#<- kind of. not really :V

[a-physical-avatar-of-scribbles]

this one goes out to me taking so long in layer 3 that all the starlings just. Left. like they all just disappeared. i was still paranoid the whole time but it made it easier i guess??

[foreverephemeral]

my not-quite-Iterator, not-quite-not-an-Iterator, Correlated Obliteration. a parasite created by actually-an-Iterator Crystalline Oscillation to help them with their work, who also unknowingly allowed it to usurp their body whole

they added mystery flesh pit national park to rain world man what the hell

[eelektroenthusiast]

☆☆☆

Here's the sketch + closeups!☆

+ silly lil bonus doodle! (done in like 3 min)

[ulteri0rm0tives]

It's actually so heartbreaking that in the temperance ending Johnny just.. leaves. Gets all these calls, maybe even texts, from people who don't know the extent of what happened. Who are accusing him, that are mad at him. Especially in the frame of reference that this was V's last wish. That it was V who gave the body up. That it was V who wanted this, wanted to save Johnny, Johnny essentially powerless to stop them ('just scared for ya').

And the thing is.. Johnny just lets everyone. Lets them make their own conclusions, lets them be mad at him. Lets them blame him. Lets them think, that after the love of his life the person who's ever wholly understood or cared about him the most like no other ever could had 'died', that it's his fault, that he could do that to them... Or just lets them think the worst of V as their final lasting impression or mark on this world. Doesn't try to defend himself nor V. He just leaves. Just takes it.

And you would think. You would think the one he would at least tell is Kerry. That the one to actually understand the most would be Kerry. I don't think any of the other love interests could get the whole engram situation like him, they don't have that personal history or connection to the code on the relic like he did after all. Kerry knew Johnny. Enough at least. But Johnny doesn't tell him, and Kerry just thinks V ghosted off on him and Johnny just lets him think that. And it just makes you wonder.. why would Johnny do that? Why would he do any of this?

[else-v]

unfortunate evolution

[cowboyemeritus]

i do love how we're collectively characterizing perpetua (for the time being) as the quiet type BUT i think he should make up for it by being an avid sexter

You've just barely dozed off when your phone pings. You recognize Perpetua's text tone and perk up immediately, reaching for the device on your night stand. The screen comes on, washing you in blinding light, and you grimace. That's not going to disrupt your sleep cycle at all. Definitely not.

Hope you're not asleep yet.

You smile to yourself. It's a little more eloquent than a "u up?," but you know the intent is the same.

i was close

i'd much rather be talking to you tho

The blood is pumping now. No way you're falling asleep any time soon.

You flatter me, darling.

Already, your room feels stiflingly hot. You kick off your comforter, putting your next attack into motion.

figured i could stroke your ego in lieu of something else ;)

He starts typing, stops for a moment, and then starts again.

Straight to the point.

I like that about you.

You roll onto your stomach, kicking your feet. He's so reserved in person, so it's exciting, exotic, when he gets like this.

oh yeah? what else do you like about me?

What is he doing right now? Is he in bed, like you? Maybe he's fresh out of the shower, stripped of his mask and paints, clad in nothing but a towel. Maybe he's completely naked. The thought makes your mouth water.

Definitely your humility.

You chuckle, rolling your eyes.

That beautiful body is a close second, though.

Heat rises to your cheeks. You twist your legs together, the slight pressure sending a tremor down your spine. Wetness is gathering at your center already.

i've been told i've got some nice ankles

You couldn't resist. It brings you joy, pushing his buttons like this.

You think you're so funny.

i'm hilarious >:)

You should know better than to tease your new leader.

Ah, so he's pulling rank. You're in for a treat.

what are you gonna do about it, Your Dark Excellence? throw me in the dungeon? sic your ghouls on me?

You would just love that, wouldn't you?

they like to fuck, right?

He spends a prolonged period of time typing, and for a moment you worry you've put him off.

Like the animals they are, but they know you're mine.

It makes your heart throb and your pussy flutter at the same time. A devious idea pops into your brain. You peel off your baggy t-shirt, push your breasts together, and quickly snap a picture. Biting your lip, you press send.

you're right. all this is yours, papa

For a solid minute, there are no signs of life from Perpetua. It fills you with a smug satisfaction, knowing a simple titty pic can affect him so dramatically. He talks a big game, but at the end of the day, he's as weak for you as you are for him.

Just look at what you've done.

You lick your lips when the picture appears on screen. He's got his cock in hand, fully erect and flushed the prettiest shade of pink. The foreskin is completely pulled back, revealing the full bell shape of the tip, a bead of precum, like a pearl, oozing from it. Recalling the taste of him, you clench your thighs together, feeling your heartbeat between them.

fuck it looks so good

i wanna suck you off so bad

With the mental image of those silver claws twisting into your hair, your hand slinks downwards, creeping into your underwear. You quickly find your clit, drawing slow, lazy circles around it. You're in no hurry to finish this, not when it's just getting good.

You would do anything for it.

You've already done a few heinous things for dick, and he knows that.

pretty much

I bet you're fucking soaked just thinking about my cock in your mouth.

Seeing his composure start to slip, you grin, chewing on the inside of your cheek. You eye the time, tempted to take this further. It's fucking late though, already close to midnight, and you need to be up at 6:00 tomorrow morning.

The temptation is too great. Fuck work.

you know

i'm just down the hall

you could come find out

There's a pause. He's considering it. You hold your breath when it shows that he's typing again.

Be there in 5.

[instarsanddyke]

[soggedupfrog]

Dancestor lineup commissioned by the lovley @coolmc222 ! Everyone thank them for commissioning this big piece!!

Never thought super hard about the dancestors before but now I have, hope yall like the designs I ended up with!! :3

