#if someone bothered me i would always win that fight because fuck you im four tons and spew fire

[falling-hand-in-unlovable-hand]

i really do think the majority of my problems would be solved if i was a dragon

[miivrs]

talking about my faves, my wording will not be scholarly or intelligent rather completely zany and incomprehensible

god i LOVE the entire junkyard killer arc + the relationship between malcolm and john and just how complex it is to me. there was SO much going on and every scene, line, etc. burns a hole in my retinas. watkins was our first non “villain of the week” and that’s probably why im so attached to him, but god i love that we really get to see and understand why he does what he does. and he’s smart , I LIKE THAT. i like that he makes malcolm really truly struggle. i love their little cat-and-mouse type thing. john makes malcolm go through hoops and plays him like a stupid little fiddle and i love it. he makes malcolm’s brain (and body) hurt.

and the dialogue they share on the phone/in the basement is AN ABSOLUTE FEAST FOR ME and i love reading way too much into it. seeing how the power dynamics flip LIKE FOUR TIMES is just. UGH. their first call where things are mostly neutral, their second call where things get CRAZY, then FIVE MINUTES LATER their first face-to-face and john traps malcolm, their THIRD call where john now realizes he can manipulate malcolm and finish his mission, and then we get an ENTIRE EPISODE of what im 1000% sure is watkins leaving a breadcrumb trail JUST so he can get malcolm alone(remember guys, john is actually smart), which leads me to ALONE TIME. THE WHOLE EPISODE. and now they’re both fighting for dominance, malcolm with his new knowledge and watkins with his. well, aggressions LMAO.

their meeting was totally by chance (watkins definitely says otherwise), and i wonder what things would be like if malcolm had maybe met watkins under different circumstances (like NOT breaking to a junkyard to look for an abandoned station wagon because, lets face it malcolm, you broke in) because during their first call watkins seems..fond? of the whole junkyard meeting..he even SAYS he doesn’t want to hurt malcolm, so maybe at this point he’s over it?? so i wonder, if malcolm wasn’t a killer catcher and let watkins do his thing, would that have been the end of it? would either of them seek out the other? but that would be BORING im glad they decide to chase eachother its fun.

jesus they make my brain hurt. alone time shows us how they both try to hit jabs at eachother and stay superior, and really no one’s winning lmao. malcolm’s eating john alive via psychoanalysis and john has malcolm STABBED and CHAINED TO THE FUCKING FLOOR. oh i love them…

now, i have many MANY personal thoughts about them, but specifically john and his side of the relationship. the things he says/does to malcolm feels obsessive, and characters like that are always my favorite to dissect. hes so goddamn manipulative and its great. probably once of my favorite things about this arc is when he just ABANDONS HIS MISSION???? (M: “Force me to atone to my sins?” J: “I’m finished with that work.”) and for what??? just one guy? because this one guy who stabbed you when he was 10? we already know that john actually does not have a deep grudge against malcolm for that (or maybe he does…) so why bother trying to LEGITIMATELY CONVERT SOMEONE when you could have just killed them???

because he needs malcolm. like how he needed martin. (sort of but now in a cool new fresh way)

SIRENS ARE BLAAAARING IN MY HEAD. who wrote this dialogue you need to be shot dead (positive). malcolm not afraid to call him out and say “hey you’re a little bit of a codependent freak aren’t you??” also the “I don’t care what you think.” “Of course you do.” DONT. TALK. TO. ME..

why does he need malcolm?? because he’s the nearest target? because he’s the next best thing to martin? because they share such a complex connection spanning 20 years that he can’t left go of? WE MAY NEVER FUCKING KNOW..and mannnnnn dont even get me started on this shit..

this is about YOU and ME and that fucking scar. and them he gives him AN IDENTICAL ONE (probably much less painful but still) god WHAT was the POINT of that. and to that i say it is because watkins feels the need to deepen their connection (or he’s just fucking kooky but thats boring) and now they have matching scars wow so best friends core now they’re intertwined (even more than they already are..) fate (by the hand of god) brought them together and now he needs to make sure it stays that way.

and then we get this..

