#The Lazy Writer

[shyartivity]

The Lazy Writer

There was once a lazy writer, who wasn't bothered by deadlines and couldn't care less about getting work done. But today their editor, a person they consider their friend, would threaten to quit being the writer's editor, which would cause the writer to decide they couldn't live like this anymore. The lazy writer would want to change, would like to start worrying about deadlines, and would like to care about getting work done, of course, change cant happen within a day.

The writer woke up, started their usual routine, and after, laid in bed and watched TV, they planned to do that for the rest of the day, but they forgot one, somewhat important, detail about today. After a few hours, they got a text on their phone, they picked up their phone and looked at who it was. 

Oh, It was their editor, and today was Sunday, the day they were meant to have their next chapter done. The writer opened the message.

Hey, did you finish the next chapter yet? The text said

No, not yet, sorry, I should have it done next week. The writer responded, not at all feeling sorry, and knowing that they would not get it done next week.

That’s what you said last week. The editor replied, the writer could feel the sigh of disappointment from their friend

I mean it this time, I will get it finished by next Sunday. The writer texted

Promise? The editor asked

Promise. The writer said, knowing that they will break this promise, again.

Good, and I will quit if you don't finish it by next Sunday. The editor said

The writer took that as a joke, “they wouldn’t,” they said

and yet, as the writer said that, a seed of doubt crept into their mind

“But, just in case, I should get started on the next chapter..”

Day 1, Sunday

The lazy writer got up from their bed, turned off the TV, and walked over to their desk, which was last used who knows when, then they turned on their computer, played their writing playlist, opened google docs, and just stared at the blank document, they tried to type a sentence, but nothing came to mind.

“Uggh,” the writer roared, flopping their head on the table “this was a bad idea.”

And with that, they got up, and procrastinated the rest of the day via watching tv and eating snacks.

Day 2, Monday

The lazy writer started their day, sat at their desk, turned on the computer, and played their writing playlist...

then once again started staring at the blank document. They sighed, then they decided to reread the previous chapter of their book to see if they could get any inspiration, as well as remind themself as of what happened

“Oh, okay, I can work with this,” the writer said once they finished reading.

After an hour, only a paragraph was written, mainly because the writer kept getting distracted, and they were starting to get worried

“If this is all I can write in an hour, then how do I think that I can finish this chapter by Sunday?” they said to themself.

As they suspected, nobody answered.

“Alright, I am taking a break,” the writer said, getting up and walking away from the desk.

They didn't go back to their desk for the rest of the day, at least they wrote something this time.

Day 3, Tuesday

The lazy writer woke up and started their day, this time when they sat at their desk they decided to look up ways to stay focused on their work, 

Literally, they just started typing in ‘ways to stay focused on writing’

“Huh, The Pomodoro Technique, might as well give that a try,” the writer says, putting a timer for 25 minutes.

Within those 25 minutes, the writer managed to write barely half a paragraph, a little disappointed in themself for writing so little they wondered if they could skip their break.

“No, that's not how the method works,” they said, setting a timer for 5 minutes.

After their short break, they set a timer for another 25 minutes, this time they wrote half a paragraph.

They kept up this pattern for the rest of the day, and they managed to write an entire page

“I managed to finish a page!” the writer was happy as they said this, but also worried as they still had to finish the chapter within 4 days.

Day 4, Wednesday

The writer woke up and started their day, they reread what they wrote, set their 25-minute timer, and started working.

Ding! Ding! Ding!

Oh, their timer went off, Let's see how much the writer wrote this time!

A entire paragraph, the lazy writer sighed as they felt disappointed in themself

“Other writers could probably have finished a whole page in this time!” said the writer.

despite knowing that they have to work at their own pace, (and that other authors could not finish a whole page within that timeframe), they couldn't stop but think of other’s work and how they are so much better than them, how their writing style was much better, how the format looked, what font they used, how the characters are written, compared to their work the writer felt upset at themself.

The writer decided to look online and see if anyone else had this issue, how to fix it, and how to get better at their work, what they found was not what they expected, and they didn’t know how to feel about it.

“Take a break from looking at other's work?” the writer said, “but reading is my favorite way to pass the time..”

The writer didn't listen to the advice and continued to feel terrible about their work.

The writer managed to finish a page and a half that day.

“Oh alright, maybe I will try not reading and comparing my work to others for a day, and maybe I should wake up a bit earlier,” they said, setting an alarm and willing to try anything to finish the chapter before the due date.

Day 5, Thursday

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

The writer woke with a start

“What the- oh” the writer yawned, “my alarm”

The writer got up and turned off the alarm starting their day a bit earlier than usual.

