#wait is walter dead or ........................

[slutdge]

what's everybody's favorite breaking bad and/or better call saul scenes or episodes im on a rewatch rn and getting obsessed all over again

[babisawyer]

shauna being like jackie I really need you right now and then sobbing hysterically is literally me every week watching this friggin show.

[butchjess]

a canticle for leibowitz a book that is like a vaccine in getting you to forgive fictional christians for being annoying. i love you religion prevailing after the world ends and then starts again i love you the cyclical nature of man and empires and nations

[arolesbianism]

Now I'm not saying I'm making a dst roleswap au. But I am saying that I thought of an idea for a sort of take of Walter as Wanda and it's making me spin him a bit in my mind

[manfromtheepa]

"You're mayor now?" Kelsey asked with a slight smile, both trust and distrust in her mind about the situation, "Moved quite a bit up from the EPA and being my lawyer, huh?" She quieted though, as she noted his obvious aging. Kelsey, being undead, couldn't age. As much as she disliked Walter's reactions to the spirit realm as she was now a part of it, she tried to remember when he protected her from anything and everything. She had changed him. Perhaps now she could be a bit more convincing. "I know things are...different. very different. And if you want me to leave, I'll leave. I just wanted to see you again." -resurrextion

"Well, I had to reach the top eventually, didn't I?" he said, a slight grin playing on his aged face. It was short lived; he couldn't quite remember the last time he had seen his past client in the flesh, but as the apparition stood before him, he figured it wouldn't be terribly polite to ask when the last time was. "Kelsey...just because things happen to be different doesn't mean you aren't a familiar sight. And to be frank, I had missed our past discussions. Is there a particular reason why you've decided to visit now, after all this time?"

[satuguro]

*ೃ࿐TO FAULT A NET

[ ACT I: KEEP YOUR FRIENDS CLOSE ]

spiderman! ethan landry x black cat! reader

#SYNOPSIS— you stumble across a murder, ethan has daddy issues, you think spider-man's an easy fight, and spider-man makes a deal with you.

#CONTAINS— enemies to lovers, slowburn, antihero&vigilante reader, familial issues, gore, blood, murder, death, sexual/suggestive content (in this part & some other parts), reader is overly flirtatious

#AUTHORSNOTE— is anyone really surprised that i started a new series? no, but i will warn you rn that this series won't be incredibly accurate to marvel and scream (obviously), so if that bothers you, don't read!

your feet moved quickly as you ran from rooftop to rooftop, the sound of distant sirens moving father and farther away from you was like music to your ears. it would've calmed you down— maybe even slowed your running —if it weren't for the fact that you had a shadow. a comically dressed shadow in red and blue.

the continuous sounds of webs being shot at you was the only thing keeping you running towards nothing. running away from the metropolitan museum (which you didn't even steal from, by the way) with some insect man close to your feet.

"hey, wait! lady, stop!"

and he wouldn't shut up. constantly calling at you, trying to catch your attention like some fanatic. it would've almost been cute if you weren't avoiding capture.

you didn't even turn back to look at him, forcing your body to move faster and faster until your momentum was stopped by a web hitting your ankle. you growled in annoyance, reaching down with your unsheathed claws to cut yourself free from the webbing, until you were harshly pulled onto a roof by the masked hero himself.

you laid on the rooftop, staring up at new york's very own spider-man (who was never a problem until a couple months ago, when he seemingly appeared out of nowehere). covering your obvious discontent, you smiled a malicious smile. "hi, spider," you said, before kicking his knee back and forcing him to fall. his groan of pain met your ears as you threw a punch at his face, one he quickly dodged.

"are you another hero?" he asked between kicks and punches, completely ignoring the fact that you were both in a fight. it didn't seem like much of a problem for him, as he was far too focused at multitasking between asking you personal questions and dodging your attacks. "i take that questions back— if you were, you wouldn't be attacking me right now," another dodge, "but you brought that painting back to the museum! but you also stole it so it's a bit of a question of morality, so i think i have to turn you in—"

you grabbed his arm and pinned it behind his back, your other hand coming up to wrap around his neck. your sharp claws dug into his neck, making him hiss in pain as you leant in close to his ear. "do you really think you can turn me in?" your hand let go of his neck but remained close to his face, your pointer finger coming to play with the edge of his mask. you pulled it up, only making it halfway up his face, before he broke free from your grasp.

but once he turned around, you were already gone.

some say that when your father died, the rich people of new york were finally able to breathe. finally, their endless valuables were finally safe, their priceless collections of stolen art, their rows of cars enough to pay any college kid's tuition, and their bank accounts were now all free from his iron grasp. gone was the man who had taken what he wanted and got it, gone was any trace of his legacy or his family; walter hardy was dead.

he always claimed that of all the valuables in his hands had taken, you were his most prized possession. the one person he would lay down his life for, and to have him gone.. it was all too unfair. all too wrong for him to die trying to get back to his daughter.

so that was why you had taken his place. black cat no longer became something policemen and journalists used to reference your father. that title was something you chose to share with him, because as policemen talked over their little radios about the burglary on west 81st street, you were already miles away, listening to their pathetic voices over the radio.

it was halloween in new york, and while many homeowners chose to stay home and tend to their candy duty, others were off partying at their friends' houses, oblivious to the fact that you had already deactivated the alarm to their home. three houses in the span of one night; you were sure that your greed would be your downfall one day.

but as you raised your hand up to the moon, watching how the rays of light danced along your wrist, you knew in your heart that your greed ran deeper than simple wants. you had your reasons.

a blood curdling scream met your ears, making you hurriedly shove the jewels into a pack and unsheathe your claws, ready to attack. walked near the edge of the building, the squelching sound of blood reached your ears, making you all the more on edge as you peered off the side just in time to watch a man shove a mask (the same mask from that one movie, stab) into his bag and turn a corner.

your eyes focused on the woman in yellow, dead and seated against the wall with blood pouring from her chest like a fountain. not a sound was made as you climbed down the wall and landed on your feet, cautious as you stepped closer to the unresponsive body.

"fuckin' asshole," you murmured as you observed the body, eyebrows furrowing. the woman, blonde and pretty, looked familiar to you. leaning down to take a closer look at her face (and careful not to step in the growing pool of blood around her), your eyes widened when you fully took in your features.

that was a film professor at your college.

wordlessly, you pulled out your phone and called a number you've never typed in your life.

"manhattan police department," the policeman stated.

"laura crane was just murdered in front of a manhattan bar." and with a click, you hung up.

the sound of that familiar thwip and landing feet made detective bailey roll his eyes in annoyance. just when they had gotten the reporters and journalists in control— a certain masked individual just had to make an appearance. "you aren't supposed to be here," he said in annoyance, turning to look at the masked hero.

"don't you know my m.o by now? like, isn't that your job?" spider-man asked with a cock of his head, obviously enjoying his teasing. "but you can't really.. not allow me to be here. i'm here to help, after all."

"i'm not letting some kid help," detective bailey practically growled, but the hero was already pushing past him to look at the body.

from beneath the mask, ethan hid his shock at the sight of one of his college's professors, dead and staring blankly into empty space. as if constantly being around his estranged his father wasn't enough; now a professor from his college was dead.

"what? bug man finally ran out of things to say?" detective bailey asked snarkily, making ethan snap out of his stupor.

"no, da— detective," ethan said in a faux matter-of-fact voice, squatting down to look closer at the dead body. he almost cringed at the slip up he just made; if only his father knew. "can't a man observe in silence?"

it wasn't like ethan had planned his superhero life out. he had moved to new york right after his brother's death for college, and being desperate to leave his brother's horrible crimes behind, he changed his last name. calls to his dad and his sister became texts. visits became nonexistent. even after he was bitten and took on the superhero roll he was desperate to move on, and right when he believed he finally was, his dad and sister moved to new york.

ethan didn't tell any of his friends that he was related to richie, nor did he tell them that he was the detective's kid. all they knew was that quinn was his sister, and while it hurt to pretend as though richie never existed, it was for the best. he left that life behind him, and quinn seemed to respect that at least.

"how'd you find her?" ethan asked a nearby cop.

"anonymous tip around the time she was murdered."

his eyes took in the gruesome scene in front of him. his eyes drifted to professor crane's blank face, before following the splashes of blood on the brick behind her. his eyes squinted as he continued to look up the wall, the dots connecting when he saw familiar claw marks above the body. they were faint, so faint, that if ethan hadn't seen them before, then he was sure that the police wouldn't have.

he raised his hand, and with another thwip of his webs, he was gone.

ethan was searching for any sign of you. a part of him hoped that you weren't within the confines of your home hiding behind your civilian name. there was a possibility that you helped kill the professor. maybe you were an accomplice. regardless of your role in it all, ethan was sure that you had seen something and chose to keep it to yourself. you had your own reasons for doing so; you believed you were far more clever than anyone. maybe you were.

the scratches on the walls were something you left behind. ethan knew that; he had literally been choked by those claws of yours when he first took up his job as a hero. he didn't want to believe that you you were quicker than him, but the fact that you had gotten away.. to say that he wasn't annoyed by it would be a lie.

he later learned who you were because of his father during one of their awkward dinners. the black cat.

he hadn't invited quinn this time. it was as though he was trying to strictly have some father-son time with ethan; some pathetic attempt at reconnecting, he assumed. if reconnecting meant taking him out to a thai restaurant and only talking about his job or richie and never asking ethan anything beyond the, "how's college?" question.

but something within his father's ramble about work had caught ethan's attention. home burglaries were a huge problem, that much ethan knew, but this had been the first time he ever heard his father talk about it; much less talk about who he suspects had done it.

"they call her black cat. witnesses have only ever seen enough of her to know she's a lady—"

"who do you think she is?" ethan asked, unable to stop himself as he leaned forward in his chair. so that was who he caught running along the roofs of new york. the one person who had gotten away from him.

"some fan of the original black cat, walter hardy. either that," his father put a forkful of pad thai in his mouth, chewing and swallowing, "or his daughter. there's no record of them, though."

"do you think they're the ones who stole from all those houses?"

"that's all i'm saying about the subject, ethan," his father said sternly, looking him up and down suspiciously. "just eat your food."

it didn't take much for you to catch yourself up on the stab murders. you had only heard a little bit about it; not because you lived under a rock, but because you didn't care. not until now, at least.

tara and sam carpenter. tara was in your psych class at blackmore university; you had talked to her enough times that she was probably the closest person you had to a 'friend,' as off as it sounded. you had a similar humor and she wasn't the type to pry over your past (which made sense now, after you scrolled mindlessly through your phone to catch up on the continuous murders).

that was why you were watching their apartment building from the building right in front of it. you had only seen them through their window, but at least you knew they were alive. on any other day you would've called anyone in your position creepy, but you considered this to be lawful stalking.

truthfully, you weren't sure why you were doing this. maybe you had gotten soft ever since you started college. maybe you were bored.

you toyed with a golden locket you had stolen that night, eyes set on their forms moving in and out of sight. you were so focused on them, something akin to worry thrumming through your veins until a web hit your back and dragged you away from the edge of the building. your back scratched across the roof floor, and as you looked up, you saw the familiar red and blue suit you had only ever seen from afar.

