#Not sure if any new blogs have figured out how to fix that yet...if so; please let me know

[siixkiing]

Gods, I still hate how the dash looks over on @iimexpensiive since it's not in chronological order and I can't seem to fix that at all.

[crownofgildedlilies]

oh, don't let your sunshine burn me!

in which: a son of hephaestus discovers a problem he can't solve. mainly, a daughter apollo who doesn't realize just how much her smiles hurt him.

pairing: leo valdez x daughter of apollo!reader

warnings: not proof read, slight cursing (otherwise, n/a)

tropes: friends to lovers, fluff, pining

word count: 3k

notes: my inaugural fic post on this blog. how special. plz enjoy. feedback is much appreciated.

Leo Valdez was going to lose his mind.

Or maybe a limb. Maybe that would get your attention. He wasn't going to pretend that he wasn't that desperate for you to turn your focus to him.

Stupid Garrett from stupid Ares. Why did he have to go and nearly get his head chopped off by Clarisse while sparring, stealing his thunder?

He should have done more than let his finger slip while hammering away in bunker nine. An exciting injury would have earned the most prized reward of your attention, for sure.

"Are you sure she's too busy?" Leo asked Will for probably four times too many to be considered casual. The blond only rolled his eyes and shoved an icepack into Leo's chest, nearly knocking him back a step, snapping him from his far too obvious admiring of you.

Even from across the infirmary, three hours into your shift, you stole the wind from his lungs. He was convinced you were a favorite of Apollo's, what with the way you glowed and lit up every room you were in.

Which is how he ended up in his current predicament. Absolutely desperate for any hint of your sunshine smile sent in his direction.

"Positive. Now, get out." Will confirmed, checking things off on his clipboard. Leo figured he was probably recording basic information like the patient—himself—had all his limbs, both eyes, ten fingers, and was practically drooling at his half-sister. Leo darted another glance across the room to you, still diligently assessing moronic Garrett from Ares who had been brain dead enough to accept Clarisse's offer of sparring.

Why were you blushing so much?

Something awful and too familiar twisted in his stomach, and all Leo could hear was Piper's voice telling him that he better make his move on you soon, because you were too sweet and too pretty to remain single much longer.

"When's her break again?" Leo asked, ignoring the way Will tipped his head back and closed his eyes, like he was praying for the strength to not hit his patient while under his care.

"And you can't ask her yourself because...?" Will prompted, dragging out the final word and forcing Leo to snap his attention towards the son of Apollo, his jaw practically open in shock.

"Because then she'll know I'm totally into her!" Leo whisper-shouted, waving his hands around as if to emphasize his point.

"You come in here everyday with a new injury asking for her to fix you up." Will pointed out, voice flat. "If she hasn't figured it out yet, I'm not sure she will. You should probably just be direct and ask her out."

Leo narrowed his eyes at Will, but on a rare miracle, he was at a loss for words. Maybe Will had a point. Leo was never exactly good at being subtle about his many, many, crushes, and if you hadn't realized he was hopelessly in love with you yet, then maybe he was safe from feeling the sting of your rejection.

"You're not going to talk to her, are you?" Will sighed, tilting his head slightly as he studied Leo, who, despite having already been given the magic remedy of an ice pack, remained perched on the side of a cot used as a medic's bed.

Leo shook his head side-to-side so quickly Will was a blur of blond hair and orange t-shirt in front of him.

"No can do." Leo said solemnly. "She's miles out of my league. Not even I'm stupid enough to think I have a shot with her."

"Well, at least Garrett isn't as oblivious as you," Will shrugged, shooting Leo a pointed look he didn't understand. The ugly feeling was back in Leo's stomach as he darted his attention towards you and the gods-damned son of Ares.

You were laughing, and Leo wasn't the cause.

Jealousy flared up in him.

You, on the other hand, were completely ignorant to the conversation occurring on the opposite side of the infirmary, far too engrossed in charismatic Garrett from Ares who was retelling the story of how Clarisse had knocked him on his ass and sent him to get bandaged up.

For a child of the war god, he was surprisingly graceful in his defeat.

