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#It's Not Great
ashxketchum · 2 months
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DIGI SAILORS REPORTING FOR DUTY...AND A LITTLE FUN (。•̀ᴗ-)
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peacerisendove · 4 months
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Me, multiple months ago: I hate how many of the bat boys have an undercut as their default hair style.*
Me, today: Tim would look good with long hair in an undercut style, and it would work if he still had the burn scars on the back of his head and neck.
*Note: I still hate the short undercut haircut and how it's like the hairstyle for three of the bat boys.
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thebuckandeddiething · 6 months
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Me after that Eddie/Marisol still:
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goodluckclove · 4 months
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Guys it's late, but have I made it clear enough that the only reason I strive to be as wholesome as I am is because I have witnessed Unbelievable Horrors and make a constant effort to choose kindness in order to avoid spiraling into nihilistic rage?
I've fucking earned my softness, people. It is hard as fuck to maintain this degree of wholesomeness in a world where C-PTSD has been known to reduce your overall lifespan and it is so easy to get drugs here. Oh my god. I was friends with a drug dealer for almost a year.
This isn't a cry for help or anything because your dad here is fine and dandy. I'm just saying maybe not every nice, soft person should be reduced to an uwu soft bean. I'm sure a lot of them are consciously deciding not to do this for themselves as well as those around them. It doesn't make them better, it doesn't make me better - but in my case the alternative is institutionalization or death and I'd rather not do that.
The way I live a choice I'm committed to making, but it's one that takes near-constant fucking effort. And if anyone says that's repression and not - like - managing mental illness and ending the cycle of generational trauma? I will hit you. It won't be a good hit. I don't know how to hit. But I'm going to try and then I'll feel pretty bad afterwards.
If you're a bleeding heart like I am, I'm with you. Have some of my lost blood if it'll keep you going a little longer. Hold out your hands, I'll squeeze it from my damp shirt tails.
You look thirsty. You should drink some water.
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grissomesque · 11 months
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and now all of us are paying for my mistake.
STAR TREK: VOYAGER 7.17 'Workforce Pt. II' 5.01 'Night'
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little-laurance · 11 months
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Aphtober Day 25: Maritime
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(Song is Ship in a Bottle by Fin Argus)
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ekat-fandom-blog · 10 months
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Symbiote AU prompt
John had been walking away from a seedy pub when he'd gotten the symbiote. He was tackled by the strange black glob he'd later learned called itself Amorpho, and it hadn't ever left. Luckily, they both seem to have similar senses of humor.
Symbiote powers and abilities or a more concise list here if anyone's interested
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tomatette · 10 months
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Loki, S02E4 Leave him be, he doesn't know.
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irritablegallowglass · 8 months
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Just Married - Peter Prentiss (Christian Kane)
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wild-magic-oops · 5 months
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It's amazing (and ridiculous imo) how you can steal the Idol of Silvanus and then intimidate your way out of a fight and literally nothing happens. The theft of the idol is treated like the theft of any other trash item. The npc later comments that the idol is gone but that's it. And the idol even gives a buff while it's in your bag.
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i3utterflyeffect · 4 months
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Viral infections are hard to create medications for because any chemical that targets a virus would naturally also target body cells; the viral protein coat and body cells are made of the same parts, allowing a virus to gain entry into a cell and use its machinery for its own purpose.
The Dark Lord's skin (or coat, if you prefer) was shredded and nonfunctional, but still retained some of its power. After their escape, they never used it on themselves again. Each of their viruses, however, contains a part, however miniscule of their original skin. Something to give a partial (but not complete) immunity. Something to tell a computer system I am supposed to be here. Let me in.
fascinating......... i like this thought--
though that DOES make it a lot more dangerous for the others I think, since it bypasses immunity-- the only person who they'd probably even try and bother making immune is Chosen, which means it's dangerous for them too.... like. as i mentioned I was already thinking it wasn't sustainable for dark, partially because their skin is very much part of them; so if a virus has access to their skin, it has access to their insides as well so to speak........
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hey do you guys want a shitty sketch about the very beginning of ch17 that has no spoilers
up to you guys
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flowercrown-bard · 1 year
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Jaskier was a funny person. 
Well, perhaps he wasn’t so much funny as he was amusing. Whether he was stumbling over his own words while attempting to flirt, nearly knocking his head on a beam because he was looking at a handsome passerby or simply singing an outrageously sexual song - watching his antics made people laugh. The laughter wasn’t always kind, but it didn’t matter. Because the sneers and sardonic snickers were drowned out by the loudest laughter of all. And that laughter was Jaskier’s own. 