“I need coffee.” the writer said, making coffee before starting their work

The writer reread what they wrote, then set their 25-minute timer, once the 25 minutes were up they managed to write a paragraph and a half.

Their editor called them in the middle of their break, asking them how their work was going, they panicked then lied and said that they were almost finished, the editor reminded them of the due date and then hung up.

“They didn't even say goodbye.” the writer said in a disappointed tone.

They continued this pattern for the rest of the day, and once they finished, they wrote 2 and a half pages. The total amount of pages that they have written is about 6 pages, they need 3-4 more by Sunday, the writer is worried, but not as much as before, and sets their timer again

Day 6, Friday

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

The writer woke up, turned off their alarm, started their day, got their coffee, turned on google docs, reread their work, reread it again…

and they have no motivation to start, as anytime they try they just can’t.

“Oh no, oh no no no” The writer is panicked now, they don't have their chapter done and they need it done in two days.

The writer looks up ways to fix this, the only thing that pops up is to take a break

“What is sleeping not good enough of a break?” the writer is stupid

The writer ran themself dry by using all the time they had to write, the breaks were for simple necessities like food and water, as well as restroom breaks but no one mentions those in the stories. (sorry fourth wall)

Anyways- the writer didn't take any time to refill their creative meter, they didn't watch any tv, didn't play games, they just didn't have any fun.

They decided to use this day to catch up on their favorite tv show, play a few video games, as well as catch up with some of their family, and once they felt their creative meter, as well as motivation, fill up they continued to work on their chapter using the podomoro method

The lazy writer only finished a paragraph and a half before they stopped for the night and set their alarm.

Day 7, Saturday

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

The writer woke up, then started their usual routine, they skipped the coffee today, deciding to start immediately, after all, they have to get at least 3 more pages done

The writer also gave themself less time for breaks, they set their alarm and went straight to writing.

Welp, guess I should tell you about what this writer is writing about.

Once upon a time, in a faraway land, was a young child, with hair as white as cotton, eyes as blue as the sky, their laughter could freeze water, and their touch as cold as ice... Yadda yadda you get the point it's about a Snow Princess

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

Oh, timers done

The writer looked at their writing, they had rushed the chapter so it looks rather bad compared to the rest, but hey, at least this time they had written 3 paragraphs.

The writer took their, well, could it honestly be considered a break? They can't do anything in two minutes, they just stared at the wall the entire time thinking of ways to finish their chapter, and they also have a song stuck in their head that they can't remember the name of so it is annoying-

The writer set their alarm again and continued to work.

Day 8, Sunday

The writer stayed up until TWO IN THE GODDAMN MORNING-

Anyway, they finished the chapter, sent it to their editor, and passed out.

RING RING RING…

“Ugshnueh, wha-? Oh” the writer paused, picking up their phone from the floor, “must’ve *yawn* fallen off my bed when I was asleep” the writer stated, cracking their back before answering the phone

“Yello?” the writer said, a question in their voice, wondering who was calling.

“Hello Charlie, I see you finished the chapter, fantastic job!” said Alice, their editor

“Uhn- thanks?” Charlie said, still very tired and trying not to yawn

“Yeah, uh, one question, why did you send this to me at 2 am?” asked Alice, concern evident in their voice.

“Because I stayed up until 2 am to get the chapter done,” said Charlie nonchalantly.

“You- YOU STAYED UP UNTIL TWO AM TO GET A CHAPTER OF A BOOK DONE???” Alice yelled, very concerned for Charlie’s mental health, probably a good thing to be honest.

“Yep, but hey, it's done, and imma go to sleep now,” Charlie explained, hanging up on Alice and passing out.

The end.

There was no point to this.

[lovelettered]

genuinely. WHAT are we doing

[tobyisave]

girl has never had a single spoon in her entire life

[vifilms]

feat. anderson's treats & baker!abby

abby who owns a bakery shop and you have an insatiable sweet tooth that never seems to end, a match made in heaven. your first date being in her shop she closes for the night, anderson’s treats, flour anxiously spread across her cheeks, she’s blushing furiously as you watch her, careful hands kneading the dough as you gaze at her with a certain sparkle in her eye as abby speaks about what got her into baking in the first place. 

then, curiosity gets the best of abby and she’s asking you questions about yourself, maybe she gets you to assist her, the butterflies in your stomach swarm as she tells lame jokes no one should really find funny but you do. with skillful hands, she makes you her favorite, one her shop is known for. it crumbles deliciously in her mouth, but the filling comes out as it coats the corner of your mouth, leaving her to use her thumb to wipe the strawberry filling away. with intentful innocence, she brings it to her lips. your deep, curious eyes inquiring at her mouth, full pink lips sucking the strawberry away. it’s only then she’s realized what’s been done. 