"Next time, at least bring a shield with you." You smiled at Garrett, checking off the final few items on your clipboard. No major injuries towards his limbs, nor his ten fingers, neither of his eyes had been affected, and he was able to hold a proper conversation with you. "Otherwise I've got nothing else for you. Just an order to take the rest of the day easy."

"I can manage that," Garrett relented, which, for a demigod, was a pretty big ask. Taking it easy was never really an option when one of your parents was a god or goddess. "Hey, any particular reason Valdez is looking at me like he's going to send one of his inventions after me?"

Your heart skipped a beat, but you forced yourself to act casual as you turned around slightly, finding that Leo had in fact found his way into the infirmary and in fact was staring at Garrett like he might make a good snack for Festus.

You had been starting to worry, thinking that maybe he wasn't going to show up that day.

"Dunno," You shrugged, ducking your face into your clipboard so you didn't have to look at Leo, or Garrett, or Will—who was sending you a look that was both pointed and annoyed at the same time. "But you're set to go."

"Perfect," Garrett jumped off of the examination bed, acting like he hadn't been carried in by two of his half-brothers, a sly grin on his face. "You sure that's not jealousy on Valdez's face?"

"What? Why would Leo be jealous?" You were ashamed to admit you stumbled over your words, your face turning a vibrant shade of red, as you considered the implication of Garrett's words. That Leo might have been into you, enough that just the sight of you talking to Garrett might have been enough to turn his mood sour. "We're just friends."

"Sure," Garrett grinned wickedly, the kind of grin only children of Ares could ever create. The kind that told he totally didn't believe her rushed dismissal of his words. "All I want is an invitation to the wedding. Talk to you later!"

Garrett darted off before you could swat at him with your clipboard, your face flushed with embarrassment. Gods, were you really that obvious in your crush on Leo?

Sure, he came into the infirmary just about every day you were working, with some minor injury or another for you to tend to. And maybe you took a little longer to heal him than you did when Percy or the Stolls came in, were a little sweeter, but were you so transparent that even Garrett from Ares knew what you felt?

"For the love of all the gods and goddesses, would you please just go talk to him?" Will grumbled, borderline exhausted, as he appeared at your side. You jumped, nearly lost in thought, and narrowed your sunshine stare at your half-brother. "He won't leave until he gets the chance to brag to you about his latest made-up injury."

You didn't have to ask who Will was talking about. Leo was still watching you from across the room, rather impatiently. He'd managed to find a few loose bolts and washers and was currently inventing something you couldn't comprehend while he stared very pointedly at the ground by your feet, having averted his stare the moment you darted yours in his direction.

"Shut up," You mumbled to Will, but regardless you dashed off across the room with what felt like permission to engage in your favorite part of the day.

You had received Apollo's gifts of healing, not his poetic words. And every day you cursed that fact, because never could you put into words just how much being around Leo Valdez made you feel centered within yourself. It was like his very personality gave you permission to the version of you that was nearly lost to time and circumstance and the tragedy of being a Greek hero.

"What's the problem today?" You grinned, the smile your half-siblings claimed shined brightest in the camp plastered on your face almost of its own accord as you stood before Leo.

"My hand, Doc." He sighed, playing along and holding up his left hand while the right shoved the ice pack Will had already given him behind his back. You snorted a laugh, and Leo's grin broke out from the solemn facade he had attempted. "I don't know if I'll ever be able to work again if you don't help me."

"Well there's only one solution," You nodded, pretending to read something off of your clipboard—which was still filled out with Garrett's information.

"Anything you recommend is good with me," Leo leaned closer, trying to read over the edge of your clipboard, which you quickly tugged close to your body.

"Right, I've got it." You grinned, dropping your face closer to his, almost like your heart was in control of your body instead of your mind. Leo nodded, and you would have sworn you saw his gaze shoot to your lips for the briefest of seconds. "Amputation. Mr. Valdez, I'm afraid we're going to have to take your hand off."

"But, that's my pretty hand!" Leo protested, playing into your joke quickly. You couldn't even pretend to hide your smile, laughter falling past your lips just as easily as breathing.

