharing my grief, to a point, felt very selfish. On the one hand, I had too much to say, too much to feel, to keep it all to myself. Here is my gift to you all, share my grief – you’re welcome! I feel confident when I say: people preferred it when my gifts were personalized Christmas stockings. On the other hand, it was an easy way to answer a whole series of questions about how I was doing, without having to answer any of them directly. Mostly, though, it was the easiest way to keep my dad with me – tangibly, literally at my fingertips – for as long as possible. This is perhaps the biggest lesson to learn of all, that for all my might, for all my trying, he will never be as close as I want him to be, which is, of course, here, with me. And each day, I feel him slipping further and further away. And writing this post in particular, finishing this story – A Year’s Worth of Grief – is him finally slipping through my grasp. I am not saying I will forget him, that I won’t think of him, but maybe it won’t be every day, maybe it won’t be as detailed as it has been. How cracked the heels of his feet were compared to how soft his bald head was. I keep a blanket that was my grandmother’s in my guest room closet, but I don’t let anyone use it, because it still smells like her. I don’t remember what my dad smells like anymore; it’s not something I can summon immediately to my mind like a magic trick, as I can his laugh - the peaks and valleys of it, the perfect shades of it. This, in some ways, is a different kind of ending, a different form of loss.

My 12th favorite movie of all-time is Billy Elliot. In the movie, Billy lets his dance teacher read a letter his mother wrote to him before she passed away. Mrs. Wilkinson says: “She must have been an amazing woman.” Billy, only a kid, responds, “She was just my mum.” People say to me all the time, how incredible my dad was or must have been, how proud he surely was of me. My dad wasn’t some super human, I know that; He was funny, and nice and stubborn and far too set in his ways. I wish he was a little more of a fighter because when I give up on something, I think that it’s my worst trait and I wonder if I get it from him. He was averse to risk and might’ve voted Republican in this election but his heart was bursting with love and support and kindness (Well, maybe bursting is the wrong way to put it, considering he died of heart disease, but you get the idea). He was a good friend, a good man, and I know he’s proud of me without anyone having to tell me (although, nice to hear, of course), and that’s the greatest gift he left me with: Just missing him, simply him - no regrets, no deep-seeded issues other than him being gone.  He was just my dad. And that was amazing.

Thank you to those who’ve read these posts, who’ve encouraged me and shared them. It’s been hard, but worth-while, along the way, I hope I helped someone, somewhere.