burning bright and red, the blush noticeable from a mile away. it’s when you notice the scar on her cheek and it makes you wonder how she got it and maybe you’ll ask her at another time but you don’t want to dismiss the moment. abby anderson, looking upon you with a blinding smile, giggles. airy and light, as if her laughter is the dough you’re kneading. the delightful substance infused into your bloodstream, needed as much as the blood pumping through your veins. 

as delightful as it is, it’s still a distraction. you think of her instead of the task she’s so cutely assigned you to. 

as you visibly struggling to knead the dough correctly. abby thinks it’s cute, but she decides to assist you. “here, let me—” the blonde maneuvers her frame around you, arms practically wrapped around your waist as she places her warm hands on top of your own. her voice sends a sensational shiver down your spine. “oh!”

abby chuckles but offers nothing else to say as she shows how to do it correctly. the feeling comes natural to her and she passes along her natural instinct but all you can think about is how she feels, her words coaching you in your ear as abby’s breath causes goosebumps to soothe every inch of your skin. 

“yeah, just like that. you’re a natural baby.” she kisses your cheek sweetly. she smirks as you lean back to her, finding comfort in the safety of her warmth. a homecoming, a sense of it settled in your heart, one only she could’ve brought to a full bloom.

OKAY BAKER!AU??? I MIGHT NEED TO EXPLORE THIS MORE GAHHHHHDKJF ♡

tags: @plutolovesyou @brackishkittie @nybueckers @only4theweeknd @tlouloser @marvelwomenarehot0 @grey-jedi12 @r3starttt @bittersu1te @pxgeturner @maxinephobia @marsworldd @aouiaa @mytwoseater @cherrybunny @twopeoplee @i-lov3-w0men @lvlymicha @half-of-gay

wanna be tagged?

[the-bi-fangirl-biatch]

if i got a nickel for seeing a ship end with a chatacter who leaves to do something greater/fulfilling their purpose and help more ppl, but at the expense of leaving the love of their life alone and letting them lose their previous purpose...I'd get two nickels. which isn't a lot, but it's weird that it happened twice.

[neuvistar]

❝ WATCH ME MOVE MY HIPS TO IT! ❞ signed. jjk men . wc 1296 .

— featuring ┊satoru gojo, suguru geto, choso kamo, kento nanami x fem!reader ( all separate )

— warnings / content warnings ┊all consensual!, not proofread bc lazy bum activities, reverse cowgirl ( suguru geto, kento nanami ), titplay ( are we surprised ), hair pulling ( kento nanami, suguru geto ) titsucking ( choso kamo ), reader referred 2 as “girl” a few times, nicknames used. 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. | 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒? @sugutiva @veraiism

— a/n ┊it’s been so long since i wrote something 4 jjk 🙉🙈 here it is!!! ngl this was basically a free write it has no specific theme except… u.. riding them… 🤗 ++ tbh i got the fic idea while listening 2 the song “put a little umph in it” by jagged edge ft. ashanti!!! 🙈

⊹ 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎: ❝ 𝐋𝐄𝐅𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓! ❞

satoru’s heart thudded recklessly within his chest, as you rode his aching cock, your hips rolling against his own with a soft smirk curling on his lips. “fuck," he hissed, grasping your hips to control your wriggles, eyes widening as your pussy spawned around him. there was a surge of possessiveness in your movements as you practically claimed his cock, drool slipping from your pretty lips. "you’re reeaally needy today, aren’t you?” he nibbled at your neck, suckling at your skin—a small grin forming as he whispered against your ear. "pretty. so pretty.” your movements were rhythmic, the way you slammed yourself down against his cock was completely calculated and deliberate. the desire within you, the desire to squeeze his cock filled your mind, it was almost overwhelming. satoru on the other hand was addicted to the sensation of your heat—the way your inner walls clenched around him, the way your juices coated his cock was enough to drive him in a frenzy. “your c-cock..” that embarrassing word was all you could muster, your fingers trembling against his shoulders

“yeah? what about it, baby?” satoru’s tongue traced the shape of your earlobe, nipping at it playfully, his voice a husky, sensual whisper against your ear. “g—give me your cock. feels so fucking good, satoru..” you managed to whimper as you rode his dick at a ferocious pace, your tits bouncing against his chest— you felt his hand release your neck as he fondled with your breasts. you could almost feel him bucking his hips upwards, desperate to match your pace on his cock— his eyes flickering downwards, taking in the swell of your breasts as they bounced, whistling as he reached out, gently cupping them in his hands. satoru’s thumb teased over your nipple, his slender fingers dug into the supple softness of your breast, kneading them as his thrusts grew more erratic. “i’ll give you my cock, baby. it’s all yours… all yours tonight.”

