#to love is to observe and to love is to know or whatever

[yourtoradorasextendedwarranty]

-god I hate western individualism so bad-

This is not the fault of "Western Individualism". This is much bigger than anything like that.

And then I'd also like to go a step further and say that-

People spread that Stranger Danger scare /so hard/ that it's infected /everything/.

This honestly isn't fully why either.

We live in a VERY hyper sexualized world now. And let it be known and understood, I'm not some prude typing this out. I'm an observer. An observer who was abused as a child. (Kinda important for explaining certain things)

So for starters, let's go back to the "Stranger Danger" times. It is true that during that era, the 90's being when it was the worst, the world was beginning to feel a lot smaller. Population sizes were increasing, more immigration was happening as well. But the news has to do what it does best. Scare people. Kids were getting online and meeting strangers on random websites. Parents didn't have much clue what was going on and when the advent of cam sites came about most of them were not for nude cam girls. They were just random people getting on jank webcams with terrible bit rates and bad resolution.

However, this was a bit of new territory for a LOT of people. It was connecting a world full of people, often times unbeknownst to a lot of parents at the time. Hell even online games like Gaia Online, IMVU, and Second Life (all of which came a bit later) were platforms that had a LOT of younger people. But there was a bigger issue at play. Prior to this point, anyone that would have been an active predator didn't just have free reign to find kids. Now they did. Not just that, but lonely and sad people who just wanted a friend often found themselves in the mix. And before anyone tries to say I'm minimizing this, let me get something VERY clear. There are a few different types of people that go after kids/young teens. Pedophiles, who have an attraction to children for a variety of reasons. Opportunists, who just take whatever they can get. And finally the Liability. This person falls under the umbrella of the Opportunist, but unlike them doesn't per se TARGET younger people because they are easier to manipulate. They kind of just go with whatever happens.

Or to put it a more clear way.

Pedophiles: (Target kids because they like kids)

Opportunists: (Target whoever they can get their hands on. If they are younger so be it)

Liabilities: (Doesn't care what age, doesn't target, goes with the flow)

Sadly, a lot of people fell into one or more of these categories. Hell one of my friends actually "fell in love with" one such liability. And the reason I know he was not one of the other two is because he never once asked her age. Nor inquired about it. But she asked him out and he said yes. Wasn't until I started digging that I found out that he was 28. And she was 14 for context. But this is WHY the Stranger Danger movement was SO LOUD for so long. Because parents were not teaching their kids how to be around adults. They also were not teaching them how to be observant, and or how to keep themselves safe.

Now skip to the late 200's early 10's. We was a bulk move away from Christianity (kind of important for this next set of points) and a HUGE boom in marketing of the idea that "Sex Sells". Because honestly, it does. No matter what people tell you it doesn't. I promise it does. Does it always? No. Depends on how you do it. Now we move to the age when porn is less looked down on, Tinder is the hot new thing. Every cool guy in a movie is literally SUAVE and covered in stupidly attractive women. That's our media for years. Now we skip to the last 15 years, and we see a massive explosion in attention grabbing culture where minors and adults alike are making videos and photos of themselves as skimpy as possible on platforms like instagram in order to get clicks and likes. With only ever needing to show more skin and be MORE promiscuous in appearance to get clicks. Mostly due to OnlyFans and Fansly taking the market by storm.

Sex is LITERALLY in our faces almost 24/7 to the point that KIDS are now speaking in Kink terms.

We have literally shot our own selves in the foot on this one.

I grew up around adults. To me, kids being around adults is just normal because it was my childhood. The difference was that my mother was an actual fucking parent and she taught me how to be aware and protect myself. I was also a bit more guarded than most my age due to what happened to me when I was quite young. But rather than saying shit like, "Stranger Danger" to me, my mother and my father and the rest of my family were like, "Look, adults aren't out to hurt you. Yes. Some will be. And some will probably try to take advantage of you. But always make sure to keep your wits about you and if you ever don't feel safe be sure you make that known. If you feel like you can't, find another adult or find law enforcement or scream at the top of your lungs. You find a way that will keep you safe. But realistically you will probably be ok most of the time. Just don't wander to places that are really secluded, and do not follow any strangers home."

Kids NEED to be around adults in order to learn how to be adults. And rather than just being a helicopter parent, teach them HOW to be safe.

However we are more in a bind than ever before, because we have sadly taught a VAST generation of youths that if adults talk to them at all, they just assume ulterior motive. And why shouldn't they? Unfettered access to the internet? An oversexualized society? Sex ads in their faces ALL THE TIME! Kink and BDSM language seeping into culture where it DOES NOT belong. And then not teaching kids what actual pedophiles are. Which is a HUGE issue in and of itself. See pedophiles target kids because they ARE kids. Often the younger they are the better because it's easy to manipulate them. Not only are they innocent but often times they LOOK like they are innocent. Pedophiles often are such because of abuse they went through. Thankfully not everyone continues the cycle, and some people are just attracted to young children that have never dealt with abuse.

Having said all of that, we have somehow convinced kids that they should never grow up. And we no long teach them how to be adults. Hell we only ever bitch about what it's like to be an adult. At which point WHY the fuck would they ever want to grow up. So we have people demanding that we consider 24 y/o's to be kids that can't consent.

Hell, I saw an 18 year old girl who was actually a secretary of business that her father used to own. She managed her money well and actually managed to get a small house, 1 bed one bath. She met a man that started working for the shop that she worked at. He was 26. She made the first move on him. I grew up with her. She was exceedingly mature. I was 19 at the time, and when I met this guy, I didn't much like him. But he was always kind to her. With modern standards, even these two TALKING to one another he would be considered "Pedo". At the time, he was still given weird glances.

All this before he even decided to be ok with them dating. But he wanted to wait until she was 20 or 21 before it was official because he was scared of what the public might think. Sure THIS CASE is one of an older guy dating a younger girl. But they are STILL together to this day. And she was mature and of legal age when she pursued him.

Even stepping away from dating, we've lot purpose as a culture. To a point where we are mostly a people of Hedonism. We seek fame. We seek pleasure. We seek self gratification. And every generation sees it in themselves. And they are so disgusted by it subconsciously, that they have not created whiplash in their own heads in order to imagine that the ONLY thing people can want in today's world is ONLY sex. Is ONLY pleasure. Add to that the media we put out of every single time there is an adult on TV with kids, 8/10 times they are a predator. There's so much that has caused this issue. And we have all collectively helped to make it worse in our own ways. Sure there are ways we can fix it, but it's going to take a number of years to do it. And the first BIG step we need to take is teaching teens how to act like and become adults.

The second step we need to take is to stop treating 18+ year olds like they are toddlers. They can literally sign up to go DIE for this country. They can vote. Used to, they could smoke. And once upon a time, they could drink. Treating legal adults like children is how we ended up with the generation that says shit like "Unalived" and "Uppies". As mid late 20 somethings. I think in which if you are around long enough, catches on. And it's annoying. Start treating adults like adults, and TEACH teens how to BE adults.

And lastly, for the love of god, help PURGE kink language from normal vernacular. I DO NOT wish to walk in a bookstore and here what looks like a 12 year old talking to his whatever calling her "A good kitten". *twitch* Shit's gross.

saw a tiktok that was making good points except it was like "if you're over 23 you shouldn't even know anyone under 20 unless they're family and it's weird if you do" and I just. have you guys ever had coworkers. students. family friends. clubs. is no one going back to school for their BA/MA/PhD. what kind of isolated world are you living in where as a 23+ year old you never interact w anyone under the age of 20. this idea that even Talking to anyone younger than you is somehow predatory is absolutely insane god I hate western individualism so bad. no your best friend ever probably shouldn't be a teenager when you're a grown ass adult but we do in fact need to be in community w people younger than us

[ldydeath]

I Belong To You | Kwon Ji-yong (G-Dragon)

BIGBANG APRIL CHALLENGE - APRIL 30TH

Summary: You've been keeping a secret from your husband and decide to surprise him on the encore night of his Korean concert. Word Count: 2.8k Warnings: 18+, MDNI, unprotected p in v, mentions of pregnancy, established relationship, lots of fluff Author's Note: I can't believe today is the last day of the challenge. I am crying as I post this. Thank you to everyone who particpated in this challenge, I love you all so much. Hope you guys enjoy this, I decided to give my boy the fairytale ending he deserves to closeout the challenge. This is also kind of a part two to My Heaven but waaaaaaaaaaay in the future. You can check that fic out here. You don't need to read that one to understand this one.

“Are you sure you’re ok by yourself?” Jiyong pouted from your shared bed. 

You’d been sick for a couple weeks now, which was horrible timing. Jiyong had always loved having you attend rehearsals, video shoots, filmings, and concerts over the years. You’d become his life line when it all got to be too much. You’d missed the majority of the rehearsals, due to your illness but you’d sucked it up for night one of his tour. You’d both agreed after you’d gotten home and he’d tucked you into bed that you shouldn’t go tonight. It was unseasonably cold, the show being delayed due to the snow and Jiyong had had half a mind to send you home during the delay last night but you had insisted and he wanted you there.

“Yeah, I can always call someone if I get worse. Go. Have fun. Daesung’s already promised to FaceTime me so I don’t miss a thing.” 

Jiyong let out a sigh and leaned down to kiss your forehead, not wanting to catch whatever you had. He hated leaving you like this. He knew that no matter what you said, he would worry about you regardless. You were his entire world and any little small thing that bothered you bothered him too.

“I love you, get some rest.” 

“I love you too. I won’t move from this spot, I promise.” He chuckled at you before climbing out of bed. He paused at the door and frowned. “You’re going to be late, Ji.” He sighed as he turned, exiting the room. 

Once you were sure he was gone, you slid out of bed and practically ran to the bathroom. You only had about an hour to get ready and get to the venue. What Jiyong didn’t know was that you weren’t sick - not really, anyway. Sure you were throwing up every five minutes and food was against you, but it was because you were pregnant. Jiyong was finally going to have his dreams come true and you couldn’t wait to tell him. 

You’d had this planned for weeks now, missing rehearsals to coordinate with Youngbae and Daesung on how exactly you’d be surprising him. It was going to be cute, it was going to be flashy, it was going to be very Jiyong. You just needed to get there and sneak backstage without being noticed by your ever observant husband. 

You got out of the shower and pulled up your phone, a missed FaceTime already and a text. 

You must be sleeping. I’m at sound check and wanted you to see the set up so I could see the crowd better. I’ll send you the video in a few. I love you.