[s0fter-sin]

one of my favourite aspects of supernatural that you very rarely see in paranormal shows is that sam and dean are already versed in the world they live in. there’s no sudden discovery of ghosts and demons and now they have to learn about them along with the audience; they are born into it and already know all about it. it allows the audience to follow their personal story instead of also trying to figure out this new world and its rules

the first season is full of knowledge we never see them learn; “w*ndigoes are in the minnesota woods or- or northern michigan. i’ve never even heard of one this far west.” […] “great. well then this [his gun] is useless.” (1x02), “you don’t break a curse. you get the hell out of its way.” (1x08), d: “it’s a god. a pagan god, anyway.” […] “the annual cycle of its killings? and the fact that the victims are always a man and a woman. like some kind of fertility right.” […] s: “the last meal. given to sacrificial victims. d: “yeah, i’m thinking a ritual sacrifice to appease some pagan god.” (1x11)

almost every episode in the first season is a monster they’ve faced before that they then explain to the audience in a way that should feel patronising; like it’s the same speech given over and over again but instead, the audience almost feels included in the knowledge. it’s stated with such an innate confidence and comfort in said knowledge that it feels like we already knew it too; “spirits and demons don't have to unlock doors. if they want inside, they just go through the walls.” […] “the claws, the speed that it moves; could be a skinwalker, maybe a black dog.” (1x02), “it's biblical numerology. you know noah's ark, it rained for forty days. the number means death.” (1x04), “no no no, not the reaper, a reaper. there's reaper lore in pretty much every culture on earth, it goes by 100 different names.” […] “you said it yourself that the clock stopped, right? reapers stop time. and you can only see 'em when they're coming at you which is why i could see it and you couldn't.” (1x12)

they already know and, at least in the first season, already have what they need to kill whatever they’re hunting; already know to salt and burn bones for spirits, fire for a w*ndigo, exorcisms for demons, a silver bullet to the heart for shapeshifters. there’s only three times in the entire first season that they run into something new to them; 1x14 when sam gets his first vision that leads him to another psychic, 1x16 when dean calls caleb for help on the sigil he put together and he tells him about daevas, and 1x20 when they find out vampires are real- and they only don’t know that bc john thought they were hunted to extinction and not worth mentioning

(there’s also technically two half instances if you count one of them knowing something the other doesn’t - sam figuring out the tulpa in 1x17 and dean already knowing about the shtriga in 1x18 - but those still rely on sam and dean having prior knowledge)

even when they’re uncertain about facing something, it’s not bc they don’t know what it is; it’s precisely bc they know what it is and acknowledge that it’ll be a difficult hunt (“i don't know, man. this isn't our normal gig. i mean, demons, they don't want anything, just death and destruction for its own sake. this is big. and i wish dad was here.” 1x04)

so much of the tension in paranormal shows typically comes from the main character(s) not knowing what is happening to them/the people around them and having to find out how to resolve it. supernatural is unique in that it operates more like a police procedural. the tension comes from solving the clues and identifying patterns to figure out who (what) the killer is and intercepting before they can take another victim

it’s such a different tone to go for when compared to other shows that came both before, during, and after its run. it sets sam and dean on even footing with each other since they both have the same knowledge going in, and it puts them in a place of authority usually reserved for an outside character

the shows i compare spn to most is charmed, buffy and teen wolf; every main character in those shows are brought into the paranormal world knowing nothing, putting them on the same level as the audience, and they have their mc interact with others already knowledgeable about that world in order to overcome their problem/monster of the week. the audience organically learns about this new world as the characters learn about it. it’s a sound writing strategy that prevents “as we already know”-style exposition but something that complicates it is if your world building isn’t unique or intriguing enough, this slow introduction can become boring

we’ve seen shows like these before; sitting through the same tropes of characters learning to use their powers, struggling with no longer feeling normal/relating to the regular world around them, and not knowing how much they can trust the people already involved in this new world gets repetitive. all three shows eventually reach the same level of comfort with their new world that spn starts with but if the characters aren’t enough to draw you in, you can end up dropping it before they reach that point (and often, before the overarching plot can really kick in and evolve the show beyond the villain of the week format)

it’s the superhero origin movie in tv format; dragged out and overplayed. dropping the audience into an established world of course comes with its own problems but you also have the benefit of pre-existing established character dynamics that let the audience slot in like they’ve always been there instead of just getting to know all the characters while the characters also get to know each other

sam and dean already knowing about the supernatural lets the audience immediately get to the core of the story; the conflict between sam and dean, the search for their father, and the mystery of what killed their mother

[satsuha]

read right to left... a story about fire

[gaydexvocaloid]

SOO MJCH LOVE WAS PUT INTO THIS ONE I RLLY HOPE YOU GUYS ENJOY IT <3333

[hitlikehammers]

Rockstar!Eddie Comes Back to the Love He Left Behind in Hawkins 🎸to Hold SO TIGHT to His Dream (✨Steve✨, of course) Forever and For Always This Time ❤️‍🩹💕

“My sunshine,” Eddie whispers, pressing a thumb at the notch between those sharp-stunning clavicles, into the pulse, the heavy swallow, the life right there: exceptional. “You have my heart, so anything I put my heart into, anywhere at all, is filled with you. It’s you, Stevie,” Eddie’s voice breaks, eyes stinging again as he leans down, replaces his thumb with his lips—breathes into the beat: “Always you.”

rating: m♥️ back in steve’s bed still in steve’s bed after eddie declares his undying love and stuff 🛌 pure and unadulterated fluff✨ potentially harmful amounts of softness. like basking-in-the-afterglow levels of schmoop here 💕 eddie’s maybe astounded that it’s all turned somehow out this good and this right after convincing himself he’d never have it; eddie also might slightly underestimate just how in this beat-for-beat 💞 (he didn’t think he’d get ANY OF THIS, he is forgiven for misreading that part in his overarching blindness)❤️‍🩹 steve is alongside him 💓 sometimes it’s nice to be surprised that way ♥️ making plans for a future that include them both as it always should have and honestly basically did all along. they’re just each other’s dream inside every dream after all✨

sequel to dreams within our dreams (tumblr // ao3) for @steddielovemonth Day Six: "Just in case you ever foolishly forget, I'm never not thinking of you." —Virginia Woolf

this is a standalone in its universe, but also very much a sequel to it ♥️

It’s kind of strange, in the marveling sort of way.

It’s not make-up sex, because they never properly ‘broke-up’. They never yelled, or fought—and that was likely the core of the real problem.

They should have fought.

Eddie knew what they had was once-in-lifetime. Eddie knew he’d never not just recover from losing it, but he’d never even bother looking for a passable substitute when nothing could ever compare. He should have fought, back then, for the better part of his heart.

So it’s not make-up sex, per se, in the strictest sense. And to call it a reunion would probably not be the most accurate either, given how Eddie’s a frequent flyer on every available airline for how he’s spent more than half of the not-as-impressive-as-he’d-daydreamed paycheck he gets on tickets back to here. Back to Steve. As often as he can.

Back to his home.

He was never naive about what he more than wanted; what he needed to breathe. He was just…he was so convinced, you know? Even as they inched toward the shallow end of fame, Eddie knew being worthy of Steve Harrington was never about that; and was something forever out of his reach, so—when they cut an album and sent it into the world? There was pride, and he felt happy for moments in it all, and still Eddie knew the entire time: it would never, could never, fill the hole in him.