“hi, kitty,” spider-man said, almost smiling.

you practically hissed at the sight of him, your hands making quick work of unsheathing your claws as you narrowly dodged another web. you moved quickly and kicked him in the face, letting him hit the ground for just a second before you were straddling, legs tight around him as you grabbed his hands and held it above him. your claws came close to his wrists, the shining metal threatening to break and hurt his web makers.

"oh, spider. i didn't know you liked me enough to stalk me." you smiled wickedly, pressing the metal closer to his wrists. you could feel something bulky underneath his suit, and your malicious grin only grew as you pressed harder against it.

"i don't like you," the super hero said annoyedly, making you scoff in amusement.

"are you sure?" you leaned closer to him, practically touching your nose against his mask. "then why aren't you fighting back right now?" you sent him one last grin before your hand left his wrists. you stood up, not even bothering to offer him a hand as you let your claws come out fully, one of your hands reaching for your gun. "what do you want?"

"i needed to ask you questions about the murder of laura crane," spider-man grumbled, standing up and crossing his arms at you. he looked at the apartment building before glancing back at you, the eyes of his mask narrowing. "why're you watching tara and sam's apartment?"

"why do you know that tara and sam live there?" you fired back, raising a brow. it was moments like these where you were happy you had a mask that at least covered half your face; the more you heard the spider-boy speak, the more you noticed how young his voice sounded. what if he went to your college? what if he was friends with them?

"because based on their history, they're vulnerable to attacks. i know that— being the friendly neighborhood spiderman ‘n all," he said, and you swore he rolled his eyes. "but it doesn't make sense for a criminal like you—"

"that's unnecessarily rude."

"to be watching them.” he looked you up and down, eyes seemingly lingering on your grappling hook and pack of god knows what that were strapped to your sides. the hero’s head then snapped up to look at you. “did you kill her? laura crane?” even he seemed unsure by his own question, the uncertainty in his tone making you shrug nonchalantly.

"do you think i did?" you asked, "you seem unsure yourself."

a pause. "no, i don't. but you know something, and you need to tell me what it is."

you glanced at the apartment building before looking down at your nails, absentmindedly observing them. "what's in it for me?" you asked, not even looking up at new york's favorite hero.

"i don't bring you to the police."

"as if you could do that before," you scoffed, rolling your eyes. you heard him exhale slowly, a smirk appearing on your face at the sound. you were getting to him; with every snarky comment, you pissed him off more and more. and the sadistic part of you loved it. "don't you remember? you couldn't even catch me the first time. sad, isn't it?"

"i'm not gonna make that same mistake again," he said firmly, walking closer to you. stiffly, he brought his gloved hand out. "you tell me what you know and you help me—"

"well, don't word it like that," you muttered. "i'm only telling you information, spider. i'm not being your stupid sidekick."

"you aren't," he said, "but since you're such a well known felon, you could help me figure out who's the murderer. see if they're a criminal, if they were hired by anyone, anything." he sighed. "you help me, and i let you go. deal?"

warily, you looked at him up and down. you weren't one to make deals with anyone, much less a masked hero who was loved by practically everyone. but you found yourself wrapping your black gloved hand around his and shaking it once. "fine."

ACT II, ACT III, ACT IV, ACT V, EPILOGUE

#AUTHOR'S NOTE— feel free to ask to be on the taglist! i'm also sorry for all the typos lol

[tokoyamisstuff]

f! Reader | no warnings

They're all 100% meant to be girl dads. I can't explain why, it'd just be so cute. Literally the safest baby on earth.

Alucard

"I'd trade anything I have just for a child with your eyes."

Sis, that man is dead. 😭 I doubt even with his powers that's in his range of possibility.

No seriously, you'll probably voice your wish metaphorically, meaning it as a compliment, but it will throw him into a full blown existential crisis. He hates not being able to provide you with whatever you want, after all.

The suggestion alone wakes a desire in him that he never even thought about before. He'll secretly dwell in self-pity, fantasizing about what it'd be like.

At some point, he cannot bear that it'd stay a mere dream and suggest adoption.

Anderson

"Huh? *points to some orphans playing in the background* Don't we have enough already?"

Takes him a moment to understand the gravity of your words. Error. Brain stopped working.

Even if you're already long in a relationship/have been intimate with each other, he'll get adorably bashful at the thought. Is shocked how excited the thought of your belly growing round with his child makes him.

I don't think he's entirely opposed to the idea, but he honestly sees all of the orphans as his kids. There's already so many children without a family that need love and care out there, right?

Well, in the end the circumstances would easily allow it, and he's got enough experience. One more certainly won't hurt.

The Captain

...alright? Doesn't need to be told twice. He is the kind of guy that just goes along with everything his spouse says.

Not to sound indecent but he's a man on a mission, so prepare to be dragged into the next best place to fuck at any given time. Welp, that's how he found out he's got a breeding kink.

Gets even more clingy and openly affectionate than usual. Seriously, he can't wait until it finally happens, he might even be more thrilled than you are.

Walter

"My dear, you have no clue how much your words mean to me."

Delighted and overjoyed. It's been a great wish his entire life, but due to the course of his life he gave up on this naive hope years ago. To ever think he'd be given this chance, and with you of all people...he's truly blessed.

Would be prepared for every eventuality and literally carry you on his hands. You're used to being coddled by him, but this is some queen treatment right here.

His gratitude knows no limits. You'll forever be reminded of how much your family and your willingness to carry this child means to him.

Maxwell

"Wha- why? Am I not enough for you?"

Ugh. Children? He can barely tolerate dealing with people in general. Seriously, you should know him better than that.

Still, he's surprisingly cooperative. If you insist, guess it can't hurt as long as they turn out like you...

The closer the due-date however, the greater his panic and regret. Doesn't think he's cut out to be a father.

Definetly cries like a dog when holding his child for the first time. It's the most precious thing he's ever seen and he ends up being the most loving parent, thriving to give them everything he had lacked as a child himself.

Endlessly showers you in praise for gifting him this miracle, and having convinced him to the best decision of his life. This probably won't be the only child you'll have.

[acapelladitty]

When The Lights Go Out: Riddler

Summary: Richard Madison is a crook but a strange encounter with a man calling himself Edward Nygma may prove to be his undoing.

Part 1: When The Lights Go Out: Scarecrow

AO3 Link ☆ Fic Masterlist

The miraculous release of Walter Johnstone from his asylum incarceration was not the only odd thing to have occurred in Gotham that day. Nor would it be the last.

It was certainly a day that Richard Madison was never likely to forget.

If you asked the average person to describe Richard Madison they would have a host of phrases ready to spring forth in his praise. As sweet as sugar, one might claim. Honest as they come, another would cry. A good man with a good heart. However, there were those who saw another side to the man and those individuals would quietly lament his misdeeds and misgivings.

Both opinions are entirely valid to their holders, as all opinions are, however those who believed in him were only witness to the facade which he presented to the world.

To put it simply, Richard Madison was a crook.

Oh, how people loved being around Richard. They whispered promises in his ears, slipped offerings into his pockets, and overall doted on him in exchange for the opportunity to engage. To have their needs met.

And he was never a man to deny the people their needs.

When it suited him.

Emerging from the elevator to his private office, his shoulder clicked as he stretched his arms before him to prepare for the next few hours of sitting at his computer and running his small empire from the comfort of his favourite chair.

However, an unexpected sight stopped him dead in his tracks.

Standing in his office as though he belonged there, lounged a suited man. His body was on the thinner side and even from this distance Richard could tell that the bottle green suit, expertly styled as it cinched his frame, was cut from expensive cloth. Boyish features shone from a face which could not have been a day over forty and his appearance was made all the more striking by the shock of flame red hair which sat atop his head, mostly covered by a lurid green bowler hat which perfectly matched the shade of his suit.

“Richard Madison!” The man exclaimed in a showman voice, his excitement radiating from him in waves. “In the flesh! The man of the hour!”

Reaching out as he approached Richard’s stunned position, he gripped his hand in a firm grasp before shaking with an almost comedic level of effort. His arm swinging up and down in the grasp of the madman, Richard politely let go before hiding his hand within his pocket to prevent any further touching.

“Who are you?” Richard asked. This was his private office and absolutely no one got in here without first jumping through a series of hoops designed to keep out any 'undesirables'. “And what the hell are you doing here?” He allowed his shock to manifest as anger as he roared at the red-haired man.

“Lovely office,” throwing an arm out with great flourish, the man ignored the open aggression to gesture wildly around the room, “you must tell me who your decorator is.”

The stark minimalism of his office stared back at him as Richard's eyes swept the room. His room was boring, intentionally designed as such, so was he joking?

“Look, buddy, I don't thin-” cutting himself off, Richard clenched and unclenched his fist as he repeated his earlier question. “Who are hell are you?!”

“My name is Edward Nygma.” Flashing a smile, Edward dropped his head in a dramatic nod and allowed the green bowler hat to topple from his scalp and into his waiting hands before tucking it below his arm. “It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Madison. May I call you Richard?”

Now exposed, his red hair was perfectly coiffed into an old-fashioned style which felt very out of place in the modern office.

“I suppose.”

“What about Dick?”

Pursing his lips as his eyes narrowed, Richard was unable to tell if this man was mocking him or his earnest manner was genuine.

“I usually insist on Richard.”

“Then feel free to call me Edward.” Edward answered. “And to answer your earlier question, I am here to make you an offer which I know you will be unable to resist. We are both men of knowledge and money, so I know that you will want to hear what I have to say.”

“I’m not a trader.” Richard spat back, the surreal nature of this meeting making his aggression feel more performative that anything. “If you want me to invest in some shit you’re cooking up then go to Wall Street and pitch to the sons of bitches there.”

“Oh, I met the fools at Wall Street. Quite a long time ago.” Smirking as lips curled into a smile, Edward flashed his white teeth. “I gave them all the clues and all the opportunities to be honest men and they chose to ignore me. And then? Can you believe it? BANG!”

At this, Richard jumped in place as Edward smacked his hand against his thigh with some force.

“It all came crashing down. The Wall Street Crash, they called it. More than a few brains came to decorate the nearby paving after that, but they can't say they hadn't been warned. I gave them every chance.”

He's definitely mad, Richard thought. Edward did not look a day over forty and yet he had the gall to claim that he was present for the Wall Street collapse in the 30's?

“Talking like that will get you locked up in Arkham.” Richard warned.

“Oh no,” Edward exclaimed, “oh no, no, no! That would never do! I am far too intelligent for that and besides,” leaning in close as though divulging some information that only he was privy to, the green of Edward’s eyes twinkled madly for a moment, “an old friend has already made himself comfortable in those harrowed halls. It would be rude for me intrude on his delicate work.”