"Then I'm afraid there's nothing else we can do for you." You shook your head, grinning widely at Leo, who was—for a guy with ADHD as severe as him—giving you his full attention. "You're free to go. I'll see you and your pretty hand at the bonfire tonight."

"Glad to hear you agree that my hand is pretty." Leo slid off of the examination bed with a grin that had you flushing and looking over the contents of your clipboard simply for something to do with your eyes. "See you later, Doc."

Waving, you sent Leo off.

Over the course of the following week, Leo had found himself at the infirmary—during your shifts only—six more times.

Three smashed fingers from equipment you knew for a fact he knew how to handle properly. One cut to his arm from a piece of scrap metal. A paper cut.

On Thursday, he came in complaining of a serious burn.

"Doc, you'll never believe it. My whole arm caught on fire."

Will hadn't let him into the infirmary, claiming that Leo needed a better lie than that to come visit, since everyone already knew he was fireproof.

Leo came back fifteen minutes later with a second paper cut. Will took his break an hour early, claiming he needed to for his sanity.

But then you didn't so much as catch a glimpse of Leo for four straight days.

You felt more than a little pathetic, jumping every time the door to the infirmary opened, hoping against hope that it would be the curly haired son of Hephaestus you so adored.

On the afternoon of the fifth day, the door opened and you couldn't stop the way your body instinctively twisted around from where you words repacking first aide kits that were left in various locations around camp.

But it wasn't Leo standing at the door, but Piper.

You weren't the closest with her, but you were friendly. So you didn't think she was there for you, at first, until you saw her talking to your half-sister Stella and pointing towards you.

"Hey," Piper's voice had an edge of seriousness to it that snagged your attention, halting your efforts of resupplying. "I was wondering if I could ask a favor of you."

"Okay...?" You trailed off, not sure what she could have needed from you.

"Would you be willing to talk to Leo for me? He's in Bunker Nine, convinced he's going to make some big breakthrough on whatever machine he's currently working on." Piper explained and you nodded slowly, not seeing the problem. From your conversations with Leo, he always seemed to be in the middle of some big breakthrough. "He hadn't come out in four days. It's not healthy."

You frowned, trying to recall the last time you'd seen Leo at any of the meals. And when your mind came up blank, you settled on your answer to Piper's request.

"I'll talk to him."

You had never been to Bunker Nine.

As much as you talked to Leo, pretty much everyday, it was always in yours and shared spaces. The infirmary, mainly, but every once in a while at the dining pavilion or at the camp bonfires.

But you could barely focus on any one thing in the bunker. Half-finished projects littered the space, along with countless tools, scraps, and blueprints tacked haphazardly against walls and bulletin boards.

Since it was nearly dinner, the bunker had cleared out of all but one of its occupants. Perched over a table, working so diligently he didn't hear you approach, was none other than Leo Valdez.

Without thinking of the consequences, you dropped the canvas bag you had brought with you on his worktable, startling him so much he jumped in surprise and nearly sent his latest project clattering to the floor.

"Gods!" He shouted, wide eyed and hand pressed to his chest as if he could physically calm his racing heart. You couldn't help the way you grinned, a little lopsided, wholly endeared by him. "Sorry, were you trying to kill me? Because, if so, mission almost accomplished!"

"Actually, the opposite." With a confidence you didn't really possess, you leaned against the worktable next to him and started pulling tinfoil wrapped sandwiches out of the bag. "Everyone's convinced I'm your appointed caretaker, since you don't seem to do it yourself."

Leo had the good sense to seem chastised by the glare you sent him following your words. It wasn't like he could deny it, anyways. How many times had he ended up on your patient list?

"Did Jason put you up to this?"

"Piper," You confirmed, pushing a wrapped sandwich across the table towards him. Next out of the bag was a metal bowl, the bottom slightly charred and filled with paper scraps and twigs. "Light this for me, will you, please?"

"Well, when you ask so nicely," Leo grinned, a ball of flame forming in his palm and igniting the twigs in the bowl. Without needing to be told, Leo unwrapped his sandwich and ripped off a chunk to throw into the flames.

