#triumphant walter

[unpopulargoose]

Starvetober Day 11: Triumphant

This boy is evil now

Evil baby

There’s not enough Walter art tbh I am adding to the Walter pile for his mains/enjoyers

Woby is probably fine and probably doesn’t have rabies :)

[dipndotz]

bunch of random doodles i never posted

[patchesenthusiast]

someone help he's living in my head him and his stupid good skins in dst

[wiishingstarss]

dont starve art wowie

[theywontletmebeprincipal]

big day for zeroheads 🦾🦾🦾🦾

[avis-writeshq]

heyyy omg I love your writings so much! congrats on your latest milestone, it's DESERVED 👏 can I pls request track one with spencer reid where he gets an epiphany and decides that he wants to propose to his girlfriend? just superrrr cute and fluffy 😍 thanks a lot!!

glue song – spencer reid

summary: “but you’re here, and so i love you.” in which spencer realises that he wants to spend the rest of his life with you. pairing: s5!spencer reid x fem!reader genre: established relationship, fluff warnings: spencer in a knee brace (tell me why that’s attractive. why does he look good at his worst. face card never declines), he’s genuinely obsessed with you, not proof read oops a/n: thank you so much anon !!!! i’m so sorry it took so long to post; i kept changing and editing it hahaha i hope you enjoy it !! wc: 1.05k

“Careful watch your– no, pivot a little, pivot–” 

“I am pivoting! There’s nowhere to pivot to! Why is it so messy?”

You suppress a grimace as you manage to somehow squeeze your way through Spencer’s tiny doorway and into his apartment, the shoe rack on the side dangerously close to his damaged knee. You stumble a little as Spencer grips your shoulders tightly for support, his other hand holding onto a crutch. 

“Maybe we should move into a bigger apartment,” you muse, helping him to the couch. Your gaze shifts to his injured knee, your face falling. “Does it hurt?”

“Only when I think about it. Which is pretty much all the time,” Spencer says, wincing as he finally collapses against the cool leather cushions. “Thank you for doing this.”

You look almost offended at his words as you brush his hair out of his face and into a makeshift ponytail. “Did you think that I wouldn’t?”

He hums as he feels the way your fingers pull lightly at his hair, your nails scraping against his scalp. “Thought you’d get tired of me. After, you know, everything.”

“None of that was your fault,” you remind him swiftly. “This–” you gesture to his knee– “isn’t either.”

He softens, leaning his cheek on your shoulder. You’ve been there for him through everything and he knows what specifically it is you’re referring to. He could see it from the moment his doctors informed you that he wouldn’t take the vicodin they had prescribed to him to soothe his discomfort. His thought process makes sense; he didn’t want to risk it. Regardless, he was left with a growing pain in his leg that didn’t shake even after taking toradol. 

“I’d never get tired of you,” you clarify, squeezing his hands. “You’re too pretty to get tired of.”

He lets out a proper laugh as he squeezes back. “You’re funny.”

“I’m being serious!”

He laughs again, shaking his head adamantly. “Liar.”

“When have I ever lied to you?”

Spencer beams in your direction, pressing kisses against the soft of your jaw. “You’re right.”

A triumphant smile spreads across your face at his words. “Exactly.”

*** 

From his spot on the couch, Spencer watches guiltily as you hustle and bustle about in the kitchen, grabbing plates and filling them to the brim with the food you ordered from the Chinese place he loves. He feels bad seeing you work so hard looking after him; especially when you have your own workload to take care of. He doesn’t even notice that you’ve already placed his portion of food in front of him until you whack him lightly on his head with some napkins. 

“Stop it. I know what you’re thinking.” You shoot him a half-hearted glare as you snap open your chopsticks. “I want to do this. I truly don’t mind.”

“You’re already doing so much,” he insists, “I’m okay, angel, I swear.”

You are not easily convinced and you point to the list of things the doctor suggested you to do in order to ensure Spencer’s speedy recovery. “I have a responsibility, Walter. What will your team do without you?”

“They’ll live,” he assures, reaching a hand out to massage the muscles by your shoulders. “I think you’ve seen me naked more the past two weeks than you have our entire relationship.”