⊹ 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐎: ❝ 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐋𝐄𝐅𝐓! ❞

suguru watched you fuck yourself on his dick—your back in full view as you rode him. the bed squeaked beneath you both with every movement, every slam of your body against his crotch, each jiggle of your ass sending shivers down his spine. "look at you, sweetheart." suguru praised, his hands gripping your waist "perfect little thing you are.” you were so fucking hot right now, and he couldn't get enough of you. your moans drove him wild, his own need growing with each passing second. “faster, come on now.. i know you can go faster than this, let’s make this good." suguru hissed, his hands gripped your hips even tighter than before, nails digging deep within the flesh of your body—practically forcing you to bounce on his cock at a quicker pace, the sensation of your tight walls gripping his cock driving him to the edge. suguru felt the bead of sweat rolling down his forehead, his body slick with a sheen of perspiration. “suguru.. f—feels too good,” your breathing became heavier, the room filled with the sound of the bed creaking with each thrust he made from behind. he could feel his release nearing, the room was filled with tension, the air thick with the scent of sex and the sounds of passion.

“i know it feels good, baby.” suguru’s hand reached out, fingers lacing around your hair, tugging gently.. forcing you to lean backwards, your breasts bouncing as you did so, presented to him in a way that made his eyes widen, his breath hitching in his chest. “you like how my cock feels, huh?” he buried his face against your neck, inhaling the sweet smell of arousal. he was giving you control for once, allowing you to feel his submission while you slammed yourself on his dick repeatedly, hoping it would break down the walls he had built around himself these past few days. he flicked his finger against your perked nipple, his actions urgent and desperate, his need for you palpable. “you’re losing control, sweet baby… it’s such a beautiful sight.”

⊹ 𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐎 𝐊𝐀𝐌𝐎: ❝ ‘𝐈𝐌𝐀 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇! ❞

choso held your hips tightly, pulling you back onto him with every thrust, his gaze glued to the sight of you bouncing on his cock. “baby please,” he could feel the heat of your body, the wetness that coated him, heat surrounding both of you. his own body glistened with essence of exhaustion, the exertion of the act adding to the fire that raged within him. choso’s cock throbbed deep within you, the pleasure almost unbearable, yet he wanted more. he wanted to possess you fully, to claim you tonight. “baby.. baby give me more, fuck..” the bed squeaked loudly, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh filling the room as he couldn’t take it anymore, thrusting upwards into your soaked cunt, his body aching for release. “i need to feel you.” choso’s voice is low, demanding almost. choso’s hands expertly teased your tits he loved so much, lowering his head to take one into his mouth, his tongue swirling around it with ease. your moan of surprise spurred him on, and he moved to the other breast, lavishing it with the same attention. choso was lost in the swell of hedonistic pleasure, his mind clouded by the sensation of his pretty girl’s body, hot and slick, wrapped around him.

his hands gripped onto your breasts, knuckles white as he watched your body rock against him, the bed’s motion and creaking testament to the heated coupling. a low moan rumbled in his throat as he twirled his tongue against your nipple, the act as much an expression of pleasure as dominance. choso’s mind raced, tangled up in the web of emotions and lust that consumed his body. your bodies moved in harmony, skin slapping against skin in a rhythm that bordered on primal. "baby.. your hips.. so g—good,” he groaned, his words were a mix of praise and a plea for more. “more.. you’re going to give me more, right?”

⊹ 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈: ❝ 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐈 𝐏𝐔𝐓 𝐀 ‘𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐔𝐌𝐏𝐇 𝐈𝐍 𝐈𝐓! ❞

nanami could hardly believe that he'd managed to stay awake through the night after such an exhausting day, fucking your cunt without pause. his body was covered in a light sheen of sweat, his cock still buried deep inside your tight pussy as you rode him in his office… knowing people could walk in any second. the sun was just starting to peek over the horizon, painting the room in a gentle golden light. nanami’s hand was wrapped tightly in your hair, tugging gently as you slammed yourself down onto his cock. his office chair squealed with each impact, your ass coming in contact with his pelvis with each movement. nanami’s grip on your hair tightened as your eyes rolled back, his own eyes locked onto your body as he watched you ride him. “ken..” you were so fucking beautiful, so sexy, that he didn't want it to end. nanami wanted to watch you push yourself onto his cock for the rest of the day, but he knew he couldn't hold out much longer. his eyes devour the sight infront of him, it was considered a blessing that he had the opportunity to see you in your most vulnerable state… his eyes trailing down your back, giving him quite the view he admired.