As you finished reading a new text popped up, a text from Jiyong with a video. You clicked play, watching him on a scooter as he zoomed around the stadium. He would. You let out a giggle, shaking your head. 

You’re crazy, Dragon. I love you more. 🖤

You got ready quickly, Jiyong’s glam team would be doing your hair and makeup once you arrived since you’d be on camera. You just needed your outfit. An easy choice, since everyone would be in “I love GD” shirts. You’d had yours modified to say the same but instead of GD it said GDBD.

The car was waiting once you entered the garage of the apartment complex and you slid in. You knew Jiyong would be finishing up his outfit and you prayed he didn’t try to FaceTime you before the show. Thankfully, he didn’t. Steve, your personal security detail was waiting when you pulled up and escorted you into the stadium. The sound of your husband's voice filled the cool night air and you smiled as you made your way to the warmth of his suite.  

Thankfully his evening would be filled with quick changes and he wouldn’t be back in here until the show was over. You opened the door, your friends waiting on the other side and you smiled as you saw Youngbae and Daesung. It was weird that they knew you were pregnant when Jiyong didn’t, but it was all part of the master plan. 

“Hi Y/N” Daesung greeted, pulling you into a hug. Youngbae followed suit. 

“The video is ready?” You moved further in the room, setting your back down before taking a seat. 

“Yes. We’re gonna do a couple songs and then when Jiyong asks what we should do next that’s your cue. The video will play and then you’ll take the stage.” Youngbae confirmed. 

“Perfect. I really appreciate you guys being a part of it.” 

“Hey, you’re family. Have been for a long time.”

You nodded, the glam team getting to work on your makeup. You’d met all three guys when they’d first started out in the industry, covering their first interview as a group . You and Jiyong fell for each other that day, you’d been inseparable ever since. When he’d proposed to you all those years ago nobody had been shocked. 

You’d somehow found time to get married between his solo tour and military services and now that you were pregnant it was like the final piece of the puzzle was finally complete. 

An hour later it was show time, the guys kissed your cheek as they headed out and you waited until Home Sweet Home was in its final verse before heading to your spot. There had been too much planning for it to be ruined by an accidental spotting. 

“What should we play next?” Jiyong teased as the crowd cheered.  Daesung and Youngbae looked at each other with a hint of mischief in their eyes. 

“What about Yeorobun?” Daesung sang with a tease. Jiyong laughed and just before Youngbae could retaliate the video started playing. 

Jiyong looked on confused as he saw a video montage of him and you with a cut to a sonogram phone and the words coming soon. The crowd began cheering like crazy and that’s when he saw you. You were here. He should’ve known you’d be here no matter what. The confusion on his face turning to a grin as he ran over to you. 

“You’re pregnant?” He whispered. You nodded.

The tears Jiyong had been fighting to hold back all night leaked from his eyes as he pulled you in for a hug. His arms wrapped around you tightly as he picked you off the ground, spinning you around. 

“I’m going to be a dad!” He yelled into the microphone as he placed you back down on the ground, his arm staying firmly wrapped around you. 

The crowd cheered around you both and you let out a laugh, turning to wipe the tears off Jiyong’s face. He took his hat off, hiding his face as he let the emotions consume him, his hand squeezing into your arm. He’d wanted this for so long and was finally happening. All he’d ever wanted was you, to spend the rest of his life with you, and to have a family with you. All of his dream were coming true. 

“Congratulations Hyung!” Daesung’s voice boomed from the mic as him and Youngbae crossed the stage. 

Jiyong laughed, removing his hat and shaking his head at his friends. Both men wrapped their friend in a tight group hug before pulling you in for a hug, Jiyong watched on with a grin on his face. 

“How are you feeling, Mrs. Dragon?” Youngbae asked as he pulled back from the hug. 

“Excited, nervous? Tired.” You joked. 

Jiyong smirked as he pulled you into his side, his lips brushing against the top of your head. 

“We have a couple more songs, are you staying out?” You shook your head at your husband. “Say bye to Mrs. Dragon everyone!” 

The crowd cheered as you left the stage and you were met backstage by hugs from the crew, Chaerin, and Jiyong’s parents. You all watched together as the guys played some old classics, a small smile on your face, wishing another member had been able to make it out. 

Once the show was over Jiyong practically ran of the stage only to be stopped by the crew to congratulate you, his eyes frantically searching for you and he grinned when he found you. Your back was to him, talking animatedly to his mother. Jiyong could only imagine what you were talking about. He excused himself from his crew and came up behind you, arms wrapping protectively around you. He smiled to his mom before leading you away from the crowd. 

There were so many things he wanted to say to you, so many things he wanted to do to you, but there was still so much he had to do. Between the group photos and meet and greets he found himself getting antsy to go. Even if going was to an after party he wanted to skip all together. You refused when he whispered the idea to you between photos. This was his return to the stage after 8 years there was no way he was missing his after party.

That’s how you found yourself sandwiched between him and Youngbae as a cake was presented. Jiyong was taking it easier than he usually would at a party like this, your mind flashing back to his album release - he’d drank for you both, you’d just found out that morning you were pregnant and had fed him some line about being too full to drink. You’d only kept it a secret for so long because of how badly he wanted to be a dad. You knew first trimester miscarriages were common and didn��t want to get his hopes up. Tonight has been perfect though, you were almost out of the woods and now he knew and was doing his best to not drink. 

Jiyong did his best to make his rounds and thank everyone for their support but all he wanted was you and to celebrate the only thing that really mattered. 

“Let’s go home?” He was hopeful, his eyes big and wide as he practically begged you to leave, causing you to laugh. 

“Alright, let’s go.” His hand slid into yours as he led you out of the party and into the awaiting car. 

The ride home was silent, Jiyong still so overcome with emotions his mind was swirling. He’d already planned out the penthouse remodel in his mind, counted every space that needed to be baby proofed, knew exactly what type of mural he wanted to put in the nursery by the time the car was parked in the garage. The good thing was, you were already going on tour with him so the remodal would be done with minimal disruption to your everyday life. He couldn’t wait to tell you all the ideas he’d come up with.

His arms wound their way around your body as you entered your home and you smiled as you leaned into him. It felt like a weight had been lifted now that Jiyong knew you were pregnant. He led you through the house and towards your shared bedroom, guiding you onto the bed. He unwound himself from you as he slid out of his jacket. He hovered over you, his lips on yours in a passionate kiss. 

Your arms wound around his neck, pulling him closer. You needed him and Jiyong was happy to give you all of himself. His hands trailed down your side, stopping at the hem of your shirt and slowly lifted it up and over your head. You followed suit, removing his shirt and took a second to take in his appearance. 

He’d been slowly getting back into concert shape as he called it, his muscles more prominent now than they had been a few months ago, his tattoos popping in the light. Jiyong smirked as he noticed your stare.

“Like what you see?” 

“Shut up.” You rolled your eyes, pulling him back to you. 

Jiyong’s lips were back on yours, his tongue darting out, begging for entrance. Your lips parted, your tongues meeting in a dance. His hands slid down your body to your waist once again and he carefully removed your pants, his fingers toying with the fabric of your panties. You moaned into his mouth and he smirked as his lips moved from yours to your neck.

He sucked your neck gently, not enough to leave a mark, just enough to taste your skin as his lips glided across your skin and down your body before trailing back up to your lips. He slid your panties off, his finger sliding past your slick folds. He swallowed another moan and your hands moved hungrily to his jeans, undoing his button and fly as you pushed his pants down. 

He inserted another finger as he pumped inside you, and you moaned at how hard he already was as you cupped him through his boxers. You pushed his boxers down, his cock springing free as you wrapped your hand around him giving him a couple pumps. 

“Ji, please. I need you.” You begged against his mouth. 

Jiyong, always eager to please you, positioned himself between your legs, he entered you slowly, inch by inch and moaned as your walls tightened around him. He removed himself completely, his tip hovering just outside your entrance before he entered you again just as slowly as before.

Jiyong thrusted in and out of you slowly, your back arching to meet his thrusts. His lips stayed connected with yours, his arms propping him up. His movements were slow, deliberate, and filled with so much love. Your fingers clawed at his back, urging him to move faster and he did. His hand slipping between your bodies, his finger rubbing small circles around your clit. 

You swallowed each other's moans and he brought you closer to the edge. You weren’t sure how much longer you could hold on, not when everything felt so good. Your fingers clutching to his skin like he was your life line as his hips bucked against yours faster.

“Come for me, Aein.” He mumbled against your lips.

That was all it took for you to come undone, your walls clenching against him as your orgasm finally hit in beautiful waves. His finger continued to rub circles around your clit as you road it out, his thrusts getting faster. He removed his hand as you collapsed onto the bed and with one final thrust he came inside you. 

He collapsed on top of you, his head buried in the crock of your neck and he left a trail of sloppy kisses on your skin. 

“I love you.” He whispered against your skin, “I love you so fucking much.” He carefully pulled out of you, coming to rest at your side.

“I love you too, Ji.” You rolled onto your side to face him. His arms wrapping around you to pull you closer to him. 

“I can’t believe we’re going to be a family!” He could feel the tears welling up in his eyes at the thought of his dreams coming true. 

You reached up, wiping the stray tear from his cheek and gave him a gentle kiss. This was everything you’d ever wanted. Seeing Jiyong so happy made you happy. You knew he was going to be the best father, he was already the best husband. You’d really hit the jackpot with him.

“You’re going to be such an amazing father, Jiyong. Our kids are going to be so lucky and so loved.”

“I’m going to quit smoking…and drinking. I want to be here for you every step of the way. I know it’ll be hard with the tour, but I’m not missing anything.” You chuckled and kissed him again before sliding out of his arms and out of the bed.

Reaching for your robe, you slid it on and walked over to the closet, pulling down a box. It contained the sonogram photo and a bracelet that you’d gotten Jiyong when you found out. Handing it to him he raised a brow at you before opening it up. His eyes filled with tears as he looked at the photo. That was his baby. 

“That’s our baby dragon.” He whispered. 

You nodded as you moved to sit beside him, taking the bracelet out and handing it to him. It was a cheesy little “World’s Greatest Dad” bracelet but to Jiyong it was everything. He took it from you and slid it onto his arm, the same one that had his red string. 

“I’m going to live up to this bracelet, I promise.” 

"You already have."