“You have connections in Arkham?” Such things were not unheard of and Richard himself had at least one guard on his payroll to ensure that the odd piece of information here and there fell into his hands. “Staff or guests?” He added.

“Staff today could be guests tomorrow and vice-versa. Let's not judge people based on their current position, particularly when that position is fragile at best. Fantastic things are afoot in Gotham right beneath your nose,” Edward insisted, “and my associates and I are here to see what she has to offer. So much filth and rot and chaos all wrapped in a pretty package of gothic architecture and urban landscaping.”

“Associates?”

“Oh, don't you worry, Richard. You are very unlikely to ever meet them as we tend to stick to our roles somewhat rigidly.”

“I need to make a phone call.” Richard interjected quickly. “Excuse me.”

Quickly retreating back to the doors of the elevator, Richard snatched his mobile from his suit pocket and quickly hit one of the numbers on his speed dial. This man, Edward, seemed to have decent connections and money to his name but he wanted to be sure before moving any further.

To his luck, his secretary picked up after only two rings.

“Hello, Richard Madison’s office. How may I direct your call?” Came a feminine droll from the other end of the line.

“Hey, Sam.” Relieved to hear a familiar voice, Richard continued. “Need you to run a quick background check for me.”

“Sure, boss.”

“Claims his name is 'Edward Nygma'. Never heard of him before but he looks like he has some decent coin behind him.”

“Okay. And where is he currently?”

“Standing inside my office.”

An audible hitch of breath.

“Okay, boss.”

Immediately on to business, Richard could hear the frantic tapping of her keyboard as she sought out the information he needed.

“The name is coming up here, boss.” As though reading from a script, Sam listed off her findings. “Edward Nygma. Business owner and entrepreneur. Apparently considered rather handsome. Worth…”

A pause.

“What?” Richard asked.

“Billions. Christ, he could put Wayne outta business. He’s absolutely loaded.”

“Billions! How have we not heard his name before?”

“He's a noted recluse. Very little personal details available here. All I can see is that his net worth is mind-blowing but the only thing he has name officially to is a production line of different types of toys.”

“Child toys?”

“Puzzle toys. For all ages and ranges.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. It’s not a lot to go on but it’s definitely there. Good source too. He's legit.”

Hanging up with a shaking finger, Richard could smell opportunity like a shark could blood. A noted recluse worth billions, right here in his office. He could take advantage of this in a way which he and all others had been unable to do so with Bruce Wayne; a man so wrapped up in his holier-than-thou attitude that he refused to engage in any business which would dirty his hands.

Richard hated him.

Taking a deep breath, he dropped his phone back into his pocket and started to move back towards Edward. He had not moved an inch since Richard had disappeared, but his attention was wholly focused on something which was clutched between his hands. As he approached, the flash of the brightly-coloured item in Edward's palm also drew Richard's attention and he squinted as though a sharp light had accosted him.

“What's in your hands?”

Rolling the offending object between his fingers with a practised ease, Edward brought it into the space between them.

“This?” He asked. “A curious little thing. I am very fond of puzzles and I haven't seen anything quite like this before.”

Recognising the piece, Richard squinted once again.

“A rubix's cube?” He asked, incredulous.

Who is their right mind had never seen a Rubix cube before?

“Rubix cube.” Edward repeated with a look of contemplation. “After the man who created it?”

“I guess.” Confused as to what exact relevance the puzzle held to the current discussion, Richard gestured vaguely with his hands. “I don't know what this has to do with-”

“Oh, of course! Of course!” Exclaiming loudly, Edward slapped a hand good-naturedly on his knee as he smiled. “Excuse my ramblings but you must forgive an old man his pleasures.”

“Would you like a drink?”

“Watered down whisky doesn’t agree with me, Dick,” Edward declined. “And I would think a man like yourself would want to watch his health. The liver can be a tricky old thing, especially six years down the line.”

“So, what can I do for you, Mr. Nygma? I doubt this is a social call since we don’t, uh, know each other.”

“I have an opportunity which you would be a damned fool to pass up on. A new line of puzzle and magic toys, fabricated and distributed across Gotham and her sister cities.”

With Edward waving his hand around, Richard was able to catch a glimpse of his watch and found himself momentarily stunned by the beautiful timepiece and the various gemstones which were embedded within.

“Toys? Just toys? Surely we cou-”

“I have meetings today with others, including a meeting with a very interesting man named Wayne who seems to have taken a liking to my products,” Edward grinned.

Richard’s chest clenched with anger at the familiar name and he immediately backpeddled on his scepticism, “That won’t be necessary. I would love to enter into a business deal with you, Mr. Nygma. I hear you have quite the reputation.”

“I’m certain I do,” Edward replied, “and I would like to bring you onboard before I return to my other duties. $10 million would suffice as a minor investment, one which would see major returns.”

Wincing at the amount but desperate to keep the vaguely gullible and eccentric billionaire within his grasp, greed already blinding his thoughts as he imagines various ways of involving the fool with his less pleasant ventures, Richard nodded at the proposed amount.

The conversation flowed smoothly after that, discussions of timescales and proposed returns forcing Richard into the belief that he was making a smart choice. His mind focused despite the whirling nature of Edward’s demeanour; Richard felt the thrill of his greed thrumming in his veins as he catered to his latest potential cash cow.

“So, do we have a deal, Dick?”

Extending his hand with a showman smile, Edward allowed it to hang in the air between them with a sense of finality.

Willing to ignore the nickname this one time, Richard nodded once more and accepted the handshake before dropping his hand to his inner pocket. Mobile phone in hand, it took Richard less than five minutes to have the investment money wired over to Edward’s accounts – ensuring that he retained a firm copy of all Edward’s account details should anything go awry with their deal.

“This account is one of my more selective accounts and I would appreciate its use being kept on the quieter side of things. I am sure you understand,” Richard muttered with a put-on smile.

“Of course, of course! My lips are sealed.” Edward winked, placing his bowler hat atop his head with a dramatic flourish. “A silent account for a silent partner.”

His smirk actually blossoming into a genuine smile, Richard took the initiative to end their meeting.

“A pleasure, Mr Nygma. I hope to work with you again.”

Tilting his head with a wicked smirk of his own, Edward answered in kind.

“I’m sure you’ll think of our partnership often.”

x-x-x-x-x

Stepping into the familiar office of Salvatore Maroni, Richard inclined his head to the goons who remained on guard as he joined both the owner of the office and their mutual friend, Daniel Mockingbird, by taking a seat on the only available chair.

“Evening, boys. Pour me a decent one, eh, Sal?” Richard asked, inclining his empty whisky glass to Maroni. A glass which was quickly filled with amber liquid as the man in question poured him a healthy slosh of scotch.

“You’re chipy as fuck today, Richard. Balls finally drop?” Mockingbird cut in, his thick Italian accent glossing over the words with ease.

“Funny,” Richard deadpanned as he sank a gulp of the scotch, “but anyway, how has your week been gentlemen?”

“Great, I got me a new business partner and I think he’s going to be one for the books, boys,” sipping from his own glass, Maroni appeared pleased with himself as he divulged his luck to the other two.

Surprised, given his own unmade announcement, Richard inclined his hand to Maroni as he indicated for him to continue.

“Yeah, some fucking freak. Came here to ask me to partner on an investment deal for some shitty kids toys and-”

“Bullshit!” Mockingbird called out, surprising both men at the outburst. “You met with Nygma too?”

Open shock playing on his face as he watched the two speak, Richard dropped his hands to his lap as his head darted between the two like a tennis match.

“Yeah. Showed up here asking for $10 million.” Maroni confirmed.

“Fuck! Same from me.”

“Same, huh? For the toy business?”

“Yeah, for the fucking toy business. He didn’t say nothing about having other partners.” Running a hand through his slickened hair, Mockingbird was clearly unimpressed with the fact that his great deal had not been as exclusive as he thought. “Jesus Christ man, $20 million from us both. Sneaky fuc-”

“$30 million,” Richard intercut with a frown. “I also received a visitor yesterday.”

Genuinely speechless, all three men grumbled their discontent into their glasses as they observed the others with open suspicion. Their friendship was tenuous, agreements always being settled under the table to ensure that the dirt they could hold over each other was limited, and an event like this would only breed discontent.

Unable to muse for too long as his phone started vibrating madly in his pocket, Richard pulled it free with a gruff greeting as he pressed it against his ear.

“Mr. Madison, we have a problem.”

Sam. Sounding thoroughly distraught as her voice stuttered across the words.

“What is it?” Richard asked, a sinking feeling dropping his chest into his stomach.

“It’s gone, Sir. Everything. All the money from the secret account.”

His heart stuttering at the information, Richard barely noticed when both Maroni and Mockingbird picked up their own ringing mobiles.

“What the fuck do you mean it’s gone?”

“The account is empty, Sir. The $10 million transferred through to the Nygma account but the rest has disappeared. It’s gone, Sir.”

“No, no-NO!” Richard snapped, snarling his words down the phone. “You find me that money, Sam. Find it and get it back. Hunt down that fuck Nygma if you need to because I think he has something to do with it.”

Slamming his phone shut, his heart pounding in his ears as his blood pressure reached new levels, Richard zoned back into his companions to find that all hell had broken loose across both men. Maroni’s face was a stunning shade of puce as he screamed insults into his mobile while Mockingbird was speaking in Italian at record speed, his expression equally as angry.

Allowing both men the time to finish their phone calls as they went through a similar disbelieving anger to himself, Richard understood without a doubt that they had all been swindled in a similar fashion.

“What the fuck is happening?” Mockingbird hissed, throwing his glass to the floor as the scotch splashed across the carpet. “One of my private accounts has been tanked! Gutted! Fucking robbed!”

Maroni pulled his lips back into a snarl, “Same here! Fuck! The account I used yesterday. That sneaky fuck Nygma is behind this and I’m going to find him, boys.”

“Pull our resources! I’m going to kill that red-haired fuck.” Richard added with a roar.

“Red hair?” Mockingbird face was confused despite the rage, “You mean black hair? Short little fucker too, only about 5ft? Weasley as fuck.”

“What?” Squinting, Richard shook his head. “No. He was wiry with red hair, probably about my height and thin as an addicts piss. Sal?”

His voice so low that both men struggled to pick up on his exact words, Maroni growled his own description.

“Brown hair. Slicked back. Slight build on him. Had a stupid cane with him. I even got the bastard on record.”

Snatching out a voice recorder from a nearby desk drawer, Maroni fiddled with it before clicking play on the recorder as all three men stared at it with narrowed eyes.

“-an excellent choice, Mr Maroni! I admire your taste in being able to pick up on a good deal when it comes your way. So, let’s get down to business and I can be on my way. Shall we say around $10 million as an investment? With that I cou-”

His heart racing at the familiar voice, Richard saw a similar look of rage on Mockingbirds’ face as he listened to the recording.