“Well it’s not my fault that you need to bathe,” you argue, stabbing at your noodles. “You love it really.”

His cheeks burn with embarrassment at the accusation. “I do not! It’s humiliating.”

“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” you soothe, smiling at him. “Besides, it’ll only be like this for a little while longer.”

“If you consider five months to be ‘a little while longer’,” he quips as he shovels food into his mouth.

You let out a laugh, not finding offence is his sarcastic blow. He thinks you’re a blessing and he figures that you definitely are. Who else can deal with the problems of him being, well, him aside from you? Spencer doesn’t know what he would do without you. How could he when you manage to push all the darkness and negativity away?

“I’m lucky to have you,” he says finally, his gaze on your face. “You’re so good to me.”

You hum in response, wiping your mouth and curling into his good side, draping an arm over his middle. “That’s true. You’re good to me, too.”

He brings his hand over your waist and kisses the side of your face in an act of reciprocation. “You’re beautiful.”

Heat crawls up your neck to your ears at the sudden compliment and you can’t help the silly bashful smile that pulls at your lips. Your mouth opens and closes, deciding on what to respond with before you settle with a simple, “Thank you.”

It’s the honest truth. There’s a look about you that tells him that you don’t believe it, but he doesn’t say anything more to try and convince you. He tells it to you everyday; he’s sure that you’ll end up accepting the compliments more readily. Your being beautiful might have been what had drawn him to you in the first place. Although he isn’t entirely sure. He recalls a certain folktale about invisible stings and how it was tying him to you. There’s something pretty about that thought, the mere idea that you were made for him and he was lucky enough to actually hold you in his arms. 

You’ve turned the television on now, a romance movie playing on the screen with familiar actors. It’s supposed to be a comedy, at least that was what the description on the DVD said, about the main male lead reminiscing about his year that he spent with some manic pixie dream girl. Spencer doesn’t understand how that could be comedic but you seem to enjoy it. 

Spencer has tuned out the movie now, finding entertainment in the reactions you have. Your face morphs into different emotions with each dramatic scene and in that moment Spencer realises one very important thing. 

“I’m gonna marry you one day,” he whispers, his breath tickling the shell of your ear. 

“What was that?” you ask obliviously and you lift your eyes to look up at him. 

“Nothing,” he dismisses, pressing his lips to your forehead. “Just keep watching the movie, angel.”

reblogs are always appreciated!

events page

[rose-of-red-lake]

Osha joining the Dark Side was a triumphant moment.

The writer of the Acylote said that is how we're supposed to feel:

"You want to feel Osha’s triumph. You want to feel her joining forces with The Stranger...Even though they are standing there, looking out at the sunset, ready to conquer the world, the tragedy is we know they don’t."

Note: the tragedy is NOT that a lot of people died, but that the two can't be together (because of Plagueis). (interview here)

Now, if that doesnt absolve villains of their bullshit, I dont know what does.

Let me try inserting some other fictional baddies.

"You want to feel Walter White's triumph. You want to feel him joining forces with the Nazis......Even though they are standing there, looking out at the desert, ready to conquer the world, the tragedy is we know they don’t."

"You want to feel the Frey's triumph. You want to feel them joining forces with the Boltons. ...Even though they are standing there, looking out over the Red Wedding, ready to conquer the world, the tragedy is we know they don’t."

"You want to feel Anakin's triumph. You want to feel him joining forces with Palpatine. ...Even though they are standing there, looking out at the burning Jedi temple, ready to conquer the world, the tragedy is we know they don’t."

[silveraryuu]

Armored Core 6, and its morality

I don't post much on here but I gotta just get this out of my head. I had a discussion with some people about the endings and their thoughts were nagging in my head.

Armored Core 6 Spoilers ahead, primarily the first two endings (not the True ending, basically)

So, in a circle of people I chat with, some of played Armored Core 6. They've beaten it. And when they were getting to the endings, I would say something like 'welcome to the bad ending' regarding the Fires of Raven ending. A few of them told me that I was wrong to call it that, because we're 'going against Coral, which is obviously evil-- it's a substance that takes over peoples' brains and technology!' But that always struck me as very off. Like, yeah. Coral has that property, but it isn't a bad thing by default. It's used as a drug, used to power machinery, and was used to defend the planet with C-weapons.