“Face it, you’re just like me. You judge, you hunt.” oh my GOD im gonna be SICK……… “mick hes just misreading malcolm’s character because he’s narcissistic” im gonna stop you right there because this is my blog and john watkins is my character ever since the pson writers made him complex and then threw him in a damn box (which is another scene i will ramble about at another point) if you use your brain that is literally the bare bones of what malcolm does, what defines his job. john has found the median, the simile, the connection (the one that he NEEDS so he can excuse himself and his actions and also to cope)

AND THEN..AND THEN…….

during this scene AND I SWEAR IM NOT TWEAKING as malcolm is trying his last ditch attempts and stopping watkins from actually murdering his family we SEE JOHN HESITATE..we see it i swear to god. i swear god for just a fleeting moment he actually considers what malcom is saying. but alas. he says “if i get help i’ll lose my sparkle” and goes anyway…

and then the fucking box scene, our very last look at watkins.

i hadn’t noticed it the first time i watched it because i was so hyped but around my second or third rewatch i caught it and heard it and physically shriveled up and died. our very last scene of him and (to me) its GUT WRENCHING. malcolm kept to his word and locked him up in the dark. but i find it so peculiar that watkins is crying. because, if anything, wouldn’t he be pissed?? kicking and screaming and rolling around in that damn thing? makes me wonder…what might have happened in the time between when malcolm wallops him with a fucking crowbar and when jessica reunites with him. what did malcolm say or do??? malcolm bright youre an awful sly little manipulator and you’re damn good at it and yes you use it for “good” but the way you did a 180 on those power dynamics. malcolm you are dangerous..

and that’s my extremely unnecessary deep dive and extreme analysis of john watkins and his relationship with our beloved malcolm bright. watkins really is one of my favorite characters that i feel could have been so cool if they had just given him a little more time or something like that. they are so complex to me in ways i haven’t even mentioned in this text post/probably forgot while i was typing this but i really wish we could see more of them even though what would happen. lots could happen, that’s what. now here’s my pitch for season 3 that revolves around just them where-

[dreaming-about-fanfictions]

How to hold a sword - Geralt of Rivia x Reader - Part 1 of 2

Summary: You are bored with your life and want more. Luckily, Geralt of Rivia visits the town one day.

Requested by: @just-antiyou “could i request a geralt x reader where the reader is slightly wealthy but hates it and wants to be tougher than she looks so she hites geralt to teacher her and he slowly falls for her but she doesnt comprehend why HER? maybe this made no sense im so sorry i love ur writing pls an thank u stay safe” --> Hope you like it! I decided to make two parts out of the story! <3

Words: 2030 Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x fem!Reader Warnings: none

„Stop wasting my time. “

 „Come on! I can pay you!”

 “Sure you can.”

 “Yes! Don’t you believe me?”

 “Stop bothering me and go home.”

 “I have coin! Here!”

 Finally, the Witcher turned around when he heard the rattling of the coins in your small bag as you held it up. He quickly grabbed your hand, forcing it down. “Are you mad or do you enjoy the idea of being robbed,” he scolded you.

He was right. You were standing in the middle of a busy street, merchants and farmers passing you by as they made their way home from the market. The sun was already beginning to set and the first drunks stumbled out of the tavern to your right. Two working girls shrieked when a man fell against them, landing face down on one of the their bosoms, and angrily pushed him away.

 You let the small bag slip back into the pocket of your coat. “I have coin!”, you repeated yourself.

 “Where’d you get that?”, he demanded to know. “Did you steal it?”

 You snorted. Asshole. “My family owns half the town. Did you not recognize this?!” You pointed at your necklace with the family emblem brightly visible.

 His eyes only grazed shortly over it. “I’m not from here.”

 “Right, because you’re Geralt of Rivia, a Witcher, a famous one – so give me one reason why you would decline my offer?”

 “Teaching spoilt girls how to hold a sword is not in my job description.”