It would never mean he could go back to Steve the next time and be enough to change how it’d shaken out—and because he’s selfish, he was always going to go back, and hope Steve kept being fond enough in the nostalgia, at least, or else that he kept building up sufficient pity, to take Eddie in and top him up for a little longer with the elixir he lived from, lived for, that he found in Steve’s skin against his—but no amount of success on the outside would mean that anything Eddie had to offer, or that he was, to beoffered, would mean he deserved to have Steve with him always—foralways.

It was never going to be that; and knowing as much was the only reason he’d been able to pull away and drive off in the first place, to keep a foot on the gas despite the way he was dying by half-breaths with every mile. The way the biggest part of him never really stopped that withering. Not wholly.

And that’s it, he thinks. Like: Eddie guesses all he can really say is that, for as perfectly fucking transcendent as coming back to Steve always is—as they’ve learned each other more and more across these barely-a-handful of years that stretched lifetimes in Eddie’s chest, cracked his ribs with every breath he took at all—as much as coming back to Steve was always a revelation, the only thing that kept him sane at all: that part of him that never stopped dying, bit by bit? It sat and watched and waited while the sweat dried and the lungs calmed and it maybe held itself in stasis while Eddie relished the heat, the flawless fit of Steve inside of him, but after?

It always just kept dying.

And that’s where the moment, the now is wholly, gorgeously, impossibly, miraculously different.

Because Eddie may just be staring at this man beside him, watching him breathe, watching him exist like the gift it fucking is while Steve gently traces Eddie’s scars without having to look, like he knows them. Like he bothered to remember down to that detail, like a sunrise under Eddie’s ribs as they both luxuriate a little in the warm musk settling after making the thing they’ve been doing forever, somehow still for the first time:

Love. They made love, and Eddie’s heart still hasn’t calmed from the high.

In honesty, like, strike-him-dead honesty: fuck, but Eddie can barely breathe with it; ending up here after everything. Through…everything.

Because it wasn’t just Steve who kept dreams inside his dreams—or maybe, more that he found the real dream he knew lived side-by-side with the other, where only one was actually even potentially attainable. And the other was heartbreakingly beyond even…even hoping for, let alone trying for.

So maybe it’s more…there was that possible-dream he placed just so, front and center and angled just right, to hide his deepest, truest dream.

The one next to him in bed, with a curve to his lips that Eddie’s never seen before: so weightless. So free.

It trips in Eddie’s pulse, just to witness.

The dream within his dream, held safe and secret and aching behind other lesser wants, eating away at him, death by a million heartbeats wasted too far from this body, this single soul in the whole goddamn world. The need inside the bloody mess of Eddie’s heart, the thing lives there, that keeps the shape of it to work at all. The whole of this center-cannot-hold reality that was always his truth, always what made and built who he’d become, that filled all his lines in and gave him all his color; always this.

Always Steve.

For all the times Eddie told himself no, told himself to walk, to swallow, to find a way to breathe, to leave no matter how his own legs fought him because he wasn’t enough, not for a man who deserved all things; a man who Eddie couldn’t even give some things to, in the sphere of what he desired most—the house, the kids, the kind of peace and calm Steve goddamn Harrington had more than earned, and had always deserved beyond question: that was so far from everything Eddie could work to be half of at best, even if he tried with every breath up to his last.

And he would, he would have tried with everything in him if he believed he could have so much as scraped the surface of the things that made up Steve’s dreams, that filled Steve’s heart—and Eddie had never believed he’d change himself for someone else that way. Never even processed the possibility that he could know a love so deep that he’d want to.

That he’d not only ache, but damn well collapse inward on himself for facing the sheer fact that he couldn’t. He couldn’t be that, he’d never be that.

He was so sure.

But then: here he is.

Here he is: and Steve’s heartbeat is a sure-steady thing, a perfect entity in a world almost too flawed for it to be real—save that it is.

This is real.

Eddie’s own heart pounds a little heavier, headier, just for thinking those words.

And Steve’s fingers are running through Eddie’s hair, never catching, never fighting with the strands, just following the twirl of each curl like a maze, or a map—but one he knows.

One only he has always known.

Eddie’s been a goddamn fool. Eddie’s the luckiest motherfucker who’s ever lived.

“You’re the whole thing,” Eddie breathes out now, the marvel of those truths settling deep in his blood, coursing heavy and wild through him head to toe, singing out his whole fucking life as he reaches, cups Steve’s face in his hands; “you’re all of it, you know that?”

Steve leans into Eddie’s palm when he tips his head, furrows his brows a little, all-askance.

Eddie’s heart trips—this man is so precious; so exquisite.

“My dream. Everything I dream of, have dreamt of or wished for since I met you, since I really met you,” Eddie whispers, his voice low because like he said: this man is precious. This moment feels sacred. He’s going to tread reverently, while his heart’s flayed bare, here. Not even for the sake of protection—more so that Steve can look, and reach and test whatever he might need to, to be sure. Eddie means this more than he’s ever meant anything, and he’s laid bare now before the man he loves not to prove it, as much as to offer it—clear where he’d always thought he had to hide—and fucking…hope.

Then again: with Steve?

He’s always laid bare, offered whole, heart and soul and self entire: with Steve. That’s…that’s kind of the point.

And they missed it. All this time, they missed it.

No more.

“You’re at the heart of it, everything I thought was fully-formed before you, it all fits so much better, like it’s meant to, it’s all so much brighter with you at the center,” and if Eddie keeps Steve’s cheek cradled in one palm, he traces Steve’s collarbone with the other, slow enough that he can feel the heartbeat nearby as it raps against his unspeakably grateful, still unworthy hands:

“My sunshine,” Eddie whispers, pressing a thumb at the notch between those sharp-stunning clavicles, into the pulse, the heavy swallow, the life right there: exceptional.

“You have my heart, so anything I put my heart into, anywhere at all, is filled with you. It’s you, Stevie,” Eddie’s voice breaks, eyes stinging again as he leans down, replaces his thumb with his lips—breathes into the beat:

“Always you.”

Because every step he made himself take was—when he looked at it all clearly, now—somehow puzzle-pieced together in his head as being one step he could bring back to Steve, the fool’s-errand that he could ever truly make it back to Steve and be enough—because he was always headed back to Steve, they could tour the world and there’d still be a countdown to when he could see Steve and was allowed to breathe again; but it drove him. The strings under his fingertips were always held against the texture of Steve’s skin. The notes could ring symphonies but they had nothing on Steve; never could. Not Steve’s voice, not Steve’s breaths, or the sounds he made when Eddie fucked him just right, or his soft affections in Eddie’s ear when he sank in and drew noises from Eddie that were for Steve alone.

Only Steve. Always Steve.

And Steve shivers the slightest bit, but Eddie feels how strong that blood moves, beauty in itself, this core manifestation of what Eddie doesn’t just want most.

But what he needs most.