BUT the VERY big thing that didn't make sense to me was how said people argued that the Fires of Raven ending was the good ending... when you're not only repeatedly hammered in 'wow, that's kinda fucked up 621, you're gonna destroy my people, my family, and cause a massive explosion of Coral just like the Fires that ravaged Rubicon' by Ayre even before you MAKE the decision for the ending. You are called the 'Monster Who Burned the Stars' at the end. You cause Rubicon to be a dead planet by ramming a giant spaceship-city into a reserve of basically-technomagic-fuel that ALSO houses ascended(?) Rubiconians-- Rubiconians, I add, who didn't choose to have corporations fighting over their natural resources and are basically fighting a war of attrition that's ONLY won by Raven siding with them and fighting for their cause. Even during the fight against Ayre, it's not triumphant in any way, it's somber and heavy, with Ayre lamenting what 621 and her could have done together for the planet, and proclaims you as the Spark of War in Phase 2, realizing what you REALLY ARE to the planet.

The only counterpoint I was given during my conversation with these people was 'well you turn your back on Carla!' And yeah, I like Carla, she's pretty cool-- but she's not doing this for any other reason but fixing her and the Institute's mistakes. She didn't save you because you are YOU-- she saved you because you were the Ace and Final Piece that Walter trained and kept safe. Carla is cool, really helpful, and isn't a bad person, but she's still not acting in a way that's gonna turn out well for the planet of people who are harshly swept up in this hell by the PCA, Corporations, and Overseer. Again, we turn a planet into a 'Dead Planet' in the ending we DO side with her. It ends the war for Coral, but it also ends the entire planet that has Coral. It's erasing the sins of the Institute, but in the almost literally nuclear way.

Please, please give me a sanity check here. Fires of Raven ending is so heavy-handed and obvious with how sinister, somber, dire, and despairing it is. I'm not losing my mind here, am I?

[sflow-er]

Sunday snippet: unnamed S3 Walty fic

I've never done Sunday snippets before, but I'm quite excited about the Walty fic that I've been working on lately. It will be a short S3-compliant multichap set around their appearances in the season, and I hope to get the first chapter finished and posted relatively soon.

So, here's a silly little snippet from Chapter 1 (Talludden) that doesn't give away anything about the plot but does give you an idea of their dynamic before something disrupts it and kicks off the story.

--

With the decoy finished, Walter lay back down, now in the middle spot. Henry happily got into his own sleeping bag as well – only to realise he was still wearing the jacket that would get way too hot with two or potentially three people’s heat inside the tent. He couldn’t be bothered to sit back up anymore, so he decided to remove it lying down. To his frustration and his best friend’s amusement, that took a lot more grunting and wriggling than anticipated.

“What are you even doing?” Walter laughed on the other side of the thick fleece that currently filled Henry’s field of vision and tied his arms. “Why don’t you just sit up?”

“Because this – ugh, for fuck’s sake – this is less effort.”

“Sure looks that way.”

Henry finally managed to yank himself free with a triumphant yelp. Walter had the nerve to laugh again, for which Henry retaliated by flailing the jacket in his face. The urge to drop it on his head when he parried with his arm was damn near irresistible – but the escalation would only sidetrack them further, and Henry was already bursting to tell the story. He simply tossed the jacket in the corner, next to the bundle of yellow fairy lights that they had not bothered to put up.

“Okay, so,” Henry said, settling on his side with one hand under his pillow. “Where were we?”

“You were about to tell me you killed Alexander and dumped him in the lake.”

Well, maybe the story could wait just a moment longer. Walter’s arch smile was virtually begging for a jokey response, and Henry was not about to leave him hanging.