“That’s him!” Mockingbird grunted, his fists clenched against his lap. “That’s the smart-mouthed cunt.”

“How the fuck can that be the same man we all met?” Richard asked reasonably, rage giving way to confusion. “Sure, he could wear a wig or change his clothes, but his height? He wasn’t a fucking magician. This shouldn’t be a fucking riddle. How much did he take from you?”

Directing the question to both men, the grave looks he received in response no doubt mirrored his own. If their loss was as great as his own then they were looking at an easy collective loss of over a hundred million. A hundred million dollars, gone in a puff of smoke.

All dirty.

All untraceable.

As it was designed to be.

It was a perfect theft.

“Play the bastards voice again, Sal.” Mockingbird hissed. “I want it committed to memory so I can remember to have his tongue ripped out when we catch the prick.”

Thick fingers pressing the play button of the audio recorder, Maroni startled in place as the casual conversation which had previously been loaded on the device was replaced by a loud, cackling laughter – the rising cacophony of Edward’s mirth making all three men shiver in place as something dark curled around the joyful sound and rattled them to their cores.

Richard Madison was a crook, but he was no fool, and, as Mockingbird fixed himself with the sign of the cross, Richard could not shake the furious anxiety which seared in his chest as he realised that something evil had held counsel with him in his office yesterday and that his money was gone somewhere he did not dare to follow.

[toobbolive]

Hear me out: Pac is just as afraid of intimacy as Fit is. Pac has a specific idea of what being close to other people will entail, and that's why he situates himself by the violent, unstable men.

They'll be exactly what he expects them to be, they're familiar.

That's why he still seeks out Cell during purgatory, and how he's decided to stay with him and try to walk him back to being Cellbit regardless of what Cell's done to him and his friends (including those who did not end up respawning or escaping.) Cell is already close to him, to his body and mind and Pac is afraid to lose that closeness no matter how ugly or unhealthy it is.

Any attention, any intimacy is still intimacy. A hand reaching out to harm you still has to touch your skin.

Meanwhile, Fit is from an environment that paradoxically prevents and ensures closeness, the bond between warriors, the conditional loyalties of where you lay your head.

Fit is aware that getting closer, getting what he wants will hurt him, and he still wants it anyways. I think he's prepared for the pain waiting for them both if he'll just reach out for it. As well, Fit has Ramón, a job, a mission, people who need him, other connections to the people around him. Pac doesn't.

And we see Pac keep people at an arm's length so that he won't have to risk the pain of being left behind by the people he cares about.

Considering old Fuga Impossivel 2 lore (which could be canon! they've been using parts of it) Pac and Mike are orphans, only fully having each other. The single constant between their adventures. Pulling capers, spending a long time in prison and then on a boat with other dangerous escapees, with whom they're now a twisted kind of family, but Richas has other dads, and people like Forever and Cellbit both have their own partners and demons right now.

So Pac during the Happy Pills arc? Walter Bob could be dead. Mike is in deep sleep, and Pac doesn't turn to anyone else for help. He doesn't reach out to the morning crew. He's self-sacrifically on his own, he goes on the drugs alone, and he begins to develop the antidote alone and what he says is that he doesn’t want to be sad again but he isolates himself in fear of it.

Let's think about the Pac who's openly affectionate to cover up the Pac who knows that no one needs him around and who's intelligent enough to know that challenging that understanding could destroy him.

That's why Pac won't confess either.

Pac avoids every concrete escalation because changing a relationship means risking losing it.

[myshitaccount]

City Girl Rescue

(a/n: so basically reader is jackie but w “y/n” and reader isnt down bad for cole. Enjoy 🫶🏻 also i have a good pt 2 in my head so lmkk if anyone wants that eventhough ill prob write one anyway cuz i am down bad for this man 💋 cole aint got nothing on him)

My Life With the Walter Boys

Alex Walter x reader

plot: reader gets lost during walk during thanksgiving drama, but of course everything goes wrong. (same plot as in the show but i tweaked it)

-

Goosebumps, annoying, airpods in. It’s hard to ignore the persistent drama of the Walter house. Especially the drama between, my boyfriend, Alex and, his older brother, Cole. Not to mention the glances Cole keeps throwing at me.

It gets harder to ignore when the glances become stares. Words shared between us also prove his infatuation. I’m not tryna be another paige, so I hope Alex hasn’t noticed.

I glance down at my phone to check the time. 5? I left at 2! I quickly open the maps app to figure out the way home, but the signal isn’t strong enough. Well it couldn’t get anyworse! I eat my words as sounds signaling thunder and a cold storm fill the sky.

Anxiety truly begins to set in. I slid down one the tree ive posted up next to and scramble to call Katherine. I let it ring until im met with her voicemail. I instantly recall that the surprise party for Nathans return from the hospital is right now, no no no! The fear that they wont notice my absence worsens my anxiety. Next I, more frantically, called Alex.

If he doesnt pick up…

“Hey Y/n where are you?”

I breathe for the first time in what felt like minutes..

Now i must confess the deeply embarrassing truth, “Alex, I’m ummm, I’m lost- I was going for a walk and I-I don’t know and I don’t know what to do.”

In the mere moments that I’ve been crouched by the tree the sky has darkened and rain drops have begun. As I word vomit to Alex I can’t stop the breathe catching sobs that quickly take over my overwhelmed state. “Alex- I don’t know what to do”

“Hey. Y/n i need you to take a few deep breaths ok sweetheart” I close my eyes and listen to his voice, “Do you have any idea where you are baby?” I sniffle a response together, “No, theres trees.. a lot of trees and there was a path of sand tint gravel, but it’s gone and theres a hill too.” “Okay baby I know where you are I’ll be there as fast as I can-stay on the phone with me alright?”

The rain is now heavy without any escape and the thunder and lightning fill the sky. Yet, his voice has somehow soothed me. I glance down at my screen for the first time in a while; which is now dusted with raindrops, “Alex, my phone its about to die-“

Dead. And now I’m alone again in the wild and freezing temperatures. My shirt sticks to my skin soaked completely as well as my jeans that weigh me down with the amount of water intake. All I can do now is wait.

-

I don’t know how much time has passed at this point. Definitely not as much as it feels. I’m scary cold, my body is becoming numb, and I’m tired. super tired.

My shut eyes spring open by the new noise of twigs snapping. “Y/N! Y/N!”

My heart swells- its Alex! His voice sounds harsh like hes been yelling for a while, “ALEX! I’m right here!”

I try to rise from my position underneath the tree but i fall flat on my hands and knees. It’s so dark at this point that I can only see the distant light that Alex carries with him.

It moves erratically and is accompanied by sounds evoked by Alex’s running through the muddied forest.

He is quickly in-front of me discarding his layers. As soon as his hoodie, jean jacket, and raincoat is off of him he is dressing me with urgent yet noticeably delicate movements. “How do you feel Y/n?” He speaks pulling the hood over my head, before he puts his beanie on my head I grab his hand and look him in the eyes, “Alex- I’m ok, leave the beanie just get us out of here, please,” Without skipping a beat I’m scooped up and whisked away cradled in his arms to the family’s good-ole chariot. The beat of his heart and strong arms, definitely from all the farm labour, calm me.

He sets me with the same delicate actions into the passenger seat. My shivering has slowed and before he can turn away I grab him by the back of his neck with both hands and kiss him. His body leans into the car; one hand is around my waist while his other is on the dash securing himself. Our wet lips crash against one another’s and we both quickly become panting messes.

I pull away and his own face follows mine keeping us an inch apart. “Thank you Alex- I’ve never… been lost like that,” He grins that smile that brings warmth to my cheeks and butterflies into my stomach, “Ofcourse you haven’t- ye’arent used to having forests to get lost in city girl.”

[cellu-lightreading]

43% (The Vultures Diet)

Walter had been warned by everyone at the weight loss center about those dudes. They called them vultures. A group of skinny and muscular dudes at the edge of the parking lot watching clients go in and out the front door. The dieticians, the trainers, the doctors and the secretaries all told him that when someone becomes their victim, they never lose the weight, they just keep blowing larger and larger. Once he noticed the vultures once, he noticed them everywhere: at weight loss centers, at health food stores, at the gym. Their gaze was fixed on every jiggly roll they saw in January. Legend has it that they watched diet infomercials and weight loss shows, twisting their tips for weight gain ideas and watching with lust and desire in their eyes. They came out to wait on guys like him to waddle through the parking lot when their willpower can’t take anymore. That’s when they go on the attack.

Phase 1: Recruiting 

According to the numbers, 43% of people will give up on their New Year’s Resolution by the end of January, and an overwhelming number of resolutions failed will be attempts at losing weight.

Walter didn’t want to be one of them. The holidays had hit him pretty hard and by most estimates, he was already in need of a good diet plan before it started. October was a non-stop barrage of Halloween candy and then at the start of November, it’s all discounted. The end of November is Thanksgiving- the office Thanksgiving party, Friendsgiving, the family Thanksgiving, Thanksgiving leftovers. Before you know it, it’s December. Everyone is hosting a holiday party and offering special candies and homemade treats. If it’s Hanukkah themed, there’s destined to be doughnuts and latkes deep fried in oil. If it’s Christmas themed, anything and everything can end up being served. The month dead ends in a giant feast and a week of eating leftovers and doing absolutely nothing that might burn a calorie. The whole season was a long cycle of Walter eating a lot, folks offering him lots of food, him never saying no to food, and him eating even more.

So at the start of the year, Walter decided he would try to lose some of the 325 pounds he carried. He joined a weight loss program with centers so they could see him and pressure him into staying on track. And after just the first week, Walter was already slipping.

Walter already knew he was playing with fire when he came to the Vultures the second week of the month. He had reached his limit. All of the solid food he had eaten all day could fit in the palm of his hand. He was supposed to walk in to meet with his support group and be positive, though he’s never been so miserable. He spent all of his willpower earlier in the day when someone brought in cake for a birthday party, and they announced that they got a larger size just so he could have as much as he wanted.

When Walter saw the Vultures cooking, he knew God was pushing his buttons. The smell of burgers and fries crept through his car’s air vents. He parked away from the doors where someone might spot him, but now there was no one to protect him from the pure desire in the Vulture’s eyes. Walter thought he had been self-conscious about his size before, but that was nothing compared to having them measure him with his eyes. Every cellulite dimple on his thighs and ass, every fold stacked on his love handles to form his rotund gut, every single stretch mark was already known to them by the time he reached them.

One of them stepped up to greet Walter. He had a beard that framed his face well and captivating eyes that twinkled like the stars in the sky. “Hey my name is Oliver. What brings you in?”

Walter hated how he blurted out “the smell of that grill” before he could even think of a smart answer. Oliver and his friends chuckled at the outburst.

“Yeah,” Oliver said, “the grill gets more visitors than any of the rest of us. Why don’t I fix you a plate?”

