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#mortifying ordeals
foibles-fables · 1 year
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um what is this?
https://m.twitch.tv/clip/PhilanthropicObedientAxeTheRinger-xpwLdP2L4RmAz8NL
Who was this?
you're famous!
Hahaha, that is the great and powerful Chante (and Narae!) from Guerrilla's Community Team during a Twitch stream earlier this year--fun fact, I missed this moment during a bathroom break and had to be brought up to speed when I got back, LMAO.
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ash-and-starlight · 1 year
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hades atla bisexual simulator
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sualne · 8 months
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father.
(timeline)
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ao3-crack · 8 months
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(x)
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liesandnights · 5 months
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The mortifying ordeal of admitting you do want to be loved vs the mortifying ordeal of not wanting people to pity you or feel bad for you vs the mortifying ordeal of wanting to reciprocate affection but being useless vs the mortifying ordeal of being careless with others and actually feeling bad vs the mortifying ordeal of being perceived as vulnerable at all.
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noisyghost · 5 months
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woof
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morverenmaybewrites · 14 days
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Once they are in a relationship, do you think Jason would be more comfortable sleeping in a bed with reader or alone? I could imagine either for various reasons
I think for a long time, Jason would be more comfortable sleeping alone, all the while desperately wanting to physically sleep together.
At any stage in the relationship, but especially in its early stages, Jason would be deeply insecure about how his trauma and his work could affect his partner.
He'd come home at odd hours: at dawn, just before the sun rose, perhaps midday after a particularly long case, reeking of blood and gunpowder. And he'd find himself moving as quietly as he could in his own home, doing his best not to disturb you. He'd probably just collapse on the couch than risk waking you.
Then, there were the nightmares, the ones that would have him wake up with a scream still lodged in his throat, the ones that would have him rising from the bed on shaking legs, so that he could vomit in the bathroom sink.
The ones that he would do anything to hide from you.
Because while he trusts you, there is a part of him—the part that had once been Robin, the part that had been left alone to die in the dark—that is terrified you will leave when you find out just how broken he is.
I think for the most part, he'll want to sleep alone, even when he needs the comfort.
There might be days when you catch him off-guard, though. Perhaps after a particularly rough case, one that has him stumbling through the doors of your shared home, already half-asleep with exhaustion. Perhaps he'll find you reading a book in a patch of sunlight by the window. Perhaps you had just finished baking, and the house smells like coffee and freshly-risen dough.
And for a second he'll think that he doesn't want to be alone.
"Busy?" he asks in a voice so ragged with exhaustion that it doesn't even sound like him.
When you shake your head, he'll find himself sitting right next to you on the couch, still reeking of blood and gunpowder.
When you try to ask about the case, he briefly considers lying.
But when he looks at you, he finds that he doesn't want to lie. Because even through the thick leather of his gloves, your hands feel warm against his. Because you look beautiful in the honeyed light.
Because, he thinks, that maybe you will not leave him alone in the dark.
"Can I stay here?" he asks.
"Jason," you say. "this is your home, too."
Home, he thinks.
He hasn't had that since Wayne Manor burned down.
This time, he does not move quietly as he removes his helmet, his gloves. They hit the carpeted floor with a muffled thump.
This time, he does not move away.
Instead, he lays his head on your lap, and lets himself melt against the warmth of your skin. He watches the sun dance across the ceiling of the apartment, and he inhales the scent of coffee and freshly-risen dough and the sweet scent of you.
He feels your hand gently stroking his hair and he thinks: yes, this is home.
This time when he sleeps, he does not dream.
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germultiple · 6 months
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ok everyone has beaten me to this joke by now but surely they went on with the wedding right
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tricky-pockets · 4 months
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yeah yeah the mortifying ordeal of being known, I know. look, sometimes it's not being known that's the problem, it's that generally you do have to be perceived first. which, of course, is a wet ham sandwich of an experience with little to recommend it.
it'd be much more pleasant to just arise in someone's mind like a. a whatsit. an epiphany. no faffing about with perception, skip directly to knowledge.
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roastedcandies · 1 year
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happy smiles
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stewykablooey · 1 year
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the fundamentals of kenstewy
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quequeishere · 8 months
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the you that was and the you that is walk into a bar
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txrdish · 21 days
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the moment doctor who showrunners use the names theta and koschei on-screen is the day i can die peacefully. imagine an emotionally charged scene between the master and the doctor then suddenly one of them drops the academy nickname on the other. it can go 2 ways
either the other gets all "you don't get to use that name on me, they're dead." or they crumble over the name and just. Breaks Down™.
(bonus points if it's in front of a companion)
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theemporium · 1 month
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oneshots
☞the introduction
i. dry humping
ii. fondling
iii. handjob
iv. fingering
v. [redacted]
vi. [redacted]
vii. [redacted]
viii. [redacted]
ix. [redacted]
x. [redacted]
.
blurbs
n/a
.
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oliverstarked · 3 months
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runningquill-art · 2 months
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“What the bloody hell are you doing?” asked Draco.
Granger collapsed out of the horrid tangle and found her knees. “Yoga. What the bloody hell are you doing?”
Draco had seen this mysterious term on Granger’s schedule. “That’s yoga? What kind of self-inflicted martyrdom–?”
Now that he had ascertained that there was no immediate threat, Draco could take in the scene. There were candles flickering in a corner and soft music was playing. Granger was outfitted in those ridiculously form-fitting Muggle clothes, khaki green this time. Her hair was pulled into a French braid, thick as Draco’s wrist.
Granger was looking at him like he was an absolute bellend. “I was trying a Taraksvasana–”
“A what?”
“A scorpion handstand – I’ve been working towards it for weeks, and I almost had it, until you came in like a bolt from the blue and frightened me out of my wits!”
Draco was feeling increasingly foolish. He pulled his cloak closed to cover his pyjamas. There was little he could do about his bare feet. “What, pray, is the point of yoga?”
“Flexibility. Strength. Balance. Finding serenity.”
Draco eyed Granger with cynicism at the last bit. “Have you found it?”
“No,” said Granger. She got to her feet with evident irritation. “Kindly recalibrate your ring so you only show up in a real crisis.”
She flicked the Elektik lights on. Her cheeks were flushed. A trickle of perspiration was running down her neck. Her chest still heaved from her exertion. Draco could smell salt, female sweat, and the burnt wick of a candle.
His idiot brain took this image and immediately created several new neural pathways that had never existed previously, connecting the idea of Granger with the concept of sexy.” - Draco Malfoy and the Mortifying Ordeal of Being in Love, Chapter 6: Finding Serenity, by @isthisselfcare
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DMATMOOBIL art 23/?
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