#pinecone answers

[pineconedrop]

Remember how Lunar(before death) liked to play with Monty's tail, do you think he'd like to do that to Rez's tail as well if they met earlier?(I will put that in my comics, the idea's too cute, I wonder how Rez would feel about Lunar being just as curious about Rez as Rez is about Lunar)

AWWWWWWWWWWWWW omg he totally would. That is adorable actually. You are a genius Dei.

[comically-blu]

How shermie fall to the portal who push him?

After a lot of thought made into a script I’ve made, I finally got to how the incident happened .3.

Butttt imma let this question be answered by something I’ve been working on based on that script in a meantime, so here’s a sneak peek!

Would love to hear a guess on how things went down here, tehe (*´∀`)♪

[bcbdrums]

you are secretly an artist.

aaahhhh.... wh-who... me...?? ^^;;;;

okay, possibly yes..

[pinecone-face-thalia]

(This is from @aries-is-a-ghost so like ignore the fact it says my main blog on here lol)

You're Zeus kid that's afraid of hieghts

And im the hades kid that's afraid of ghosts

I blame Phobos for all of this

[vampmilf]

a dad complimented the way i spoke to his toddler bc i didnt "do silly baby speak" but truth is i just spoke to his kid the way i speak with animals so do with that what you will

[inbabylontheywept]

by tradition, the first day of the camp was spent pranking the group next to us. our prank was ziptying the zippers on their sleeping bags together. we figured one of them would sleep with a knife, because we all slept with knives, because we were dangerous maniacs and half the danger of a dangerous maniac is that they tend to think that they are Actually Normal. so. obviously that didn't pan out, and instead they got stuck in their sleeping bags for like half an hour and because their scoutmaster slept in their car and couldn't hear them yelling, they actually only got out when one of them went full caged animal and chewed through the plastic. which meant they had time to make it to the axe throwing station, but they did miss breakfast.

the scale of our victory was impossible to understate. it was an epic prank. unrivaled. the best in years. we knew they were going to retaliate, and we both feared and craved it. maybe i'm still a maniac, but that feels like a common thing, right? do well adjusted people that are not maniacs crave Judgement?

(serious answers only please, from people who would never spoon a knife.)

anyway, the next day we got back to our camp, and the neighors had skipped dinner to just come back and fill all our tents with pinecones. which was like, a decent prank, i guess, but it probably took them an hour to fill all the tents up, and it took us like 15 minutes to tip the tents out, and as a return volley to the ziptie prank it was incredibly underwhelming. we felt a little cheated.

so our scouting group held a council, and we agreed, unanimously, that our prank was 100% better and theirs sucked and that there would be no escalating tensions because we were the clear victors. they'd had their chance to retaliate, and they failed, and so the war was over. that was it.

we agreed on this. we swore. but madness is a relative thing, and in our group of maniacs, we still had J. i have many, many J stories. too many. i biked up to school with him from 4th grade to 8th, and i saw him get hit by cars thrice. he'd just swerve into the road sometimes. one time on a rainy day in 4th grade, a car splashed me, and before i could even consider my response J yelled I GOT THIS and then he blitzed off after the car. i didn't see him the rest of the day. i was so anxious i barely slept that night. i saw him the next morning and he told me that he'd chased the car until it got to a gated community and then he'd climbed over the fence and looked in peoples garages until he found the one with the car, and then he'd ripped the hood ornament off and broke their window. then he gave me a hood ornament to a different brand of car from the one that splashed me and i didnt tell him because i didnt want him missing more school. i want you to mentally adjust your mental model of the things a 9 year old is capable of doing to include chasing a car for five miles, hopping a fence, breaking into a garage, and vandalizing a randos car.

and that's just the tip of my J stories iceberg.

the point of all this is just to say that J was so crazy that he made us knife spooners look like accountanting enthusiasts.

so we agreed the war was done, and we shook on it, and then J, in the name of friendship, in the name of honor, in the name of avenging our pinecone filled tents, snuck over to their camp that evening and fornicated with a watermelon that they'd been saving in their cooler.

i want to emphasize, again, that this was not the consensus of the group. that is not a prank. like i know it seems like we dont know what pranks are because of the whole ziptie thing, but even we knew that fucking someones food is not a prank, it is a crime, and a sin, the kind of weapon that had only been ethically used once in history by Horus in his battle against Set and none of us dumb assholes had owl heads.

so.

the next day went pretty well. we threw some more axes again, which is a valuable and important skill for children to learn i guess, and we learned how to tie knots, which is a skill that turned out to be far sexier than i ever expected, and i learned how to light fires with a magnifying glass, which was great. i'm looking back at this, and i am actually just now beginning to realize that the clear and obvious point of scouting is turning child sociopaths into apex predators.

and then the day ended, and we went back to our camps, except for our leaders, who had a sort of Scout Leader Meeting they were going to have for a few hours at least. it was built into the camp, that day was supposed to be our day to chill as a group, and make peach cobbler, and just be buddies.

except, as it turned out, our neighboring group's alternative to making peach cobbler was eating their watermelon. so at some point they opened their watermelon, and woo boy. oh man. you think catholics hated seedless watermelons? you should see how much mormons hate seeded ones.

so we were chilling by the fire, and then we heard screaming from the camp over, but we didn't pay much mind to that because there are many reasonable explanations for a group of 10ish children to scream simulanteoulsy, such as wasps, which are abundant in arizona, and then the screaming got closer, which did not bother us because there were many reasons for a group 10ish children to scream and run towards us, for example, wasps, which are abundant in arizona, and then we noticed they had large sticks on them, which we figured were perhaps being used to drive away the wasps, which are abundant in arizona, and then they arrived and they started beating the shit out of us, abundantly, in arizona.

so we ran into the woods.

now, at this point, we had no idea what was up. we knew that the camp next to us was out for blood, which was crazy, because we'd actually locked them in fartproof bags for 30 minutes and they'd barely done anything back, and were trying to figure out what could possibly have happened that could drive them to Terrible Violence when we realized that J was cackling like a witch that had learned how to order children off of ebay.

so we politely asked J what the hell he had done, and he politely explained that had "done" their watermelon, and we politely beat him with large sticks because life is nothing but endless cycles of violence.

we were still being chased by the other camp btw. so it was them, chasing us, chasing J, and then they got tired and went back to their camp, and we chased J a little longer because we were mad we'd all been walloped with sticks, and J did not care because he was a supernatural entity whose only weaknesses were Needles and Fire, and then we got tired and went back and J kept running, and we just kind of figured he would come back eventually.

he did not.

we went back to our tents, and we waited, and J did not come back. we stayed up all night, peering into the forest, worrying. our leader came back, and we did our best to hide our battlewounds, and he either genuinely did not notice or simply accepted this as part of Boyhood. then he went to bed, and we waited, and waited, and waited. And Waited. and did not sleep.

eventually, we convened again, and we agreed that if J was not back by after breakfast, we would have to tell the scoutleader about what exactly had transpired. and we really did not want to do that, because it would have meant that everyone would have gotten in a very large amount of trouble.

morning came around, and J still was not back. we went to breakfast, and we ate very, very slowly. we were afraid the other camp was going to continue their war with us, but they actually looked fairly frightened. one of them actually came to us and asked for a truce, and we agreed because we truly felt bad for them. like, yes, they did beat us with sticks, but J fucked their watermelon. we werent complicit in the watermelonfuckening but they didnt know that, and it was definitely the kind of crime that left one outside the bounds of the social contract.

and then when we could eat no more bits, when breakfast was almost done, right when i was getting pushed to go and tell the scoutleader that we needed to find J, he arrived. he was sleep deprived, and noticeably scraped and bloody, and tied to his belt was a blood squirrel tail.

and i asked him, J, where did you get that? and he said, don't worry man, it was already dead, which did not answer by question and gave me several more.

the camp ended that day, and the other groups avoided us like the plague, and it was not until some weeks later that we were able to piece together what happened.

