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She felt the sudden, ingrained shame of having asked for something she wanted, but fought against it and waited.
Of course she’s capable of defending herself. Most sensitive people are. Because they have to be.
That was the thing with creating something; you put some bit of yourself into it, if you did it well, but fuck if you could control what bit of yourself that was.
“My name is Portia Hobbs, and I’m bloody magnificent,” she murmured to herself. “I can do literally anything I put my mind to.” She reminded herself that loving and being loved both fell under the umbrella of anything.