You copied his actions. And if you made a wordless prayer to Aphrodite to ask for a little assistance, that was no one's business but your own.

"I've..." You hesitated, darting a glance to Leo before focusing on your sandwich, biting down your declaration that you've missed him in the infirmary. He had already started eating, only further proof that he had been skipping meals while holed up in the bunker. "How come you're always getting hurt, Mr. Clumsy? I thought children of Hephaestus are supposed to be good in the forges."

You would have sworn you saw Leo blush, but your attention quickly darted away from him the moment he lifted his eyes to yours.

"You sure you wanna know the truth?" Leo asked his voice a kind of serious that was almost out of character for him. You nodded, slowly, and forced yourself to meet his eye. "I've been getting hurt on purpose."

"Leo Valdez!"

"Wait, let me finish!" Leo held up his hands to defend himself from your words and your glare, the healer in your absolutely hated the fact that Leo would have done anything to intentionally cause himself harm. "I did it because I got an excuse to see you."

"What?" For a child of Apollo, you sure didn't have a way with words. Distantly, you cursed the fact that you were a gifted healer and not a poet, because you knew what Leo's words meant and yet you couldn't get your own to function. "Wait—"

"I know this sounds stupid," Leo dragged a hand through the dark, disheveled curls atop his head. "But Will wouldn't let me in to see you if I wasn't hurt! So I... maybe... lied, a little bit."

You frowned, in thought. Thinking back, you couldn't remember Leo ever actually being hurt beyond the occasional cut or scrap. You'd always been so caught up in him and his visits to notice.

"I swear I'm not weird. I just really like you." Leo winced, no doubt taking your silence in a bad way.

And you weren't one of Apollo's poetically gifted children, so you simply pressed your lips against his and hoped he got the message.

It was a short kiss, a good first kiss, you noted with no small satisfaction. Your lips tingled and your fingertips were buzzing—and Leo looked like he had just won the lottery.

"You're sweet," You smiled, a thousand watt one that maybe Leo adored as much as your half-siblings did, and nudged his sandwich closer to him. "But you're banned from the infirmary unless you're actively dying. And for real!"

Leo paused, and you could practically see the gears turning in his head, trying to create a scenario that would get him past the barrier of your totally official and absolutely within rules ban.

"I can make that happen,"

"No, you can't," You tried to shoot him a discouraging look, but your smile was far too wide to deal any real damage. "Or else I'll go to tonight's bonfire with someone else."

"Nope!" He shook his head quickly, hair bouncing with the movement and expression light with an impish grin. "You kissed me, Doc. You're stuck with me, now."

You smiled, silently deciding you wouldn't mind being stuck with him.

"That's what I thought."

Leaning over to press a second kiss to the corner of his lips, you pretended not to notice the sparks dancing in his curls.

[startrekfangirl2233-writes]

Spring 2020 - JAG Headquarters Naval Base San Diego

Chapter 6 Part 2 of You Are My Soulmate

Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x Reader

Description: Being at an inquiry has been incredibly difficult. It always is, from what Bradley's heard. But that the inquiry is for his soulmate and he can't do anything to help makes it worse. When the verdict is awarded, all he can do is hold his soul as she sobs with relief. Maybe this is the chance for him to make things right with her?

Disclaimers: Misogynistic speech. Mentioned Homosexual Relationships. Angst. Flagrant disregard for protocols or Authority. Angst. Anguish. The author has no idea how Navy inquiries go (so take all the legalese with a grain of salt).

This content presented in this story is for audiences age 18 and over only. MINORS DNI. I will not be accepting tag-list requests from Blank or Ageless Blogs for this story.

Warnings: Female!Reader

Word Count: 3792

A/N: Can Rooster fix things with his soulmate? I hope so! We're going to see a lot more of Rooster and Tinkerbell together over the next chapters! I hope you all adore it!

I’m neither a law professional nor in the US Navy. In this more than any chapter for this story I’ve written, I implore you to ignore the pseudo-legalese and my fragrant lack of knowledge regarding military inquiry protocol.