[catierambles]

Alternate Instincts Ch.11

Pairing: The Rogue’s Gallery (Geralt, Syverson, Mike, August Walker, Walter Marshall) x Stephanie Daniels (OFC)

WC 1176

Warnings: Panic attacks

Mike helped her put away what perishables she brought, which included a carton of about five dozen eggs that Sy appreciated as they were perpetually running low. They went through a lot of protein in that house with four very active Alphas, and he got the feeling they would be going through a lot more. A couple packs of steaks joined what was already in there, along with chicken and some fish. Girl had a healthy appetite. There was a slight disagreement on whose room her stuff would be going into, as all the bedrooms were spoken for. Not so much as they didn't want her things in their room, more they did and bickered amongst each other on who she would be staying with. In the end, she gave an annoyed sigh, rolling her eyes and grabbing her bags, setting them down in Mike's room and making him give a triumphant laugh, going to her and pulling her into his arms, pressing a kiss to her cheek. He went to pull back, but she reached up, touching his cheek gently and turned his face to hers, kissing him sweetly. His eyes closed, his arms tightened around her. A shiver raced down his spine as she pushed her fingers through his hair, tugging on the strands gently.

“Yep, there it is.” She said as she pulled away.

“What?” Mike asked, his voice slightly breathy.

“The feeling of fur.” She said, “I got it with all the others and I got it with you, too. I was kind of worried I wouldn't seeing as you're not an Alpha, but there it is.”

“Fur?” Walter asked, as they had followed her up the stairs to see where she was putting her things.

“Yeah, it felt like fur running over my mind and skin and I could see Mike's wolf for just a microsecond.” She said, “Black, not as stocky, but still big.”

“Damn, Stephanie.” He whispered, flattening his hands against her back. “And I thought I just wanted in your pants. But, fuck, sweetcheeks. This is a whole new feeling for me.”

“She's your Mate.” Walter said.

“It's not just that.” He said, “I want her to own me, I want to be hers.”

“Steph,” Sy started, “Did you...did you just claim Mike as your Beta?”

“I don't know what that means.” Stephanie said, still running her fingers through Mike's hair.

“Female Alphas not only have multiple Mates, but they also have Betas or Omegas that they claim.” August said, ”Sometimes they're also their Mates, sometimes they're not. Basically they're a pack within a pack. Not something we make common knowledge because there's too many negative connotations with “owning” someone, and humans wouldn't understand that it goes both ways.”

“Don't make me say it.”

“Yeah, we know, doll.” Sy said, “But you're wolf enough to claim Mike as your Beta.”

“You're my Alpha, babe.” Mike said, pulling her close and burying his face in her neck, “You're my Alpha, and I'm your Beta.” It all came crashing into her like a cartoon piano and she just about ripped herself away from him. “Steph?”

“I need some air.” She said, “It's a little too...close in here.”

“Are you all right?” Walter asked and she all but ran from the room, heading down the stairs and out the front door. It was quiet outside, the sun starting to set, casting the sky in reds and oranges.

Mate. Mate. Mate. Mate. Mate. I want her to own me.

It was too much all at once, crushing in on her. Too much. Too heavy. She couldn't breathe, couldn't stop her mind from racing.

Mate. Mate. Mate. Mate. Mate. I'm your Beta, you're my Alpha.

Her heart pounded in her chest so hard it hurt and she took in shaking breaths. Can't breathe. She was drowning, dying. Can't breathe. Can't breathe. Can't breathe.

“Easy.” A warm, heavy hand slid over her back. “Easy, darlin', you're gonna hit the deck.” She was pulled against a solid chest. “With me, Stephanie. Breathe with me.” His chest rose and fell in measured breaths and she slowed her breathing to match, swallowing heavily. In one two three four, out one two three four. “That's it. Keep breathin'.” In one two three four, out one two three four. The sound of his heart pushed though the loud buzzing in her head and she sank into him.

“Thank you.” She breathed and his cheek moved against her hair in a nod, his hand moving over her back in soothing motions.

“I had a lotta panic attacks after I'd get home from deployment. I know how to deal with'em.”

“Is she okay?”

“Yeah, she's okay, Mikey.” Sy said, “I think it just got to be too much for her.”

“I'm sorry.”

“It's not you, Mike. She ain't a wolf, her brain ain't wired to deal with it right away, and all this just came one after the other not leavin' her much time to process in between.”

“I'm sorry.” She said, her forehead pressed to his chest.

“Don't you apologize, baby. None of this is your fault.”