“I play for you,” he breathes there, smiles when the rhythm kicks a little harder, like the words can fill Steve’s heart the way they don’t just fill Eddie’s, but make Eddie’s, down past the cells. “You’re in every track,” he whispers, and fuck is it true: “you make the chords sing.”

As if it ever could have been a coincidence that they found anything like success only after there was Steve, only after Eddie’s heart was spoken for and filled full, broken open under his own fumbling hands, and if there’s any possible way to find any worthy thing inside any of these half-lived years, lived half-apart—because fuck the success, it’s been hollow every moment he couldn’t walk back through the door and know Steve wouldn’t be far away—but if there’s anything worth salvaging in it?

Maybe he can grasp onto loving that strong anyway, through all of it, never once faltering in it and more, never wishing he could, because yes he tried to bury the hurt, run from it—but never did he even consider a world where he wasn’t built up from his DNA, constructed out of a love for Steve, of Steve, with or without Steve but always Steve; his own stupidity, or maybe it was just cowardice: but even that pain wasn’t a match for the unshakable thing he doesn’t just feel, but breathes inside as a rule, for Steve. Made of Steve.

Offered heart-in-hand, to Steve—

Eddie kisses a little trail down into the hair on Steve’s chest, following that flow of life: needs it in this minute. Needs to squeeze his eyes closed and hold there just a second. Let his body soak in how this is real.

This is real.

How is this real—

“I come home to you, always been coming home to you,” he breathes where he can feel Steve’s heart move, and when he blinks a tear falls there and it feels kind of fitting; kind of wholly right in a space inside him where nothing’s been right in years, and he swallows hard around that flash of clear truth as he exhales shaky:

“You are my home.”

And Steve’s inhale is sharp at that, and Eddie goes to kiss his chest again because he can, good god, he fucking can and Steve—

Steve reaches to cradle Eddie for himself, now, palms curved against Eddie’s head, his devotion pressed tight to Steve’s chest, the riotous waves bounding below his mouth and lifting like a kiss in its own right against Eddie’s parted lips.

“I never thought I’d get this, though,” Eddie breathes, barely; thinks maybe the words aren’t even loud enough to hear, and the way Steve presses him closer for it is just because his heart against Eddie’s mouth heard the heart in Eddie’s mouth loud and clear.

“Never, Stevie, I,” and his voice cracks, and Steve’s fingers thread through his hair: comfort; protection. A claim Eddie never thought he’d earn, hasn’t earnedhere but had known in his bones, before, that he had to have lost any chance—to walk from the biggest parts of your heart and soul, and to do it because you knew your better halves couldn’t ever hope to match even a fraction of his lesser halves? No nuggets, no Winnebago, no picket fence, no garden or dinner on the table, even if he’d try, he’d have tried so fucking hard but he’s not made for the kitchen and all that is just the baseline, the simplest minimums of what Steve deserved, and Eddie, all Eddie was, all Eddie had to offer, it’s, he…

But then he’s reminded again, with the massage of that heartbeat on his lips: he is here. They are here.

And…and maybe not even in spite of what Eddie can’t give, or be, like he always thought. Maybe…somehow…

Maybe something else. Maybe even the exact opposite. But no matter the how, or even the why?

He’d been so wrong, and he doesn’t deserve the spoils of it, but god he has never been more grateful to have been a blind fucking fool, to have broke his own heart and maybe the one underneath him too but maybe also not beyond repair, and as far as he can tell, not beyond offering—and more unfathomable still, but also not beyond reclaiming as deep as it’d ever been, the love still there, despite all the bruising, and if it’s there then it’s not even a question of whether it can be nursed back in full, Eddie will do anything—but if everything he thinks he sees, and feels, and knows in these moments now is true?

Holy fuck, Eddie has never been so goddamn grateful to have gotten every part of it this fucking wrong.

Until now. Now, when his own heartbeat is back to pounding again: less steady than Steve’s but not because he’s anything but sure. Overwhelmed—that’s probably more accurate. Overfull. Vibrating and shaking as a single thing, filled with joy and terror in equal counts but a terror that is primarily a joy of its own.

The kind of terror that you feel in the face of something so profound, it freezes you in awe for it.

That dazzling spark that makes a heart anything more than a hunk of meat.

Dreams inside fucking dreams.

Eddie whimpers, pulse tripping as Steve keeps his hands around Eddie’s face, frames it sure but soft, dear.

“Always,” he leans to kiss Eddie’s lips, long and languid and like they have all the time in the world, and could they, this time, do they really, finally?

“You always had it,” and Steve keeps one palm cradled to Eddie’s cheek and Eddie moans a little as he leans into it heavy, needy when Steve draws Eddie’s other hand firm, decisive to the center of his own chest as he whispers, closest thing to a vow Eddie’s ever heard:

“It’s never not been yours.”

And the closest thing to heaven Eddie’s ever felt is Steve’s wholly-offered heartbeat under his hand as Steve breathes those words into his parted lips before kissing him again, more like a claim crossed with a benediction, a marveling sort of gratitude:

“Always you.”

And Eddie basks in that feeling for only a moment before he gives as good as he gets and then some, because Steve will always deserve above, and then beyond—but it feels a little more like they’re less battling with their tongues and more teasing each other open to breathe in one another’s soul—and if that’s what it is, if that’s even possible: Eddie fucking wants it.

“Do you know what it does to me?” he pants against Steve’s equally-swollen mouth when air’s no longer willing to be ignored. “What you do to me?”

“Tell me,” Steve mouths against Eddie’s lips like a secret, like a dare, like a promise. Like intimacy incarnate.

Eddie’s pulse surges high in his throat, desperate to touch.

“I want to regret the time we spent where we didn’t, where I didn’t,” Eddie licks his lips and sucks in Steve’s exhale, they’re so close—so close; “I cannot regret any time I’ve lived loving you, though, it’s,” Eddie confesses, and sacrifices the wonder of Steve’s heartbeat in his hand to flip their hold and press Steve tight to his: what Steve does to him.

“It feels wrong on this, like, elemental level, to even think it,” Eddie gasps through trying to shape words to it all, something that is so much more than the words.

“Maybe it could have looked different, earlier,” and even the possibility lands sour in him, and yet it’s not…it’s not as bad as he’d have expected, and maybe that’s because—

“But the fact that you’re my whole heart? That doesn’t change, that never changed, that never got more or less true,” and Eddie says it with his whole chest, his whole heart like it fucking deserves; “it’s an absolute, y’know? Law of the universe,” and he knows that. He knows that more than he knows anything.

And when he mouths his feeling into Steve and watches it sink in deep, then deeper, and feels Steve’s heart jump under his hand, it hits with a rightness, a cosmic sort of ‘message received’ like quicksilver in his veins.