He pulled you back to his side, his hand still holding the photo as he wrapped his arm around you. You two were his whole world and he was going to do whatever it took to keep you both safe and to make sure you only knew peace and love for the rest of your lives. Jiyong hadn’t always been dealt the best hand in this life, but you’d always found a way to pull him out of the darkness. Now was his turn to show you just how much you meant to him, forever. You were giving him the greatest gift - the gift of life. A gift he’d thank you for for the rest of his life.

tag list: @wcnderlnds @infinetlyforgotten @loveesiren @gdinthehouseee @tulentiy @petersasteria @alosss-blog @sooyasya @dprvivi @mirahyun @breakmeoff @1950schick @flymetothexmoon @sherrayyyyy

Writing challenge taglist: @bluesunss @berfgrimm @emmiesoverthemoon @sevendaysummer @currentloser @makeitworse @aizshallnotbefound @sherxoo @keiraryan @steponupbabe

[jordiemeow]

AHHHHHH

I wanna DEEPTHROAT your fics!!

Okay okay so imagine enemies to fuckbuddies/lovers with patrick and he pisses reader off so much she pounces on him and chokes him and hes like "are you grinding on me rn...?" Like she didnt even realise and they fuck :3

girl i wanna deepthroat YOU for this suggestion hello. Please. anyways wasn't supposed to yap so much sorry self indulgent i just want him to call me a bitch and then tweak out about it.

warnings: smut 18+ (p in v), dry humping, choking, no proofreading soz

Oh, what a fucking asshole.

You swear your eyes are going to be stuck permanently in your skull with how hard you've been rolling them at Patrick all night. Smug grin and blue collar slightly upturned from a flick of Art's hand—you just wanna choke the life right out of him. Awfully tempting.

"—I just think you're being sensitive," he insists, leaning forward in his beach chair.

The gathering has long died down by now. Most of your friends have 'gone to bed' (are drunkenly hooking up with each other). Art staggered off ten minutes ago claiming something about having a hangover in the morning. Bullshit. He's had two beers at the most; he's just avoiding the bickering still going on in his absence.

Two weeks into the summer and you're regretting agreeing to come along with your friends to the Zweig summer house. You're only here for Art. Sweet boy.

Patrick? A menace.

"Sensitive?" You retort incredulously, setting your drink on the ground with a soft clang.

"Yeah. Sensitive. Sensible," he replies in a very poor imitation of French. "Does that help?"

Your jaw clenches. "Oh, yeah. Thanks."

Your dry reply amuses him further, head tilted as he observes your very apparent frustration. "It's just a word. Don't get your panties in a twist."

"I just don't think that men should—"

His groan interrupts you. "Should, what, say bitch? Don't get all liberal on me."

"Liberal?" You bark back.

"Liberal. Feminist. Whatever." A dismissive wave of his hand. "It's all the same."

You rise to your feet, scoffing under your breath about men having zero awareness. He just watches you, smirk still in place as you smooth down your summer dress and prepare to head for the house. Maybe you'll be matching nursing headaches with Art in the morning; you don't understand how he doesn't have a permanent migraine when he's stuck with this shithead all the time.

And then, of course, just as you start up towards the house—

"What, not even a goodnight? You don't have to be such a bitch about it."

You whirl on him in an instant. One, two, three, four long strides before you're lunging at him so hard his chair almost tips over. His smirk melts in an instant, the sound of surprise he lets off breaking into a choked sound when your fingers curl around his throat. You aren't sure whether it's the amount of times you've heard the word bitch tonight or just the complete assholery you've had to put up with for the last few weeks.

It doesn't matter. All you know is you can't take it anymore.

"Shut up, Patrick," you snarl. "Just... shut the fuck up for once in your life."

He's not sure what silences him: the pressure around his throat, or the sheer venom in your voice. But his mouth snaps shut audibly, and you can feel him swallow against your palm.

"You just... you never know when to quit, do you? Do you get off on this? On being a degenerate asshole? Or are you really just so much of a bitch—" He almost cracks a smile when he hears that. For the sake of his poor neck, he doesn't. "—That this is who you really are, huh?"

"I was just joking," he tries to pacify you, his voice strained. He's not sure why his hands stay on the arms of his chair; certainly not out of self-preservation, that's for sure. He should be prying you off him right now.

You take some satisfaction in the way he rasps, and that tiny flicker of fear in his eyes. But you're far from done. "You're so entitled that it's baffling. We get it, Patrick. Mommy and daddy don't love you so you feel the need to take it out on everyone else. But you aren't funny. You're just an asshole. So just... just shut up!"

It's a miracle he can breathe at this point. The way his eyes have widened and his breathing is stilted makes guilt settle at the pit of your stomach. Not enough to remove your hand entirely, of course, but your grip loosens enough for him to inhale a deep breath.

You're expecting either of two things: an apology, or for him to call you fucking crazy. Instead, what you get is:

"... Are you grinding on me right now?"

What? That's ridiculous. Laughable, really. Why would you be—

Oh, shit, you are.

In the midst of your tangent, you'd hardly noticed the way your hips had started to gyrate. Little circles of your hips, just enough to stimulate you. The movement was involuntary; grinding down against the thigh you're perched upon, little sparks of pleasure mixing with that guilt in your stomach. Fuck.

"N-no—" You stammer, cheeks flushed at the realisation.

"I can feel it. You are," he insists incredulously. And when your grip on his throat tightens in retaliation (or embarrassment), he just smirks this time. "Oh my god. You're enjoying this."

"Don't be so fucking ridiculous," you shoot back, your hips stilling. Somewhere deep down, you're disappointed by the loss of friction.

His hands finally leave the tanned wicker of the chair. Not to push you off, though. Instead, you find a pair of firm hands holding you in place, grinding you down hard against his thigh. Your own hand tightens instinctively, a pair of stuttered gasps synchronising between you.

"You're insane. Stop it."

"Am I? You're the one that's wet."

Touché. Your cheeks burn harder. There's just enough light coming from a lamp post to illuminate your mortified expression. All you can do is stammer over your words in an attempt to salvage your dignity.

"Yeah, well... well you're hard!" Good comeback.

You aren't wrong, though. You can feel his cock pressing against your thigh through the fabric of his shorts. You pointedly ignore the little thrill you feel when you realise how big it feels.

"Because you're choking me."

You stare at him incredulously for him a moment. "... You're sick."

"And yet you haven't stopped."

No, you haven't. Your hands are still wrapped around his throat, and you haven't made any attempts to stop the way he keeps grinding you down against his thigh. If you sat up long enough to look, you'd see the damp patch of slick you've transferred onto the cotton.

"Just... just shut up!" You repeat.

He just smiles crookedly. "You gonna keep saying that, or are you gonna make me?"

A moment of staring, and then your mouths are clashing together. There's no method behind it; just teeth and noses bumping together, stray tongues licking at lips and into mouths. Gasps and moans each time you grind against his thigh.

It shouldn't be happening. You hate him. You do. But just because he's an insufferable asshole doesn't mean he's ugly, and there's something oddly cathartic about the way his eyes flutter when your hand squeezes or he groans into your mouth when your knee presses against his erection.

"Sit up," he pants against your mouth. Against your better judgement, you find yourself obliging. One knee on each side of his thighs as he pushes his shorts out of the way.

Between the darkness and the angle, you can't see what he's doing. Your breath hitches when the rubs the head of his cock against your panties. They're so soaked it hardly feels like there's a boundary there at all.

"Can I?"

"Yeah."

Your reply is a little too fast, but he seems too focused on pushing your underwear to the side to mock you. Besides, mocking is what got you both into this whole mess. Your forehead thumps against his when the blunt head slides between your folds to tease at your entrance, breath stuttering.

Your hands slide to his shoulders for purchase, and you swear you see a flicker of disappointment cross his face. It's so brief you can't be sure as you sink down onto his cock, head tilted back with a groan at the sheer size of him. It takes a few moments to ease yourself down, and the stretch is almost blinding.

He waits for your hips to be flush together to make any sly remarks. "Big enough for you?"

"Shut the fuck up," you reply, voice rough.

He laughs. It's equally as strained.

And then you're riding him. It starts off slow enough for you to adjust at your own pace, just grinding back down against him. Patrick lives up to his asshole reputation, though—his hands find your hips to hold you in place and soon enough he's pulling you down against him, his hips bucking up to meet you.

You're vaguely aware of the fact anyone could still be awake and take a peek out the window, but it doesn't stop your hand from sliding down between you to circle your clit mindlessly. Your head lolls back, sweet moans filling the air each time he drives up into you.

Patrick, on the other hand, is watching you with rapt attention. Grunting and panting while he drinks up every sound and expression, his grip just short of bruising every time you're brought back down onto his cock.

"Fuck. You're so hot like this," he grits out.

"Bet you've been thinking about this," you shoot back breathlessly.

"Hell yeah I have," comes his unabashed reply. "Every time you're going off on your feminist bullshit. Or calling me a brat."

"You are a brat."

There's a glint in his eye. "Treat me like one, then."

So you do. Your fingers curl back around his throat as he fucks up into you; his reaction is almost instantaneous. Eyes fluttering shut, lips parted in a soundless moan, his pace faltering for just a moment before he catches himself.

"Yeah. Yeah, just like fuckin' that."

It's not long before you're both nearing your peaks. You can hardly focus on keeping a good grip with how desperately your other hand is rubbing your clit, knees digging into the wicker. You can feel the indents forming against your skin.

"Close—" You manage to warn.

"Yeah? Y'gonna cum on my cock?"

"Jesus, stop with the fucking dirty talk."

He laughs. Hoarse. Unrepentant. "Sorry. Used to fucking people that like to hear my voice."

To his credit, he does shut up for the next minute or so. It's just the sound of you both moaning senselessly and chasing your highs, until he shifts the angle just right and—

"G-God, yeah, right there. I'm gonna—"

"Cum?"

You'd glare at him if it weren't for the abrupt fluttering of your walls around his length. "Fuck, Patrick, oh—" And then your vision is whiting out and you're gushing around him.

His name on your tongue is almost enough to do him over. Almost.

"Choke me. C'mon, I'm so close," he whines, hips stuttering upwards into you. You feel like your brains have been fucked out, but you have just enough sense to comprehend the request. And then you're squeezing and watching the whites of his eyes appear.

A few more jolts of his hips and your name is cried out as he comes undone. You can feel the hot warmth filling your cunt, and he continues to pull you down onto him to milk out his orgasm. Moaning pathetically with his head tipped over the back of the chair.

