#hes my pookie bear. hes my best friend hes my pal

[mullomohiam]

Girl. Was it that funny

[eddiestightywhities]

one can never post too much about a traumatised repressed manchurian catholic demisexual closet gay firefighter

[thestuffiecrew]

Well hes not 37 but he is 20 years old today! This bear has been with me (Sammi) for 20 years of my 27 years on this earth, from being my comfort through the years of hurt, and the silly videos i thought id get famous off of, it was always Pooky that was there for me. This bear means everything to me, he and 2 other plushes are the only plushes left from my childhood. Every friend plush i had before Pooky had been thrown away and I always look at him and wonder, "how did you manage to stay?" Anyways, please join me in wishing my best Palm Sized Pal, Pooky the Bear, a super duper and loving happy birthday!

Pooky, I love you, and thank you for staying <3 ~Sammi

Pooky is a 2004 TY Beanie Baby Clip Keychain, (i removed the keychain when i got him)

[winniemaywebber]

Winnie darling!! Those January OTP prompts omg 🥺🥺🥺 could I please request “New beginnings” and “Shooting star” for Mr. and Mrs. Croz, and “Surprise hug” and “Snow angels” for Olive and Dougie? Love you pookie! 💕

hi gorgeous!!! thank you - as always - for persevering with me as my my brain turned to soup over the weekend. ilysm <3

under the cut to save space! (prompts are from this list)

snow angel // surprise hug

Another forlorn whimper, followed by a scratch on the door. Olive finally remembers, in her tired state, that Meatball had spent the night in the Dollies’ Hut, now begging to go outside. Slowly peeling herself from her warm man and the cozy blanket, Olive dresses quickly, whispering at Meatball to hush as she opens the door, the dog running out into the snow that covered the entire base. 

It's a whimpering sound that shocks Olive into consciousness, too early for her liking. She opens her sleep-heavy eyes slowly, half expecting the sounds to be coming from Dougie, who was laying next to her, all curled up. The noise, however, wasn't coming from him; instead, sweet snores and snuffles leaving his nose and mouth as he snuggles into his girl as close as possible.

The silent white of the world causes Olive to squint, a shiver running through her body as she lights a cigarette. 

“Come on, pal,” she urges, the husky bounding up to her at her words. In his excitement, and not knowing his own strength, he places his paws on Olive’s body and pushes, sending her to the ground. She lays there for a few seconds, slightly winded and trying to get her bearings.

“Making a snow angel there, honey girl?” Dougie stands above her, hand outstretched to help her up almost immediately.

“No,” she whines. “That darn dog!”

“Oh, sweetheart…”

“Why are you up? You were dead asleep when I left a minute ago!”

“Couldn't feel you next to me,” he smiles, eyes wrinkling sweetly. He sees her shivering again, pulling her by the hand and taking her in his arms. She yelps with surprise, but quickly snuggles in, feeling his nose snuffle into her neck the way it always does. 

“Come back to bed, dolly?” he asks, pulling away to plant a soft kiss on her mouth.

“I will, as soon as I've wrangled this–”

With a single loud bark, Meatball spots his other friend with his best girl, happy that Dougie has come to play too. It's as if it happens in slow motion: the paws, pressed to the stomach and push, sending the couple flying.

“Dang it, Meatball!”

new beginnings // a shooting star

“New beginnings,” Rosie adds, Jean spotting him wipe away a small tear. “Look at us,” he laughs, placing an arm around his wife Josephine and looking at the other faces, bodies squashed around the Crosby’s small dining table. “All able to be together now.”

“To us,” Jean Crosby says, raising her glass. Looking around the room, into the glassy eyes of her friends, she adds some final words to her toast: “and to those who should be sat here with us.” There's a murmur of agreement as everyone clinks glasses. 

Everyone nods in silent agreement, the emotional moment washing over them. Jean passes a wink to her girls: Josephine, Jules, Vika, Olive and Val, while Croz shuffles around the table, shaking hands with each of the men he fought the grisly war with; he, Rosie, Everett and Dougie physically beside each other while waiting for others - John Brady and Benny DeMarco- to be released from the Stalag.

“Let us do the dishes, Jean,” Rosie asks. 

“Not on your life, Robert Rosenthal. The last time you did dishes in this kitchen, the floor needed to be mopped three times over. I was ankle deep in dish soap.”

“Maybe he wants a rematch, Jeanie,” Jo says pointedly, laughing at the memory of her and Rosie having a bubble fight on one of their first weeks together at the Crosby house. “Not to worry, me and the girls have it. Right?”

A chorus of “yes,” “mhm, yep,” and “of course,” leave the girls, scrambling to collect dessert plates and wine glasses. 

As Jean joins them, her husband pulls her to the side. “Come with me, my little wife,” he purrs, pressing a kiss into her soft curls.

“Whatever for, Bing?”

“I'd just like a moment alone with you,” he smiles. “Hectic in here. And I've barely seen you all day.”

“Twisting my arm as always, Binger,” she grins back, pulling on her jacket.

“Clear night out,” Dougie calls, lighting a cigarette and handing it to Olive almost immediately. “Might even catch a shooting star!”