J, in his sojourn through the forest, managed to find (or, possibly, make) a dead squirrel. he then cut off the tail to keep on his belt, because he was a weird little freak like that. he also took the dead squirrel, and he skinned it, then he tied it to a little crucifix made of wood, and he left it in the other scouting group's camp. which is why they were so scared of us.

it was such an unhinged thing to do it actually sobered us up for a while. scouting became a scary thing for us. we'd found something dark and primal there, in the place where no adult could see, and our appreciation of J as a wild ride kind of changed into seeing him as something truly dangerous. we had a sense wherever he went, something terrible would follow, and the only way to escape it was to not be there when it arrived. and so piece by piece, the scout group dissolved. it wasnt until he moved out of that ward that the rest of us started daring to go back to scouts.

and for the final epilogue of the tale:

i have a little brother who was friends with a younger cousin of J's, and the two would go to parties together in highschool. and sometimes J, who was in his early 20's at that point, would show up at the parties, and it was unsettling in such a way that it just became a known risk at parties with the cousin. and at one party, they were playing truth or dare, and J wasn't even in the room, but someone asked him the Truth of how he always knew how to find the cousin, and J said the cousin's mom had mentioned she was worried about him and the parties so he'd put a tracker in his car. and when he saw that the cousin was out of the house on weekends, he'd made a visit by, just to make sure he was safe.

then he left. and every single person at that party went over that poor kid's car. they searched the wheel-wells, checked underneath it, the works, until they found the tracker. then because they were clever, they didnt break it, or throw it away, or anything that would've given away what they'd done. they just gave the tracker to the cousin, who put it in his glovebox. and on schooldays, he'd take it with him, so J could see him in the parking lot. and on weekends, he could leave it in the garage, so he could go to parties with out Hell coming with him. because everyone that met J - every single person - knew that the only way to be safe from him was to be far, far away.

[nkogneatho]

SANTA'S CUMMING TO TOWN

—fushiguro toji x fem!reader

#TAPE NO 1 OF 'Tis the Season to be Naughty

—cw: breeding, santa kink (idk bruh i am all high and horny), mention on pregnancy, prone bone, raw sex, spanking, dirty talking, nick names. (art creds: yy6241 on ig)

—a/n: 1.2k words of everything that is wrong with me

Christmas wasn't particularly the most awaited time of the year for Toji. You on the other hand? You made sure that your place looked like the Christmas Spirit threw up garlands, trees and cute lights all over.

"Can you pass me those lights?" you ask Toji who was hanging the pinecones on the tree.

"Tell me why we're doin' this again?"

"Because it's Christmas. It's the season of joy. Oh, by the way," you gently step down from the table that helped you a gain a foot to put on the decorations, "gumi's friends are coming tomorrow so make sure to dress up as a santa."

"What?" He is stunned. It's not that he doesn't like kids but to have all their excited eyes on him would give him quite the stage fright.

"Please Please Toji. I know you don't like this kinda stuff but gumi was so excited the other day to see santa."

"What's in it for me?"

"You want a bribe for dressing up to make your son happy?" Your arms fold against your chest and you look at him with a poker face.

"Of course. That little brat gets spoiled way too much by you. When's my turn?"

"Toji. It's either the santa costume or the shark costume and dancing on baby shark for an hour"

*GASP*

"Hope ya know Santa doesn't like you, sweetheart." He walks away after giving you a nasty look. You know he doesn't mean it. He is cute when he is all pouty.

The party felt like forever. You send Megumi off to Shiu's place with his son and his mom. They were gonna have a sleepover. Megumi was a raging introvert just like his father so him having a best friend was a big deal for you.

"So the dishes are done. The extra party hats are in the cupboard, the floor is clean and y—" You stop your moving feet and look at the view in front of you. "And Santa hasn't left yet."

"Well...I still have one bad girl on my list. Thought I'd take care of that." He steps closer. The heat emitting from his body already reaching to hug your skin.

"But I've been your good girl, haven't I?" your doe eyes flutter at him, your fingers curling his white faux beard.

"Nah sweetheart. You've been so bad. You've barely paid any attention to me all month. Don'tcha think ya should get punished for that?" His grainy voice grazes against your neck. You try so hard to come up with a quick witty answer to turn this into a wholesome conversation but that was down the drain the moment he put that thing on. You were never into the whole santa thing until now. All blame goes to the man underneath the costume.

"P-punished?" You clear you throat. "Like?" You wait for an answer but you don't get one. Well, at least not in words.

Toji picks you up bridal style and walks to the cozy mattress next to the christmas tree and the gifts.

"Gonna give you a full experience, doll."

Everytime you fuck, Toji's always the one to get undressed first. He is too impatient to feel you against him. But tonight, you're the only one getting undressed. Your dress pools on your stomach as calloused hands hike it up.

"Toj—"

"tsk tsk. address me properly, naughty girl."

"Santa! Need you inside me.

"Heh. Not so soon, darling. Gotta punish you first." In a split second, you're turned on your belly, face pushed against the pillow. Toji inhales a sharp breath watching your exposed ass. A quick spank is landed on your them, making your husband hard as your plump skin bounces.

"Look at'cha. Such a slut. getting all wet with just a spank? what you gon' do when santa fills up your hole, doll?"

*spank*

"Ah! Fuck. I am so sorry, Santa. I promise I'll be a good girl f'you" you mewl.

"Promise? ight. Let's test that." You hear him shuffle. His fingers unbuckle the comically large belt and tugging down the pants just enough to expose his throbbing cock. He pumps it a few times before slapping the precum covered tip on your butt cheeks, the slight wet feeling on your skin turning you on even more. Toji grabs a cushion and settles it between the floor and your stomach so your pussy is easily visible. It's shameful. You know you're so wet that it's traveling down your thigh and drenching the cushion.

You feel his cockhead rub against your slick, opening the folds.

"Shit. She's dripping, sweetheart. Don't even need to stretch ya tonight. You ready for Santa's cock?"

He doesn't even give you a chance to answer before he is slowly forcing it in your pussy. Emerald eyes not even blinking for a second out of fear of missing even a single frame of the way you swallow him.

"Fuuuuuck!" you cry out at the stretch.

"Attagirl. Took it all in once. Keep it up and I might take you off my bad list, baby."

He starts off a few gentle strokes to get you used to it all before he puts his arms on your back, pushing you further against the mattress as he starts pounding into you like an animal.

"Fuckfuckfuck fucking god! I love your pussy. You feel so fucking good. Ughhh"

"Ah! Ah! Ah! Santa, pl—please. You're so big."

"I know, baby. But—ugh—you're takin' me sooo well. Fuck! Yeah, baby c'mon. Grind that ass on my cock. Yeaaaah just like that fuck!"

"G-gunna cum, anh anh ffu—ngh," you cry and your tears are soaked by the pillows. In another second, you're coming undone on his cock, screaming his name.

"Good girl. Good. Fucking. Girl." Each word enunciated with a deep plunge in your shivering pussy.

"You've been such a good girl. Santa's gonna give you a gift." Toji picks up his pace again, rolling his hips faster, the faux beard chafing your shoulders as he is putting all his weight on you, all his instincts telling him to breed you.

