thirteen, refusing to acknowledge that she has a single negative emotion and refusing to tell her friends anything about her: god i'm so fucking healthy
fourteen, after a shit ton of therapy: ohhhh i see that was actually incredibly unhealthy i get it now
fifteen, traumadumping on ruby so rapidly that she doesn't get a chance to ask deeper questions and he doesn't get a chance to process the enormity of everything: god i'm so fucking healthy
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Steve is nonchalantly browsing the chips, waiting for Eddie to return (who in all honesty is probably getting the bag of sour gummy worms Steve already said they couldn't grab).
Steve feels a tug on his shirt. He smiles as he turns, expecting to see his boyfriend but-
Steve looks down at the child staring up at him. "Uh hi?" Steve looks around the empty aisle," Where's your parents bud?" The kid shrugs, but points to Steve's shirt," Tiger."
Steve's faded shirt from his freshman year of high school, now the most soft and comfortable after years of wear, does in fact have a tiger. "Yeah, sure is. Who-" the kid cuts Steve off with a loud roar. Steve can't help but chuckle as he crouches down to be on the kid's level.
Steve is fully focused on this kid, trying to find whoever the kid should be with. When he stands back up, he holds his hand out to the kid, who tentatively grasps his hand. The kid continues to roar and talk about tigers.
Meanwhile, Eddie has watched most of this exchange. Seeing his beloved boyfriend talk to this random child, the concern on his face? Eddie watches from a distance as Steve finds the mother, who was freaking out (understandably).
Eddie can't help but watch as Steve says hi to the baby in the stroller, laughing as the baby reaches out and grabs his finger. Steve says goodbye to the family, roaring back at the kid, who lights up.
Eddie can't help but think how good Steve is with kids. How good of a parent Steve would be. Which, started innocent, but then Eddie's mind jumped to the process of how a child comes about.
And now all Eddie can think about is how he's gonna give Steve one. He doesn't give 2 shits about biology, Eddie's putting a baby in that man.
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one of my favorite garak mannerisms is whenever someone says something to him he clearly finds completely wild and his eyes briefly widen like
before he reacts properly. when someone tells you something SO fucking stupid that you momentarily turn into a muppet
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The farmer I buy hay (and some firewood) from hasn't had time for deliveries yet, and he texted me yesterday to ask what I needed most urgently, hay or wood. Selflessly, I said hay.
That /is/ the gate for hay deliveries! Great memory, Pirlouit. I see what are the important spots in your mental map.
I hope you realise that I'm sacrificing myself for you. By telling our neighbour to prioritise your food over my comfort.
But even if I didn't, I would prioritise you and your hay because I love you. I would freeze to death to ensure you are fed
Would you share your hay with me, though?
I see.
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HMMMMM bakugou being just. the absolute picture of sin.
he works overnight and comes home early in the morning, around 3 or 4 am or so, and you greet him and give him a kissy and ask how it all went. and even though it's still dark outside and he's been working for twelve hours—he's still coming off patrol, right ? so he's still got some energy left, and he eats something and takes a shower and winds down as you fall back to sleep.
and it's not until much later in the day that he wakes up, early afternoon, and you're kind of tiptoeing around so that he can get his much-needed rest. you slip into the closet of your bedroom for something and you think you're gonna get in and out without a sound, but his hearing is so attuned to just about anything and everything at this point.
so rough and raspy, he grunts out, "what're y'lookin' for?" and you whip around real fast and he's just—
half sitting up in bed, bare back leaning against the headboard. an arm behind his head, so that his bicep is tense and round and stone-solid. stretched like that, his obliques are more prominent, taut and rippling up the side of his ribcage. he must have gotten hot while passed out, as he usually does, because the comforter is all askew; one of his legs is bent, the fine hair a dark gold in the waning day; the other is hanging off the bed, lightly swinging as he watches you, and the blanket has come down enough that you can see the bulge of his thigh muscles beneath his stupid tiny black boxer briefs.
and he's just so. man. in every single way.
(his hair is flat on one side, too, and his eyes are still a little puffy from sleep—but you think that adds to it, all in all)
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