And then it's just the sound of you both panting as both of your hands release each other. You shift off awkwardly, ignoring the whine he makes and the way the sudden emptiness has you feeling the same way. You stumble to your feet, yanking your dress down and peering at the crosshatching on your knees.

At least you're both sporting evidence of the encounter. Patrick's neck is sporting a reddening print, the start of little bruises forming where your fingers pressed too hard. Now you have to look at that for the rest of your vacation.

Great.

You swallow thickly. "Just to be clear, I still think you're an asshole."

He nods, like he hadn't even considered otherwise. "Yeah, I know. But I think you like that about me."

"Patrick—"

"Kidding." His hands raise in mock surrender. "Just get your pretty ass to bed. I've had enough of you yelling at me for one night."

You scoff. You aren't sure whether it's out of contempt or amusement. But you turn on your heels, shaking your head as you finally start back towards the beach house the way you'd intended to fifteen minutes ago.

You're making your way up the steps when he calls out behind you: "But we're doing this again, right?"

"In your dreams." You shoot him your middle finger over your shoulder. His laugh rings out as you trudge up towards the house on wobbly legs.

He watches you go, and it's only when you're safely inside that he mutters under his breath.

"... Bitch."

—

taglist: @gracelynnx @tacobacoyeet @blastzachilles @cha11engers @magicalmiserybore @newrochellechallenger2019 @coolgrl111 @artspats @peachyparkerr @stanart4clearskin @misswrldd @kaalxpsia @downtwngrl @s0ftcobra @strfallz @dazedandconfusedlvr @turnerrst @m4lodr4ma @artdonaldsonmalewife @challengersism @artstennisracket @elsieblogs

[theseinfernalangels]

Would you please do #27 with garrick?

27: Kisses exchanged while one person sits on the other’s lap.

A/N: I see the vision. I hear the vision. Dammit, I want the vision.

The moment he pulls you inside his warded room, Garrick knows something is up. Maybe it’s the way you’re much quieter than usual, or maybe it’s the way your hands are clenched into fists and digging deep nail marks into your palms. Either way, you’re off, and he doesn’t like that.

He nudges the door shut with his foot and immediately slings an arm around your waist, tugging you towards him and his bed. He settles on the sheets with a slight plop and guides you to stand between his legs, frowning up at you.

“Alright,” he declares. “Something’s wrong. Talk to me.”

You blink. How he was able to tell that you were pissed off from barely a glance, you had no idea.

You avert your gaze, crossing your arms self-consciously. “Nothing’s wrong—“

You’re silenced when he puts a single finger to your lips and shakes his head. “Don’t lie,” Garrick chides. “I can see it, clear as day. You’re pissed off. Tell me what happened.”

Well, if nothing else, he was quite observant — maybe too observant. 

You take a deep breath in, rubbing your clearly-exhausted face with your hands before you still and exhale slowly. You know you can talk to him. Of course you can talk to him. It’s just Garrick. If you had a coin for every time he’s angrily ranted about someone fucking something up, you’d probably have enough money to pay your way to graduation.

So, after a moment, you sigh again. “Fucking Carr,” you mumble, pinching the bridge of your nose in between your fingers. “Who decided to make him a fucking professor, anyway?”

Garrick nods in understanding before he straightens a little, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. 

“What did he do?” He asks cautiously, tracing a thumb over your knuckles. He pauses for a second and brings your hand closer to him, leaning down and pressing his lips to the skin carefully.

He sits back up, his eyes suddenly stormy. “Your skin is too warm,” he notes, his voice quieter. “If he pushed you—“

“No,” you say quickly, waving your free hand. “Not this time, at least. I was getting there, though, and my skin starting steaming, so Léith dropped in and scared the hell out of him before he could do me more damage.”

Garrick swears under his breath, tugging you towards him and settling you atop his thighs. “I’m going to kill that man,” he mutters, sliding his arm back around your waist. “Truly, one day I’ll catch him alone—“

“Please don’t,” you say tiredly, leaning your head against his. “Léith almost did, and that was terrifying enough. I think he would’ve actually incinerated him if I hadn’t asked him not to.”

Garrick’s eyes soften a little. Ever so carefully, he turns his head and presses a kiss to your forehead. 

“I’m sorry, lovely,” he says quietly. “That’s awful. I wish I had been around to stop it.”

You let your shoulders drop, melting against him as if your muscles had turned to mush. You don’t mind, though — and you know for a fact that he doesn’t, either, given the little fits he throws whenever you don’t use him as your personal pillow. You tilt your head and brush a halfhearted kiss to his jaw, wanting nothing more than to sink into his arms and just stay there while he peppers kisses down your face.

Lucky for you, Garrick has no intention of doing anything else.

“Whatever.” Your eyes flutter shut in bliss at the feeling of his mouth making little trails against your skin. “I’m not dead, and you haven’t killed anyone, so everything is good and well.”

He chuckles lowly. “Well, that’s one way of looking at it,” he says dryly. He glances out his window before dropping his gaze to you. “You wanna stay here for the night?”

A tired groan looses from your throat. “Please,” you beg. “I don’t think I can walk back down to mine right now. I just wanna sleep.”

Garrick smiles and rests his cheek against your head. “I think I can make that happen, lovely girl.”

[permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88]

also even if the weight = health thing was true. sick people still need clothes and chairs and most importantly healthcare. even if it was possible to lose that amount of weight and keep it down in a meaningful way, you still currently, right now, need shit to sit in, shit to wear, and meds to work.

say it louder for the people in the back.

we're told to lose weight to be beautiful. to be worthy of love and to earn the right to be treated like a human and not dirt under some skinny person's shoe. but the second we start taking a medication to help with the food cravings so we can actually focus on cutting back, and making other changes we need without the only thing we're capable of thinking being how fucking hungry we are, we're shamed for "taking the easy way out."

if we take dieting or making healthier choices seriously, we're judged and ridiculed because "oh you know you're eating a bag of chips once you get home, that salad won't fill you up." yet, if we dare to eat a burger, or pasta, or whatever else a skinny person can eat with no problem, we're "the big back, being a disgusting pig."

we're ridiculed for wearing tight workout clothes, but often, the typical store's athletic gear department's sizing only goes so high.

we're ridiculed for not exercising, yet when we dare to do so in public, we're a circus act. we're observed, and judged, often mercilessly, and if someone's not coming at you with condescending advice, they're flat out laughing in your face.

we go to the doctor with X complaint, and it is almost always attributed to our weight. "oh, you have crippling menstrual periods? lose weight." "oh, you have headaches? lose weight." and on and on and on, and yeah, weight exacerbates some things, but just because you, as a physician, see 'fat' doesn't automatically excuse you from needing to dig deeper. you know...deeper, like you would for a skinny person.

skinny-society doesn't want us to maintain or gain the weight. but they also don't want to look at us trying to lose it, either. they don't want us dating, or having friends, or having the audacity to leave the confines of our own apartment or home.

what they really want, it seems, is for fat people to simply not exist at all. but the thing they don't seem to realize?

if we all cease existing, who on earth will they find to hate so that they don't have to admit they really hate themselves?

It says a lot about society that a beach towel that actually fits me is labeled "oversized" on the packaging so that thin people can know which of a select few beach towels will make them feel all warm and cozy and small.

I already buy beach towels to dry myself off with because it's easier than looking for bath towels that fit me, so labeling a beach towel "oversized" because this world is made solely for thin people is just added cruelty. I've been using beach towels to dry myself off with even when I was in the low 200s weight range.

What's fucking wild is that 99.999999% of thin people are blissfully ignorant of what the world is like for fat people. They have no clue what it's like to have to check the weight capacity of a chair on a website before buying it or seeing everything that's the perfect size for you being labeled "oversized." They don't know what it's like not being able to find clothes that fit you at a regular store, thrift store, online store, or even those plus size stores that only go up to a 3XL and just resize thin people clothing.

They don't know what it's like being thankful to learn online that Plan B doesn't work for most fat people before you bought and assumed in a post-roe world that Plan B will be effective. They don't know what it's like to live in a world where everyone freely hates and discriminates against you without even having backlash from progressives and people who claim to support equality, because oppressing you is just accepted fact even to the people who fight for the rights of all of your other oppressed identities. They don't know what it's like to live in a world where hating you is so expected and normalized that it's ingrained into your own people to the point that you literally cannot trust that

anyone you meet

not a single person

who looks like you will share solidarity.

None.

Whenever a thin person suddenly becomes fat, that is the closest we have to a person realizing they've been living in the Matrix. The most intense epiphany you'll ever have is rapidly becoming fat and then seeing how this world changes for you almost overnight.

-Mod Worthy

[dvineangels]

the key is you

you ever found yourself looking endlessly for that ONE video that’s gonna make you manifest instantly? thats gonna tell you, “THIS is what you’re doing wrong, and this is the key to actually manifest what you want” ?

well, ml i’m here to tell you that there isn’t a specific key that’ll finally get you what you want.

there’s no video or method or anything that’s gonna all of a sudden make you manifest after you’ve been telling yourself you can’t or nothing has been working for you.

the key is you.

you are a source, THEE source to everything around you. the external world follows behind you. you are a being of infinite possibilities and infinite changes that deprive from you, your i am.

what is your i am? who are you? are you someone who knows they have everything? who knows they aren’t tied down to their body and realizes that they’re higher than any youtube post that’s telling them how they should manifest?

when you try to look for your key, it’s like looking for your phone when your phone is in your hand. it’s already with you. just like how your desires are with you too.

who cares about a circumstance? whatever small little voice that has you contemplating everything in your head isn’t something you should identify with. you can have your doubts, feel your emotions, but in the end know that nothing is stopping you from getting your manifestations but yourself.

everything is you. you are everything.

the next time you wonder why you’re not manifesting, think back to that exact question and observe it, and finally grasp how you are the creator and cause to your external.

the key has been in your hand the whole time, waiting for you to acknowledge its presence and finally unlock the door to your infinite abilities.

i promise you my love, you already have it. own it.

(this is a pretty rushed post lololol so it might be shitty, love u guys tho)

[triptuckers]

lighthouse - cassian andor

Request: nope Pairing: cassian andor x reader Summary: after an undercover mission nearly ends very badly, you and cassian finally come to terms with what you are to each other Warnings: fighting, blaster shots, injuries, bruises, angst Word count: 3,2K A/N: listen. we need more cassian fics that aren't smut so rejoice !! my andor obsession is back in full force and I also read a book that shook me to my core so this is inspired by my love for cassian and a line I read. enjoy!