And why wouldn't he laugh? He was a funny person after all. It was only right that he laughed the loudest, that he was so confident in his own charm and humour.
Well, perhaps he was so much confident as he was a talented actor. He understood how comedy worked. He knew timing and rhythm and the rule of threes. He knew puns and clever sarcasm and even slapstick humour. But most of all, he knew what the average person in their average life found humorous. No rules of comedy could  ever be as effective at making people laugh, as pure Schadenfreude could be. Jaskier had still been a child when he had discovered this truth. He had wanted to make his parents laugh - they were always so serious. He had told them jokes he had learned from a travelling jester. He sang silly ditties and performed funny skits. At least he had thought them to be funny. His parents didn’t crack a smile. Not at his jokes, that is. His mother sure did try to hide her laughter behind a fan, whenever he forgot the punchline to a joke and his father snorted in amusement, whenever he messed up a song.
It was then, that Jaskier understood what made people laugh. And as he ran to his room to hide away under a blanket, until all his tears had dried up, he swore to himself to never laugh at anyone else the way his parents had laughed at him. If this cruelty was funny, then he could never find anything funny. Other people would never be the reason why he laughed.
The only person he could ever laugh at, was himself. Because he was the only one who truly understood his own jokes, who knew the irony of how much skill it took to present himself as a bumbling fool. So people laughed and laughed and laughed at Jaskier and he laughed with them. 
But not because Jaskier was a funny person. 
But because it was easier to pretend the glistening in his eyes came from tears of laughter and not those of hurt.
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i-prefer-base-twelve · 5 months
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AAAAGH. Sir? Sir. I am trying SO HARD not to have a crush on you, you said you had a partner, so I am trying to be respectful. And it wasn't really that hard, because you live several timezones away, and we only see each other a couple times a year at professional events.
but
ok FIRST, you message me after months of radio silence and say "let's catch up"
and THEN, before I have a chance to respond,
you happen to also be a guest at this wedding, in a state neither of us live in? And you show up ALONE, and never mention a partner once?? And you dare, you have the absolute gall, to look _that good_ in a suit??? And then you _sit next to me at the reception but leave without saying goodbye_???? Sir, are you actually trying to kill me? Goddamn it you are all I'm going to think about for the next two days
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jade-the-kobold · 1 year
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I made a soft taco shell crepe because of a bit on stream.
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A fair and just god would have stopped me here
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The 'musil looks weird but it was actually a pleasant flavour.
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6/10 would not recommend but would secretly make it again.
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ohtobealady · 2 years
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hi! I just watched the new DA movie and so ofc I went back to binge the series again lol and one moment I consider one of my favorite Corbet moments is in S6:E7 when Robert is about to go see if Henry is alright after the crash and Cora goes “you’re not going anywhere”. I love how it showed how protective she was of him and he listened to her too lol. Anyway I was wondering if you could possibly write a fic about a conversation they have later. Anyway I love your work and feel not obligation to write this!
Yesss. I love this scene, too. She's so tiny pulling him back to her. I tried to sort of imagine the spiral of Robert's feelings in this one; he was so irritable in the dining room and my headcanon is that he is usually at the mercy of his feelings, letting them sort of get out of control a bit. Of course, Cora is just the opposite, IMO. Thank you for trusting this one to me! I hope you like something about it :)
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The fact was, he wasn’t really tired. Lying in this bed, staring up at the ceiling of his sister’s home, he had tried to slow his breathing enough to shift into slumber, to close his eyes until they stopped roving beneath the lids and making them flicker open. But alas, he could not. 
For he was not tired. 
He was, however … was that anger? He wasn’t sure. It was certainly upset. Uncomfortable. Too aware of the way his wife laid awake beside him, her face angled up to his own, her fingers glancing for a moment against the sleeve of his shoulder before drawing them beneath her own head, crushed in a fold of her pillow.
Irritable, too. It was as if the metallic noise he sometimes heard over the telephone had crept into his head and crackled there. She’d said no more about it; Cora had only let her maid undress her in the corner of the bedroom before folding herself into the bed, Robert rolling in beside her. She’d not said another two words strung together about what they’d witnessed, what the day had brought. What their daughter must be feeling. 
No. Perhaps he was angry. 
Angry that the last five weeks had produced more lessons in mortality than he, nor any other man, could ever ask for. 