"Gunna give my sweet doll the greatest gift. You better take it all. 'm gonna make sure your pussy does. goddaaaamn nghh—" A few more deep thrusts and soon he is losing his composure, cumming and painting your insides with his thick leak.

"You better return the gift in nine months doll." You're too fucked in your brain to even register what he said.

The next morning you're not even making eye contact with Toji, too embarrassed to accept you were turned on by something so innocent. Good thing Megumi comes by the door running, helping you avoid the situation for a little longer.

"Aww come here, my boy. Did you have fun at Uncle Shiu's?" He nods. His little arms coming to hug you.

"So what gift ya got brat?" Toji asks the little sea urchin.

"I got a pink tiger with a red color bow. He is the best. I named him Yuuji." You chuckle, wiping the drool from corner of his lips. "And we ate fortune cookies."

"ohh! what did your cookie say?"

"It said Santa will bring a little sister next year." Blood rushes to your cheeks, your face heating up at the little boy's innocent comment, sounding completely sinful after scenes from last night play in your head. You bite the insides of your cheek.

"Mhm. Hope he does, babe." He kisses the top of the boy's head and then your temple. Yeah he is not the Christmas kinda guy. But this might be his new favorite holiday now.

[devosin]

" be my burden " , gender neutral reader

a/n: for the girlies who hate being a burden & hate being attached to people or for those who get up mid-breakdown because it's embarrassing.

Malleus's arms wrap around you, gently pulling you into his lap, he felt warm, soothing almost, and the overwhelming scent of pinecone and sandalwood took over your senses, almost numbing your nerves. "I'm fine", you mutter under your breath, "I should go", and despite saying so, you find your body leaning into his touch, as if it was home.

Because he was home, in this unfamiliar place you did find a home . . in Malleus, and that was something so overwhelmingly pleasant, that it made you feel almost uncomfortable . . because it just didn't feel right, the fact that someone could make you feel so loved, that suddenly nothing is too hard to bear anymore.

"You're not", he responds after awhile, a hand reaching up, to ruffle your hair, everything about him felt so gently . . something was bound to go wrong somewhere down the lines, and you don't think you could bear that, when the time comes . .

"I will be fine, I'm just overwhelmed?", you take a deep breath, and close your eyes shut, hoping to melt into his comforting touch, "It's stupid anyways . . I'm overreacting." you mumble out softly.

". . .", he pauses, he could go on and on about how being fine, and maybe getting fine, are two vastly different things, but that's something he could touch on another time, "your feelings are anything but stupid", he answers gently, shifting your weight so his forehead could touch yours, and your forced to make eye-contact.

" . . So please don't try and hide them from me.", he asks so softly, his words coated in honey, and you'd allow yourself to drown in it, if you weren't so reluctant to the idea of, "I don't want to be a burden."

The words came out before you bite your tongue and hold them back, as per usual, ". . I don't want to burden you . . especially." you whisper, and suddenly everything felt a bit lighter, it was as if you had admitted to a crime that you had carried on your back for years on end, and then it came crashing down, as the familiar feeling of dread boiled in your stomach.

"Then be my burden", he responded back with a smile, a stupid smile as if his words could erase all the troubles that plagued you. "I want to share those burdens, I want to help you . ."

"But what if . . you stop wanting those things?", you ask cautiously, "You can't waste your life on what if's my love, I need you to trust me." he responded back, "Trust that I would never stop wanting to help you and share the burden of the thoughts that hold you back.", he answered so certainly, that it felt difficult to disagree.

"I love you . . that's something no amount of what if's could take away. I could die tomorrow, but I'd die in peace knowing I loved you and was loved in return.", he gently placed a soft kiss to you lips, a peck that left your cheeks tingling, "Now . . will you tell me what's wrong?"

Ko-fi / discord server / (2 days left) personalized advent calendar

@ devosin , do not repost, plagiarize, translate, or adapt my work/theme without prior permission and or confirmation.

[naturesapphic]

Hey can I ask for a high school Natasha romanoff and jock reader.

Where Natasha's mom is the school coach and reader is the school star athlete. Everyone knows us as the charming all star ice hockey champ, but Natasha knows the real us. Just a shy girl who spends more time at Nat's house then her own. One night reader shows up at Natasha's window sill, asking to come in. Reader confesses that she has a crush on on Natasha, and Nat confesses she feels the same way. They end up falling asleep cuddled up on Natasha's bed. Then I thought it would be funny if nat stuffs reader in her closet when melina comes in to chat. When melina leaves she said to reader "feel free to use the front door next time, and that she's welcome for breakfast before they all head to school". Then just a really funny 'walk of shame' moment and Yelena finds it funny (Yelena's older)

Just a random thought. No pressure if you don't want to.

Really just shy

Highschool!Natasha romanoff x jock!hockeyplayer!fem!reader

Warnings: fluff

Natasha was lying in her bed on her laptop typing up a report for school until she heard thuds at her window. She ignored it and went back to work until she heard it again and again. Frustrated, she got up and walked over to the window to see y/n throwing pinecones at her window.

Natasha opened up her window and peeked her head out. “Y/n? What the fuck are you doing here. If you are here to see my mom she’s downst-“. She started to say but you interrupted her. “N-no! I came here to see y-you…c-can I come up?” You nervously said and Natasha smirked at you. “Sure yeah.” She said leaving the window opened for you. Luckily there was a tree by nats window so you climbed it and crawled into her bedroom.

Natasha’s smirk hasn’t left her face as she watched you get up off the floor. “Why did you want to see me y/l/n?” Nat said with an eyebrow raised on her perfect face. You cleared your throat and started playing with your hands which signaled to Natasha that you were nervous. She gently grabbed your hands in hers and gave you a reassuring smile.

“Hey…whatever it is you can tell me…”. She said with a warm tone. You nodded your head slowly and went over to her bed to sit on it. She followed behind you and sat beside you, putting her hand on your shoulder in a comforting manner. “I-I like you a-a lot n-nat…”. You shyly said as you looked at the floor, avoiding her gaze. You heard footsteps come close to you and you felt fingertips lift your head up to meet Natasha’s eyes boring into yours.

“Well it’s a good thing I like you too hm?” Natasha said with a playful smirk and a big smile appeared on your anxious face. “R-really? Oh my gosh! This is great! How about tomorrow after school I take you on a date?” You asked her a little bit more confident now. Natasha gives you a small reassuring smile before answering you. “I would love to y/n/n.” Your grin never left your face and for the rest of the night you and nat were on her bed talking and holding each other.

You didn’t realize you fell asleep until Natasha woke you up by shaking you violently. “N-nat?” You said groggily as you slowly sat up. Natasha looked at you with urgency and she pointed to the closet and you didn’t get it until you heard her mom’s voice coming closer and closer. You scurried out of the bed and Natasha shoved you into her closet just as Melina came in. “Good morning Natalia. Just up here making sure you are up and it seems like you are. Yelena is about to eat all of the breakfast so come down and hurry if you want any.” She said as she looks around the room.

“Okay I’ll be down in a minute mom.” Natasha said kinda out of breath as melina gave her a weird look. She went out the door but came back into the room looking at the closet. “Oh and y/n. feel free to use the front door next time, and you are welcome for breakfast anytime dear.” Melina said as she walked out the door. You stumbled out of the closet as Natasha gave you a shocked look that matched your expression. “How did she know?” You said confused and nat shook her head. “She always knows everything.” Natasha explained to you and you nodded, agreeing with her.