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you and cassian have been... something for a while. you don't know exactly what, but you're sure you're not just fellow rebels. it's in the lingering glances, the brushing of his fingers against yours, how he sometimes looks at you so intensely but never ends up saying anything. you'd learnt he wasn't a man of many words, but the ones he did speak always rang true.

you keep telling yourself you'll talk to him. after the next mission. then you'll pull him to the side and speak with him about whatever you were to each other.

but there's always another one. always a next mission. the rebellion is fast paced. people are sent off to the very ends of the outer rim, you learn to sleep when you can, and you're always looking over your shoulder.

but you know what you're fighting for, and you want to do your part.

luthen, who recruited you a while back, has noticed how well you and cassian work together, so you're often sent on missions together.

even though you know you shouldn't want this many missions, you'd rather see this war come to an end, you couldn't help but be at least a little pleased you could do them with cassian.

today isn't any different.

once again you tell yourself after this mission, you'll talk to cassian. about what's going on in his head when he can't tear his eyes off of you during a briefing.

your mission is simple. you and cassian are to infiltrate some fancy invitation only event, make your way one of the countless offices in the building, find a string of passcodes, and get the hell out without getting yourself shot at.

you'd done it a thousand times before. this wouldn't be any different or any harder.

how wrong you were.

it started well, despite your uncomfortable shoes. you hated dress codes but you had no choice this time. you would stand out in your comfortable clothes - very recognisable as a rebel or at the very least, someone who did not belong at such an event.

you only got distracted by the art hung on the walls for a short while.

when you were younger, you were very fond of your uncle. he'd travel the galaxy and come back with stories. as a child, you'd promised him that one day you'd collect stories of your own.

for a while, you did. you'd hear stories from people you'd meet, they'd tell you about their cultures, their art, their traditions, their history. you loved hearing those stories and passing them along.

cassian often listened to them when the two of you were traveling to the next mission.

when you slowed your pace walking past an interesting looking sculpture, it was cassian who nudged you to keep on walking. your time window was short, and there was little room for stalling.

once you find the right office, cassian keeps an eye out while you sit at the imperial's desk to find the passcodes. thanks to some good intel, it doesn't take you long to find them.

you quickly copy them, then join cassian at the door. the corridor appears to be empty when cassian looks around the corner. nevertheless, you bend down to get your blaster out of your leg holster.

'put it away.' says cassian.

'you've got your blaster out.' you observe.

'yes because I can tuck it back in my pants.'

'and?'

'and you can't very well subtly bend down to put yours back, can you?'

'I could if-'

'no time. put it away.'

other people would get offended by his sharp tone, but you know cassian. he's focused on the mission now. on getting out quickly and efficiently.

you make a show of putting your blaster back in your holster. telling him if you get shot because you can't return fire, it would be his fault. cassian merely rolls his eyes at you as he exits the office.

you follow him out, forcing yourself not to run. if anything would be suspicious it's two people suddenly breaking in full sprint.

cassian walks ahead of you towards the hangar where you'd stashed your ship. as he rounds a corner, you nearly bump into him as he suddenly stops walking.

you're confused for a moment when you catch him hiding his blaster, then see the imperial officer in front of him.

'you two are far from the party.' the man says.

you're quick to walk up to cassian's side and wrap a hand around his bicep.

'is there a problem, sir?' you say, choosing to play the part of confused partyguest.

'this corridor is off limits to guests.' says the imperial officer.

you give cassian's arm a quick squeeze, letting him know not to interfere with your plan.

'we're so sorry, officer, my husband and I were looking for the washroom.' you say, smiling at the man.

but instead of waving you off, he narrows his eyes at your hand on cassian's arm.

'I don't see a ring.'

'it's not part of our culture.'

'and there are clear signs pointing to the washroom.'

'there are? we must have missed them.'

'I'll ask again, what are you two doing this far from the party?'

you notice cassian tensing up beside you. it wouldn't be easy to convince this man you're supposed to be here.

the imperial officer takes out his comm device to alert someone else but cassian acts quickly, swiftly punching the man in the nose.

'there goes our last chance at this being a stealth mission.' you sigh, following cassian as he takes off.

you watch as cassian pulls out his blaster again. you quickly bend down to retrieve yours as well, stopping for a few seconds, then run to catch up with him.

while rounding a corner, you nearly twist your ankle. you loudly curse your forced choice of footwear. meanwhile, cassian is ahead of you.

'hurry up!' he yells over his shoulder.

'you try running in four inch heels!' you snap back at him.

as you're barrelling your way through countless corridors, forgoing all attempts at stealth, you nearly fall again.

you groan in frustration, shoot a look over your shoulder and deem it safe enough. you could take off your shoes quickly. it'll only be a second.

'are you fucking serious?' cassian shouts as he sees you yanking off your shoes.

'would you rather I break my legs?' you yell.

cassian reaches out and pulls you up as you duck to avoid blaster fire. the imperials had caught up with you.

you're so close to the ship, you push yourself a little faster. you're on cassian's heels as he enters the ship.

right as you enter the ship, a pair of blaster shots hit their mark. you feel a searing hot pain across your ribs as you hit the button to close the door to the ship.

cassian, who heard you yell out in pain, worriedly looks at you but you wave him off.

'fly the ship!' you yell.

your priority right now was to get the codes to the rebels. it wasn't your life. it was the brutal reality of the rebellion.

cassian seems to realise this as well. he takes one last look at you, before taking off towards the cockpit.

you press a hand to your side as you lay on your back, focusing on your breathing.

you close your eyes. you know that's not a smart thing to do, so you permit yourself three deep breaths. then you'd open your eyes again. you feel the humming of the ship beneath you as cassian flies away from imperial territory. you breathe through the pain, not daring to move, in fear of making your injury worse.

suddenly you feel a hard shove and open your eyes. cassian's worried eyes look into yours.

'I thought you died.' he says.

'good morning to you, too.' you grumble. 'I closed my eyes for a second. why aren't you flying the ship?'

'we're in hyperspace.' cassian says. 'that wasn't a second.'

you frown, then try to sit up to look at your ribs. immediately, a sharp pain shoots through your body and you fall back again.

cassian goes quiet as he runs off to get a medkit.

unceremoniously, he uses a knife to rip a part of your dress off. in any other circumstance you'd be appalled. but this was war. everyone needed to act quickly all the time, there was no time for modesty.

your eyes focus on the ceiling of the ship as cassian works on bandaging your ribs. you feel him poking around, checking your injury. you wince when it hurts too much and cassian mumbles an apology.

you close your eyes, but cassian pokes your cheek with his finger. you make an annoyed sound.

'don't sleep.' he says firmly.

if you were anyone else you would have found his harsh tone rude. but you've known cassian for a while now. you detect the undertone of worry.

'i'm okay.' you say, but you feel yourself slipping. a nap did sound very good.

cassian pokes you again.

'cassian.' you grumble.

'stay awake. I mean it.' he says. 'I'm nearly done.'

you're desperately trying to stay awake, when cassian speaks again.

'count down from three.' he instructs.

'why?'

'do it.'

you sigh, then count down.

when you're at two, cassian firmly secures the bandage around your rips, making you cry out in pain. you'd been shot before, but this was much more painful than any other time.

you let out a string of curses as cassian checks the bandages.

the sharp pain had weakened to a dull, throbbing pain. it was annoying and consistent, but hurt less than before.

'you need rest.' says cassian.

'i'm fine here.'

'you're not sleeping not on the ground.'

'i've had worse.'

'no.'

cassian leaves little room for argument.

you feel how he carefully slips one arm behind your back and the other under your knees. he may not have a very muscular build at first glance, but he lifts you without much visible struggle. the movement intensifies your pain and you try to blink the feeling away.

you desperately try to stay awake, to commit this feeling of being in cassian's arms to memory. but your eyelids are just so heavy.

cassian carefully sets you down on one of the cots on the ship.

'now you can rest.' you hear him say.

you want to thank him for taking care of you, but you're already asleep seconds later.

the journey back to base takes a couple of days. cassian has to take a creative route to make sure you're not leading imperials to the rebels. occasionally, you wake when cassian comes to check on you. he helps you drink water and you try to eat something, but most of the time you just sleep.

cassian is being even more silent than he usually is. you can tell his mind is racing. you want to ease his thoughts, but there never seems to be the right time to talk.

when cassian wakes you a couple of days later, you've made it back to base.

he helps you sit up. you insist on being able to walk on your own. but one attempt at pushing yourself up from your sitting position shows you can't.

cassian supports the biggest part of your weight as he slowly takes you from the hangar to your room.

you had a private room, which was a luxury. people you pass in the hallways send you worried looks, but they know cassian would explain it all in the debriefing.

with a series of practiced taps, cassian unlocks the door to your room and helps you inside. he carefully puts you down on your own cot and turns around to leave so he can give his debriefing of the mission as quickly as possible.

'cass.' you say, nearly asleep already.

his ears perk up. you've rarely called him that. the first time you did, it caught him off guard and you interpreted his surprised look as a sign he didn't want you calling him that. quite the opposite. he loved it.

'what's up?' he says softly.

'thank you.' you say.

'of course.'

'did I ever tell you you're my lighthouse, cass?'

he frowns at your words. what is a lighthouse? but before he can as you about it, you've fallen asleep. he decides to let you. he knows there's people waiting on him, and you need your rest.

cassian walks back to the room he's expected to give his debriefing of the mission. he thinks about your words on his way, but forces himself to think of the mission when he enters the room.

the debrief itself is short. he passes the copied codes along to someone else, so they can work with them. cassian updates everyone on your condition, and has a medical droid sent to your room to check on you.

then he sets off to find brasso. he's convinced he would know what a lighthouse is. but brasso can't give him an explanation, only his best guess. bix also doesn't know.

just as cassian is searching for will to ask him about the term, he runs into luthen, who has a new mission for him already.

cassian knows you'd be irritated with him if he'd stay back for your sake. you both know the importance of the rebellion. he doesn't want to leave you behind, but he does as he's asked.

the mission doesn't take him very far. he's joined by a handful of others. though he's only gone for a couple of days, he worries about you.

so when he returns, he immediately goes to your room, letting someone else handle the debriefing this time.

but when he opens the door, something's off. your room is empty and it smells of cleaning supplies. the bed is made way too neatly for you to have done it.

panic seizes him as he quickly makes his way to the small medbay.

one of the medical droids says you haven't been in since cassian left for his mission. they don't know where you are.

it's one of the new recruits that tells cassian you're probably outside.

their current base is located on a forest planet. the trees provide cover for your ships and base. cassian knew it was similar to your home planet, and you missed it dearly. you often spoke about your childhood home, and the big garden you loved when you were a child.

the feeling of panic slowly disappears as cassian makes his way to the back of the base, where the forest was blooming and green.

sure enough, he finds you sitting in a patch of grass rather than one of the benches. steam rises from a cup of tea in your hand. your head is tilted upwards, catching rays of sunshine on your face.

he closes his eyes and sighs softly. you were alright. just reconnecting with nature.

cassian walks up to you. you've got more color on your face than the last time he saw you, a good sign.

he wants to tell you he's so glad you're okay. he also wants to scold you for not being in your room when he got back, scaring him like crazy. but instead, a questions comes out when he speaks.