Angry, too, that he’d been so excited to see the motor race. Angry that the day had ended in tragedy. 
Angry that he had to stay back as younger men, stronger men, had rushed with his own daughters, to help. 
And angry that his wife—this woman whose soft fingers touched again at his shoulder—was capable of separating herself from her emotions in a way he never could understand. Angry that she could be so unfeeling when he could do nothing but feel.
He heard a small change in Cora’s breath and peered down at her beside him, but could sense she was still not asleep. He knew too well the rhythm of her sleeping body’s rise-and-fall; she was too still. 
She, too, was thinking. 
He could sense that as he peered at her. He could sense the way she tried to push away this day and draw in the next; but her sleeveless shoulder gave her away, the stillness of it catching whatever light came from the curtained window, and glowing. 
He shifted further down into the bed. “I should have stayed down with Mary.”
She lifted her chin along the pillow in response. 
“I can’t seem to sleep as it is, and I’m certain she won’t sleep at all either. Not with how horrific everything’s been.”
Still, his wife did not respond, and the little knot of anger tangled there between his ribs tightened. 
“After what she’s been through. God only knows what she saw at the scene of the crash. What bloody awful memories she’s reliving now.” He let one of his hands gesticulate to the dark ceiling. “I shouldn’t have come up without speaking with her—“
“I’m sure Tom—“
But Robert didn’t let his wife finish. “—as I should have gone to her at the track. Instead I just stood there. Useless.”
And so she did not. 
Instead she turned silently to lie on her back. And then, after a few moments more, and with a deep breath, she left the mattress. 
No. “Cora,” he tried, for he hadn’t meant this. He hadn’t meant he wanted to argue with her. He hadn’t meant it at all.
He tried to make out in the shadows what she did there on the other side of the room. “Cora, I hadn’t meant to raise my voice.” He heard a small clink of a glass and water from the pitcher that Baxter had brought up some time before. She still was silent. “But surely you understand how I must feel. To stand there as other men rushed past to help. That young, brave man gone in what seemed an instant.”
“Here.” He looked at her as she returned to the bed, her small body shaking the mattress gently as she climbed back in beside him. “Take this,” she offered, and Robert found she held a water glass. 
He sat up and, exhaling, took it.
“And,” he looked again to her hand, the glow that had been on her shoulder catching at her narrow wrist. “Take a powder.”
“I don’t want a powder,” he pouted but took it all the same.
“Do you need me to open it?”
“No.” And putting his much recent practice to use, he managed with one thumb to separate the wax paper; he tilted the medicine into his mouth, the sharp bitterness making his tongue smart. 
He took a drink of water, smacking away the taste, before handing the glass back to his wife who, twisting at her waist, placed the glass on the table beside her. 
Sighing, he laid back against the pillow. Sighing, he closed his eyes and tried to settle the irritation he still felt alive in his joints. But then, to his small surprise, Cora laid down as well, her body quickly flushing against his own, her arm draping across his breast … her nose burrowing into the space beneath his jaw. 
He blinked. The irritation he had felt, that telephone crackling that lived in his bones, it was gone.
“The phenacetin should help you sleep,” he felt her words against his throat, her little puffs of air. “If your tummy is uncomfortable.”
He nodded, and then felt himself ask her, “What about you?”. It was a reflexive response, and one he meant. He shifted his head and let his lips touch at her forehead, her hairline. “You couldn’t sleep either.”
“No, but…” 
He felt her fingers grasp tightly at his shoulder, and without thinking, his hand went to her own, taking it, and he brought her long fingers to his lips. 
“…you’re here.”
He kissed her fingers again. He nodded. The tangle of anger had loosened considerably there beneath the length of her arm, and Robert drew in a slow breath, bringing in the scent of her lavender hand cream, and he pressed his lips to her fingertips again. 
“I apologize for before.”
He felt her shake her head, but he went on.
“I didn’t mean I was angry with you. Only the day. And then Rosamund was so–” “--You’re here.” She repeated, stopping him. Her voice was low against his skin, and Robert lifted his chin against her forehead. “I think that for tonight, let’s just be grateful.”
His body felt heavier at that. His chest and arms and legs and head all tripled in weight as her words coursed through him, his heart aching a little at the sincerity in her words. 
Again, he kissed her forehead. And again he kissed her hair. And when she lifted her face to his, he found her lips and rested his head to her own. 
He nodded. “You’re right,” he conceded. “I’m here."
His heart quicked when he felt her lips move against his. “Please. Don't go anywhere.” 
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