The two of you went downstairs for breakfast but saw that yelena ate it all. Natasha scolded her while you stood behind nat shyly. Yelena smirked a the two of you “you take good care of my sister you hear? Or I’ll gladly shove your hockey stick up your as-“. Yelena got cut off by Natasha slapping her upside her head. “Ouch! What the hell!” Yelena snapped and nat growled “don’t say that then!” Nat argued and she grabbed your hand as the two of you when to the front door, you hanging your head in shame.

Yelena whistles and laughs at the two of you as y’all walked out the door. “Just ignore her. You know how she gets.” Nat says as she holds your hand tightly as you walk to nats car. “Yeah yeah I know.” You chuckle as you get in the drivers seat and nat gets in the passengers side. You start the car and the two of you head off to school.

A/n: I hope this is what you wanted anon and I hope you enjoyed it! Hoped that everyone else enoyed it too! Remember to stay hydrated and to rest! I love y’all! :)

[revelboo]

They are my very helpful children. I needed Starscream so I got him and he’s my Christmas tree topper. Surveying his kingdom as it should be.

The perfect vantage point to plot

Everything Is Alright Pt 88

IDW Starscream x Reader, Soundwave x Reader, Megatron x Reader

• Scrolling through the report, Megatron’s aware of the way Soundwave lingers. How his communications officer reaches out a servo to you thinking it won’t be noticed. The way you reach out in return to touch it and the look you two share that he pretends not to see. And again there’s a sense of having all the pieces, but not being able to figure out how they fit. Because he has the sense that you’re not actually a pet. What you are, though? That eludes him.

• How can your tension just ebb with one little touch? Smiling up at Soundwave, you run your palm over the end of his servo as he pulls back. Turning your attention back to Megatron and catching him looking at you. What had he made of that? A puppy excited to see its owner or something more? Shoulders hunching as you look away from him, it’s a reminder to be more careful around Megatron. Because he’s the real threat.

• “Take the human,” Megatron murmurs as Soundwave starts to draw back and he freezes in surprise. Sees you glance up at Megatron, just as surprised. “It probably needs food.” Grateful, Soundwave reaches out his cupped hands and you come to him without hesitation. His spark settling at the feel of you in his palms. Hadn’t wanted to show you his surprise until the cassettes were finished with it, but inclining his helm to Megatron, he heads back to his quarters with you. Knows he should let Star know you’re free early, but he wants to see your face. Wants to not share your reaction.

• Servos stroking along your spine, you relax into his touch and safety. Realizing he’s carrying you to his quarters not Star’s, you look up. “Prepared a surprise,” he says in answer to the question you didn’t ask. Just knowing what you need. Turning so his back is to the room as he enters, he slowly lowers you. Amused with him, you turn and hesitate. There’s a pine tree propped up in a corner, the floor covered in needles. Someone had used filament thin wire to string red nandina berries, dry leaves and pinecones so they’re twined about the tree like decorations. “Happy festive seasonal tree,” he adds and it clicks. He’s seen a Christmas tree somewhere outside the base and thought you’d like one. Even if he has no idea what it is, he’d tried. But. Star has taken you in early July, right? Have you really lost that much time?

• Little touches. Little glances. Both of them willing to risk pain for a human. It nags at Megatron as he rises from his throne. Secrets. Even now, they’re still keeping secrets. Lying to him knowing he won’t tolerate that above all else. Swallowing a growl, he heads down the hall determined to get to the bottom of this once and for all. To get answers.

• Feels the chaos growing in your mind and it hurts him. He’d thought this would please you, not upset you. But you’re shaking, a hand pressed to your mouth to try and suppress the noise you’re making as his spark aches with it. Can feel your pain even if he can’t untangle the why. Mass shifting behind you, he drops to his knees and wraps his arms around you, pulling you back into him, palms finding skin to try and strengthen the connection, to understand.

• Spark stuttering, Starscream’s servos stop moving across the keys. Feeling an echo of your pain through the bond and then he’s running. Panic stringing him tight as he lets the bond pull at him. To Soundwave’s quarters. Sees you in the communication officer’s arms, his frame curled around you like he’s holding you together as you cry. And then he’s mass shifting without thought of consequences, wing brushing the other mech as he kneels in front of you and cups your face in his palms. Because you’re crying. “What did you do?” He snarls, trying to shove Soundwave’s hands away, giving up when you lay a palm on top of Soundwave’s hand on your hip and reach for him with the other until he lowers his helm to rest against your forehead. “What’s upset you?”

• None of them look up or notice when Megatron stops just inside the door Starscream left open in his haste. Seeing both of them wrapped around you, mass displaced to be closer to your size. And he can’t understand it. Can’t look away as Soundwave lowers his head against your shoulder, bumping his helm against your jaw. Can hear you whispering to each other, the words too soft to catch. The scene strangely intimate as he backs away, unsettled.

Previous

Next

They’re squabbling about what goes in the case

[pineconedrop]

Sometimes i think you're my clone or smth cuz we have so much in common XDDDD

I did escape a lab recently soooooo

Seriously though, it makes me really happy that I can ramble about these stuff and have someone ramble back because a lot of my irl friends think I’m weird when I start rambling and it just makes me feel validated to see someone have the same interests as me. Love you Dei <3

[comically-blu]

Shermie,stanley,Stanford meet portal shermie,portal shermie, portal stanford

For this post, Canon-Compliant TL would be interacting w/ their portal counterparts of PW;ALTL!

Short answer: they all would be chill w/ each other, but they would be avoiding contact with their counterparts as possible.

Sketches down below (includes a bit of spoilers to journal 3):

At first, CCTL would be absolutely alarmed about some random portal popping into their world. Then, pops out their portal selves.

Considering the entry “A Better World” in journal 3, Ford would take initiative to separate everyone from their parallel selves.

All due to this experience:

Ford would know this more than PPC!Shermie since he has spent more time outside in the portal. PM!Stan may had attempted to avoid staying in parallel universes much due to his experiences on the run, so he also knows this.

In comparison to his brothers who are fine with this unusual happening, CC!Shermie would be absolutely perplexed. Shermie practically missed out on the crazy shi in canon lmao- But eventually, he relaxes himself to not having a heart attack. Somehow.

Mini comic ft. the double trio: just Shermie’s being a lil morbidly silly

They probs would comment on each other like Shermie does with himself here lol-

Unfortunate that parallel selves can’t really interact with each other. They all would’ve made one massive unit of a team lol

[fishing-lesbian-catgirl]

People who don’t know anything about Arknights ONLY, take a guess:

There is only 1 correct answer

If you know the answer please don’t vote. But feel free to reblog if you’d like!

[pinecone-face-thalia]

what do you do when you get your period?

(feel free to ignore that, I know some people don’t like talking about it)

I deal with it like any other girl would, with help from a found family

[beabnormal24]

Your dog ~ carcar, angst

Piñon still bites him when he sees him. He's a distrustful dog, Oscar has learned.

He doesn't like it when Oscar sits on the left side of the couch, pushes his nose against his calf until he's shuffling to the right. He doesn't sit on that side either, though, and curls up under his feet.

He doesn't like it when Oscar looks at the coats hanging nearby the entrance, he doesn't like it when Oscar puts his hand in the biscuits jar, he doesn't like it when Oscar uses the body-wash in the shower and smells of musky pinecones.

He doesn't like a whole lot of things that Oscar does, truthfully, and even though he does try not to show it, sometimes it really hits close to home, where it already hurts the most.

And yet, he still gets up at eight sharp in the morning to take him out for a walk.

They stroll on the sidewalk for ten minutes, already with the easiness of a routine that doesn't feel like it belongs to him fully yet, and Oscar can almost say with certainty that it doesn't feel that gross to grab his poop from the ground.