“Thank you. You know, you all seem much nicer than people make you out to be.”

“I’m guessing your friends inside told you about us.” Walter nodded in agreement. “We’re really not that different. We just so happen to think men are better off when they’re built nice and wide. We think it’s sexy when a man likes to eat. Fat men are beautiful to us. Guys who have listened to us instead of them tend to be much happier. I know we’re going to make you happier already.”Oliver handed over a plate with two double cheeseburgers and a brown bag filled to the brim with fries. Walter could see the grease stains but he didn’t care. Walter licked his lips and devoured the burger in less than ten bites. He licked his fingers clean.

“That might have been the most delicious burger I’ve ever had. What’s your secret?”

“Well, we don’t skimp on flavor or quality. We’ll give you what you want by any means necessary. There’s no need to deny yourself with us. In fact, I think you’ll like our diet plan.”

Walter’s curiosity was piqued. “You have a diet?” 

Phase 2: How It Works

Walter had been working through his new diet for about two and a half weeks, and he still had questions. Oliver, his coach, was happy to walk him through everything.

Should I have a slice of the cake in the break room? No, have two. 

Should I have a salad for my appetizer? No, have mozzarella sticks.

Which chocolate bar should I have? Both and pick up the king size.

Oliver’s choices all felt so much more natural than Walter’s old diet. His old diet had a long list of foods he couldn’t eat that got rid of all his favorite foods. He was only allowed tiny portions at set times which left his stomach empty and mad the rest of the day. The old dietician found something new to chastise him for every single week he came in. Oliver never chastised him for eating what he liked; Oliver always wanted Walter to treat himself. 

One day, Walter was texting Oliver about all the cravings he was having while he was stuck at work. There was a big deadline coming up and he couldn’t take the time for one of his usual mid-day binges. A coworker had ordered sandwiches for the office, but that was far from enough for Walter’s big boy stomach. Walter tried to power through, but his mind kept wandering to all the meals he would normally have in an afternoon. His mind switched from burgers to fried chicken to quesadillas. He thought about the pizza and cinnamon stick combo at the place around the corner from the shop. 

At around 3 o’clock, there was a delivery for him at the front. Walter snuck downstairs and found a bunch of the Vultures holding bags of all the things he was thinking about. 

“Oliver told us that you were feeling a little hungry, so we thought we would help you out,” one of the Vultures said. 

“Oh you guys didn’t have to do this. Really! I don’t even have time to eat all this food.”

“I’m sure they’ll understand that you need to take just a few moments for your health,” another Vulture responded. “Besides, once you get some food in you, you’ll be a lot more focused and productive anyway.”

“Well when you put it like that, I can’t afford to not take a lunch break.”

Walter and the Vultures snuck into one of the nearby conference rooms and laid out the massive spread of food. Walter dove right in. His stomach was absolutely growling. When he started to feel full, those men lined up and ensured Walter ate every morsel of food they brought. They scooped up every crumb and drop of grease and put it in his mouth. 

Walter’s gut was bloated by the time he got back to his office. There were all colors of stains on his shirt. A coworker simply looked at him when he got back and asked:

“You couldn’t even bring up a bag of chips for the rest of us?”

Phase 3: Group Support

When the weather started to warm up in the spring and the coats came off, the real world started to look like after pictures. Diets and exercise started to pay off. Walter stared at photos of ripped abs and toned biceps and wandered if somewhere he had made a wrong turn. He sent a panicked text to Oliver who rushed over as fast as he could with his favorite treat- a box of doughnuts.

Walter held the box on his lap as Oliver launched into a diatribe. He wasn’t used to Oliver with lots of passion and emotion, but his heart was in this speech. Walter almost expected tears to start welling up in his eyes. 

“You have to stick with the program. I know it’s easy to lose faith when there’s all these messages telling you you’re supposed to be built like a cardboard cutout, but that's not who you are. And trying to be something you’re not is only going to make you miserable. You need to see what success looks like for someone like you. I know, you should meet some of the other guys in the program. I bet a trip to the buffet with them will have you feeling much more confident.” 

So the next evening, Walter is sitting at a table with three other dudes who were the size of planets. Oliver is sitting at the next table with one of the Vultures, some lanky dude who had an aggressively obvious boner from the moment he walked in. Oliver and the other Vulture served them eye-watering portions of whatever they asked for directly to the table so they didn’t get up. I left Walter with a lot of time to get to know the other guys.

Directly across from him was Justin, a high school teacher. He was a little like Walter- a chronic snacker. He would have snacks in between periods and while he was grading assignments and tests and some of the candy when he passed by the jars in the main office. It was an open secret among the students that bringing him a bite to eat could help boost your grade. Justin flashed the group a photo from when he decided he was going to lose the weight and consequently when he crumbled like the first cookie he got from the Vultures. He had an average build really, just a bit pudgy with a beer gut. Now that gut was an ocean of fat big enough to be used as an armrest and push his legs apart when he sat down. He confessed as he scratched at his stretch marks that the snacks from his students have grown that from his quite a bit. That morning, someone gave him a sheet of brownies and he finished the whole thing before the end of class. 

Next to Justin was Elijah, who was deep into a passionate love affair with fast food. He loved it so much that from high school through college, Elijah worked at a drive thru and abused his free food allowance. When he got a corporate job and he saw just how little of his dress clothes fit any more, he knew he had to make a change. But a body that’s used to making 2XLs look like kid’s clothes doesn’t know how to resist the grease laden siren songs. When the Vultures got a hold of him, they got him to spend all his new money indulging every desire they could fit in greasy brown bags. That’s why there’s a wrapper coming out of his too tight pocket. That’s why he’s gained the weight of a grown man in pure lard in just 13 months. The two chairs he had to push together don’t sound like they’ll make it through dinner, but there’s no way he’d fit in anything resembling a booth. 

Stuck next to Walter was Thomas. Thomas was a real glutton. He could eat for an hour straight and five minutes later start planning his next meal. Most days he ended up eating five times a day. Thomas was notorious for going to a drive thru for a snack for waiting in another drive thru. His brief moment of doubt came when he outgrew the big and tall section of his local department store. Two years later he was just fired for breaking his second reinforced office chair, and outgrowing the largest uniform  size of the supplier. Now he’s looking to officially make his waistline longer than his height. 

Walter couldn’t help but be a little bit impressed. By pure numbers, they were leaps and bounds from where they started. At the same time, they were bragging about a future that he was scared of. Didn’t this start because he was scared of forever being the massive elephant in the room? Why keep going down this road? And then they took their first bites of food and the taste does something to him. He sees what it does to the other guys. Their destiny was his and it was filled with happiness. No need to fear anything. 

Phase 4: Combined with Exercise

The countdown to Halloween was filled with one of Walter’s worst nightmares coming to life.  The elevator at his job broke down, and even worse, there was no clue when it would get fixed. Walter had gained close to 200 pounds since he had used the stairs in that building. Now he was stuck climbing a flight of stairs just to get to his cubicle.

When he opened the door of the stairwell, Walter tried to steel himself staring at the daunting concrete challenge. After all, there’s only one way to go. He grabbed onto the railing. The cheap metal groaned as he pressed on it. He hoisted his body up the first step and it felt like a triumph. Sure, it’s uncomfortable, but it’s not impossible. He can do this. Walter pushed himself up a few more steps. The folds of fat swang with every footfall. All that movement was straining the tight clothes that he perfectly positioned to cover his inflating body. Walter swore he heard seams ripping. As he approached the landing for the second floor, he started to feel the burn in his muscles. Sweat is rolling down his face. Walter summoned all the strength in his body and pushed forward to get through the door. 

On the other side of the door was the boss’s assistant, drinking her coffee. When she noticed him, she shot up out of her chair.

“Yay, Walter you made it. I have a surprise for you. Follow me, quickly.” Quickly? Walter wanted to spend the next half hour leaned up against the wall waiting on his heart rate to get back to a normal place. Walking should have been out of the question, but he didn’t have a choice. He followed the petite secretary as she began to explain, “Human Resources has reminded us that having the elevator break down causes undue stress onto you and the other ‘plus-sized’ members of our corporate family. And so as a way of compensating you for the trouble, Mr. Hartman has decided to provide you all with some snacks to start off the morning. Feel free to have as much as you want and maybe even more.”

A stack of doughnut boxes sat on the table in the middle of the break room. It looked pitiful. Worse yet, the only person sitting at the table was Rodrigo. Rodrigo had flakes of glaze all over his mouth and fingers and sprinkled down his shirt. The box of doughnuts next to him only had 3 left. Rodrigo was the de facto fat guy in our office. His belly was genuinely the size of a yoga ball and hung over his belt. If there’s leftovers to get rid of, they’re calling him first. One of the reasons I went on a diet at the beginning of the year was because O felt like I was going to be his size pretty soon.

When my boss’s secretary left, I looked at him and went, “Can you believe they’re trying to bribe us with doughnuts?”

“With how tough it was to get up those stairs this morning, we deserve it. There may not be many benefits to being fat guys, but a donut buffet all to ourselves is pretty good.”

“Still, it feels insulting. I know that I’m a little heavy but-”

“A little heavy? Bud, we’re looking at “a little heavy” in the rearview mirror. I’m very heavy and you’ve got almost 30 pounds on me. ”

“No, I mean I’ve let myself go this year but I’m not-”

“Don’t be modest. This is a safe space. You’re what? 420 pounds?” Rodrigo estimated. He was around 430 when he weighed himself last, and that was a few months ago. “I try my best to stay under the big 400, but it’s okay. We’re fat guys. We like to eat. There’s nothing wrong with that. Being fat is great! Today you got the fat guy’s dream: to get paid to sit around and eat donuts all morning. Don’t miss your big break.”

Unable to argue with his logic, Walter took a seat across from him. He grabbed a box of doughnuts and started chowing down. 

Phase 5: Success Stories

When New Year’s came and went once again, Oliver and the other Vultures invited him to a celebration for all of their clients who had major achievements in the past year. The Vultures would stop by and talk to him about how his year had gone and what his favorite fast foods had gone. Half the night, Oliver sat next to Walter and fed him treats with desire in his eyes. Every Vulture function involved a never-ending feast of good food, and Walter would know having been to so many in the past few months. 

In the last quarter of the year, it seemed like Walter was getting an invite to go to hang out with the Vulture every other week. It started off with their Halloween parties in October. Then they melted into Friendsgiving feasts and every kind of holiday something they could invent in December. The Vultures did everything they could short of kidnap him from his job to keep him eating at every hour of the day for two and a half months. With trainers and friends who were all in the program, they kept him accountable and made sure that he was always keeping Oliver happy with the stuff he was eating.

It was no surprise that Walter had managed to push past 450 by the end of the year. However the attitude shift had come as a complete surprise to Oliver. Walter was finally excited by eating. He started to like being fat. It gave him joy when he saw that he was getting bigger and fatter. Now he was a fat making machine and Oliver knew he was ready. 