“Still feels like a dream,” Eddie whispers, and is finally close enough and at the right angle to bow his head into Steve’s, to breathe him in when Eddie breathes out, to hold steady, brow to brow, needing one another so fucking hard; “to be this lucky, y’know?”

“I know,” Steve whispers, and it’s sweet, it’s so fucking sweet; “I know.”

And then he’s pulling back a little, just enough to meet Eddie’s eyes again, his as bright and wet as Eddie’s knows his own are, at the least.

“But maybe that’s it. Maybe because you were my dream the whole time,” Steve breathes out, the joy in him a more quiet marvelling thing, just as stunned and overcome but…Eddie thinks they’ll find in time��all the time, in all the time they have to learn the things they missed, all the time in the world—Eddie thinks they’ll find they both resigned themselves differently, and the the way Steve managed was a quiet hurting, a folded up devastation deep in his chest.

But…somehow he’s telling Eddie that that very chest, and the heart he hid that devastation behind, was Eddie’s the whole fucking time. Somehow. Impossibly.

In his arms, pressed against him here and now.

Eddie swears to fuck that he will take that devastation and cast it into the fucking fire. Never let it touch his Stevie ever again.

“However I could have you, however we could be,” and the simple…well-worn drudgery of those words, the acceptance in them—it nearly knives Eddie’s heart mid-beating.

But Steve: Steve, being all the light and wonder and worth in the world, he has to see something. He has to see it, and so he reaches to cup Eddie’s face somehow more delicate and dear still, leans to kiss Eddie soft and sure, before he’s drawing them near nose-to-nose, only the barest distance necessary to keep each other in their sights.

“When I gave you my everything I wasn’t looking for a refund,” Steve’s eyes flicker over Eddie’s face, drinking in his expression, seeing him in a way Eddie’s only known with Steve, only even given to Steve, only found hands willing to hold all he offered in Steve’s steady palms.

Goddamn, he should have fought, they should have always been here, but he wasn’t lying for his own sanity, to make the ache land softer. He meant it; being with Steve at all is a gift he never thought to hope for; always has been.

The thing he was dreaming of, inside the heart of every other dream, it was never a dream of more, just of different. Because Steve, was Steve, is Steve.

Anything with him is a motherfucking privilege.

And if this is real, and it sticks for keeps: he wasn’t asking for more.

But this thing he’s already feeling is going to stretch and break him wide open in the most impeccable way, glorious as it shines and bleeds sacraments between them, and there will be more because loving, like this, the two of them in tandem, in sync, will make it so. To reshape what they can hold in the first place.

“I wanted you to keep as much of it as you wanted, however you wanted, forever,” Steve whispers, nuzzles a little at the stubble on Eddie’s cheek, unquestionably adoring and Eddie, he…

This was only ever Steve’s.

It could only ever have been Steve’s.

“That,” Eddie breathes, half-like a whimper. “I always wanted you,” and he frames Steve’s face and runs both thumbs over his cheekbones as he pledges his whole goddamn soul:

“Forever.”

“That’s what you have,” Steve’s eyes finally loose a tear where Eddie’s already soaked Steve’s hands for the way he’s sobbing through the pieces of him finding how they’ve always been meant to fit. “S’what you’ll always have.”

“I love you so goddamn much,” Eddie’s voice shakes for all the fullness in his chest, all the feeling in his heart, Steve’s heart—his heart had always belonged to Steve: “I always have. I never stopped,” he swears, he needs Steve to know even if there’s been nothing but proof shown between them this night—and Eddie’s watched Steve believe him but he still needs him to know in the marrow of his bones.

“I never will.”

And the way Steve kisses him before he can even breathe, can even swallow once those words come out—Eddie thinks he’s made his point.

Confessed this single truth of his whole fucking soul.

“I have,” Steve draws back eventually, bows his head into Eddie’s forehead; “I have never even bothered trying to love when it wasn’t you,” Steve nuzzles the side of his nose a little, like the leftovers of a shrug but…it makes Eddie’s chest so warm, even before Steve tacks on:

“Always you.”

And that’s it. That’s…that’s the core of it all. That is the dream. The only dream.

Always. Always this; them.

“How do you want this to be?”

And it’s always gonna be. It’s fucking always gonna be.

“Hmm?” Steve hums, a little boneless, mostly curious, gratifyingly at ease as Eddie’s arms have snaked around him and pulled Steve close, chest to chest so they rise into each other as it should always have been. As Eddie didn’t realize he’d been missing like a fucking limb this badly until now. He’d suspected, but—

No more. Never again.

Not. Ever. Again.

“I can move back here,” Eddie thinks that’s probably the logical choice, unless Steve’s looking to relocate as Erica’s graduation gets closer; “or—”

“What?” Steve pulls back a little to catch him in a baffled stare, jaw a little dropped, totally uncomprehending.

Which…okay yeah, wait: what?

“You,” Eddie takes a deep breath; this isn’t hard, or some unknown quantity to take a risk on anymore. But it’s too important not to handle with care, nonetheless. “You want to be together, yeah?”

Steve’s confusion morphs immediately into the kind of look he’d perfected when the kids where younger, and had never lost, for when someone asked an absolutely asinine sort of question.

“Of course,” Steve tells him, emphatic in the unyielding hold of his embrace; “always,” and even if he can’t move too much for how tight Eddie holds him, he can still lean his neck back and kiss him full of intent, making a point.

“But Eddie,” his voice softens, alongside the abiding sort of love unmistakable in his eyes:

“You always come back to me.”

Like that’s a perfectly reasonable answer. A perfectly acceptable status quo. Like what’s been this long is…is enough.

Eddie was never going to go back to what it’s always been, now that he knows that he can have it all. Now that he’s been given everything; now that they can be everything.

Even considering risking that bliss, that blessing is un-fucking-fathomable.

“I don’t want to come back to you,” Eddie clings to Steve a little tighter, buries a little closer into his neck, maybe a little desperate, but he thinks after everything he’s allowed it. Entitled maybe, even.

“Always, yeah? I want us to be always.”

And he’s equally entitled to sounding needy, to being goddamn desperate when he says that, too.

“Eds,” Steve kisses him slow this time, like he wants to press the feeling into him thorough, to last: “I am. We are,”

“We can be,” he says with a sureness that stumbles bright in Eddie’s swollen heartbeat, clatters buoyant through his whole chest; “we know now, and so we can be,” he sighs, shakes his head a little and smiles soft, means his words:

“It doesn’t have to change.”