“But if I hadn't—”

“Hadn't what?” Sy asked, “Been born? Survived that accident by gettin' that transfusion? Babe, you're it for us. Some wolves don't have Mates, and if you weren't around for one reason or 'nother, we wouldn't have one either. It was always gonna be you, Stephanie. A thousand lifetimes, a thousand what-ifs, and it's always gonna be you.” She didn't know why, but hearing him say that made tears sting her eyes and she found herself sobbing quietly into his chest while he held her.

The tears eventually stopped and he pulled away only to look down at her.

"Better now?" He asked and she nodded. "Ready to go back inside?" Another nod and she slid her hand into his, lacing their fingers as they went back inside, her arm looped in Mike's.

"Are you okay?" Walter asked when they got inside and she nodded, still sniffling slightly.

"She just got a little overwhelmed, is all." Sy said and Walter nodded.

"Sy," Geralt said, "I looked into her landlord like you asked."

"And?"

"A lot of anonymous complaints of abuse, and there's a watch on him."

“Why'd you have him look into Frank?” Stephanie asked.

“Got a bad vibe from him.” Sy said with a shrug.

“Like a legit bad vibe, or “he's an Alpha wolf and is in daily close proximity to my Mate” bad vibe?” She asked and he paused as if thinking it over.

“A legit bad vibe.” He said, “And something he said don't sit right with me.”

“What did he say?” Walter asked.

“Verbatim?” Sy asked and he nodded, “If you infect her, she's mine.”

“Excuse me?” August asked.

“Fuckin' yeah.” Sy said and August pushed up from his seat. “Where you goin'?”

“Geralt isn't the only one with contacts in the Council.” He said as he headed for the stairs.

“Since when do you work for the Council?” Sy asked after him.

“I don't.”

[dishearteningmediocrity]

June 25th, 1937

Eighty-seven years ago, on June 25th, 1937, Colin Clive died in Los Angeles, California. This was a column that appeared in the Monday, June 28th edition of the Hollywood Citizen News, written by Edwin Martin--columnist, press agent, and acquaintance of Colin's. If I remember correctly, Gregory Mank quoted excerpts from this in his biography, but the article is worth reading in full. There's a poignant tribute underneath all the name-dropping.

Yeah, I know, not enough misery in the world these days, so it's time to dredge up more from the depths of the past. Still, it's an interesting glimpse into his life and death--and some of the people left behind.

Source: Hollywood Citizen News, Monday, June 28, 1937. Accessed via www.newspapers.com.

Transcript below.

CINEMANIA by Edwin Martin

JOURNEY'S END

"Think of all the chaps who've gone already. It can't be very lonely there--with all those fellows. Sometimes I think it's lonelier here."

Night after night we had heard him deliver those lines, and they never failed to touch us.

On this day they came back to us again--more poignantly than ever.

A few of us had gathered for a round-table at our favorite spot in Travaglini's--it was also his favorite corner that we occupied.

Just a few weeks before we had sat at this same table with him and planned a radio interview.

Soon after, when he went to the hospital, came a note in this manner: "Must have this old pump repaired a bit. Sorry we'll have to postpone our interview until I come out. Keep the corner warm at Travaglini's."

We had known him for many years--known him and admired him since they first brought him from England to star in the picture version of the same play he had made famous on the stage.

Later, when the play was revived by E.E. Clive, we enjoyed a most pleasant association while handling the publicity on the show during its run here at the Hollywood Playhouse.

During this time we got a little closer to this quiet, rather lonely man, who made famous the role of the hard-drinking Captain Stanhope in the stage and screen productions of "Journey's End."

Few knew it, but all during the past few months, even when he made such a hit in his outstanding part in "History is Made at Night," he had been carrying on under the constant shadow of a long illness--an illness which was gradually eating his heart out...but he never complained.

Sometimes there was a faraway look in his eyes as he talked--just that--nothing more--he was Captain Stanhope to the end.

A few of us were keeping the corner warm for him at Travaglini's that day when we heard Colin Clive had reached his journey's end.