nanami groaned lowly, his voice raw with lust as he watched his dick enter you in and out with an unbridled ferocity. the office room, your secret sanctuary, filled with the symphony of pleasure and the warmth of your bodies pressed against one another. his hands tugged at your hair, the sweet sting of pleasure and pain. “you feel heavenly,” he hissed, his grip tightening as he pushed into you with a slow, deliberate rhythm. the intensity of the moment, his pent of desires threatened to consume him completely. “my beautiful girl..“

[tanadrin]

the sonic screwdriver is a terrible plot device because how it works and what its limits are is never clearly established. it can do seemingly anything without limit; if it brought people back from the dead it'd be like "sure, ok, whatever." the psychic paper on the other hand is a great plot device, because while it's just as silly, it's limited to doing whatever a small ID-card-sized piece of paper could do, and it's great for random gags.

[s0ap-bubbles]

Making Sektor soft for bi-Han was the worst decision NRS could’ve possibly made and yet they made it.

All I’m saying is if Sektor was still male they wouldn’t hesitate to make him stab bi-han in the back but because she’s a women they had to make a romance between them and I just UGHHHHH it’s so annoying

[katherinehoughtoncastle47]

"If that's my present, I can' t wait to unwrap it."

[mollysunder]

Viktor's Sources of "Inspiration"

The hexcore is incomplete. Currently Viktor only has the runes of Precision, Domination, Sorcery, and Resolve. To complete the hexcore and unlock it's true potential he'll need Inspiration, but where will he find it?

Viktor could find Inspiration through Sky. The most noteworthy possible hint was in Sky's last scene. Sky's last words to herself were how Viktor inspired her, and in that moment we get a glimpse of her notebook. Some have speculated that the emblem on the cover of her notebook resembles the Inspiration rune itself.

Sky also left a series of notes from her undisclosed research project. From the quick shots we get of her notes we can assume Sky was researching methods to stimulate plant growth. Her research may be in a similar vein to Viktor's research where he experimented with how the hexcore reacted to organic plant matter and stimulated its growth in turn. Could Sky's research be the key that will help Viktor stabilize the effects of the hexcore on organic matter like plants (and people)?

Even in death Sky's character could serve to reflect the theme of inspiration that Viktor desperately needs...

Except the Inspiration rune does represent the literal definition of the word "inspiration". In Runeterra, the Inspiration rune is meant to symbolize the ability to "Outwit mere mortals". In-game the Inspiration path gives players a set of tools they can use to apply unconventional strategies to outwit their enemies. And the one character that demonstrates those traits the best in Arcane is Jinx.

The first time the Inspiration rune's meaning was applied correctly in a sentence was when Viktor was describing the design of Jinx's chomper grenade. And it's true, thematically Jinx's chomper grenades and they way she uses them align with how "inspired" tools work.

Jinx was able to pull off a 3-in-1 trick with her chomper. The grenade was the bait and the snare against the enforcers, the distraction Jinx used to steal classified technology and info from Piltover, and the means that Jinx would use to frame the Firelights in her crimes. Technically she's gotten away with it all so far. What Jinx with her tools does isn't just outwitting her enemies, she's running laps around them.

Another possible clue that could mean Jinx will help Viktor discover the Inspiration rune is that her champion tag was disguised as a rune within the hexcore in Viktor's Magician tarot card. The same tarot card that gives us a brief shot of the Machine Herald's silhouette.

Maybe this all leads to Viktor working with Jinx next season, even learning from her to the point where he'll even end up taking a page out of Jinx's playbook. Viktor's set to be banished from his research bubble in Zaun, in a time where allies will be hard to come by and enemies will be easy to make.

Sky and Jinx are two very different characters that manage to apply the term inspiration in two very different ways. I want to think that was on purpose by the writers. But who knows for sure though, we can only see how things turn out next season.

tldr: Sky represents the traditional definition of inspiration, while Jinx better embodies the Runeterra's definition of the actual Inspiration rune. Sky's death may also be a weird rune pun.

[watercolorfreckles]

Static's Girl

This is a Secret Santa Snippet for @esperosisdoeswriting!! Merry Christmas, Esper, I hope you like it!!! Her prompt was villain dad who' loves his small child and is not afraid to kill ppl over it!