And Eddie sees that what he means is that they…they can play this game, and simply change the rules. Or keep the rules, but shift the game. That knowing how they belong to one another, now, will be enough. Will be liveable. Will be a balm on all the ways they’ve torn themselves in two for so very long, and a promise that when they part now there won’t be tearing, just missing.

But that’s…Eddie’s fucking exhausted, living without a whole heart. He…he knows Steve means well, and knows just as much that Steve could believe to the molecules inside him that he’s loved far beyond measure, but he’s still built to bend. To give, and concede. To bear the load, to carry the brunt. Things he never deserved to accept, let alone expect.

That’s not going to be what they are, anymore.

“I,” Eddie licks his lips. Swallows hard before he meets Steve’s eyes and says, so clear and somehow with at least equal sureness to Steve’s own, maybe more, harder earned because Eddie’s not built for it like Steve, his beautiful paladin, but he can be selfish, in defense of them both:

“I need more.”

And Steve knows all of what runs through Eddie’s head before he speaks, knows what it holds and what it costs to have said it. To have confessed and begged for it.

He looks like he might start crying a little again. Eddie certainly feels his eyes stinging already.

“I’d never ask you to follow me into the kind of life I have now,” Eddie tries to rush the words out, before he gets lost in the waves of feeling that are building upon themselves, close-on to towering and that’s only right and good, they should never be less but Eddie needs his wits to finish what he means to make known, first: “to be dragged into something you don’t want, that isn’t your dream,” because even if Eddie is? The fame, to nomadic ping-ponging, the insanity of it all: that’s the opposite of the picket fence he said he didn’t want anymore but it’s also…it’s not glamorous, it’s not comfortable, it’s entirely separate from what Steve deserves.

“So I’ll change it, I’ll do it different,” because it’s not a question. It’s not a…it’s not a fucking question, Eddie doesn’t care what it takes. He reaches for Steve, thinks he may frame his face but decides to wrap around him instead, presses so tight and close, doesn’t stop until he swears he can feel Steve’s heartbeat against his own and his eyes slip closed as he breathes in deep to feel just that little bit more: this is what he wants. All he wants.

All he has ever truly dreamed of.

“I built so much of myself around you without being able to have all of you,” Eddie breathes into the shell of his ear, kisses below the lobe and stays there, stays.

“There’s nothing I won’t do to keep you, Stevie. Nothing.”

That’s all there is. All he knows. It’s all he’s been doing the best he could, the most he thought he was able or allowed, was welcome to, this whole time that’s all he has lived to do at the end of every day, every breath; but now? Knowing they could have more, that they can be everything?

That is all that there is.

“Sweetheart,” Steve murmurs where he’s lined up close to Eddie’s ear to match on the other side, and Eddie shivers for the sensation, but also the endearment: it’s Eddie’s for Steve—when Steve chooses it, it’s special:

“You’re not listening,” Steve breathes so warm, so fond and it’s that paired with the ‘sweetheart’ and the strong-steady feel of his heart against Eddie’s chest that holds Eddie’s pulse from shooting off wild in fear, in foolish doubt.

Steve’s wrapped too tight around him, though. Steve’s with him, whatever he means with those words—whatever it is, it’s no more than a misstep. A single trample of toes in the dance of their lives.

“What did you think I meant, when I said there was a dream inside my dream,” Steve exhales against his hair, kisses at the line of where his sideburn would grow if he let it; “when I told you what my dream wasn’t?”

Eddie wants to look into his eyes and ask with his gaze what he means, but…he doesn’t think he can physically do anything but lean into the damp heat of Steve’s mouth, chase that comfort as he tilts into Steve’s attention, gets more kisses along his hairline for the subtle ask, for being known so well and loved so deep that Steve was already ready and waiting to give.

Eddie thought this is what Steve meant by a dream inside his dream. It’s what Eddie meant. They’d seemed to be on the same page. It feels, like this, in this moment, like they’re definitely on the same page.

Undeniably.

So what does Steve mean—

“I still have the goddamn luggage, Eddie,” Steve mouths along his skin, and fuck, he doesn’t know what else to do but to lean in; to want for it. For always.

So it’s probably kind of predictable, at the very least instinctual and beyond his conscious control, how he lets out a fucking whine when Steve replaces his mouth with his palm and moves to look Eddie square-on.

The love in his eyes makes Eddie’s heart flip reckless inside his ribs.

“You’re it,” Steve tells him, leans in a little extra with the feeling; “you have to know,” he shakes his head, in the marveling kind of way;“you have to know that.”

And then he’s holding Eddie’s face and he kisses every inch of it: the lines of his eyebrows and the soft dips of his temples; the splay of his lashes and the bow of his lips. The tip of his nose.

Eddie’s eyes ease open a little lazy, a little fucking dazed for how intimate it was, to feel that treasured; to be reverenced so well under that mouth before it opens once more to squeeze around Eddie’s heart, to break Eddie’s world in two:

“You wouldn’t be asking me anything I haven’t been dreaming of being asked, for years.”

And the words themselves don’t spell a promise out in letters but that’s exactly what it is. It’s a vow as much as any that comes with a ring and a license—but Eddie will damn well do that part as best he’s able, too.

But what Steve is fucking saying, and everything it holds inside? It cracks the world in halves. Everything before this moment, and everything that waits for them to come—the future ahead.

And Eddie only knows how many days it’s been—3 years, 7 months, and 14 days; 15, now, as the sun pokes just the slightest bit on the horizon, like a dare through the window—but Eddie only knows because his heart counted the beats the whole fucking time. Because he learned how long he could push each absence of the very reason it kept pumping at all before the threads that held Eddie in one piece—all of them tied to Steve, all of them, always—frayed too to snapping, and then he came back, he always had to come back.

This was his heart.

And now his heart was telling him that he’d always been waiting to follow with everything, not merely to be rushed toward every time Eddie had to beg for what scraps he could pretend to deserve, fool himself were enough, before he unraveled, died of a starvation in his fucking soul.

And Eddie isn’t going to do things like he’s always done. He’s not going to live the same life, if Steve’s coming with him: because his Steve is not going to follow him. His Steve is going to walk side by side, where both of them will learn what it can feel like to live when your heart’s always whole.

Eddie doesn’t know what else to do, in that moment, in that clarity of that realization: he doesn’t know anything but to near-tackle Steve to the bed and kiss him breathless, until Eddie’s lungs hurt but his heart dances too much, to overjoyed to fucking care.

Because this is the start of what comes next. This is the future broken wide open for them to grasp with both hands and pull to their chest and hold tight between them. For always.

For both of them.

With both fucking hands.

Finally.

🖤🎸❤️‍🩹

✨also on ao3

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divider credit here

[stars-and-wildflowers]

suns down… underground hero nighthide is. up!