 “First of all,” this time you pointed your finger at him. “I’m not a girl, I’m a woman, so start treating me like one! And secondly, as far as I’m concerned, there is no monster to kill for you at the moment.”

 “There’s always monsters to kill.”

 “Witcher!” A frustrated sigh escaped your mouth. What was his problem?

 Geralt looked at you intensely, his eyes wandering from your face to your pocket, where the coins were stowed, back to your face. He pondered about what the offer would truly mean – letting another person come too close to him rarely resulted in anything good. People around him tend to end up hurt or heartbroken or dead. The last person to experience this had been Jaskier. Years of traveling together and it ended in Geralt chasing him away, blaming him for things that weren’t his fault. This happened a few years back and since then, the two of them had rekindled their friendship, but still. His point remained unchanged.

 However, this could be different. You didn’t seek him out to become friends. It was nothing more than a job. Not to mention that your comment about him not having anything better to do at the moment was true. He could really use the coin. Before Geralt was able to rethink this, he wiped his eyes in a tiring and annoyed matter. “Fine.”

 Your face lit up instantly and a big smile appeared on it. “Yes? Oh thank you!”

 “Ten days.”

 “That’s a good start!”, you exclaimed happily.

 “It’s not a start, it’s all I’m offering,” he corrected you. Were you always this cheerful or just when you got your way? “What do I get out of it?”

 “Three coins for each day.”

 The Witcher raised an eyebrow. There was far more in that bag of yours and you both knew it. “Eight.”

 “Four.”

 “Seven.”

 “Witcher!”

 “Six then.”

 “Five.”

“Deal,” he nodded.

 Your smile grew even wider. “Thank you! This is fantastic!”

 The only acknowledgment you got for that statement was a low grunt. He wasn’t so sure about it being a fantastic idea. “Meet me here tomorrow when the sun rises. Do you own a sword?”

 He let out a sigh when you shook your head. “Of course you don’t. Doesn’t matter. Tomorrow, when the sun rises! Understood?”

 “Understood!”

 ***

 You arrived early the next morning. The excitement for the days to come was too overwhelming so after hours of tossing and turning and occasionally falling into a half slumber, you decided to cut the night short.

 You nervously looked around you. Despite the late (or rather early) hour, the street was buzzing with people. Mostly drunks but no less intimidating. It was the second time you visit this part of the town as your mother would forbid you to come here. “It’s a dangerous place,” she always said, “nothing to find there except for criminals and whores.” Observing the people around you, she might had a point.

 Growing up in one of the richest families of the town was a blessing and a curse at the same time. Nothing seemed to be missing from your life – dresses and jewelry, parties and royal receptions – everything was there in arm’s reach. You never had to work a day in your life and never went to bed on an empty stomach. Still, you were unhappy. You were born into this world with no purpose. All you had to do was look pretty, agree to a beneficial marriage and produce heirs. Your father didn’t allow you to be something else, something more. You never asked for much, knowing he’d deny your requests, except for learning how to fight and defend yourself. It was a simple desire but you hoped it would give you something. What, you weren’t sure. A purpose maybe? Indubitably, he refused you.

 A sense of guilt and shame rushed through you. It happened every time as you were aware that the problems were nothing more than luxurary at best. After all, what gave you, a privileged girl with no troubles, the right to complain when there were people starving and dying?

 “Well, ‘ello there, aren’t you a pretty one.”

 You shrieked at the slurring words coming from your left. A man, smelling of beer and piss, reeled towards you. A disgusted look on your face, you took a step back.

 “What’s that face, pretty one? Don’t cha think I’m pretty too?”

 “Fuck off!”

 A second voice made you turn around in surprise. Geralt of Rivia was standing in the doorway of the tavern, glaring at the drunk. Even in his current state of mind, the man sensed that Geralt wasn’t someone he wanted to bother, so he spit out undefinable curses and stumbled away.

 “Thank you,” you said to the Witcher. He looked different this morning. Rested and bathed, you figured and realized his attractiveness for the first time since you met him. Last night you were more focused on convincing him to train you. Tall, broad, with his glooming golden eyes and white hair that fell loosely on his shoulders – only a blind person could deny his good looks.