TW: Blood, violence, mention of needles

“Our target is a child?” The horror in Blythe’s voice seemed loud, even past the pound of blood pulsing in her ears. 

Fellow members of the hero’s team poured into the back of the van, one strong-arming a terrified little girl. Her wrists were bound, mouth covered and tears streaking her cheeks. The child kicked and thrashed with pink-booted feet, legs dangling helplessly above the floor of the car where the hero’s sidekick kept her firmly hoisted in the air.

She looked barely older than 7.

Blythe’s protest was suitably ignored as the team shouted instructions at one another. The back doors slammed shut and the van lurched into action. Passengers plunged themselves into their seats.

“Are you crazy?” Blythe hissed. She stood only to stagger into the side window as the vehicle made a sharp turn. “This is crazy! Why are we kidnapping a child?!”

“Bosses orders,” another said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. 

Mockingbird said “Jump” and they said, “How high?” That was just the way of things, wasn’t it? It had never concerned Blythe before–their leader was a just one.

But now…

The child’s knees were muddied and scuffed. As if she'd fallen. As if she'd run. She squealed panicked cries against the sidekick's palm.

Blythe's stomach bottomed out and pooled again with a honey-slick dread. “Who is she?”

“Static's kid,” the driver called back. Blythe caught a shiver skating through them in the corner of her eye. 

“Static's ki- I must be missing something, are you crazy?” She rounded on Mockingbird's sidekick once more. “You said we were retrieving a powered weapon that could bring Static down!”

He blinked at her as if she were exceptionally slow. “That's what she is.”

Blythe shook her head, feeling an angry tremor seize her bones. “She's a little girl, is what she is.”

Blythe startled as the radio station crackled to life, flipping noisily through channels. The driver cursed and mashed at a button. Clicking on his coms device, he spoke aloud as his free hand yanked the wheel into another screechy turn. 

“On our way back with the package in hand, Boss.”

Mockingbird's sidekick yelped and dropped the girl, a red welt forming on their palm where it had pressed against her mouth. The child hit the floor and scrambled on her knees to an empty corner.

The driver's eyes lit the rearview mirror. “What's–” He hissed and ripped his earpiece away from his head as it fizzled with blaring static loud enough for the rest of the van to hear. “Hey- She's interfering with our coms!”

“Probably trying to reach her father,” another in the front seat agreed. She pointedly shut the radio off as it flitted through stations of chatter and music once more.

The child’s nose was bleeding. Had it been doing that before? 

“Somebody knock her out already!”

The sidekick sighed and lifted a hand. All-consuming shadows danced at his fingertips seeming to choke the air around it.

“Don't.” Blythe hurled herself in front of Static's daughter. Her eyes tingled with a familiar heat that told her they were glowing, power teeming just beneath the surface. 

They stared at each other in a terse stalemate.

The sidekick’s teeth clenched.

“Listen, rookie–”

“We do not threaten children, and we certainly do not hurt them.” Blythe was proud of how steady she managed to keep her voice–firm and leaving no room for argument.

She still wanted to cry a little. How had this become her life?

Little hands grabbed at her from behind and a warm face pressed into her back. Then, a tiny sob. Blythe softened. 

“You're okay, sweetpea, it's alright,” she crooned. Blythe turned to take the child gently in her arms, gathering her close in her lap. “Shh, it's alright. I won't let anyone hurt you. I promise.”

The sidekick's seething was palpable, gaze cleaving cleanly through her, but he finally sat back down.

An eternity later, they were back at the base. Blythe had smacked away any hands reaching to grab the child away from her, carrying the girl inside herself. The little one’s legs wound around her waist like a koala, bound hands clutching fistfuls of Blythe’s shirt fabric.

Blythe’s thoughts felt scattered as TV static. She moved on autopilot, only coming back to herself when the sterile-white lights of the laboratory hummed over them.

Mockingbird was there, black curls cascading freely over her shoulders and contrasting with the icy gray of her eyes. They were not particularly kind eyes, but Blythe had always thought the hero to be good, at least.

“Boss,” Blythe heard herself speak. She cleared her throat. “What exactly are we doing here? Why did we take this kid?”

Mockingbird gestured toward the lab table. “Put her there. We need her blood.”

Blythe’s eyes widened. “Her blood?”

“We are going to use her cells to create a power inhibitor for her father and a power replicator to dose myself with. When he comes to retrieve her, we inject him with it. He won’t act out when he knows we have his daughter. And with his own powers used against him, he’ll never escape again.”