Every morning they walk past a local bakery, just on the right side of the parallel road, and every single morning Piñon starts barking, perhaps out of familiarity, perhaps just out of curiosity, his vision zeroing on the bright yellow of the signs.

Oscar... he would rather not walk in, honestly. It's not even about avoiding falling into temptation, the smell of fresh baked goods always seeming to make his empty stomach grumble like a full engine.

It's more about the way the people around him seem to advert their gaze for a short second before actually meeting his eyes, it's about the way the woman behind the counter sharpens her grimace into a somewhat welcoming smile, as if all of a sudden she's not angry anymore at Oscar for only knowing how to utter a bunch of words in broken Spanish.

Even worse, though, it's the way they always sit on their calves and pat Piñon's head with a familiarity that Oscar is almost jealous of.

He may not understand a lot of the language, but still it's easy to make out the grand scheme of it all, how they sneak treats under the dog's mouth, how they whisper close to his ear.

"Has he been treating you good? How are you doing? How is him?"

Piñon never answers, and maybe that's exactly the reason why Oscar decided to take care of him.

When it came to deciding what should go to whom, he had almost fought tooth and nails to insist he would be the one getting the dog, in ways that he would probably be immensely embarrassed of if he thought about it now, lucid and the wound of it all less open and fresh.

But when Piñon tilts his head there's always the memory of something that tickles the back of Oscar's head, something that he's not exactly ready to let go of completely.

And when Oscar just needs to talk without the feeling of judgment and guilt clouding over him, Piñon just nudges his nose against his calf and sits at his feet and leaves him the benefit of self criticism that sometimes Oscar forgets he still has.

And other times, even, he looks up at Oscar with big brown eyes that hold a distant sentiment that Oscar can't face just yet.

He has read, somewhere in the middle of a late night binge search on how to get rid of it all as fast possible, that dogs are able to talk to spirits.

Oscar doesn't exactly believe it. Though it is true that Oscar doesn't believe in a lot of things that don't lie in the same Venn's diagram of a throttle and a brake.

He still doesn't know if he should believe in God or if it's God who should believe more in them, give them a bit more credit for all the things some people have to go through without even asking for them.

And Oscar also sincerely hopes Carlos has not gone and become a spirit, because that would imply that even the last shred of hope has to quietly die like a burnt candle.

Because that would mean Oscar would have to live the rest of his life looking for a metaphysical appearance that he knows will never come, that he would have to feel haunted, even.

And it's ridiculous to even think about believing in something like that, and yet at two in the morning on a Thursday night Oscar thinks that there can't be any damage to do if he just lets himself be ridiculous for a little while.

The corridor is bathed in moonlight when he walks through it, but Oscar still finds some difficulty in making his way through the rooms, leaning against the wall with a hand as he feels the quiet thrum of an empty house surrounding him.

He is careful with his steps as he reaches Piñon, sleeping soundly at the entrance where he had dragged his own bed a few days ago.

He thinks about it for a second, then two, watches little puff of air heaving Pinon's chest, his head resting on crossed paws, turned towards the door as if it could open from a second to another. Waiting.

He doesn't think about it more than three seconds, because Oscar has never had the privilege to make decisions in longer than that, so he kneels on the ground, passing a gentle hand through the longer fur on Piñon's back before ducking his head and pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

Piñon doesn't wake up, just scrunches his nose for a second before his breaths even out again, same rhythm as before, as if trying to fall back into a routine that doesn't quite fit right.

The sofa is soft under his legs when he sits on it, careful to not disrupt the untold equilibrium as he presses his feet to the left armrest and leans his chin over his bent knees. He is not going to sleep anytime soon, either way.

"I gave a kiss to your dog." Oscar chuckles, lets himself feel ridiculous for just a second before relaxing against the back of the couch. "I did it when he was asleep. He would've killed me if I had tried to do it when he was awake."

The only answer he gets is the eerily quiet and the muffled sounds of Piñon's breathing.

For the first time since he can remember, Oscar wishes there could be another voice coming from the right side of the couch.

"I think he doesn't like me a lot, you know? Sometimes it's like he wants to blame me and I- I get it, I want to blame myself, too." A knot rises in the middle of his throat, tight and uncomfortable. Oscar still talks past it. "But he is the closest thing to you that I could get, the closest thing that is alive and well. And when he glares at me he- he almost reminds me of you which is ridiculous because I can't even remember the last time you were actually angry at me but I think it's better for me to remember you that way than..."

He rubs a hand under his eyes, pretends like he can't feel the sudden wetness on the sleeves of his hoodie. He doesn't even think it's his own.

He doesn't even remember when the division line started to blur.

"I think that's what you would want me to do, if you could say it."

Lando hadn't been of the same opinion, looking at Oscar warily when he had suggested he would be the one taking Piñon for the first time. Now, he just looks at Oscar with his downturned eyes and tells him he wishes he could do more to help him.

Oscar doesn't think there's more to do, anyway.

"I read somewhere that dogs talk to spirits. I think it's the kind of shit you would yell at Lando for believing in it. You always d- do that." He caresses his own knees, seeking the comfort of a warm touch in his own coldness. "And trust me, I hope you are not a fucking spirit and that you won’t become one anytime soon. But if there is even a small- small possibility, I-" he closes his eyes for a second, lets the knot in his throat dissolve like salt in water, stinging on an open wound, where pulsing blood is still rushing to trail on his skin.

"If there is even a single possibility of it being true I- I gave him a kiss and I hope he can bring it to you. And then he can come back home if- I hope he thinks this is still home, even without-“

The light blue colour of the sleeves has tuned into a darker patch under his eyes, blurry from a lucidity that he can't make himself feel ashamed of.

As if on cue, the silence is broken by the ticking sound of Piñon's paws on the hardened wood floor. When Oscar manages to open his eyes again without wishing to disappear into the dark blue void outside the window, Piñon is looking up at him, curled under his feet with his head close to Oscar's shin.

The dog sighs, a shaky thing that sounds almost like a rumble and Oscar can only answer with a choked sob of his own that doesn't feel like it belongs to him at all, to his vocal cords that always found no use in crying.

Many things can change in the span of a few weeks: Oscar's beliefs and a dog's routine.

"But I- I think," he swallows around nothing, bending down to press a hand to the top of Piñon's head, caressing lightly. "We are not so different, me and Piñon."

The dog sighs again, almost sad. Oscar wonders if he is listening to what he is saying, if he can actually understand it all. Will he bring a kiss from him, then?

"We both miss you the most when the night comes."

—

This little story is heavily inspired by the song “your dog” by Pinguini Tattici Nucleari

[sometimesanalice]

In a Place Just Right

Summary: It's your first year hosting Thanksgiving in San Diego for the Daggers and Bradley can tell you're a little nervous about it. But he already knows it's going to be one for the books, because any holiday spent with you better than anything he could have imagined.

Pairing: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x Female Reader

Length: 5K

Warnings: fluff and allusions to smut (minors dni)

(author's note: this fic is set in the 'Like I Can Universe', but can be read on it's own! Happy Thanksgiving, friends!)

For the last six years Penny has been the one to host Daggersgiving, but this year hostess duties had fallen on your plate. Needless to say, Bradley knew you were more than a little stressed about it.

When you had asked him about his opinion on the merits of canned cranberry sauce versus homemade he’d blinked at you a few times before asking, “Is this a thing people care about?”

He’ll never forget how adorably aghast you looked to learn that he had no preference on the matter. And maybe if you had asked him when the sun was up instead of at 3 AM he might have known better than to give you such a noncommittal answer.