'what's a lighthouse?'

'you're back!' you say, turning around and then wincing, pressing a hand to your side. it seems you hadn't completely healed just yet.

cassian walks up to you and sits down beside you, accepting your hug. he looks at you with another one of his piercing gazes.

as you look at his face - searching for any injuries - it takes you a while to register his question from before. you'd been sleeping the pain off a lot, and sometimes your mind was a little foggy.

'I never told you?' you say.

cassian shakes his head.

'well. I was going to tell you all of this eventually. after the next mission, I kept telling myself.' you say, glancing at the trees ahead of you. 'but I thought that blaster shot would be my last.'

'it takes more than a few blaster shots to take us down.' says cassian.

you smile at his words.

'a lighthouse is a tall building on the edge of an ocean.' you explain. 'I saw the ruins of one once.'

'so I'm a tall building?' says cassian, not understanding.

'it was meant for sailors. if a boat would be out on sea and it was dark, the lighthouse would guide them back to dry land. keep them save, bring them home.' you say.

you sip your tea as cassian lets your words sink in.

'this war is intense. the rebellion is intense. it's hard to find your footing when you're never in one place for long and you don't know when you have to pack up and leave again. but I know, no matter where I go, you'll be there. you'll guide me home. so, in a way, you're my lighthouse.' you say.

'your lighthouse.' cassian echoes your words. 'I like that.'

you turn your head to look at him, not surprised to find him looking at you already.

'I had a feeling you would. how did your mission go?'

'alright. got what we came for. got back home.'

'you've never been a man of many words, have you?' you say, smiling.

he shrugs. 'sometimes you don't need many. how are you feeling? how are your ribs?'

'better.' you say. 'the medical droid said you did a good job at bandaging me up. though it still hurts. I sleep a lot. I was just going to take another nap.'

cassian frowns. 'why didn't you? if it helps with the pain?'

'I was waiting for you to come back.'

'you were?'

'I never really sleep well when you're out there and I'm here.'

cassian stands up and offers you his hand.

'where are we going?' you ask, allowing him to gently help you stand.

'to take a nap.' he says.

you smile and allow cassian to lead you back to your room, never letting go of his hand. he helps you when you lay down on your cot. you surprise him by gently tugging him down with you.

'you look like the mission was intense. you need your rest as well.' you say.

cassian nods, then takes off his boots and jacket. he lays down next to you, careful not to touch your ribs in fear of hurting you. you move closer, only wincing a little at the movement.

'do you have to go soon?' you ask him, feeling tired already.

'no.' says cassian, wrapping an arm around you. 'not for a few days.'

'good.' you mumble, burying your head in the space between his jaw and his shoulder.

you're nearly asleep when cassian whispers your name.

'yeah?' you say softly.

'you're my lighthouse, too.' he says.

you smile at his words. 'I know, cass.'

A/N: thanks for reading! everything that I have written can be found on my masterlist. please do not copy, translate, plagiarise or repost my work! some of these are requested by other people and I spend a lot of time and effort on my works <3 much love, marit

[steviewashere]

Tell Me, What Is My Life Without Your Love? (Chap. 1/?)

Rating: Teen and Up CW: Blood Mentions, Premature Grief/Mourning, Talks of Death Tags: Post-Canon, Hanahaki Disease, Childhood Friends AU, Childhood Friends to Enemies to Friends to Strangers to Friends to Lovers, (This is a Doozy), Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Happy Ending, Endgame Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson Other additional tags to be added! If you'd like to be tagged for chapter updates, please let me know, I'd love to add you! Title from "What Is Life" by George Harrison Also available to read on AO3

🥀————————🥀 When the first petal falls, it's after he's smiled at.

Steve doesn't know why it happens this time. The petals. Why, after countless failed dates and relationships, his body chooses now to remind him so cruelly the reason he doesn't go for things like this anymore. He falls in love fast, or at least that's the observation thrown at him. That he falls in love fast, headfirst, and deep. He did that with Nancy—failed—and Robin—rejected—and now...

Eddie Munson doesn't like jocks. Or douchebags. Or people who've been douchebags. He's made that loud and clear since their first day together in high school; climbing onto tables with his gangly limbs and crowing voice, yelling on and on about conformity and popularity and parties. About rich kids with their silver spoons and their parents with money-loaded pockets. Throwing bills at the problems and if that didn't fix it all, words at the problems. There had been a particular day, during one of the early lunch rushes, where Eddie had made direct and purposeful eye contact with Steve—"Conformity is the mind killer. I bet some of you were the sweetest of the bunch. Well, before your parents had anything to say about it."

They haven't talked about that. The...conformity of it all.

It's fuzzy to Steve, the happenstance in all this—where Eddie existed in his life previously, the way they got along like a house on fire, and then somewhere died out. The embers flew. Ash spread. And the framework of the house disintegrated.

There had been something there, though, something Eddie wanted to make obvious. What it was, Steve couldn't say. Like a mumbled lyric on a cassette that was giving out, the tape spooled, and the lubricant dried. He could hear the bass, but not the melody—and though Eddie was mocking the wrongs Steve did, he's not quite sure what exactly they were. Why Eddie hated him so much, in the before. He knew of them before high school—childhood friends—and during high school—distant rivals—and after high school, the reluctant teammates. Steve figured it all watered down to pointless high school cliques; wherein they ignored each other just because. No real reason, just a jumble of things. Class differences and the one year age gap and the way Eddie had been held back, the way Steve stumbled through school, yet made it out on top just because his parents were respected people—unlike Eddie's own.

They aren't friends before the Upside Down. Not exactly, yet not rivals either.

Steve didn't know what to call them. Acquaintances? Even then, the word felt too hollow in comparison to whatever Eddie was holding onto. To whatever Steve cherished at one point.

Saving the world together aided their whole friendship.

At least, the scraps of their friendship. Mending them together to make some ambiguous quilt.

They get along fine. Joking with one another, teasing each other, can hang out one on one. Eddie likes to come into Family Video and bother the hell out of Steve. And Steve will come in through one of the trailer's windows to give a drop-in visit. There's nothing wrong with their friendship, in fact everything seems to be going very right.

But then he got his heart involved.

Truly involved.

Hence why, during a hang out last night, when Eddie smiled at him—one of those big, genuine, soft ones—Steve started to feel a little tickle in his throat. It felt as if somebody took their fingers to the back of his throat, fluttering their fingertips along his windpipe. He drank some water, the feeling didn't go away, so he excused himself back home.

Now, what is the next morning, he's looking down at a palmful of dark purple, moist, crumpled up rose petals. The kind that fall off the bouquet, to the floor, walked all over by people's disgustingly muddy shoes. They're soft when he strokes them. Fragile and flimsy if he digs his fingernails in a little too roughly.

He's not sure what to make of them. What to do with them. Steve sets them on his bedside table and hopes that maybe he's just...just seeing things. He has to be. Has to.

Because otherwise—

Hanahaki. The flower illness. Sprouting petals, then buds, then fully bloomed prizes of an affection deemed undesirable. The patient desires, believes their enamored feelings to be reject-able, deniable, and begins to sprout. Unrequited love. Believed to be unrequited.

It's not supposed to be that serious, what he feels for Eddie. Just one of those wishful thinking things, he tells himself, I've got a measly crush on the guy, it'll pass. Like Sandy and Danny's fling in Grease; summer loving, gone at the end, something to look back on every once in a while and reflect upon. But, well...they end up together in the end, don't they?

Shit, Steve thinks, this is happening.

He coughs, wetly, and spits another two petals into his right hand. Sticky with his spit. Moistened with Eddie's half-resentment. Crumpled under the weight of Steve's wants and desires, left to be unfulfilled; he may have been bought materialistically by his parents, but the love he's craved is just that—a craving.

These petals are the by-product of an empty home. Of friendships created from what he had, not what he could offer. And shallow hookups where he sought out heat and touch like a wild animal ready to curl into its death, into the soft bed of the universe.

Steve squishes the petals. He wipes his lips with the back of his hand. And he continues on with his day.

Goes to work. Hides evidence in toilet paper wads. Eats a candy bar from the rack to cover up the floral scent on his tongue. Cowers in the backroom when Eddie parks his van, tries to come in and talk to him. And then he goes home—unfulfilled.

By the time he's back in bed, there are enough petals to create a full rose.

He wonders how long he has before he could create a bouquet.

No way in hell is he talking to Eddie about all this. They may be friends, but it may just be out of reluctance. They may be friends, but it may just be on Steve's end. They may be friends, but Eddie still has his grudges. And Steve?

Steve is one of those grudges.

He sleeps on his side that night, just to make sure he can breathe. When he wakes up half way through, a stark image of Eddie's pale face in the blue Upside Down, brown eyes bigger than the world, and blood smeared on his cheek, Steve rolls over the side of his bed and hurls another handful of petals—he's dying from this, because that's what Hanahaki does.

It's a beautiful sort of death, he supposes. A stupid one, too. An unnecessary one, he knows that. He can't change it, though. If this is it, then so be it.

Eddie probably hates his guts.

And Steve refuses to let him feel guilty. Chrissy and Patrick had been enough. No reason to add to that. He may not be different than the douchebag in high school, but Eddie had said good and so he'll take that; if this is the last good act he does, he'll just stomach it. He'll just power through like he does. Not the first time he's been nearing death's doorstep. There'll be blood eventually, probably, but for now there isn't.

For now, he's choking.

He loves Eddie and is choking over it.

————— The coughing makes him ache.

Water doesn't help his sore throat. Hot baths prove to be fruitless when trying to soothe himself. And the odd tickle effect intensifies if he even spends a moment, a single second, to spot a thought over Eddie.