 Geralt eyed you up and down. “Now why would you wear that?”

 You furrowed your brows in confusion and looked down at your blue dress and fine cloak that hugged your figure. “What?”

 “You want to learn how to fight, am I wrong?”

 “No, you’re not.”

 “And you’re gonna do that in a dress?”

 “I’ve seen women fight in dresses.”

 “But not in fucking ball gowns.”

 “This is not a ball gown!” You protested.

 He rolled his eyes and started walking. “Whatever, come on. We have a long day ahead.”

 You followed, struggling to keep up with him. He didn’t seem to care all that much. “Why do you sleep here?” You pointed back to the run-down pension.

 “What do you mean?”

 “With the money I’m paying, you can afford better … places.”

 “I like it here.”

 “You like sleeping around these creatures?”

 Geralt didn’t answer instead he shot you a glance that made your cheeks flush in embarrassment. You knew exactly what he thought in this moment – he probably regretted taking the job and dreaded the fact that he was stuck with a spoilt girl like you for the next days. You didn’t blame him.

 You couldn’t have known on this day but you were wrong. Geralt didn’t have any regrets – not yet however. He saw you as spoilt, yes. He also recognized your will to change – or else you wouldn’t have come to him in the first place.

 ***

 One hour later and Geralt finally stopped in his tracks. You were more than thankful as your feet already started to hurt. The two of you had left the town far behind and had now reached a small clearing in the woods.

 With a sigh you sat down and leaned against a tree. Geralt kept his gaze on the ground and walked around the clearing, looking for something.

 You watched him. There was certainly something about that Witcher with his tall figure, white-hair and brooding looks. Only a blind woman would deny that. For a brief moment, you wondered if he had a companion or a consort, so to speak. What kind of woman did he desire? You had heard rumors about a mage he had taken as his lover. So probably powerful woman, fighters, he didn’t need to worry about protecting.

 “Here,” a stick landing in front of you catapulted you back into reality.

 You looked at the stick and back at Geralt. “What am I supposed to do with it?”

 “Fight,” only then you noticed a second branch, resting in his hand.

 “With a stick?”

 “Yes.”

 You grabbed it and got up in the same movement. “I’m not a child, I won’t play with sticks,” putting some force behind your words, you looked at him intensely.

 His face didn’t falter. “What do you suggest instead?”

 “A sword. I want to learn how to fight with a sword.”

 “You’re not ready.”

 “We only have two weeks though, we need to speed up this whole process,” you argued.

 “You’re not ready.” He repeated sternly.

 You kept staring at him, realizing that you wouldn’t win this argument. A sigh left your lips. “Fine.”

 A small smile appeared on his face. “Great. Let’s get started.”

 *** The first training was an absolute disaster. You were convinced that you spent the most time on the ground, face-down in the mud – the rest of the time you got your ass kicked. The exhaustion you felt when you were back in the tavern with torn clothes and leaves in your hair came close to nothing you ever experienced in your life.

 Geralt sat next to you, happily eating his piece of chicken, looking like he had just returned home from a lazy and relaxed day out of town.

 “You should eat something,” he said in between bites.

 You looked down at your plate where the food remained untouched. “I’m not hungry.”

 “Yes, you are.”

 As if your stomach wanted to agree, a low growl was heard.

 Geralt smirked but didn’t comment.

 “Fine,” you admitted. “I’m starving.”

 “But?”

 “Everything hurts.” It was true, you felt too exhausted to take one bite out of the meat.

 He shrugged. “Of course it does. You’ll get better though.”

 “I don’t think so,” you sighed. “Did you see me today?!”

 “I’ll tell you what,” Geralt said with a chuckle. “I promise that you’ll be able to fight and win against Jaskier by the end of this.”

 “Is he a good fighter?” You asked with narrowed eyes.

 “He’s not too bad.”

 “What if I lose against him?”

 “You’ll get your coin back.”

 “Deal.” You nodded in contently. Then you added after a brief moment: “Wait, who’s Jaskier?”