WALTER BYRON, another fine young British actor, was studying his lines at the bar for the splendid part he plays with Sarah Padden in "Chilikoot Lou," with which Miss Padden soon returns to the vaudeville stage.

Eric Blore, inimitable English comedian, still in make-up, was also there...and Larry Kent, Hollywood's wandering actor, just back from directing and acting in England, was telling about a picture he wanted to make in the South Seas...Eddie Lee, known as England's "Donald Novis," was resting from his triumphant opening at the Century Club...and we were listening to the gentle elder Mr. Travaglini tell about stirring days when as a young man he was an officer in the Italian army...while Tony Travaglini, Jr., looked over a radio script planned as a welcome home to Harry Langdon.

Into this crowd of men came a saddened figure--a lovely woman who had been a friend of Colin. She was the last member of that gay trio who often occupied this same table together...from which another splendid young British actor, John Buckler, had left one night only to meet his journey’s end in Malibou Lake in a tragic auto accident.

She was the last one left—and she dragged her weary self up to the bar and ordered a double brandy.

Everyone wanted to ask about his condition, but Larry Kent was the only one who had the courage… “How is he?” he asked.

“He is going,” the woman said. “When I left he was already in the oxygen tent. They wouldn’t let me see him,” she said, trying desperately not to break down.

Because she knew that even a friend of Captain Stanhope must face unknown adventures with head held high.

A phone rang—it was for her—she answered it. Somehow the ominous tone of that ringing let us know the message. “He’s gone.”

Silently the glasses were filled…then Eric Blore lifted his glass. “I give you Colin Clive,” he said simply, and a toast was taken in his memory…and eventually each man filed out and went his separate way.

Somehow we believed that Colin Clive would have liked to know that his journey’s end had been accepted with such a gesture…as he went to that last rendezvous with his old friend, John Buckler...and as we walked out into the sunshine we remembered that we had other things to do--other things to write--but the only words we could think of were his gallant words from "Journey's End."

"Think of all the chaps who've gone already. It can't be very lonely there--with all those fellows. Sometimes I think it's lonelier here"....we are keeping the corner warm for you--Adios, Colin Clive.

[sweetdreamsofgelato]

about the kiss prompt 3, 7, or11 with either Sy, Walter, or August. or Charles if we are feeling Tudory. lol

The #7 “I’ve missed you” kiss screamed Walter to me. This is slightly angsty, but I hope you enjoy it!

(gif from google, if it's yours pls let me know so I can properly credit)

Pairing: Walter Marshall x Reader (You)

Rating: T for angst; hurt/comfort vibes

Word Count: 667

It was no secret that Walter was a gruff man. His oft-sullen and monosyllabic nature were rather notorious, and whilst no one ever appreciated being on the receiving end, most colleagues made allowances for something they deemed personally beneficial. His apparent ability to emotionally detach meant he was routinely saddled with the worst of the worst: the cases no one else wished to touch because of the inescapable knock-on effect on one’s mental health. Most assumed he was impervious to the foulest dregs of humanity and the horrific emotional gamut he ran each day. Believed that as if by some innate magic, he was able to simply absorb the repeated exposure to an endless parade of tragedy and defuse it all away into nothingness.

How wrong they were.

Walter felt everything and the trauma was acutely visceral. It lived in the permanent dark smudges under his haunted eyes, made its home in the unyielding tension in his every muscle, and burrowed into his soul where it inevitably metamorphosed into the existential exhaustion he continually suffered. His very essence was scarred, and it was a burden he bore without complaint so that the abysmal darkness never touched those closest to him.

His stoicism was how he survived and protected his peace.

It was how he protected you.

And whilst some took exception to his compartmentalisation by accusing him of being unnecessarily cold or distant, you understood and accepted it because you knew one thing with the utmost certainty:

No matter how far gone he may seem to be, Walter always came home.

It wasn’t easy, and the latest case had been particularly gruelling. Most evenings he stumbled in well past midnight and immediately collapsed on the sofa without touching the food you’d left wrapped on the kitchen worktop or taking a shower. Sometimes without even bothering to undress. After a paltry bit of sleep, he awoke before the sun and did it all over again. Days went by without seeing each other, let alone speaking, and it wasn’t for lack of wanting on his part. You knew it was because he was in the thick of it and processing that left him feeling tainted in many ways, and he never wanted that anywhere near you.