AO3: Cross-posted Here!

Wattpad: Cross-posted Here!

My Masterlist

Previous Part | Series Masterlist | Next Part

Rooster

In the unspeakably tense moments after Commander Marks requests the charges against Tinkerbell dropped, Bradley reels, quietly sitting in his chair. He’d known Hawk was responsible for his accident; he’d been told so weeks ago. But seeing the footage, seeing Hawk affix something to his jet maliciously, deliberately, is something he cannot fathom. He wouldn't be here to testify if he had been just a touch more reckless and rash. And where would his actions leave Tinkerbell? 

It had shocked him, seeing her vivacious eyes and smiling mouth dull and stern. She’d looked entirely unlike the firecracker he’d come to admire. The stress had bowed those strong shoulders, bent her proud neck, and caused an imperceptible shiver in those petite, calloused, usually grease-stained fingers. She had looked like an entirely different person in the courtyard during the recess Pops had so willingly granted. With dark, deep-set bags under her eyes, she’d looked so tired yet so indescribably gorgeous he’d fought his way through the crowd to sit beside her, to provide some of his own strength to his flagging soul. The longer they sat there, the more he’d had to concentrate on hearing her quiet, beaten-down voice, the stronger his resolve had grown, and the more his soul had seemed to sing.

She is yours. Yours. Yours. Yours. MINE

He’s sure more than ever Tinkerbell is his. He just has to redeem himself. After all, Bradshaws don’t have platonic soulmates. Bradley’s more than aware of the rumors floating through the Navy about his dads - both his adoptive duo and his birth. When he was just figuring out the rough landscapes of love, Mav sat him down and explained the different bonds people could have - the different loves they could bear. Goose, Mav had explained, had more bonds than anyone he knew. Goose was a man of love, fiery and bright at times and syrupy slow at others, wrapping people in his heart like they were made to belong there. Goose had been so filled with love for his mother it had been palpable even when he spoke about her. That same love he’d extended to his wingmen, those few colleagues whom he considered friends and brothers.

“Bradshaws are big-hearted, Bradley. Your mom has a big heart, and so did your dad. I know you have a heart bigger than both your parents.”

He hadn’t realized how true Mav’s statement was until he was thousands of miles away from his family, alone and cold, with only a new-found fiery sister of his heart to keep him company. Since those dark, cold early days, he’s shared his love with more friends, reclaimed his family, and built lasting friendships with the other Daggers. Only his friendship, his love, keeps him from lurching to his feet as Hawk spews his poison about women in the service, like the two women he mentioned aren’t worth easily ten times as much to the Navy as he is. Both of those women are more than capable of fighting their own battles.

For Natasha Trace, his robust and fiery protector and best friend and sister, all rolled into one person, Hawk’s words are a cross too heavy to bear. Bradley doesn’t stop her. How could he when he’s aware of how hard she’s had to work to get to where she is? It doesn’t surprise him when the other Daggers stand in solidarity next to him, inadvertently blocking the MPs from disturbing Natasha from her task. It’s Jake and Javy, sharing a look he can’t decipher who collect her, her chest heaving, her eyes wild as she stares at Hawk’s battered face with unadulterated rage. This isn’t calm, cool, collected Natasha Trace. This is Phoenix standing there, flames crackling under her skin with all the forces of a vengeful god as she stares at the downed figure of the man who has hurt friends twice over.

When the MPs haul Hawk upright again, his nose is broken, bright red gushing out of the appendage as lurid bruises bloom to life around his eyes. At that moment, it’s more than apparent who still has strength and poise and is the proper Naval Officer between the pair. Hint: It’s not the man listing on his feet and unable to salute the COMPACFLT of the US Navy or meet his eyes as he stalks out of the room. It’s the slim, dark-haired woman with fire in her eyes and pure steel for a spine with bruised, broken knuckles held unflinchingly in a salute. Now, he sees the warrior she is, the strength in his best friend, as the Daggers move in a coordinated mass of highly awarded personnel, collect Tinkerbell, and walk out of JAG Headquarters.