 “He’s traveling with me,” Geralt simply answered and took a sip from his beer mug. “You’ll meet him tomorrow. He knows people from this town.”

 Jaskier. You were curious about the kind of person a Witcher spent his time with when he wasn’t away, hunting beasts. Was he as calm and collected as Geralt? Always so serious?

 Another growl came from your stomach and you looked back at the plate. Well, maybe not eating at all would be a worse decision. After all, there were nine more days filled with exhaustion ahead of you. Slowly, you reached down to grab one of the chicken legs and bit into it.

 Geralt watched you carefully and a very small part of him began to like the idea of having to spend more dinners with you in the next days. Of course, he’d never admit it. Not even to himself.

***

My Masterlist

My Tag List: @just-antiyou​ , @sarah-midnight​ , @aspiring-ginger​ , @seb-owns-these-tatas​

Message me if you want to be added to my tag list <3

[flatstarcarcosa]

they said love is grabbing blindly at a pit full of snakes

Summary: Three months ago, Slade died. Four days ago, be barged back into the house like a whirlwind, and for a moment all was right with the world. Reese has discovered strangers can wear familiar faces, and to top it off: There is another Slade greeting them over morning coffee and acting as if nothing is wrong.

How can there be two Slades, and what do either of them want?

(part one) (part two) (part three)

Ship: wilson&wilson Warnings: violence, swearing, slight depictions of gore? there’s a big fight is all im sayin. slade kicks his own ass, finally, his life long dream.  sidenote: i decided to structure this piece similar to the comic. there’s titles between switches scenes, and the timeline isn’t entirely linear. i think it’s still simple enough to follow, but it was a neat exercise.

------------------------ 'The Man in the Mirror'  At the Same Time

“You think you can let them run away and everything will be fine?” Slade asks himself, sneering under his helmet. “For the record, I'm not actually here for Reese. They just happened to be a nice bonus.” 

“You talk too much to be me,” the other calls from his position behind the sofa. He's currently ripping the fabric on the bottom apart with his fingers, digging for the Glock hidden in the springs.  “We both love the sound of our own voice, you know that!”

 Slade scoffs, wrapping his hand around the comforting feeling of the gun. He doesn't bother to check it, there's no need: he knows it's hot.  He manages to get two shots off before he has to duck again. One goes wide and ricochets off the far living room wall, and he manages to think that at least it's finally a good excuse to remodel the fucking room as he pops off the second. It hits his double in the chest, and bounces almost harmlessly off his armor. What the fuck is that? He thinks, followed by where the fuck can I get some?

“I'm surprised Joesph hasn't shown up yet,” says the Other. “You know he's always chronically trying to be a hero. It's a disappointment, honestly.” “Joe is never a disappointment,” says the Original. He winces even as he says it, realizing he's falling into his own psychological traps. His Other talks the same way he does, and he's not used to being on the receiving end of his own tricks. He reminds himself to stop being goaded into responding as he fires three more shots.  They're not calculated, and he's pleased when his alter takes the bait and gets distracted with lunging to the left to dodge. The brief seconds allows him to slip the gun into his waist band and grab the sword he has hanging over the fireplace. It's not one of his usual weapons, and it's definitely not his reliable promethium blade. But it's battle ready and it's sharp, and it's solid in his hands and that's all he needs.  He closes the distance between them in a single breath, and his alter barely has time to parry. He doesn't have the time to get his own blade up, and instead uses his forearm to protect his neck.  “You know this won't end quickly,” says his alter. He grins behind the helmet, the gesture translating to his body language enough that Slade can't think of a time he's ever felt more disgusted with himself. “This doesn't have a happy ending. We don't get happy endings!”  “Shut up,” says Slade.  “You had a chance,” his alter continues. “And you've done nothing but piss on it, you just got lucky enough to trip into someone that's willing to believe it's rain.”