“Both, we’ll have both,” you’d stated resolutely.

“Whatever you want, kid," he’d murmured as he’d pulled you to his chest and wrapped an arm around your stomach. His smart and beautiful wife. "Now go back to sleep, you’re supposed to be dreaming of sugarplums not cranberries."

“Wrong holiday, Bradley,” you’d sighed contentedly, relaxing against him. And it hadn’t taken you long to fall back asleep with that cranberry crisis having been averted.

But now people were due to show up in less than an hour and you are frantically fluttering and huffing around the kitchen like a madwoman in a very pretty green dress, "I knew that quickie was a bad idea. You're never quick, Bradley."

He’d been away and missed many holidays over the years due to his career.

Your mom had always made it clear that he had an open invitation to join in whatever merry festivities were happening with your family, but more often than not it rarely aligned with him being stationed all over the world. But he’d always been happy to get to have a phone call with you and eat the homemade cookies you’d sent him on those years spent apart.

But now Bradley got to look forward to spending every holiday with you in the home you shared with him.

Over the last week the house had slowly but surely transformed into something that was straight out of a magazine.

There was a display of pumpkins, ribbons, and a garland of strung dried orange slices that decorated the fireplace. And overpriced candles from your favorite store flickered cheerfully on every surface that wasn’t a fire hazard to a bunch of enthusiastic Naval aviators. The dining table was dressed up to the nines and everyone spot with their names painstakingly written in your pretty script on a place card sitting in a pinecone.

You had even made some oversized confetti in the shape of oak leaves out of some old books, the copy of ‘Why Men Love Bitches’ that Nat had given him years ago as a joke was finally repurposed and recycled into something more festive over where the beverages had been set up.

The whole house smells amazing. Warm cinnamons and nutmegs mixing with bright citrus and rich vanillas. The kitchen island and countertops were filled with various plates and platters and bowls of dips, charcuterie, fruit and vegetables, nuts, and other savories. All the other dishes were being kept warm in the ovens for when everyone arrived and was ready to settle around the dining table for dinner.

Bradley was positive that no one would leave feeling hungry. He also wasn’t entirely sure where the things his friends are bringing were going to go, but there were worse problems to have.

Penny had taken Amelia with her to visit her family on the East Coast. They’d decided it would probably be better for Mav to hang back in San Diego for the holiday, those tensions with her dad were still a bit strained even though they’d been married for almost four years now.

Which is how the Bradshaw’s were hosting their first Thanksgiving for everyone.

This morning had been organized chaos. Some of the last minute-things had only managed to be checked off with the assistance of strong coffee and a good playlist.

However, he’d still managed to sneak in the opportunity to spin you around the kitchen to your wedding song when it came up on shuffle. After all the cranberries were still popping and boiling down; there was time for it, he'd always make time for it.

But that was then.

Now, you are glaring at him like you’d been personally victimized by him and his cock.

“You complaining, sweet girl?” he asks with a smirk, leaning his hip against the kitchen island watching as you briskly stir the gravy heating up in the copper sauce pot on the stove. “Don’t think that’s what I was hearing thirty minutes ago when we had that pretty green dress of yours bunched around your hips. Sounded something like ‘more, Bradley, more’ to me.”

You shoot him a look that would make a weaker man wither, but he’s built up an immunity to it over a lifetime of having it directed at him.

“I think that’s quite enough out of you,” you reprimand, but he sees the amusement in your eyes even as you fight to keep the annoyed façade on your face. “We’re behind schedule now. I thought I buffered in enough time, just in case-”

“Just in case you begged me to give you an orgasm to, and I quote, ‘help me chill out’?”

“I was kidding,” you say, stopping your agitated whisking to go fluff the stuffing instead.

“All I’m saying is that if my beautiful wife is begging for me, I’m certainly not going to say no. I’m only human,” he says with an all too pleased shrug.

Bradley grabs the can opener and works on opening the canned cranberry sauce. He reaches for a couple plates, holding them up for your approval and you point to the one on the right, the scalloped white one with gold rim.

“For the record, I certainly did not beg,” you say primly, glowering into the homemade stuffing that you’d had him get the bread from the nice bakery across town for.

“Sure, sure,” he drawls, the smirk growing wider on his face as he sets to freeing the jelly from its rippled container.

He knows he shouldn’t tease you right now, but you’re so cute when you get huffy that he can’t help himself. He’s known that petulant raise of your chin his whole life. And sometimes when he looks at you he can so clearly see the little girl he’d been forced to entertain for hours when your moms were hanging out.

You went from being his favorite nuisance to his best friend to his everything.

“Do I still look ok? Or do I need to do a quick refresh before everyone gets here?” you ask. You turn to fully face him, tilting your head one way and then another for his inspection.

He would happily stare at you all day if you’d let him. He loves your pretty eyes and what you’ve done with your hair.

“You’re beautiful,” he grins, “And if anyone asks, we can just say you’re flushed from all the cooking.”

“Bradley,” you whine setting down your wooden spoon down on the counter with a sharp thwack.

“Ok, ok. I’m done, I promise,” he says putting his hands up in surrender with a chuckle.

He pushes off the counter and grabs a glass off of one of the floating shelves and fills it with some ice water.

“Good,” you tut haughtily, as you fiddle with the white and orange striped kitchen towel hanging on the oven door, “I was about to threaten to make you sleep on the couch tonight.”

“You wouldn’t.” Even the thought of it makes his stomach feel unsettled.

After nearly two decades of hard beds on foreign bases and on lumpy carrier mattresses, he’s never slept as well as he did since the two of you found your way to each other.

His peace was found under a fluffy green duvet on a wooden canopy bed with you tucked under his arm.

“No. No, I wouldn’t,” you agree, leaning in to place a soft kiss to his cheek in thanks when he presses the cold glass into your hands.

Bradley tugs you away from the warm stove and you reluctantly follow and sit on the barstool he’s pulled out for you on the other side of the kitchen island.

He runs his hand up and down your back comfortingly as you take a few sips, “We’re in a great place, sweet girl.”

“Mhm, yeah. Sure, of course.” You couldn’t sound less unsure if you tried. “It’s just… I’m nervous about the mushroom and leeks bread pudding. I’ve never made it before. And what if we run out of wine?”

“What’s been our motto?” he asks, taking over the helm at the stove whisking the gravy together as it begins to thicken.

“‘In Ina we trust’,” you say with a serious nod of your head. 

“Atta girl, we sure do. And Nat said she’s is bringing a few bottles she picked up from when she went to Napa, the good shit. It’s going to be great. Trust me,” he says giving you a warm smile. “Will it make you feel better to go over everything again?”

“Yes, please,” you say, anxiously drumming your fingers along the side of your water glass.

He’d stepped up where he could like making sure the house was pristine and cleaning up the yard by blowing off the wrinkled remainders of the yellow Tipuana flowers. He’d even been able to source and rent some more chairs to make sure that everyone would have a seat at the table.

Bradley wasn’t a schlump in the kitchen. He knew his way around a cookbook and a stove. His knife skills were pretty damn good too, if he did say so himself. But he also knew when somethings were out of his wheelhouse. So he’d taken to being your sous chef, and had taken to washing and prepping the ingredients for you so that all you had to do was toss them in whatever shiny pot they were destined for.

He even made his mom’s favorite pie. It had been years since he's had it, and he was excited to share it with everyone.

Your mom had mailed the copy of the original recipe she had that was written in Carole’s rounded, flourished script. You had made a photocopy of it to use so that the original didn’t get ruined, and then pointed out a spot on the wall where you said you’d thought it would look nice in a frame hanging in the kitchen. And he'd fallen a little more in love with you.