Oliver came up to Walter at the end of the night with an envelope covered in dark spots made to look like grease stains. He said, “I’m really proud of you for all the work you put in this year. The guys and I have decided that you would make a great spokesperson during our membership drive this year. And it comes with a few benefits, if you’re interested.”

“Benefits?” Walter asked.

[acuteobserv4tion]

Building on this, which has spoilers in it. This one does, too.

I figured out what I didn't like about the death scene.

Don't you judge me!

I'll admit, I got lost in the edgelord sauce.

I wanted them to shoot Maria. *gasp* I know.

I really thought that they were gonna do it when they gave Shadow the gun in the trailer. Plus, it's not the first time someone would be shot in a family/kids movie.

I guess there's a moral quandary when it comes to shooting a child in a movie, but not an adult. I don't know why, tho. Maybe it's some psychological thing that I'm not getting for when you're a filmmaker. (It's scarier. It's aimed for younger audiences, I know I know. Edgelord sauce)

I was really waiting, dreading the inevitable. But then Walters shows up. I get more anxiety with the gun being waved around. Then they hit the chaos canisters....

They try to make it seem like he's not a bad guy, maybe even that we should have liked him. Which I can appreciate. But then I think about what he's done and how he's acted.

It would just make more sense for Shadow to hate Walter's specifically if he was responsible for something. We shouldn't want to feel any empathy for Walters. It just felt off to me, like they tried to make me feel like he's a good dude after 2 movies of him being such a flippant jerk.

It just felt so impersonal when you suddenly drag our attention to this dead guy that no one likes. Showing this jerk trying to prevent a murder when his own death was nothing but a footnote.

Why does Shadow know him? Why does Shadow hate him? Why does Shadow know his face?

Did Walters personally put Shadow in stasis 50 years ago? Was I just too overwhelmed to see his young face in the room that day?

After having the movie slosh around in my noggin for a while longer, I realized that it wasn't Maria's execution death that I had a problem with

It was Walters. I just refuse to look at him differently.

That scene was fantastic.

But Walters...

We got beef.

On that note,

How did Gerald survive?

Like, dont get me wrong, I love it. I really think it would be better if they show Gerald, Maria, and Robotnik running away for just a little bit longer. Show them trying to hide as they escape.

Then we see Walters try to hold back the military's fire. The gun goes off. Maria is closer to the chaos canisters, thus the explosion. Shadow and Gerald are knocked back. A corner of the area is on fire.

Shadow gets ahold of his senses. We see his silhouette approaches Maria. We see the devastation on Gerald's face. He's old and can barely move as he tries to crawl to Maria.

Then we get that zooming in of Shadow's face with agents in the back as Gerald is crying on the ground, trying to reach out to his granddaughter. We feel the overwhelming emotion build-up to a chaos blast. Killing the people in the base.

Then that incredible transition to the tragic beauty of Shadow using his grief to envoke annihilation, the Eclipse Cannon.

Just a small thing that I think would have added to the movie.

[idkkprincess]

I roast Commander Walters (aka Olive Garden Guy) for 15 minutes. This man took a lot of my attention during Sonic 3 and bro wasn't even there that long...

Like

Calls Shadow kid -> Stops them from being shot -> Robotnik grandkid still dies -> Tell Shadow nothing -> Freeze Shadow indefinitely -> Forget everything for about 20 years -> Get another Robotnik grandkid -> Use him in the military -> Send him to meet another alien -> Somehow gets killed by an alien too -> No wait he's alive -> Now he's dead -> And the first alien is back -> Now I'm dead

I'm fine.

Like at least Towers thought Shadow had killed Maria. This dude didn't seem to care.

[ellethespaceunicorn]

Get My Pretty Name Outta Your Mouth

Rating: Explicit, 18+, Minors - DNI

Pairing: Walter Marshall x Reader

Fandom: Night Hunter

Word Count: 1.7K

Summary: For @enchantedbytomandhenry; You hate everything about Detective Walter Marshall. He feels the same about you. Now, kiss!

Warnings: enemies to lovers trope (not sure if I nailed it though), unprotected p-in-v, creampie, Daddy kink, male tackling female to subdue (if that squicks you, maybe skip this one-it is quick but described)

A/N: Unbeta’d, we die like people who tried their best. 

Dividers by: @firefly-graphics

Support/Reblog banner by me

My Masterlist 

Oh, this is great. No, it’s perfect. Not only were you voluntold to work a weekend-long stakeout, but you’d also be paired with Detective Marshall. Yeah, that Detective Marshall. Walter. The asshole who you’ve been competing with for ‘top dog’ since before joining S.W.A.T. all those years ago. 

He was always just ahead of you. Ran a mile half a minute quicker. Got promoted a month sooner. To top it all off, he was tall and drop-dead gorgeous. And he had an ass you could bounce a quarter off.

Wait, hold on. When did that become something you even cared about? 

The way he cockily smiles at you as he exits his truck in the parking lot of the motel is enough to have you clench your thighs together. This should be a fun weekend. 

Friday night into Saturday morning is spent quietly using the listening devices to monitor our suspect. You both just…sit there, using your ears. Walter is usually quiet, sure. But what human doesn’t even accidentally use small talk to fill a quiet space?

During the day, you try and sleep in your separate room but it proves to be difficult. You toss and turn, grumbling to yourself after a couple of hours. Visions of Marshall’s chiseled jawline, beefy arms, and thick thighs are burned in your mind. You abandon all hope of sleeping, spending the rest of the day disassembling and cleaning your sidearm. It keeps your mind sharp and you genuinely enjoy the process.

It’s nearing seven and you’re just getting your things together to head over to the surveillance room when you get a knock at the door. You peek through the curtains and see Marshall as he leans on the doorframe.

You open the door and look expectantly at him. When he doesn’t answer and barges into the room past you, you pipe up, “Come on in, why don’t you?” You close the door behind you and watch as he looks around the room.

He notices your gun cleaning kit on the small wooden table by the window and looks back at you. “You didn’t sleep today. You look like shit.”

“Awesome. Thank you. What do you want?” you snap, already sick of his annoyingly perfect face.

“Go home and get some sleep,” he crosses his arms, standing in front of you, “Got the B team coming in to take over.”

“So, we’re both leaving? Or are you just dismissing me?” you questioned, crossing your own arms.

“Just you,” he deadpans, not feeling the need to explain himself further.

“Well, fuck that. I’m not leaving, so if you’ll excuse me,” you fumed, moving to reach for your sidearm on the table as he moves over, holding a hand out between the table and yourself.

“I can’t let you take that with so little sleep. It’s dangerous for both of us. Trust me, one slip up, and one of us is down,” he warns, holding his ground.

“Marshall, get out of my way. We have a job to do.”

“No, I have a job to do. You’re off the clock. Go home, kid,” he urged, holding his position.

“You’re gonna have to take me out of this mission by force, Marshall. Otherwise, I’m-”

You did not get to finish that sentence before Walter was taking you down on your stomach. A strong arm fully extended holding your left shoulder, while your right wrist is being restrained, would have been enough. But, this was Marshall after all and if he was anything, he was thorough. He straddles your hips, with just enough pressure to keep you down, but not enough to scratch a certain itch.

“I didn’t wanna have to do that,” Walter breathes, winded slightly from the takedown, “but you gave me no choice.” 

“Marshall, get the fuck off of me,” you growl, trying to buck him off.

“Yeah, kid, that’s not happening,” he spits, hooking his ankles over your thighs, “You’re lucky I don’t cuff you to keep you down.”

“So, what? You just looking for a reason to get me to obey you?” you challenge, struggling under his weight.

“As if you needed an excuse,” he laughs, straightening himself above you.

“Please! If you honestly think-”

“Give it a rest, I can smell your arousal from here,” he teased, lowering his hips a fraction and watching your squirm, “And before you say it’s not because of me, why couldn’t I smell it until after I had taken you down?”

“Fuck you, Marshall,” you scoff, trying to hold some semblance of control.

“Yeah, maybe if you did, you could get some fucking sleep,” he offers, his left hand moving from your shoulder down your arm, “But here you are, stubborn as hell.”

You lick your lips, considering his words. You wanted to get some release. You also wanted to sleep. 

Fuck it.

“So, what’s it gonna be?” he queries, slowly starting to release your arms.

“I’m exhausted and I’m horny. But you’re doing all of the work, Marshall,” you say, lifting your hips to meet his crotch.

“That’s a good girl,” he hummed, releasing your arms before leaning up and off of you. You start to raise yourself before you are lifted and all but thrown on the bed and told to strip. Watching as his layers are quickly being shed, you all but rip away your clothing. 

Once fully naked, you look at Marshall where he stands watching you. Cock in hand, he pumps his massive length slowly while his eyes rake over you. “Tell me what you need,” he coaxed, his voice lower by at least an octave.

“Hurry the fuck up and put me to bed, Marshall, before I change my mind,” you threaten, your body thrumming under his gaze.

“You can change your mind at any time, you just say the word and this is over, yeah?” he informs, eyes connecting with yours.

“Heard,” you chime in, opening your legs for him. 

He kneels on the bed between your legs, reaching down to collect some of your wetness that glistens in the low light of the motel room. He lifts his hand to his mouth, sucking your juices off his fingers before plunging them inside you. “Fuck, girl, you are so wet for me. So fucking hot,” he moans, squelching sounds filling the room as he massages your inner bundle of nerves.

“Oh fuck, Daddy!” you squealed, completely out of your control.

“That’s it, girl, cum for me,” he goaded, his thumb moving to play with your swollen button.

It doesn’t take long before you feel that familiar tightening in your core, and Marshall must be the World’s Greatest Detective™ because he is pulling out his fingers and thrusting his cock inside your wet heat. Fucking you through your orgasm, your tight walls fluttering around him causing him to groan loudly.

“That’s one, let’s see if we can’t get you another, yeah?” he teases, melding your chests together as he wraps his arms around your center. From this angle, he can stimulate your clit while stroking deeply. And he does so at a punishing pace, his teeth nipping and kissing your neck. “Fuck, we shoulda done this years ago, girl. This pussy is fucking made for me.”

“Yes, Daddy,” you mewl, that time was completely on purpose.

Marshall leans up, leaving one arm around you while the other hand goes to your hair, baring your neck. “Who’s pussy is this, girl?” he challenges, even though he already knows.

“It’s yours, Daddy,” you whine, legs wrapping around his hips.

“That’s fucking right, it’s mine,” he praised, hips pistoning into you, “And I’m gonna ruin you for everyone else. You’re mine, girl.”

His growled claim of you paired with the way he fucks into you has your legs trembling around him instantly, your second orgasm of the night flowing through you.

“Hmmm, that’s my girl, taking Daddy’s cock so well,” he groans, the sound vibrating through the both of you. 

“Thank you, Daddy,” you moan, squeezing your thighs around Marshall, “I love your fucking cock.”