Blythe’s voice came out croaky. “I think you’re putting an awful lot of faith in the self-control of the most powerful supervillain we’ve ever encountered. When we’ve taken his only child. And stabbed her with needles.”

Static’s daughter tightened around her. Blythe glanced down and murmured a soft apology against her ear.

“I don’t care,” Mockingbird snapped. It was clipped with a danger Blythe had never felt aimed at her before. It now felt like a knife against her soft underbelly, as silver and glinting as the superhero’s eyes. “We’re close. Too close to lose now. If you plan to stand in the way of that…”

She stepped closer and plucked the child out of Blythe’s arms with her own super-strength-enhanced, bionic ones. The child knew better than to thrash that time.

Blythe wondered now, nausea climbing her throat, whose blood she’d stolen to replicate that particular gift. The metal prosthetics weren’t just technology, now, were they? Blythe had never thought much of it before… 

“Then you’ll have to take a time out,” the superhero finished. “Somewhere quiet where you can re-evaluate. Understand?” Her voice was a fake-chipper, then. Something Barbie-coded but full of invisible teeth.

Blythe’s powers hummed low beneath her skin, a tamed beast waiting for permission to lash out. Her fists clenched. “I really don’t think this is wise.”

“No?” Mockingbird sounded bored as she set Static’s daughter down on the table, tying a strip of elastic around the child’s forearm.

The little one jumped, blue static zapping Mockingbird’s fingers where they touched.

The superhero jerked back. “You little–”

“She’s just scared,” Blythe said, stepping between them. “I’ll do it. She’ll let me do it. Please.”

Mockingbird’s metal hand clanged into a fist. She took a long-suffering breath, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Get it done.” She pointed at the tray of tools on the counter. “Strap her down if you have to.”

Blythe’s hands went numb as she picked up the syringe. “Mocking–”

Their attentions snapped away as the speakers throughout the building crackled and spat. A wave of clammy dizziness flooded the room. Did the superhero feel the same sick lurch in her belly as Blythe did? The two clutched opposite ends of the counter to steady themselves.

Mockingbird whirled on the little girl. “Stop it, right now!”

Wide, terrified eyes stared back at her, but no blood oozed from her nose.

Blythe swallowed, choking down a roiling wave of nausea. She felt unsteady on her feet, light-headed and woozy. “It’s not her.”

A deep voice sounded over the intercom. “I’m coming to skin alive everyone who laid a finger on Verity. Those who merely stood by–don’t worry, I’ll fill your head with radiation so quickly you won’t even be able to choke out an apology.”

Oh no. Oh, they were so dead.

Blythe grabbed the child–Verity–and took a step toward the door.

Mockingbird blocked her. “No.”

“He’s going to kill everyone if he doesn’t get her back safely!” 

Blythe tried to push her way past and Mockingbird grabbed her by the throat, cogs whirring in her bionic arm. She shoved, Blythe and Verity hurtling back into the wall.

“I said no!”

Blythe’s breath collapsed out of her lungs as her back hit the wall with a sickening crunch, drywall cracking and littering the floor around them.

Mockingbird turned to the monitor screen, making furious selections on the keyboard. Security footage of the whole base blipped to life.

They watched as Static strode into a room with the terrifying grace of an apex predator, tearing down anyone in his way. Radiation flooded his fists in a green glow as he punched through the receptionist’s chest, shifting to easily grab the next closest person and brace his hands on either side of their skull. The poor soul thrashed as blood leaked from their eyes, nose, and ears. When they were no longer moving, Static let them crumple to the floor.

The next group ran and Static bowled them down with infinitely multiplied radiowaves, hurling them from open palms as if it were nothing. The speakers filled with screams, the feedback whine behind the sound forcing Blythe to cover her ears.

Her blood iced over as in the top right frame, the supervillain looked up at the camera. His head tilted, making chilling eye contact with the lens until the screen cracked and went blank with buzzing stripes of radio static. 

Verity was the only one in the compound who didn’t look afraid. She looked relieved.

Mockingbird moved for the door just as it burst open. She swung at Static with her bionic fists, missing and punching straight through the steel door instead.

Static stood on a platform of squiggling waves that lifted him off of the ground. He looked god-like. Untouchable. The impulse to run coursed through Blythe, but she stayed rooted to her spot, clutching the child to her chest. Static’s hands glowed green again as he lifted Blythe’s boss into the air. Those same up-and-down scribbles seized her, wrapping her prosthetic limbs and ripping them from her shoulders.

Mockingbird screamed.

“What did you do to my daughter?”

“Daddy!” 

The villain’s attention shifted immediately. Verity wiggled free of Blythe’s arms, running to her father.