Despite telling himself not to be goaded, his temper gets the better of him. He shoves his body weight against the other man, knocking them both off balance as he reaches for the Glock. His double hits the ground first, and rolls back to his feet. Slade kicks the sword out of his hand, bringing the gun up and hoping like hell that from this close, it will do something against the helmet. He fires the last four rounds as quick as possible before putting space between the two of them again.  Inside the helmet, his double lets out a strangled growl. The bullets barely scratched the paint, but the force of the impact is enough to make his teeth rattle and his ears ring.  Slade turns on his heels, bounding up the stairs and making for his office. His double shakes his head, collecting his sword and giving chase.  “Pointless,” he hisses. ---------------

'The Cavalry',  Somewhere in Vermont

Wintergreen has several missed call notifications lighting up his phone screen, all of them from Reese. He furrows his brows as he opens his mailbox, holding the phone to his ear. He listens to them each in turn, growing more concerned as he does until he's almost running to his car as he dials Joey.

“Yeah, I know,” says Joey's electronically filtered voice. “I'm on my way now.”  “No,” says Bill, “I don't think you do know.”  “Dad has an evil clone, it tried to kill Rose and tore up half of New York,” says Joey monotonously.  “The clone, or whatever this is, ended up in Vermont. He's with Reese,” says Bill. Joey falls silent.  “Gotta go,” he says, terminating the call before Bill can say anything else. Bill swears as he turns the engine on.  “Wilson Family Problems, am I right?” he mutters to himself. ----------------

 'Ground Zero' Vermont Safehouse 

Unable to stop his own momentum, Slade instead focuses on his landing as he crashes through the wooden railing and slams into the dining room table below. Something in his rib cage snaps audibly. He hisses, rolling to his his feet as his armored double lands firmly on the splinters. 

“Why do you fight?!” he yells.  “The same reasons you do, I'll bet,” he answers.  “You will not win.” His double raises his sword. Slade grins at himself as he backs towards where the fighting began. The back door to the kitchen swings open as he does.  “I wasn't trying to,” he says, “I was buying time. Knowing when someone isn't going to listen to you comes in handy, occasionally.”  “Slade!” Reese yells. In their arms they hold his gear from his old armor, the sword made of Nth metal being the most important.  “Pointless,” his double says again. Reese throws the sword, and it is in that moment that time stops proceeding correctly. Slade reaches out with one hand and catches it firm as his double closes in and raises his gun. The two of them slam into each other, Slade running the alter through the abdomen with his sword arm and pushing the gun out of the way with the other.  He does not hear it go off.  He does hear the other man begin to laugh.  Suddenly, Reese gasps a watery, gurgling noise that seems impossibly loud in the sudden silence that's befallen the house. Slade's hold on his double loosens just slightly, and the other grins wildly.  Reese hits the floor with a soft thud.  “This seems familiar, huh?” he asks, almost jovially. “Looks like you gotta choose again. Finish me off, Reese dies. Save them, I get what I want and then I kill you both anyway. Time's a tickin' boy, better make your bets.”  “No,” Slade breathes, and for a moment it is not Reese lying on the floor bleeding out, it's Joesph. The images flash back and forth like some fucked up highlight reel: Joey, Reese, Joey, Reese. Somewhere in the back of his mind Adeline's voice chanting 'you killed my son' changes into Reese. 'You killed me, just like we always knew you would.' It happens too fast and too slow all at once. Slade looks over at himself, at the older and more scarred copy that seems to be reveling in the situation like a mad dog with a bone. “No,” he repeats. “Not again.” Slade lets go, turning his back to lunge for Reese. He's not quick enough, and his copy's blade thrusts upwards and outwards. His Ikon suit will stop it, the weapon unable to penetrate the gravity sheath's force field. Except he's not wearing the Ikon suit, is he? He's wearing a normal pair of hospital scrubs, and he is once again as he was just a short time ago: unarmed, and unarmored.  The blade plunges through his back, and his double's foot kicks him down as he pulls the sword back out. Slade hits the floor with a loud grunt. His abdomen is on fire as his blood begins splattering the floor.  He staggers to his knees, all but crawling across the tile. “I won't fail again,” he says hoarsely. His vision is still flashing between two of the things he's ever loved more than life itself: his son, and his soul mate.  He already failed his son, he can't fail Reese as well.  He promised himself too many times he would die before he did. “You still don't get it,” his alter growls. He plants a foot on either side of Slade's back, reaching down and grabbing him by the hair. “This is what you do. This is all you ever do, all you ever will do.”  “No,” Slade whispers. His double slams his face into the floor. One, twice, more. His vision begins to blur; from tears, from trauma. “Pathetic.” His double drops him, moving over to where Reese has landed in front of the cupboards. They hold their hands to their stomach, gasping. There's blood in their mouth, and they're fairly certain Slade's evil twin was using hollow points. They know enough to know neither of those things indicate a good prognosis. They are not going to be conscious long. The other Slade comes to a stop and kneels down in front of them. A quiet hissing fills the air as he removes his helmet, setting it on the floor and reaching out to brush his thumb against the side of their cheek.  “You know when you said how my you died, it was similar to Joey?” he asks softly. Reese blinks, confusedly. “It's because I was lying.”  “...w-what?” they manage to choke out.  “I realized something the day I drowned Rose,” he says, casually, “I cannot be two men at once. I cannot love a family, and love my work. I don't get both. I had to choose, so I chose. I knew that I loved you too much to continue living like I had been.”  He leans in and rests his forehead against theirs.  “Do you know what you're supposed to do with the things you love?”  “No...”  “You set them free”, he whispers. His blade slices into them, and Reese screams at a pitch they did not know they could reach. The last thing they are aware of is the feeling of his lips on their cheek, and the sight of their Slade sprawled a few feet away, drowning in a pool of his own blood. Neither Reese nor Slade are conscious the moment Joey busts through the side of the house. He tackles his not-father to the floor before using his overwhelming telepathy, fueled by the 'gift' bestowed by Lex Luthor, to encase the man in a bubble and float him out of the house. Joey takes to the skies, raising them both higher and higher until the very Earth falls away beneath them.  “It's time for a talk, pop,” he says. His voice echoes in the other Slade's ears loud enough to hurt.