“That’s right you love this cock,” he growls, pulling out and manhandling you onto all fours, “Put Daddy’s cock back in, girl.”

You reach back and line him up, pushing back to impale yourself before moaning out at the angle change. Marshall grips your hips, plowing into you, no doubt chasing his own release now.

“Fucking cum inside me, Daddy,” you whimper, loving the sounds coming from your sodden cunt as it is pounded.

“I’m gonna breed this perfect pussy,” he grunts, hips stuttering until he pushes in as deep as can, cock twitching and painting your insides so full that it starts to leak past your entrance. He pulls out slightly before starting to fuck his cum back inside you. The sensation alone has your pussy quivering around him for the third time before you fall forward on your front.

Marshall laughs as he gets up from the bed, going to the en suite bathroom. You can hear him taking a piss and you know that you should as well to combat any chance of a UTI. But your legs aren’t listening yet so fuck that idea. 

Your eyes are already closed when you feel a wet warmth between your legs as Marshall is wiping down your swollen sex gently before you snuggle into the comforter being wrapped around you. A kiss is placed on your temple and soon you hear the rustling of clothes being put back on.

The sound of your motel room door opening and closing barely registers as you fall asleep.

It is sometime later in the evening and you check your phone on the nightstand as it reads 12:12 AM. No need to make a wish. 

You take a quick shower and get dressed before heading over to the surveillance room. You are stopped outside of the room by a uniformed officer. “Detective Marshall asked me to keep you out. And he wanted me to give you this. That’s all I know, Ma’am.” The officer hands over a note and you step away and read it.

Hey,

I was serious about you getting some sleep. 

Get that ass back to bed.

Daddy will see you soon, girl.

Sweet dreams xx

A/N: So, like I don’t know how I feel about how I wrote Walter here. This is not MY Walter, but I quite enjoyed this version of him.

**Tag List**

@astheskycries 

Let me know if you wanna be added and for what plz! 😁

[rjthirsty]

The Conqpurrer Beast

Tags: Child!Gilbert, Light Angst, short, to be continued

A/N: Art done by @dododrawsstuff (check her out, folks!), banner created by me, commission for @scummy-writes, 1k words went really fast and I'm super excited to write more of child!Bert. If you'd like to get a commission, check out my ko-fi.

There were three things that clued Gilbert in on something being off when he awoke in the morning. The first was that his sleepwear was not his sleepwear. As he stirred in the large, heavily blanketed bed, his shoulder fell out the neck opening and when he went to adjust it, his sleeve was twice the length of his perfectly normal sized arm. He certainly couldn’t have shrunk, he had always been the size he was, but when he inspected his garments, he found his shirt was not the only thing too large for his small frame. These clothes were clearly not meant for him.

The second was that his room was not exactly his room. It was like waking up in a dream world where things were familiar, but not quite right. It was outfitted like his room, but things were missing, and other things were present that he had never had. There were many more books on the shelves, all of them filled from top to bottom, even the shelves he couldn’t reach. The desk was neatly stacked with papers in handwriting that wasn’t his. And his wardrobe contained clothes for an adult, just like the sleepwear he found himself in.

While the first two clues were bizarre, the third was the most painful to acknowledge. His mother would wake him every morning. Oftentimes he would wake before she arrived, but then he’d throw the covers over his head and pretend to sleep so she would gently call to him as he held down his smile and refused to open his eyes. It was a fun game to play. Eventually she would resort to tickling his ribs and he couldn’t contain the giggles that erupted from him.

But this morning, she didn’t come into his room which was not his room. Not his mother. Not another maid or servant. Not even his physician, Walter.

Already feeling tired from exploring his strange surroundings, Gilbert crawled back into bed. There he sat in his oversized shirt that fit him more like a nightgown. He was considering picking up one of the new books off the shelves to read while he waited when a man in a hooded robe entered and immediately froze upon seeing Gil.

“Hello.” Gilbert smiled, sensing the unease in the air. The man hadn’t announced himself nor knocked before coming into Gil’s room - it seemed he must be lost. “I won’t tell that you didn’t knock, but I think you’ve ended up in the wrong place.”

“Prince Gilbert?” Roderic stared in bewilderment. The child sitting in Gilbert’s bed looked every part the spitting image of Gil, except that he was perhaps four or five years old.

“Oh!” Gil blinked, surprised that the man was looking for him. “Who are you?”

Roderic tried to wrap his mind around what was taking place. Somehow, Gilbert was a child. He wasn’t just a child in size, but it seemed he was actually operating as his child-self. He didn’t appear to recognize Roderic, and he was smiling and pleasant.

“Forgive me,” Roderic finally offered an answer as he dropped to one knee, bowing his head. “I’m Roderic– er, an aide dispatched to you.”

“Roderic, do you know where my mother is?” Gil inquired.

“...” Roderic struggled to think of how to answer. “Your mother is outside the palace today, Prince Gilbert. She has already departed.” 

The truth was she was dead. It had been over two decades since she met her end, but child Gilbert wouldn’t know that. Roderic was all too aware of the impact her death had on Gil’s life. The last thing he wanted to do was be responsible for another Gil facing those traumatic events without proper support in place. Of course, that meant that this Gil might one day find out– but that was getting ahead of himself. Roderic had to figure out what was even going on. How had Gilbert somehow aged backwards 25 years?

“Oh…” The dismay in Gil’s voice was preciously heartbreaking. “Well, Roderic, we seem to have a predicament.”

Roderic grimaced, hoping Gilbert hadn’t figured out he was giving a fictitious answer for the truth of the matter. “Y-yes, Prince Gilbert?”

“I can’t figure out how it happened, but none of my clothes fit.” Gil said with as much seriousness as a young child can manage.

“Huh?” Roderic snapped his head up to look at Gilbert, not expecting something so ridiculous to come out of his mouth. Sure enough, the shirt the young prince was wearing was the typical clothes that normal adult Gilbert would have worn, making them much too large for his tiny form. “I will rectify that immediately, Your Imperial Highness.”

Roderic stood and quickly left the room before Gil could say anything else. He was an unusual servant, Gil thought. He seemed nervous and flighty - not uncommon for some in the palace under some of his other relatives - but to be familiar enough with his mother and to be assigned to him, Roderic was not the type of servant he was used to seeing.

Roderic flew out of Gilbert’s room and down the corridor in search of Walter. He wasn’t sure who else to turn to, but Walter, like him, knew all of Gilbert’s secrets, so he seemed the only reliable person to confide in. He burst into Walter’s office causing Walter to start in fright. After glancing around to make sure the two of them were alone while Walter swore loudly and held his own chest to calm his heart, Roderic closed the door behind him. “Gilbert is a child.”

“Roderic– that’s why you burst in here and nearly gave me a heart attack?? I KNOW he’s childish!”

He shook his head and waved his hand to try to stop Walter from continuing on in his complaints about how Gilbert runs from medical check ups and other things he doesn’t want to do. “No. Walter. He is a literal child. Right now. In his room. Young. Very young. And he’s sitting in bed and his clothes don’t fit and what is even happening?”

[ellesthots]

Fateful Beginnings

XXI. “belonging”

parts: previous / next

plot: somehow, you always find your way back home. Batman gets an intriguing lead on John Doe.

pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x fem!reader

cw: 18+, dead body, cancer, confrontation, depression

words: 3.2k

Tears studded your cheeks as you vented to Mar about the morning's happenings. She'd never liked Dr. Vry, and at some point the conversation had exploded into a rant about the subpar character of the woman. "Remember when she accidentally input my A as a C and told me 'fate' must have guided her grade input? Then didn't fucking change it because of fucking, written in the stars bullshit? Fucking tanked my GPA."

"I just don't get it. The email said nothing about him, she said nothing about reporting on him besides being excited he would be there." You collapsed flat on your back in a starfish pose. "It was like she expected me to be starstruck by him or something. Like that was the only course of action." Like everyone else seems to be. The world caters to flashy, superficial things.

"Fuck her! You don't need her!"

You stared at her blankly for a moment. "Except for my housing, my food, my plane tickets back home?"

"How much an hour is it? Like $15?"

"$43."

"Oh fuck, in this economy you should've said you'd suck his dick, too."

Maybe you were spending a little too much time with her. "I feel like alluding to me doing anything with that man should be a crime." You flopped back on your bed and checked the time--it was barely past noon. You hadn't even managed to be at the job until the afternoon... shame threatened to cocoon you faced with such obvious failure. At this point you remembered the check Dr. Vry had sent would arrive today, and a few minutes later you sat inputting the code you'd been mailed to your digital check.

You spent the next twenty minutes listening to Mar continue to rant while you ordered some groceries. By that point she'd gotten a text from one of her friends for their Friday night bar hangout and had dismissed herself, leaving you tethered to your house as you waited to stock your fridge. You watched out the window as she got into an Uber, and after she was gone for sure, and just as the check deposited, you called your mom. Moreso even than the likely imminent firing, the stress of her health threatened to spiral you off the deep end. She picked up on the third ring. She sounded tired.

"Hey, hun." She cleared her throat, then yawned. You heard a small buzzing sound in the background, then heard a small meow. Another night he spent purring and cuddling her. Thanks, Walter. God, you were so glad she had him. "Everything alright? The photos you sent of your apartment were really good, I showed them to Debbie and she couldn't believe it! 'In GOTHAM?' is what she told me!"

To tell or not to tell about the troubles this week held? She yawned again. Not the time. "You sound tired." Your grip tightened around the phone.

She sighed. "My doctors moved my appointment to six thirty in the morning, can you believe that?" She tsk-d.

"How'd the appointment go?"

"Oh just fine. I had to sign a bunch of paperwork and talk to practically everyone in the place." She sounded bored and vaguely annoyed, which she hadn't been before. Irritability a potential side effect?

"Did the shot hurt?" Small talk, but what else was there to discuss? Your likely firing?

"Nope." She began cooing to Walter, who became exponentially louder with his purr.

"How's your arm? Any side effects yet?" God, why did things feel so dry today? Did Gotham really create so much distance already between you and your family? Were you just anxious and overthinking? Was she annoyed?

"My my, they must have you busy with interviewing skills."

You opened your mouth to respond, but she questioned you instead. "When are you coming back hon?"

This question confused you. "Uh, whenever you need me to, but I thought starting next month? For the injections?" You twirled with a frayed end on your blanket. Can I still return this? It's been like a week and it's already tearing apart... she snapped you out of your wandering with her next sentence.

"Sure, your dad and I are going on a cruise this week."

A cruise? Right after her first dose of an experimental cancer drug? With unknown side effects? "Mom, your treatment,"

"Oh we'll only be gone a week. Won't interfere with my next appointment." Walter meowed again. Who would be taking care of him?

"I mean, okay. I just think with not knowing the side effects of your first dose,"

"The way I see it dear is this might be the best I ever get to feel."

That sentence hit like a ton of bricks atop bruised ribs. "Couldn't you wait a week, just see the side effects?"