When he faced the great evils of the Upside Down, he was afraid, but willing. If it had to be him that was mauled, beaten, drained, then he took it. He was the brute in a lot of ways. A hero's sacrifice, that's what he deemed it. Though, in retrospect, would anybody call him a hero for the way he acted—was it just stupidity rearing its ugly head, was it just the after thought of an after thought, the last call to arms when the other plans dwindled down to shadows and bones? He took the swings and he cried out in pain and he whittled himself to the sluggish pour of blood; but was it him being the good guy, or simply the okay guy that sought out forgiveness from his surroundings?

He's apologized time and time and time again. It started with Nancy. Then, the camera he bought for Jonathan. The snippy comments turned into apologetic pouts when Dustin didn't laugh, or Max didn't smile, or Hopper began to cast this look of 'I know what you've done before.' If he laughed a little too hard at one of Robin's laments, he squished up his face and choked on his breath and shout out a sorry before the anger could paint her freckles red.

Steve's looked Eddie dead in the eyes and said, "I'm sorry for who I was before," but it didn't seem to be enough. There's this gaze that Eddie calls upon. Something stuck between regret and rage; an offense when his lips won't form the words, when his fists won't throw the punches, when he doesn't want to leave the room with a huff. Like he's contemplating something tumultuous and mad.

He would've died for Eddie.

Not like this, though. He doesn't want to die like this.

He doesn't want to die at all.

Robin's laughter echoes light in the shadows of his house. And Dustin's theories run him ragged, yet satisfied—like a run around a track would, breathless and tired. Nancy finally looks at him sweetly. And Max is just beginning to smile with all her teeth again.

None of this, he doesn't want to miss any of this yet. He needs a better job. To share an apartment with Robin even though it would drive him crazy. Needs to make pancakes only to eat them in his bed and spill syrup on his pillows and throw a tiny fit of rage. Read upside down, hanging sideways from the arm of his couch, the words swimming in a way that will never make sense, all with the flicker of candlelight thrown over his slow to redden face. To adopt a dog that gets impatient when needing to pee before being fully trained, a dog that'll wiggle when waiting for dinner, a dog that'll bend around his body and star-sprawl across his mattress—leaving him to the floor or the couch or nothing at all.

There's always something that he wants and can't quite have.

He thinks of them between petals.

Cough. To attend Erica's graduation. Cough. To watch Robin fall in love. Cough. To officiate Dustin's wedding. Cough. To drink ice cold weak lemonade just because Jonathan made it when stoned. Cough. To see Eddie happy. Coughcoughcoughcoughcoughcough—

A thorn spills out and splits his lip.

There's blood coating the damned thing. Blood on his palms. On his chin. Between his teeth.

Is loving Eddie worth dying over?

If he answers himself with no, would that make him a worse person?

If Eddie found out the answer, would Steve crumple at the reaction?

Is loving Eddie worth dying over? He thinks he'll die no matter what.

There's a thorn on his love line. Metallic under his tongue. When he finds the strength to dial Robin and she answers, all he does is sob.

————— "Steve," she whispers, horrified, at his hands.

When Robin talks low, her voice crackles around the edges. Like a dying wick in a candle. She smells like one, of wet earth and freshly tumbled linen. And her eyes do this odd thing, sparkling as if they're shaken up and ready to burst. Her gaze finds his and her own hands float over his petal-full palms.

She won't touch him.

It makes him wheeze.

"How long?" Robin then asks.

"Two weeks," Steve answers quieter than she had spoken—like a tepid kettle inside during a thunderstorm. "After...after I came home from Hellfire's meeting at the Wheeler's."

Her fingers wrap hesitantly around his wrists. That's odd, he notes, she's usually colder. Doesn't know what to do with that.

But she seems to. Asking all the right questions. "Nancy?"

He shakes his head.

"Is it...was it Jonathan?"

Steve scrunches his nose, shakes his head, whimpers around his next breath because—

"It's Eddie," Robin concludes, "you're doing this over Eddie."

When he coughs and can't spit into his palms, they watch the petals and thorns spray from his mouth, as if they're shrapnel in an explosion. He's not sure what that makes him. His heart the grenade? Or his body the casing? There's a fresh glob of his pink blood-mixed spit across her cheek, she reaches up and wipes it away gently. Savoring it almost. Rubs it between her right thumb and index finger. And then she sighs.

"What do I do, Robs?" he manages to croak.

She swallows hard as if she's digesting his soon-to-be-buds. "I don't know," Robin admits. "It's either you confess or"—

"Won't I die if he rejects me?"

"It's possible." Which, in Robin talk, when she's trying to not ignite the whole room in panic, means yes.

He doesn't like it when she lies to him. Makes him squirm, sour inside. If there's anything he's learned from his parents, or at least because of his parents, it's that lying is on the basis of distrust. And if he's made her not trust him, then maybe he hasn't changed at all.

Which means that he's going to—

"I don't want to die," he murmurs—the words are knives against his lips, each invisible straight line cutting against his flesh. His fingers scrunch around the petals still in his palms, brittle they are, yet stained with him. There's heat in his face, a sharp stabbing betrayal between his eyes, and the first tear rolls before he can do anything about it. "Robs," he squeaks, "I'm not ready. It's not...it's not fair, I'm not ready."

When she cups his head, presses it against her stomach, and simply brushes his hair without words, it only makes him weep harder.

The thing about his friendship with Robin, is that they're able to figure pretty much anything. They'll bicker over movies until one concedes. At times, when her words are faster than her brain, he always finds a way to bring her back from the clouds, put the world as it is out for her. A rude customer means an even ruder comment. And that's just the foundations. Since Scoops, that's what they've been. Best friends that have each other's backs.

Robin's incredibly intelligent. She doesn't believe him when he says that, but it's true. In his personal opinion, her intelligence is a fact of life. The sky is blue, grass is green, and she is fucking smart. She'll put the logistics into Nancy's whirlwind action-packed plans. She knows how to bring a bully down to protect those around her. She just gets it.

This can't be solved between them.

"Let's make you a doctor's appointment, okay?" she finally suggests. "They'll know what to do. Where to go from here. Okay, Stevie? Maybe they can calm the symptoms, prolong your time. Give you the time to charm Eddie's socks right off. He'll have no choice but to"—

"I'm not gonna trap him," Steve says, "but I'll see a doctor. Get a couple more weeks."

She strokes her hands through his hair. Her fingernails are freshly cut, dull against his scalp. "You shouldn't have to leave me yet."

He sniffles. "I shouldn't have fallen in love with somebody who clearly doesn't want me."

Her fingertips press firmly into his soft skin. "You don't know that, Steve."

"No," he sighs, "I guess I don't."

She says nothing to that. He’s unsure whether it’s in agreement or some new wave of disapproval. Whatever it is makes her hold him tighter. As if, maybe, she could squeeze the oncoming roses right out of him—make him look like the dilapidated home of a weeping widow, his insides spattered as brittle, solemn condolences from a memorial only strangers came to; as if he’s an overstuffed teddy bear, practically spilling at the seams with love.

He is, so it’s not a metaphor, but why won’t anybody take what’s extra?

Would the rose petals be pressed and turned into keepsakes?

Oh, Steve? Yeah, I wish he were here. He is, I guess, wrapped around my neck. Like a beating heart on a string, he thinks Robin would say something poetic like that in a passing conversation. He’d be one of those stale conversation starters. A small talk that people flip over for days after, cursing themselves for commenting about his hair rather than his eyes, or for his laugh instead of his words, or the thin gap between his front teeth over a complete regime of his exact style memorialized.

If they all gather in his honor, who puts together his obituary? Who’d be included in it? Steve Harrington, survived by his parents—they aren't cruel friends—Steve Harrington, survived by his friends—obituaries don't write home about friends, only lovers and estranged second cousins and spiteful parents who have curled lips and furrowed brows. Obituaries are for bragging. Steve Harrington, once shot a three pointer from half-court during a non-championship game. Obituaries are for lying to the world to make a person look better. Steve Harrington, loved by all.

The flowers—is it distasteful to blossom flowers at a Hanahaki victim's funeral? Would his casket be open? His face, would it be discolored purple from the petals, would he be marbled green like the dead, would the mortuary paint him pale as if caught in the moonlight? The clothes picked, a starchy suit he wore consistently to funerals, is it in bad taste to use mourner's clothes that had already absorbed the mourning?

Would his parents go cold and numb over his death? Would they flame with rage? Would they fight and fight and fight and demand and demand and demand for a cure to be found? Would the cure be invasive? Would the cure be slow simmering? Who else dies from this? Are they just like him? The petals now mirrors?

Is he overthinking this?

Would they just cremate him? Where would they spread him?

Would Robin go crazy with grief, eat him like dry cereal out of his urn? Would Dustin cradle him and weep? Would somebody finally speak up, "Good riddance," would they be so cruel?

Is he overthinking this?

I'm being realistic, he thinks, death is a permanent state.

Will they remember me, he asks, am I loved enough for that?

I don't feel like it, I don't feel like it, I don't feel like it, I don't want to feel like this, I don't want this, I don't want this, I don't want to—

"You're not going to die," he distantly hears Robin say, firmly, too, "I'll make sure."

"You can't," Steve chokes out, warbling and wet, sobbing, "you can't know"—

"I've seen Hell," she husks, "there has to be a way out of this. There just has to."

Denial, he questions, isn't that just the first stage of grief?

🥀————————🥀 Taglist is Open!

[okjii]

my favorite thing about andreil is that they spent the first two books observing each other like strange bugs in a lab going "mmm how peculiar" at each others every move only to come to the conclusion "wow this dudes 100% not all there. i should be gay about it" and then they are and its the healthiest thing you've ever seen

[zan0tix]

ALPHA KIDS: Draw your best friends!

DIRK: I'd say I'm better at one on one character interaction work of the more intimate variety, but I think this piece came together nicely. DIRK: Fun for the whole family style wholesomeness, any motherfucker in the radius of a screen displaying this image will instantly get hit with a sore case of heartburn and their tear ducts will clock in overtime at the weeping factory.

ROXY: im so proud of these i think these are my best designs yet :3 but omg dirk callie and jake were SOOO peculiar about their damn designs over my shoulder. jake wanted me to clarify that even in pink pen form his little guy is BLUE. so there. sigh this is the one occasion they could take notes from janey.. JUST LET LE ARTIST WORK!

JANE: Boy! I don't draw often but I always was fond of calligraphy growing up. I was kind of inspired by all of the other's works, but especially Calliope's swirls she puts in her art. It's very fun to add!