“Ok, hit me with it,” he says turning the heat to low for the gravy and putting the lid on.

This was a partnership through and through, he was going to give you all the support you needed.

“The turkey?”

Bradley picks up the fancy digital meat thermometer he’d bought for the occasion to check, “Big Bird has an hour and twenty more minutes to work on his tan and then he’ll rest for another thirty. Giving people time to graze and mingle and get some drinks in them, just like you wanted.”

You nod and hum contemplatively, “I’ve been thinking we need a salad. I don’t feel like we have enough vegetable options.”

He knows better than to point out that you’re currently snacking on snap peas from not one, but three, of the veggie platters the two of you had put together the night before.

“We’ve got the crispy brussels sprouts, the garlic and hazelnut green beans, and the honey glazed carrots with lemon. We’re more than fine on the fiber and beta-carotene. Michelle Obama would be proud, kid.”

That gets a little laugh from you.

“Well, as long as you think Michelle would be happy than we’re probably fine,” you say with a smile around your water glass that tells him you know exactly what he’s doing invoking your favorite First Lady.

“What else are you thinking about?” Bradley asks peering in the lower of their double ovens, where foiled covered dishes are lined up in perfect symmetry are warming away having been prepared in advance.

“Do you think two bags of rolls will be enough? Or should I text Mav and ask him to grab one more?”

He doesn’t miss the way your eyes dip down to his ass in his gray slacks. So he might linger as second longer than necessary to let you enjoy the view, since it’s for the female gaze and all.

He’s never understood wearing the most restrictive clothing on the holiday that involves the most eating, but that was Penny’s tradition to have everyone dressed in their nicest and you had insisted on keeping it going even if she was on the other side of the country.

You’d teased him earlier when you’d seen him emerge from the bedroom wearing the short-sleeved green cashmere polo you’d gotten him a couple years ago. It fit a little more snug that he remembered it, but he thought he still pulled it off well.

“When did we become the couple that matches?” you’d asked gesturing to your dress as you gave him an appreciative onceover.

If the past was anything to go off of, you would be running your hands over the soft material covering his chest and back all night.

“I just like reminding people who I belong with, sweet girl.”

He might have had something else in mind to wear for the evening before he saw you in that dress, had ironed the shirt the night before and everything, but last-minute pivot it was well worth it when you looked at him like that.

When he stands back up, he gives you knowing wink.

And in return you throw a baby carrot at him with a laugh.

Bradley isn’t surprised in the least to hear the quick clack-clack-clack of nails on the wood floors as their fluffy black and white Portuguese Water Dog rounds the corner. Having been summoned by the sound of food hitting the floor from where he had been dozing near the fireplace in the living room.

The carrot is gone in an instant and he comes to sit at Bradley's feet by the stove, looking up at him from under his curly eyebrows clearly hoping he'll get another snack.

“Nah, bud. You’re barking up the wrong tree over here,” he says leaning down to scratch his floppy ears.

“Ah, come here, Duck,” you croon, calling him over to your side of the island. “He’s so mean for a man who claimed he just saw God not too long ago, isn’t he?”

Bradley snorts and shakes his head at you amused.

He still doesn’t know how he ended up with a dog named Duck.

At the dog park, more often than not people mistook it for ‘Buck’. And you were usually off to the side more than happy to let him take the lead, biting your lip to keep from laughing at his less than enthusiastic expression when he’d have to warily explain yet again It’s Duck like quack.

You’re not even subtle about the piece of cheese you pull from the charcuterie board to feed him.

“I saw that,” he says, giving you a pointed lift of his eyebrow, “You know Bob is going to be spoiling him all night.”

“It was just a little piece of cheese. Plus, I don’t know who you think you’re fooling. I saw you go over there and deliver him his own little veggie platter with some of the leftovers we had while I was making the apple cider sangria.”

“That’s different, that’s good for him,” he says rounding the island, reaching over and snagging his own slice of cheese to snack on.

“And cheese is a protein. He’s just a baby, Bradley, what am I supposed to do? Not give him a piece of swiss?” You slide off your chair to squat down and rub Duck’s belly, you’ve always been his favorite.

“He’s almost five,” he replies flatly.

“A youth!” you exclaim, “He’s a growing boy.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bradley says affectionately with a little roll of his eyes. He knows a losing battle when he sees one.

He offers you his hand to help you stand back up, but you wave him off and pull yourself up using the edge of the island. You take a moment to readjust your dress before making your way to the sink by the big windows that look out into the backyard.

“Speaking of Bob, do you know if he’s bringing his fiancée?” you ask from over your shoulder as you wash your hands.

“Not this time, sweetheart. I guess she volunteered to cover a shift in the NICU when she heard they were short staffed.”

“Oh that’s too bad, I was excited to see her ring in person,” you say drying off your hands and heading to the pantry.

“It’s all he can talk about at work. I guess they’re thinking about a Spring wedding next year. They don’t want to wait too long to get married.”

“I’m so happy for them,” you say, digging around for a moment and then emerge with a stack of some sturdy plastic plates and set them on the last free spot on the countertop. “Don’t let me forget to make them up a couple plates that he can bring home for her, before Fanboy declares it time for ‘second dinner’ and eats all the yams like he did last year.”

“I won’t forget, promise,” he says fondly.

If you were facing him, he knows you’d probably tease him for the look on his face and just how gone he is for you.

You’ve always been so generous, it’s one of the things that he loves most about you.

You were always good about hustling him out of his well-earned money from is part time job scooping ice cream in high school, like with the fundraiser you did for the local soup kitchen and the one for the elementary school summer arts program.

He’s always been wrapped around your finger, it just took him awhile to realize why.

It’s the same reason why there’s been a donation that comes out of his bank account every month for the last five years for one of the San Diego animal shelters.

Bradley had made a rather sizable donation and then set up a smaller reoccurring monthly one after the chaos that was the time Bob had set you up with his friend who worked at the shelter, back before the two of you had gotten together.

Even after all these years, he still can’t help but get a little irritated every time he sees that guy’s face in the monthly newsletter that comes to his email. He’s pretty sure Casey still might have a little crush on you, but Bradley can’t blame him. He’d have a hard time getting over you too, so it’s a good thing he’ll never have to.

On newsletter day, Bradley always finds himself giving Duck extra treats.

You are his wife. And Duck is his dog. Ridiculous name and all.

He couldn’t wait to surprise you with the golden tennis ball that the shelter sends out as a thank you after a decade of donations.

Only five more years to go.

You’re over by the bar that’s been set up off to the side, straightening the already very straight rows of gleaming wine glasses when he hears you suck in a sharp gasp.

Bradley drops the dish cloth he had in his hands as he attempted to give what little counter space there was left a final wipe down and is in front of you in half a heartbeat. Was there a fluke with some faulty stemware? Are you bleeding? There’s a reason Thanksgiving is one of the busiest days at the hospital.

“The butter!” you cry out as you whirl around, your pretty eyes welling up with tears, “I let you fuck me and I forgot to pull the butter from the fridge. It’s going to be too hard for people to spread now!”

He knows it’s more than just hosting jitters that’s got you like this, but it still catches him by surprise sometimes.

“Woah, woah,” he says as he catches you on the way to the fridge and pulls you to his chest, “C’mere, my sweet girl.”

You make a distressed noise but allow him to keep his hold on you, “But the butter…”

“I already pulled the butter, see?” He points to the sticks that are already softening away on the counter. “This place looks and smells amazing. We did good, baby. Will you take a couple slow breaths for me, please?”