"The cruise leaves the port tomorrow."

"Mom,"

"We still can't believe that donor. Whoever they are, they really opened our finances up. Your father's been saving for years to try and make that initial bulk payment,"

You recalled the argument they'd had when your mother's cancer was initially found. Your mom wanted to start a payment plan immediately, but your dad thought if he put it into deferment for a few years and made payments to a high yield savings account every month their money would 'go exponentially further'. You hadn't cared much at the time, mostly because money stressed you the hell out, and at the time you were trying to avoid thinking about your mother's prognosis. Before you could decide what to say next, your dad had walked into the room and starting shouting loud enough for you to hear on the phone.

"Hey sweets, how are you and that Wayne guy doing?"

"I don't know how else to tell you guys I don't like him. We don't talk." This conversation was going nowhere, and you could smell an impending argument if you stayed on even another minute. You needed to check on one last thing before hanging up. "Who's looking after Walter?"

"Oh don't worry about that,"

"I am worried. Do you need me to come back to watch him?"

"Debbie will be stopping in throughout the week to check on him."

Walter was never very fond of Debbie; whenever she came over, in fact, he ran and hid. If you knew Debbie any less you might think Walter was placing judgment on her character, but no: she was just very loud, her laugh sounding a bit like a stampede. Walter was never very skittish, but after enough startles, he'd come to hide whenever he heard her come around. His discomfort was all you needed. "Tell her not to come, I'm coming home for the week."

"Hon," your mom began to chastise you, but you refused to let her finish. "No, no, I'm coming home tomorrow and I will stay with him. Case closed." After saying goodbye and lying about having already bought a nonrefundable ticket, you hung up and bought the earliest flight for tomorrow: 11am. You did your best to avoid thoughts of how the thousand Dr. Vry had sent was already disappearing, and filled the rest of your evening (sans figuring out what to do with fresh bags of perishable groceries) packing to head back the next day.

The bat signal hadn't lit since Thursday night. Bruce had been left reeling, kicking himself for not following up with Gordon on the owl debacle. He went out every night, and every few hours would move to the usual meeting place with Gordon to find an empty sky. It was Wednesday night before the signal lit again, and by that point Bruce had nearly gaslit himself into thinking the owls hadn't been there in the first place.

Gordon looked morose, but resolved. "We have the autopsy back for our John Doe." He held up a graphic photo of the man, gray and laid out on stainless steel. His chest and abdominal cavities were peeled open and pinned to keep tension, revealing a normal—yet punctured—chest and abdomen. Gordon confirmed its complete lack of novelty. "Nothing. Couldn't even trace back a name. No one posting about a missing husband, child, brother, nephew, friend." He paused to clear his throat. "However, we did find something unusual in one of his fillings."

"Unusual? How?"

"The coroner said he almost didn't catch it, but he runs the deceased through an MRI machine after especially gruesome cases. Normally fillings don't show up on magnets, but these ones did." He held out his other hand, revealing a few small pieces of chipped silvery metal. The metal was extremely slick and had a mirror finish to its shine. "It's a metallic alloy of sorts. I'll send it to the lab for processing."

He nearly asked to take it back to his own lab, but that would pressure the boundaries. Gordon was in a tight spot being seen with Batman. He couldn't push it. "How long until it's processed?"

Gordon shrugged, his nose scrunched like he was still smelling formaldehyde's stench. Bruce thought he might've caught a whiff off his jacket. "Not more than a coupla days. I'll signal for you." If the city was in a better place, if Gordon was in a better mood, he might have winked.

The pause gave Bruce just enough time to speak. He said it casually, without much fuss, as if it were a rolling breeze. "Did you see what was on the knives' handles?"

Gordon sighed. A good one? A bad one? Bruce's eyes trained on him like a hawk. The cowl felt tight. "Chicken scratch, most of 'em."

"Most?" Say more.

"No traceable logo."

Frustration bled into his tone. "Looked like an owl."

Gordon's eyes focused on no particular point on the back wall, his eyes narrowing. What? He saw it too, right? pounded against his ribs to be heard. After what felt like hours Gordon shook his head. "Maybe."

"Maybe?" Was this an elaborate scheme? Did Gordon not see it? Was his, was his mind failing him? It glinted off the light perfectly, the etching was transparent in its shape, the beak, the feathers, the claws...

"You alright?" The Bat was lost in thought, breathing thick and heavy. Bruce nodded. To push, or not to push? Silence hung like smog between them. It was crucial to push it, imperative to reality check his mental faculties. "It didn't resemble an owl to you?"

Gordon shrugged. It gave no information to Bruce, who was close to running out of the room and laying face-down in his pillow the rest of the night while he actively avoided looking further into the death of his great-grandfather. Was his time coming sooner than his had? Was it due to his lack of sociability? Had he been concussed one too many times? His neuronal pathways seized up, the myelin sheaths disintegrated?

"Do you know anything about owls?"

Did Gordon know? Was this a trick question? Wait, he wasn't Bruce. He considered saying he'd seen them in peculiar position throughout town, but moreso than Gordon's rocky relationship with the police force, the man had no idea who Batman was; Bruce had to keep exclusively to formidable behavior due to the weakness of the knot tying them together. A kooky moment, or a Freudian slip could force Gordon to take out some scissors and sever their relationship. Bruce shook his head, and left.

Uber. TSA. Flight. Baggage. Uber. Key. Door. Lock. Walter. Eat. Sleep. Walter. Eat. Sleep. Walter. Eat. Sleep. Walter. The past few days had passed in such inconsequential monotony you resisted the conclusion you weren't alive at all. The only moments of reprieve you gathered were when Walter walked up and jumped into bed beside you, tucking his fluffy back against your stomach. He was the only reason you were able to sleep with the anxiety of your job being in limbo, and your mom having fled the town after her first shot. Your mom had left a note saying that the connection would be spotty on the cruise, but they would be back no later than 5pm the following Friday. Now it was Wednesday, and the food your parents had left was starting to dwindle. Your muscles ached to be moved further than the walk from your bed to the bathroom, your bed to the kitchen, or your bed to the living room couch. You put another ice cube into Walter's bowl, grabbed your helmet that was thankfully still in the hallway closet, and took off for a ride to the grocery store on your mom's old bike.

The air was warm, and the sun threatened to burn every centimeter of exposed skin. You'd forgotten just long enough that the stinging sensation was of hot sun piercing onto skin to where you decided against going back for SPF. You didn't have to worry about such basic, human things in Gotham; the sun barely came out, and when it did it was covered by such dense clouds and thick smog you couldn't begin to feel heat against your skin whatsoever. The buildings were hard and cold, the dense metal keeping you chilled no matter the season. Now the sun accosted you, the wheels of the bike running over fresh leaves and the occasional string of hay. You swerved past clumps of clay dirt that lay in the middle of the road, shut your eyes for a few seconds as you coasted, not having to look out for a pedestrian or car every five feet. This was living, this was where you wanted to be. Tears prickled your eyes as you coasted into the dusty parking lot of WinCo, a local grocery store chain to the PNW. You forgot a bike lock, but the city was small and trusted enough that you never heard about bikes getting stolen, anyway. The initial panic was immediately eased, as well as the tight knot in your chest. Maybe you belonged... here?

You walked into the grocery and went straight for the fruit aisle. As you placed apples and oranges and pears in your basket, you absentmindedly flipped through the past. When you were growing up here, it was too boring. You'd wanted nothing more than to leave. You wanted to see skyscrapers, and big cities, and always have something happening around you. Now that you had experienced the worst of what a city could give, this town with its penetrating sun and lofty trees felt like paradise. A paradise that was quickly interrupted, when you accidentally knocked baskets with Lara. "Oh shit,"

"Y/N?" She pulled her basket in and glanced to her left, at someone who you presumed was her exchange boyfriend. She stared at your shoes, you noticed her cheeks going pink. Tension yanked on your shoulders and your stomach flipped. "Hi. I'm watching Walter while my parents are on a cruise."

"No longer in Gotham?" Her boyfriend turned around when she mentioned The Most Feared City, and walked over. "Gotham? That shitshow? I don't know how anyone can live there."

Fucking prick. A strange defensiveness overtook you. "It's not as bad as people make it out to be." Yes it was. "I'm just visiting home, I have a journalism job back there."

"How's Bruce Wayne?" Her tone was mocking, quite unlike Lara, and you figured it had to be Rose and Gabbi's bitter influence in the time you'd been gone that brought this upon her. Mystery Man's eyes lit up, one of the buttons on his shirt threatened to pop like the bulgy vein in his forehead. "You know Bruce Wayne? The Bruce Wayne?"

"She knows him, alright." She side-eyed the guy and giggled. He laughed, which was startling, and shame bolted through your body like a sticky, sharp rod. He leaned into her ear and said, still loud enough for you to hear and likely purposely so, "Her?"

Before shame could fully envelope you, you righted the wrong; in part because the idea of someone believing Bruce had been inside you made you want to sink into the floor, in another wanting to assuage yourself of guilt. "We haven't fucked. Sorry. I was just trying to get back at losers I thought were my friends."

Lara gasped. "I can't believe you!" It rung hollow in your ear just as Dr. Vry had. If someone put their hand over your head they'd feel steam. "You didn't used to be like this, it's fucking disappointing." You spun around and ignored what she was saying behind you, shoving your feet against the ground, making your calves burn with each grief-consumed footstep. It doesn't matter what they think. It doesn't matter what she's saying. Soon enough you made it across the store to the pantry aisle, pretending to inspect some cavatappi noodles in your quivering hands. The cardboard soaked up your bulleted tears, and you tossed it in your basket after catching a glimpse of your reflection in the boxes' plastic window. You fell to your knees and covered it up pretending to inspect the marinara, not trusting your thighs or knees to keep you steady. Everything hit you all at once, panic rising in your chest and narrowing your esophagus. You grabbed a random sauce and ran to the self checkout, ringing up your two items, grabbing a bag, and taking off for home.

The ride home wasn't as quaint as the one there. The sun wasn't at your backside, now it seared into your bleary eyes as it set, making you unable to see a rock in the road, sending you flying overtop the handlebars. When you touched your knees and elbows, they stung and stained your fingertips red. The last ten minutes of the walk was utter misery, as blood dribbled slowly down your knees and down to your wrists. Walter meowed when you came back, but you couldn't pet him. You turned the water as cold as you could manage to wash away the cakey blood and dirt. Your hands hesitated before lathering the shampoo, and when they scrubbed the back of your head you began to cry again. Your face was hot and your body ice cold. You sat on the floor, pulled your knees up, and wrapped your hands around your chest as sobs shrieked out of you. The water ran pink, then pastel, then clear. Being alive hurt. The thought pounded at the back of your corneas, chafed blisters between your thighs, and spiked the ridges in your throat, that you might never, ever, feel "home". Walter meowed at the door, you turned off the shower, and toweled off to open another can of Friskies.