[luxaofhesperides]

For ghostlights: baby Ellie + tired Danny + Duke the baby whisperer?

He has no idea how his parents did it. 

Babies are exhausting. Toddlers more so. Any infants in the strange stage in-between? Doubly so. 

Ellie is wonderful and sweet and cute and such a terror that Danny genuinely has no idea how his parents managed to raise not one, but two kids. For all their eccentricities and absent-mindedness, he and Jazz turned out pretty well. Ignoring the whole halfa thing because that’s more his fault than theirs even if Jazz says they shouldn’t have created the dangerous environment in the first place.

That environment is exactly why Danny refuses to let Ellie go to his house in Amity Park. His parents say they’ve disabled all the weapons and ecto-sensors since he’s had to reveal himself as Phantom, but he knows that things slip their minds and if they can’t guarantee that the house is safe, then Ellie isn’t going in there. Simple as that. 

This means that they live somewhere else now. Danny had thought about it, during the hours Ellie was asleep and he was awake, exhausted and worn down to his bones, and took Jazz’s advice to accept Vlad’s offer of buying a house for him. Except he argued Vlad down to an apartment in a city of his choosing where he wouldn’t stand out too much and he would be safe, or as safe as he can be, from anyone trying to hunt down ghosts. 

So here they are. Standing in the empty living room of their new apartment in Gotham. 

Gotham may not be very safe as a city, but it’s good for two ghosts trying to pass as normal. 

Danny sighs yet again, and looks at the space he’ll need to fill. At least Vlad is footing the bill. It’s the least he can do for creating Ellie. Frostbite was the one who was able to stabilize her, though it was almost too late and resulted in her reforming as a baby, just one and a half years old. Jazz is the one who’s choosing most of the furniture, thankfully, so it’s something that Danny doesn’t need to worry about it.

It’s a new start to their lives and it feels so empty. So overwhelming. How did his parents do it? How do any parents do it?

Ellie smacks a small palm against his cheek and babbles lightly.

“I know, Ellie,” Danny says, giving her a tired smile. “Don’t worry, we’ll have this place looking good in no time.”

He adjusts her in his arms, then heads towards the bedroom. It’s the only room that has any furniture, and all that’s there is a bed, a crib, and a bookcase. There are a few boxes on the floor, labeled ‘bedroom’ and ‘clothing’ and ‘books’. Most of it came from his bedroom in Amity Park, but he’s pretty sure he caught Jazz sneaking a few things in before they closed the boxes and loaded them up into the car. 

“Can you be good for five minutes?” he asks Ellie. 

She babbles again and smacks his shoulder.

“I’m taking that as an agreement. Just let me open these boxes and start unpacking before you start causing trouble, okay?”

Ellie makes another sound, but it seems agreeable so Danny carefully lays her down in the crib and gets to peeling off the tape on the boxes. The opens the one labeled ‘bedroom’ first, finding blankets and sheets folded and stacked in vacuum sealed bags. One of them is his old childhood blanket, the one he carried around everywhere that was faded with age, barely blue, with white bunnies decorating it. 

He was so small when he had this. It makes him oddly emotional to unpack it and pass it on to Ellie, draping it over her so her pudgy little hands can grab at it. 

This is no time to cry, though! He forces himself to focus and makes his own bed, shaking out the sheets and fluffing up the pillows. He’ll worry about washing everything later; Vlad made sure to get an apartment with an in-unit washer and dryer, which means he was actually sensible while apartment hunting for Danny. 

He doesn’t mean to flop onto the bed once it’s made, but he ends up there anyways. He’s barely gotten a full six hours of uninterrupted sleep since Frostbite deemed Ellie healthy enough to leave his care. The drive up to Gotham was long and wore him down to his bones.

He doesn’t mean to fall asleep, but he does, drifting off as he wonders, distantly, when Jazz will be back from getting them dinner.

Ellie wakes him up at dawn with a loud cry. Danny jolts awake, heart pounding in his chest as he panics because Ellie isn’t here, she’s supposed to be in his arms, where is she? And then he sees the crib, where Ellie is staring at him through the bars, and he nearly collapses with relief. 

“Morning, El,” he says, voice rough from sleep, as he picks her up. She just stares up at him, then leans forward and rests her head against his shoulder.

It’s quiet moments like these that make his heart melt. Ellie’s had a hard life already; he wants to give her a better one, this time around. 

A quick check of the time on his nearly dead phone shows that it’s barely past six in the morning, and Jazz texted him a few times. All about furniture, saying that she didn’t want to wake them and that food is in the fridge. 

It’s only the mention of food that makes him realize how ravenous he’s feeling. Danny makes a beeline for the kitchen, ignoring everything else, and pulls out the boxes of take-out Jazz left stacked in the fridge. He devours it like he’s been starving for weeks, then gives Ellie her Ecto-Jello, the only food she’s allowed to eat until Frostbite gives the okay for solid, human food. 

Once he’s got her burped and cleaned up, Danny looks out of the kitchen and realizes that Jazz was very productive while he was asleep. The living room isn’t empty anymore; a dark green couch is against the wall, a low, rectangular coffee table made of dark wood in front of it. Two armchairs are on both sides of the couch, and a television has been installed, fixed into the wall. 

Jazz is asleep on the couch. Her legs hang off an armrest and she’s drooling slightly. 

Her phone is charging on the floor, so Danny takes it and snaps a picture of her for later teasing, then sends it to himself and writes a note to her that he’s going out with Ellie to explore the neighborhood.

He’s finally feeling more settled, energized from sleep and food.

In the warm dawn light spilling in through the windows, Danny looks down at Ellie and thinks that they’ll be just fine after all. 

. . .

Four months ago, Danny had hope. He was optimistic. 

Gotham was a fresh start, a new lease of life for Ellie. It is Danny’s attempt to be a single parent, sacrificing college for Ellie, and he’s planning to go out and beat the gangs black and blue if they start anymore shootouts in the next year.

He had just gotten Ellie to sleep. She was actually peacefully taking a nap.

And then a drive by shooter raced down the street, gunshots echoing down the road, and Ellie work up crying. She still hasn’t stopped, despite how Danny rocked her, soothing her as best he could.

They had been outside when Ellie fell asleep, her head on his shoulder. He had been catching up with Sam and Tucker when the car drove by, people ducking and crying out to avoid the bullets. Danny instinctively covered Ellie and made them both intangible, saving them from any stray bullets, but they ruined her nap and he needs to make them pay for that. 

“Shh,” he soothes, “You’re okay. We’re both fine. It’s okay, El, it’s okay.” 

Her little hands clutch at his back, twisting the fabric of his shirt, and she lets out a heartbreaking wail. He pats her back, hurrying down the street to get back to his apartment building, ignoring the looks people were giving them as they passed by. 