Static dropped his target as if she were a ragdoll, scooping up his daughter instead. “Verity,” he breathed. His eyes fell closed, stroking her hair, whispering tender praises and apologies into her shoulder. 

The child clung to him. “Daddy.”

He pulled back to search her for injuries. “Are you hurt, darling? Tell me what they did to you.”

Though his voice was gentle for her, there was still a sharp undercurrent to it, as penetrating as the radiowaves that still leaked through the air. His eyes narrowed on her bloodied knees and the stained skin between her lip and nostril. 

“I’m okay, Daddy,” Verity said, looking back at Blythe.

Her vision swam as the supervillain’s focus shifted, once more, to skewer her to her spot. A calm sort of rage stretched his posture taut as he stepped closer.

Blythe, embarrassingly, may have whimpered. Her hair stood on end, floating above her head.

Verity squirmed out of her father’s hold, jumping between them. Just as Blythe had done for her. 

She held her breath.

“No, Daddy! She protected me.” Verity’s eyes took on a determined sort of gleam; valorant and unwavering. 

The air around them fizzled quietly as another wave of illness rolled over Blythe. 

Radiation poisoning. She wasn’t going to last much longer like this.

Static’s head tilted, looking from his daughter to the broken super behind her.

“She kept me safe,” Verity insisted, turning her head to look back at Blythe. Blythe couldn’t seem to speak. “She’s hurt. Can we take her home?”

“Verity.”

“Please?” Verity moved to Blythe’s side, taking her hand.

Despite her swimming vision, Blythe couldn’t help but smile softly at her. A powerful weapon indeed. Blythe believed she could move mountains.

Seconds passed and Blythe thought she may have passed out. Her vision stretched fuzzy and dim at the edges. Then she was being lifted from the floor, broken bones screaming their protest.

Blythe whimpered again, unable to help burying her face in the supervillain’s shirt.

His voice buzzed in her ear where it pressed against his chest.

“Stay close to me, Ver. Take my hand. We’re going home.”

[realbeefman]

if house md happened in 2023. first of all house and wilson would be explicitly gay and together which would suck because queerbaiting is awesome. but also there would be a period before they got together in which they would routinely send their nudes to each other to screen before sending them out to women. and it’d be a whole Thing. s1 wilson would go ON and ON about how ever since the infarction house hasn’t been sending nearly as many nudes back to wilson and “it feels, i don’t know, weird!” and then house would just straight up try to pull his dick out in the hallway because if wilson “wants to see it so bad, then [he’s] more than happy to oblige.” and then at the end of the episode house would send him a nude and wilson would reply with a “Looks good 💯 I like the smile. Who’s the lucky lady?” and house would just smirk because there, of course, isn’t a woman. house just doesn’t want wilson to stop sending him nudes.

[bridaltrain]

show fans are like that bc the show chewed up everything that made pjo nuanced and meaningful, and made it more palatable for them. they think the books are mid because they dont want to think about the parts that dont sit well with them thats literally it

[softdinkestis]

i’ve just seen gladiator 2 and honestly i just wait for writers to write the most perfect fanfic so i can spiral into my new hyperfixation

[freshprinceofbellairashari]

Non stream fans: man they really wrote in a lot of things that are nine in this show. I guess for the pun? Sort of pushing the joke a bit far.

Me grabbing them by the metaphorical collar: you don't underSTAND.

[lunar-years]

I wouldn't say Ted Lasso did any of its abuse/abuse recovery narratives "well" but I do think they did parts of all of them like really well, which is what makes it all so incredibly frustrating. Like, showing how hard it can be to intervene by having the Diamond Dogs be avoidant and non-confrontational despite their mutual concern about Beard's relationship with Jane, but then having Higgins step up and say something anyway (and even though Beard didn't take his advice, it still felt like okay, this is a good, this is a realistic and messy and complicated narrative to tell that nevertheless highlights the importance of speaking up and being there for your friends even if it doesn't always work out how you'd planned), having Beard & Roy jump in to help Jamie at Wembley and Roy respond so well to Jamie's story in Amsterdam, humanizing Rupert in International Break and giving the backstory for why Rebecca fell in love with him and offering them a moment of real connection again without once pushing the narrative that he should be forgiven or that Rebecca even considers for a second taking him back...all that shit was GOOD!!! it was really nuanced and complex and good!! andddd then it ended with the BeardJane wedding, a James Tartt Sr. forgiveness agenda and Rupert morphing immediately into an over-the-top cartoon villain like what 😭 they had the capacity...and yet!!! nooooooo.