But you kept on making meals he could eat in passing and leaving extra cosy blankets and fresh clothes in the spaces he most frequently dropped. Held his hand in companionable silence when words were all but impossible. You continued to ease his burden the best ways you knew how because:

Walter always came home.

Just as he did that night. You were stretched out on the sofa enjoying a bit of television and a warm drink when Walter swept into the house on a wave of energy unseen in recent weeks.

You caught sight of his coat and hat flying through the corridor. His bag quickly followed, the lot chucked and forgotten at the bottom of the stairs. He finally came into view, hopping on one socked foot whilst desperately tugging at the boot on the other. He gave a triumphant whoop when he finally got it off. You made to rise, but he motioned for you to stay put and beelined for the sofa.

He collapsed into your open arms with a contented groan, and even though he was a beast of a man, you relished the weight of him. So solid and reassuring and real.

He enveloped your body with his and cradled your face in his hands. His fingertips sank into the soft column of your neck and yours dragged through his dark curls. Foreheads met, and in the barest moment of mingling sighs, his nose gently nudged yours before taking your mouth with his. His overgrown scruff scratched and stung with every drag of his lips but you cared nought. He was here, and that's all that mattered.

Neither desperate nor impatient, this kiss was slow and deliberate. By pouring himself into you and allowing you to return in kind, it was a recharging of the soul. Checking back in.

He reluctantly broke away, breathed into your neck and whispered, “God, I’ve missed you.”

“Welcome back, Walter.”

[inbarfink]

[wanderingmind867]

So. Carol Danvers makes her triumphant debut as Chief of Security at a US Missile Base. For the 60s, that feels pretty progressive. Also, Captain Mar-Vell manages to somehow convince a whole missile base that he's the dead Dr. Walter Lawson. And that's fun. We got alien espionage amongst the US military. (Marvel Super-Heroes #13):

[superblizzardfire]

The Prodigal Nephew

After the Battle of New York, Bruce goes home. Bruce & Walters Fam for @bruceweek 2023 💚

For the second time that day, Bruce wakes up in a pile of rubble.

He breathes in the smell of freshly-mown grass, struggling to anchor himself as the aftermath of Hulk threatens to overwhelm him. He remembers metal bending in his hands, and Thor’s triumphant grin, and… nothing else.

Head spinning, Bruce sits up. He was lying in the remains of a wooden shed; a lawnmower is now a crumpled metal pancake beneath him. It’s afternoon – but whether it’s the same day, Bruce can’t be sure. He has no sense of time when the other guy takes over.

It takes him a few moments to realise that he knows this backyard. In fact, he spent years out here: sitting on the grass with a book, making snowmen with Jen, endless barbeques in the summer…

Bruce clambers to his feet and looks around in shock. He’s in LA. He’s home.

The back door opens and Morris Walters steps out, frowning in confusion. ‘What the hell is going – ‘ Then he sees Bruce. He stops.

A thousand thoughts flicker through Bruce’s head. He hasn’t had any contact with his family since the accident. They must have thought he’d abandoned them – or turned into a dangerous monster. This isn’t the most tactful way to tell them he’s still alive.

‘Hi, Uncle Morris,’ he whispers.

Morris drifts towards him, staring as if he’s afraid Bruce will disappear. It’s been seven years but he’s aged more than that – the moustache has remained, though. Aunt Elaine can never convince him to shave it.

An apology rises to Bruce’s lips. He shouldn’t have come here, shouldn’t have literally come crashing back into their lives – but Morris grabs him in a hug. ‘Good to see you, kiddo,’ he says tightly.

And Bruce understands that everything is going to be okay. He hides his face in Morris’ thick sweater and clings to him like he did when he was a kid. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he mumbles, ‘I missed you all so much…’

‘You’re here now. That’s all that matters.’

Read the rest on AO3!

[powaite]

It's great how Walter's triumphant skin is just him but slightly more mischevious.

The most the shadows could do was turn him from :) to >:), while Alter turned him into ACTUAL SAILOR MOON.