[shadcatmastered]

Kid x Law FF - The Break Up

It was a letter on their bed he found. A long letter, with many lines, in this familiar handwriting. Kid did not see the many words, he kept reading only one sentence. "... and that's why I'm leaving you." The redhead's heart beat so hard that it hurt. His eyes widened. Again and again he read this one sentence and yet he did not want to believe that it really stood there. "... I'm leaving you." His breath quickened. Kids whole body began to tremble and hurt, as if he had a cramp in the whole body. There was only one question in his head: That is not true, is it? Kid got up. He threw the letter carelessly back on the bed. The next moment he tore open the bedroom closets. Half was empty. Law's clothes were gone. Like a madman kid tore open all the drawers and doors in their entire apartment. Law's belongings were gone. Almost everything. This can’t be true! With trembling hands he tried to get his cell phone out. His phone fell to the floor and the screen broke. Kid picked it up and looked at the destroyed screen. He tried not to notice, while his trembling fingers searched Laws number. The redhead and Law had a fight. A bad fight. At some point, Kid had left the apartment and slammed the door. He had slept in the apartment of a friend during the night. The next morning he got up very early and wanted to apologize. But Law was not there. They had often quarreled. In the end, they always got along. They have always come up with a compromise. They always did it. Law could not mean that. He wanted to scare him. The black-haired did not answer the phone. Kid threw his cell phone on the floor with a cry of anxiety when he heard the mailbox. Tears were gathering in his eyes. Stay calm! Law drives only car. Certainly! ... why did he just feel like he was lying to himself? Slowly he went back to the bed. He picked up the letter and tried to read it. "Kid, ..." ... only kid? Usually they used nicknames, like Darling ... Stop. "Kid, I wanted to tell you personally. But you did not come home, that's why I write you this letter. I love you. I love you for many years. But I'm not happy anymore. We argue so much, but nothing changes. Neither you nor me can change us. We are the way we are. We always argue about the same. About things that did not bother us in the past. Things that bother us now. I've tried to tell you that I can not last that much longer. That I am happy with you and at the same time unhappy. I tried to wait until you changed. I told you what I needed from you to make me happy again. But you have not changed. When you slammed the door, I understood that you can not change. You were the jealous, temperamental and choleric redhead when I met you and you will be forever. That's the way you are. I used to think it was cute. At the same time, you were so tender and so worried about me that I thought I could overlook all your mistakes. I've always been able to see how much you love me. I was very flattered. But now I feel your mistakes more than your good sides. I feel like I'm suffocating. But it's not just your fault. It's my fault, too. I can not change either. I want to be free. I want to go wherever I want without having to tell you. I do not want to quarrel anymore because I prefer to spend time with other people. Your jealousy and my independence just do not fit together. We do not match, that's why I'm leaving you. You have to find someone who suits you better. A man or a woman who wants to be treated like this. Protect, as you call it. I do not want to meet you personally anymore. At least for the first time. Please respect my wish. You can keep the apartment and the furniture. I will buy something new. Law. " Kid sobbed. He sobbed loud and desperate as strangled screams came out of his throat. "Law ... Law no ...! No!" Many tears on the letter and blurred the ink. "No, no, I love you, I love you!" The redhead did not care that Law was not there to hear him. He searched his smartphone on the floor and dialed Laws number. Over and over again. Law did not answer. His sobs became louder and louder and his painful crying desperate. Only one hope burned into his heart: He just had to wait, then Law would come back for sure. Law would come again! They loved each other! But Law did not come back.