“I know it was scary, but you’re alright. You’re always safe with me, El.”

Ellie’s cries down down a little, but they don’t stop. She whimpers, burying her face against his shoulder as he finally reaches their apartment building.

The door’s locked, which wouldn’t be a problem except Danny can’t get his keys from his pocket. He knows he has them! But his pocket refuses to relinquish them and he has to stop every few seconds to pat Ellie’s back, trying in vain to calm her down. 

“We’ll be inside in a second,” he tells her, trying to keep the frustration out of his voice, “as soon as I can get these freaking keys!”

“Hey, you alright?”

Danny startles, whirling around so fast it makes Ellie go quiet, clinging to him so she doesn’t get flung into the air. There’s a guy standing before him in a gray hoodie, looking at him with clear concern. It speaks to Danny’s level of constant exhaustion that he hadn’t clocked someone sneaking up behind him. 

The guy offers an awkward smile. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you or anything. Um, do you need me to open to door? I live here too.”

Danny wonders for a moment if this someone dangerous, someone hoping to hurt Ellie, but she starts to cry again and he steps to the side. “Please. I can’t get my keys.”

“I’m Duke, by the way. I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before.”

“Danny,” he replies, watching as Duke pulls out a large key ring, jangling with the amount of keychains on it, and easily opens the door. “I’ve been here a few months, but I’m usually inside. Or walking around in the mornings with this little monster.”

“That would explain it,” Duke says as he holds the door open, letting Danny in first. “I’m usually in classes at GCU, but I decided to take a mental health day after my lab, so here I am.”

Danny walks in and waits for Duke to follow, making sure the door closes properly behind them. “Thanks. How is GCU? What do you study? I was thinking of going there myself once she gets a little older and can go to school.”

“Oh, I’m majoring in English and Human Services.” He goes to say more, but Ellie wails again and Danny winces.

“I’m so sorry. That drive by woke her up and it’s really rattled her.”

“Hey, no need to apologize. I get it, Gotham is rough to kids.”

Danny tries rocking her back and forth, but it doesn’t help. He resigns himself to another hour of her crying before she exhausts herself, and makes for the stairs, going up to the fourth floor. Duke holds open the door again, then follows after them. It makes Danny wonder if Duke is planning to do something to them, then decides he can beat Duke in a fight, so it’s fine.

Duke doesn’t try to hurt them or steal Ellie away. He opens the door to their floor and stops before they do. “I’m in here,” he says, “If you ever need me to open more doors.”

“Thanks. Um, actually, I might need help opening mine?”

Duke just smiles and makes his way back to them, following them farther into the hall until Danny stops in front of his apartment. 

“If I could just get my keys,” he starts.

“Here, let me hold her for a second so you can get them,” Duke offers. Danny wants to insist that it’s fine, but Ellie cries directly into his ear and Danny, at the end of his rope, passes her over. 

Like magic, Ellie settles as soon as she’s in Duke’s arms. She sniffles and hides her face away, clutching to Duke’s hoodie, but she stops crying. They both go still, surprised, and stare down at her. 

“Seriously?” Danny says as he finally pulls out his keys, “Are you trying to say that I’m the problem?”

Ellie babbles lightly, and Duke turns his head to futilely hide his grin.

He grumbles as he unlocks the door and pushes it open. Ellie is acting as if she’s never been upset before a day in her life, making herself at home in Duke’s arms. 

“I can’t believe this. Betrayed by my own blood.”

Duke laughs as he follows Danny into his apartment, lightly patting Ellie’s back. “It’s always the smallest, cutest ones that do this.”

“Yeah? Do you work with a lot of kids or something? Used to being betrayed by the little ones?”

“I don’t work with kids per se,” Duke says, “But my foster family is a hot mess and the youngest of them likes to keep us all on our toes.”

“Family,” Danny says in a tired, fond tone.

“Family,” Duke agrees.

With his door open and Ellie calm, Danny’s ready to just lay face down on the floor for the rest of the day and not deal with anything else. He moves to take Ellie back, holding his arms out, and Duke tries to pass her over.

The key word being tries. 

Ellie tightens her grip and kicks at Danny. She refuses to be taken away from Duke, making him awkwardly try to pry her off his hoodie. Danny really hopes Duke doesn’t notice how she goes slightly intangible to make his hands fall through her arms and legs. It shouldn’t be noticeable, but it’s hard to focus on anything but a kid that clings to you, so Danny holds out for Duke’s goodwill and silence.

“As nice as it is to meet you, you need to go back to your… parent?” Danny nods when Duke looks at him in askance. “You need to go back to your parent. Okay? Come on, kid, he’s waiting for you.”

Ellie shakes her head, makes a frustrated noise, and then turns and reaches out a grabby hand towards Danny. 

She still refuses to be taken from Duke when Danny tries to pick her up again, so he settles with just letting her hold two of his fingers. 

“I’m so sorry about this,” he says to Duke, face burning. This is why he hasn’t been going out and being social since he moved in; Ellie is a handful even on the best days, and Danny doesn’t want someone to judge him as unfit to parent her and have her taken away.

Duke shakes his head, stepping closer. “It’s all good, man. I don’t mind. It’s not like I had any plans today. I’m already skipping my classes, might as well spend it with you two than sleep all day.”

“Are you sure? I’d be happy to invite you in, but I know Ellie can be a lot and not everyone wants to spend their day off with a baby.”

“I’m sure. Besides, I’d just be down the hall anyways. It’s no skin off my back, man.”

“Well,” Danny says, stepping to the side to give Duke full access to his open doorway, “Come on in, then.”

Ellie keeps them connected, one hand in Duke’s hoodie and the other holding Danny’s fingers, and though her cheeks are still red from how hard she had been crying, she’s calm now with her eyes shining with mischief. 

As the door closes behind them, Danny realizes that this is the first time someone he’s not related to has been inside his apartment. Not even Vlad has come in, always choosing to invite Danny and Ellie out for lunch instead. 

It should make him nervous, but Duke is calm and easy going and kind. 

He’s making silly faces at Ellie to make her laugh, completely at ease with her in his arms, as if he’s done this a thousand times before. 

Gotham is a second chance at life for Ellie. It’s a sacrifice for Danny, to be alone and without friends or family around. He’d been ready to give up everything for Ellie, to focus solely on raising her, but with Duke filling his apartment with laughter, he thinks that he can make a life here too.

All he needs to do is take that first step, reach his hand out, ask Duke to stick around.

He can do this.

[buildbuymode]

angela and the terrible horrible no good day

[yuseirra]

been listening to her songs lately!! they're a blessing