Bradley takes in a couple measured breathes with you, and feels the moment your body relaxes into his.

He presses a kiss to the side of your temple as he smooths his hands down your soft, pretty green velvet dress and the warm, firm curve of your rounded stomach soothingly.

“Ugh, I’m sorry. It’s the hormones,” you sigh, as you lean your head back against his shoulder.

He hums empathically as he sways gently side to side with you in his arms.

“I would like to go on the record saying that I like pregnancy hormones, especially the ones from earlier,” he jokes lightly.

“That makes one of us,” you say with a watery laugh, “Just wait until I am waking you up at 4 AM because I am craving something from a drive-thru that’s not open.”

“Mm, can’t wait,” he murmurs before dropping a few kisses along the soft line of your jaw.

Bradley still can’t believe he gets to be this lucky in life.

He doesn’t want to forget a single moment of this. With you, with his family.

“We did a really good job with this one,” he whispers into your ear, still stroking your stomach and enjoying this moment of calm with you.

“We really did, da--” Bradley groans and cuts you off with a kiss. He can feel the impish smile plastered on your lips as he kisses you. His favorite menace.

He knows you’re pretty sure it was the spontaneous hook up in the storage closet at the Hard Deck on the Fourth of July that’s responsible for the noticeable bump you’re sporting. Call him a romantic, but he likes to think it was that night in the Bronco overlooking the ocean when he’d taken the long way back home.   

You pull away all too soon for his liking to grab his left hand. He sees the flash of the two diamonds on your engagement ring, one from his mom and one from yours, as you take it and press it to a spot near your bellybutton.

The feeling of the fluttering under his palm will never get old. He’s not too proud to say he’d shed a tear or two the first time he’d felt it.

You hum in contentment, your finger lightly tracing over the shiny gold band of his wedding ring.

Bradley lets himself bask in this moment as the two of you stand there in the kitchen of your dream house.

There are a few pops from the wood in the fireplace, the refrigerator is humming away in the background, and he can just hear the sounds of a melodic piano from the playlist he queued up earlier playing over the speaker.

Of all the delicious scents that waft through the house, the smell the floral and musk notes in you perfume is still his favorite.

There are times in the soft quiet of night, usually when you are asleep and his mind won’t quite settle, that he sometimes thinks he was put on this Earth to hold you.

It’s the only reason he can think of that explains why you fit so perfectly against his body.

Why his palms can fit so perfectly over your rounded stomach.

Why it’s his hands that you have trusted to protect your heart.

And he’s still holding you in the warmth of the kitchen when he hears the front door open.

Bradley knows he’s going to have to play host soon and he just wants to keep you in his arms for just a little longer.

“Hey kids, I brought the turkey,” Mav calls out from the entry.

You spin in his arms, looking at him wide eyed and confused as you two exchange a look. He presses one last kiss to your cheek before letting you go.

“Thought you were going to bring the rolls, Mav,” Bradley calls out just in time to see him round the corner.

Pete stands there proudly grinning holding a few bags of bakery rolls in one hand and a turkey in the other.

The sound of your delighted laughter makes his heart swell in his chest as he takes in the sight.

“Cooper Mitchell Ford Bradshaw, you are without a doubt the cutest turkey I have ever seen,” you gush as you go to greet Mav with a warm hug and a kiss on his cheek. Your son’s chubby arms reaching out for you.

Mav has dressed your almost two-year-old son in a soft, plush turkey costume that is complete with tailfeathers and a beak. He’s clearly a fan of the outfit too because he is grinning widely, showing of the more of the baby teeth that have come in over the last few months.

Mav had swung by early this morning to take him off your hands to get ready for Daggersgiving without chasing an almost-toddler around. While it was nice to have some time just the two of you while you got the place in order and took care of the last-minute things, like that homemade cranberry sauce, but he’d missed not having his son around.

The sweet sound of Cooper’s giggles and your coos fill up the kitchen as he watches you pepper his face with kisses. You bounce him a little and do a little spin, making the little boy laugh even more. The two of you in your own little bubble.

“You doin’ ok over there, kid?” Mav asks. A soft, knowing grin on his face as he sets the rolls on the counter to pull him in for a hug.

The two men had made their way back to each other over the last few years, just another thing that Bradley was grateful for in his life. The man had always been his father in everything but name. That is until he’d seen the man who helped raised him hold his son for the first time.

“Yeah, Dad,” Bradley says, clearing his throat a bit, “Everything’s perfect.”

From there it’s a flurry of activity as people start to arrive.

Nat comes with her longtime girlfriend and the extra bottles of the fancy Napa wine she promised to bring. Only handing it over once he promised to give her the name of the contractor the two of you had worked with and the exact shade of green that was used on the lower cabinets during your kitchen renovation.

Payback and Fanboy and their wives show up wearing oversized turkey hats on their heads each carrying a bakery box of pie.

Bradley isn’t surprised when Duck ditches the attention that Coyote was giving him the second Bob shows up with the famous Floyd family scalloped potatoes. Bob has always been a sucker for a pair of puppy dog eyes.

And in between checking on people’s glasses, swapping out empty appetizer trays for fuller ones, and making sure Jake doesn’t tamper with his perfectly cooked turkey, he’s got his eyes trained on you.

There are no words for the pride and love that washes over him every time he looks over and sees you with his son propped up on your hip and the way your pretty dress stretches around your growing family.

He had missed this stage of your pregnancy when he was deployed and you were pregnant with Cooper. He was determined to savor every second of this one. Every butter related freak out and every late-night milkshake run.

Being in his house surrounded with all the people he loves, minus a couple who are here in spirit, isn’t something he could ever take for granted. It’s more blessings than he ever hoped to receive in this lifetime.

You look over your shoulder at him and everything about the way you’re looking at him is picture perfect.

Your smile sunshine gold and just for him as you hold his gaze for a moment as time ticks on around the two of you. You send him a little wink before turning back to Mav who has his phone held up for a FaceTime call with Penny and Amelia.

Bradley sees his son peek his head up from where it had been nestled into your neck. Cooper grins when he sees him, his tiny hand reaching out for his dad. For him.

As he makes his way over to the two of you with his heart full, he makes a mental note to ask Mav later where he got that costume. He’s already planning on running out tomorrow to see if they have any more in stock now that it seems they have a new Bradshaw tradition on their hands.

He’s going to have three little turkeys running around this time next year and he couldn’t wait.

Twins.

Bradley sometimes still couldn’t believe it. When the tech has announced that you were cooking not one, but two future Bradshaw’s, his heart had nearly burst from his chest from the shock and joy. A gift from his late father’s side of the family.

Cooper and him were going to be outnumbered soon.

The two of you had found out earlier in the month that Everly Wren Bradshaw and Millie Lark Bradshaw were going to be the newest members to join your little family.

His girls.

It was an announcement the two of you were excited to share later tonight with everyone else when the slices of pies were being passed around.

He scoops up Cooper from you with one arm, dropping a kiss onto his little boy’s perfect curls as his small fist clutches as the soft fabric of his shirt. And then Bradley kisses the crown of your head as he wraps his other arm around you, his thumb stroking the swell of your belly.

With you- because of you- he gets to have it all.

The wife. The family. The house. The dog. The life. The dream.

He’s right where he wants to be.

He’s right where he’s supposed to be.

Happy Thanksgiving! This was such a joy to write, thank you for reading!

It might not be Carole Bradshaw's famous pie, but it's one of my favorites! And who better to share it with than you! Cranberry-Lime Pie

If you haven't read the 'Like I Can' series you can read it here!

You can read my other stories here!

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