JAKE: Im not quite the best with posing, but i find the head very fun to study! Especially skulls.. so good ole calliope makes for the perfect muse! (hehe)

CALLIOPE: i realized i hadn't ever made a piece with Us in the same place at once. u_u CALLIOPE: bUt since it's reality now here's all of Us together, United at last! ^u^

==->

[marciaillust]

trapped in amber

[popfizzles]

sorry i've been so stupid thinking about the idea of this guy. just a slightly more experienced succubus who wants to teach rue how to do demon things but rue ends up teaching them things instead :)

haven't settled on a color scheme i like yet unfortunately

and im still bouncing around some names for them !!!

Thinking either Raven (short for Ravenous), or Gannet (slang for glutton/greedy).

[casualavocados]

How's that possible? Since when did you start eating spicy food? I told you I'd do it for real next time. ...Don't touch me, or—I'll kill you!

KISEKI: DEAR TO ME Ep. 12

[dewwshi]

i liked the sparring scene from the start of siege of darkness a normal amount

[silverwhittlingknife]

hi Silver! o/ because that fanart made me wonder - would you happen to know when/where Dick's stuffed elephant plush Zitka turns up in the comics?

GREETINGS CAM <3333 THAT ART WAS SO CUTE

Yeah, I think your instincts are right - it's a truly adorable bit of transformative fandom, but I'm 95% percent sure it's not comics canon. Barbara has canon plushies, but I don't think anyone else does.

I got kinda invested in the investigation (it's hard to prove a negative!) and I ended up typing out an entire History of Elinore/Zitka, so, uh, if you're curious, meet me below the cut for:

Where does Elinore / Zitka - the animal - appear in comics?

Did Dick ever have a stuffed elephant toy in comics?

Where does Elinore / Zitka appear in comics?

We're gonna go in chronological order!

Dick's circus elephant friend was first created for practical reasons: in Batman 436, Marv Wolfman does a big expanded flashback to Dick's circus backstory as a way to subtly show us Tim before officially introducing him (so that we can have a technically-solvable mystery-of-Tim's-identity in LPoD). In this comic, there's an elephant named Elinore who loves Dick:

Aww. Such a cute elephant!

Batman 436 comes out in August 1989. New Titans 60 comes out a few months later, in November, and guess what? When Dick visits the circus, he is suddenly surprised by an unexpected blast from the past! It turns out that even though it's been years, Elinore still remembers him!

Here's the part where Elinore remembers Dick:

SUCH a cute elephant. I love her.

(Guess who else still remembers Dick even though it was so long ago. Guess which other character is about to be an unexpected blast from the past. Guess which character Elinore is directly paralleling guess guess guess sorry everything is about Dick and Tim in my mind but I can focus I swear)

Four years later, in 1993, Batman: The Animated Series retells Dick's origin story. They like and keep Wolfman's elephant, but they change her name to Zitka:

Wolfman doesn't return to the elephant beyond those two appearances, and a few years down the line, New Titans gets cancelled and Wolfman's not writing Dick anymore anyway. So the animal gets abandoned for a while, until Devin Grayson, a fan of both Wolfman and B:tAS, revives the Wolfman-era Titans team in JLA/Titans and then the ongoing series Titans 1999.

Grayson then brings back the elephant in a flashback to Dick's past in Titans 16 (Jun 2000), where she imports the B:tAS name. Sometimes I'm skeptical of TV-to-comics imports, but honestly, I endorse this one. You lose the alliteration, which is a shame, but IMO Zitka is a better elephant name than Elinore.

Here's Dick with the newly-christened Zitka in Titans 16:

Grayson also briefly references the elephant in Gotham Knights 20 and - in a final angsty callback - in Nightwing 88 (Feb 2004), where Zitka tries futilely to comfort Dick in the midst of his trauma conga line:

... And... honestly, I think that's it for comic appearances? The two Wolfman comics plus the three Grayson comics.

Both Wolfman and Grayson are writing multiple titles - Batman, New Titans, Titans, Gotham Knights, and Nightwing between the two of them, spanning a big chunk of Dick's post-Crisis canon - and both writers use the elephant for heartwarming moments of nostalgia, which means if you're doing a post-Crisis readthrough for Dick, Elinore/Zitka feels memorable. But I don't think she actually shows up that much.

For post-2011, I am not as well-informed - throwing this out to the dash? anyone know? - but I feel like Zitka the heartwarming symbol of Dick's heartwarming circus past is, uh, thematically very at odds with the Court of Owls evil!circus vibes, so my instinct is that this story element was almost certainly dropped in the reboot.

Did Dick ever have a stuffed elephant toy in comics?

In WFA, yes; in main comics continuity, no. Technically, I have not read every comic ever published, so I could be wrong!! But I don't think so.

Below, find my rambling reasoning on the tonal vibes of pre-Crisis, post-Crisis, and post-2011, and why this particular story element doesn't seem right to me for the first two.

Pre-Crisis (...okay, mostly the Silver Age): stuffed animal, yes or no?

tl;dr no, requires too much background knowledge on the part of the reader, plus the elephant wasn't a thing until later

Elinore doesn't get created until post-Crisis, but also just generally, pre-Crisis callbacks are more along the lines of this reference in Batman 129 (published in 1960), where, wow, Batman and Robin are hunting jewel thieves - and it turns out Robin recognized this strongman! BUT HOW?!

The comic goes on to recap Dick's entire origin story in flashback, on the assumption that you may not know it.

(BTW, if you'd like to know more about Haly's Circus throughout the years, nightwingology has a great post here summarizing a lot of fun plotlines and characters!)

Basically: Silver Age comics are very self-consciously episodic and kid-friendly; they're not generally gonna do overly-elaborate callbacks because they don't know what comics their kid readers may have randomly picked up or remember.

By the time of post-Crisis, comic books were being written for an adult audience buying from the direct market, i.e. readers who are collecting whole runs & don't need or want Dick's origin story to be recapped to us in full every time it's referenced. That's why in post-Crisis, we get stuff like "hey, neat, this particular soda brand is getting mentioned in several different books!!" or "in order to understand this story arc, buy SIXTEEN DIFFERENT COMICS in FIVE DIFFERENT RUNS and read them ALL ACCORDING TO A NUMBERED ORDER and also you better be following the individual plotlines and recognize these five minor characters who we don't bother to introduce!! Good luck!!" But the elaborate post-Crisis plotlines - and subtler worldbuilding like a stuffed animal callback to Dick's backstory - don't make a lot of story sense UNLESS you're imagining your readers as completionist adult fans.

So IMO a stuffed animal wouldn't be a pre-Crisis thing unless it was The Episodic Story Of the Week, and I don't think a stuffed animal is action-adventure-y enough for the fast-paced storytelling of the Silver Age. (Unless it, like, came to life and tried to eat you or something.)

Post-Crisis: stuffed animals, yes or no?

tl;dr: no, Dick's a manly tough guy, he's not gonna have a stuffed animal, that'd be lame, like something Tim might do

Part of the edgy grimdark adult vibes in 80s/90s comics is that some characters who used to be kinda silly & goofy & lighthearted - like Batman and Robin - get reimagined as Serious and Angsty and Edgy in a Tough Cool Manly Brooding Way. This massively affects characterization for Bruce, Dick, and Bruce and Dick's relationship.

(I obviously love this change & love the tense Bruce-and-Dick interactions, but plenty of fans of the earlier fluffy comics really disliked the edgy retcons of Miller / Wolfman / Starlin / et al.)

The upshot is that post-Crisis is a period when you could have a recurring reference like a stuffed elephant, but you wouldn't have a stuffed elephant, not for Dick. I think a toy like that would be too cutesy / childish / effeminate to give a male character in post-Crisis, unless you were poking fun at him.

Now, you could probably let Tim have a stuffed animal, because Tim is sometimes cool but also sometimes a tryhard loser who is faking being cool and not entirely pulling it off (see e.g. the Robin comic where he practices tough-guy faces in the mirror, or the Teen Titans comic where Conner discovers his cringy Enya CD, or when he's fanboying over Connor and it's awkward, etc etc.). A stuffed animal would be deeply embarrassing, and you'd have to be careful to compensate by having Tim do something cool afterward - but Tim's character concept allows for "he's kind of a loser sometimes."

But Dick isn't!! In post-Crisis, Dick's a tough / impressive / "cool guy" character, the kind of guy anyone would want to be, even in the flashbacks where he's Robin, and even in the stories where he's more lighthearted than angsty. It'd be kinda lame for Dick to have a stuffed elephant, so he wouldn't. I feel like Dick would be more likely to poke fun at it if someone had one, like when he's making fun of Wally for liking the Hardy Boys. Dick could have a Batman action figure, at most, and if he had one he would have it ironically.

Basically: in post-Crisis, a male character hugging a stuffed elephant feels more likely to be a punchline to me, not something poignant. (Even with Tim, Tim could have an embarrassing stuffed animal, but he couldn't hug it when sad - that's too far. Maybe Booster Gold might do this. Probably he wouldn't, but spiritually, he would. Sorry Booster ilu! <3)

Instead, Dick instinctively deals with his inner turmoil like the TORTURED ACTION HERO he is: by punching things and brooding and yelling and joining the mob and sleeping on rooftops and going on obsessive secret missions and acquiring Angsty Stubble!! Just like Batman!

(Technically I don't know if Bruce ever joined the mob but you know he would.)

Anyway as you know this is my favorite continuity and I am poking fun affectionately, but uh, yeah sdfsfdsfs. No stuffed animals.

Post-2011 / Infinite Frontier / Wayne Family Adventures: stuffed animals, yes or no?

tl;dr it's in WFA! Probably not anywhere else, but it could be.

Post-2011 stuff tends to be cutesier overall, most of all in the current Infinite Frontier era. So I don't feel like this would be tonally out-of-line with IF comics. Taylor tends to go for more meme-y references rather than fanfic references, though.

So the obvious best fit is WFA, which is aiming for a rough approximation of Silver Age family-friendly vibes - wholesome, episodic plots, Teaching Good Moral Lessons For The Youth, etc. - plus lots of Easter eggs for fanfic readers and some comic references.

And look, here we are:

Aww.

Whew - that's everything I could find!

Anyway as you can probably tell, I LOVE the elephant, so this was a very entertaining rabbit hole to go down, thank you <3

[frosting-surfeit]

Okay but zim and dib would NEVER go to prom willingly

The poor things would probably be forced to attend by their school tho wouldn't they