 Kid was waiting. Days. Weeks. Months. He cried at home and waited. Every evening after work, he sat with his ears pricked. He waited for the sound of the door opening. He waited for Law to return home. Four months passed. The redhead only got a single message from Law. After calling Law's sister and then Law's parents, and even looking for him at work to find out where he was, Law sent him a single message. "Stop harassing my family and my colleagues! I will not come back! With this behavior, you just show me that I've made the right decision."

 Kid was high and drunk at the same time as he gets into his car. The crying had stopped. He could not cry anymore. He only felt empty. His head could not think anymore, his heart could no longer feel and his body ached with every movement. How is Law? Would not Law like to know how he is? How could Law be so cold to him? How could he deny him any further conversation? How could he not even give him the chance to talk about everything? ... 'because Law knows you,' whispered a voice in his head. ‘Law knows that that you would never have accepted the break up if he kept talking to you. You would try all the time to win him back. But Law does not want to be regained. He wants to be free. That's why he has to be so cold to you. So you have no choice but to accept it. ' "Shut the fuck up!" The redhead screamed in his car. For a few weeks he got drunk every night so he could sleep at all. For two weeks, he took all the drugs he could get, so he just did not feel the pain for a while. But right now he did not feel particularly high or drunk, even though it was quite obvious. He just felt empty and full of pain. The redhead started the engine and drove off. It was five o'clock in the morning. He had not slept the whole night. In two hours he would have to be at work. But it did not matter. Nothing was more important. Kid did not know where he was going. He had no goal. Without Law, he actually had nothing left. The work, the apartment, everything he had just felt wrong. Not even the sport was fun anymore. He just thought about Law. Law was definitely happy now. He could do what he wanted and Kid had nothing left to say about this behavior. Law never had to deal with him and his worries anymore. Law was free. And Kid? Kid was at his end. He could not bear to feel so miserable. He could not stand himself anymore. This grieving, miserable self, was not his true self! He had always been happy! Before he knew Law, he had dreams and goals. He had achieved a lot! When he first met Law, his plans had changed. He dreams of a common future with Law. And now that Law left? There was nothing left. His earlier dreams seemed irrelevant, his new goals were impossible. What else did he have except the pain? How could he be like he used to be? How could these tears finally stop? He did not know. Kid just did not know it. That's why he was sitting in his car driving on the highway. In the middle of the street, at a fast pace, Kid closed his eyes. Destiny should decide. He puts his future in the hands of fate.

Written by Shadcatmastered.

- Im sorry for mistakes. English is not my native language.-