Neither of the women surrounded by the Daggers breaks until they’re deep in the parking lot. Tinkerbell breaks first, her sobs quiet, barely withheld gasps of pain as her fear drains away. It’s like an earthquake shattering Bradley’s calm. He pushes his crutches into someone’s hands - maybe Payback or Fanboy- and stumbles to her. It’s telling, he thinks suddenly, when neither Jake nor Javy stops him as he limps by. But when Tink’s face tips up, tears making glistening tracks down her cheeks, he can’t resist pulling her close. He can feel the shudder in her frame as she buries her face into his chest and cries like she can’t believe she won, or more likely, like she can’t accept her win in addition to Hawk’s defeat. Bradley hasn’t stood on his feet in so long that the strain is evident as his aching muscles hold her weight in addition to his own. But he will not fold to his body’s whims, not at this moment. He’s surrounded by the citrus scent of her perfume, her hair like silk against his fingers, catching at the rough pads as he holds her close. When her arms wrap around his waist, clutching tight and pulling him in closer, he finally breathes a sigh of relief. This is where he belongs, where she does - wrinkled dress uniforms be damned.

He's not sure if Nat breaks or when she does, not until later when he's been unwillingly parted from his soul and after he's showered and been able to sit with the knowledge he's been granted during the trial.

“You like her, don't you, Rooster?” Bradley shrugs, careful not to jostle her hand in his as he cleans the split, bruised knuckles. “I mean, I wasn’t sure if you did, not for the longest time. But that embrace outside of JAG today? That’s when I knew for sure.”

“It feels inevitable, Nat. Like I was always meant to.” She lets him avoid her gaze, lets him stay rapt in the careful, slow disinfection of her wounds. Nat hasn't flinched once, despite how much the rubbing alcohol must hurt.

“She's your soulmate, isn’t she?” Bradley gasps a little, his words getting trapped as he tapes Nat’s knuckles up and busies himself with putting away the roll of gauze and all the ointments he used in their proper places. “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

Bradley shrugs. “Would you believe it if I said I didn’t know?”

“How is that possible?” Nat’s pacing circles into the tile of Bradley’s kitchen, her hands restlessly tapping against her thighs as she moves. “Didn’t you have the dreams leading you to her all along?”

“I’ve only had a single soul dream since turning 21, Nat.” Bradley’s gentle as he pushes his best friend onto the soda. 

“It happened in the middle of the night on the first carrier I was posted to after flight school.” Bradley can hear her realization as he dips into his fridge for several beer bottles.

“Wait, did this happen at the same time you crashed?” His smile is rueful as he hands his best friend one of the bottles.

Bradley sips on the cold liquid, suddenly needing something to whet his parched throat. “Yeah, Nat. It was the same day I woke up with the scars on my face. It was also the day I swore not to find my soulmate.”

“Why would you do that, you idiot?” Hearing the anguish in her voice, Bradley jerks his head up. What he sees is something he’s not seen in years. A tear is tracking down Natasha Trace’s cheek, anguish in her eyes. The last time he saw Nat cry was when she’d earned her callsign, her first ejection from a flaming fireball. There was abject terror, fear, and a strong sense of her own mortality in her that day. This time, the pain is for a completely different reason as she rockets to her feet.

“You know!” Her arms curl around her ribcage like she’s trying to give herself a frantic, unwelcoming hug. “You know how much I would give to have my soulmate. I would have given anything to wake up on my twenty-first birthday and have a name on my wrist in bold black. Not one faded to the color of my skin.” When he reaches for her, she slaps his hands away. “I would give anything to have a chance. So, do you want to run this by me again? Why you didn’t want to find yours?”

“I….” Bradley can’t lie, not when his best friend looks so angry and sad. “I didn’t want to risk someone else’s happiness. Not when I know how dangerous it is, doing what we do, Nat.”

“I was two years old when my dad died. We were here on North Island, Mom and I. We’d come down the weekend before to see him. He’d promised to take me to a baseball game after Hop 31 because it was supposed to be a half day. When it happened, it felt like my world stopped, Nat. My mom crashed to the ground like a marionette with its strings cut. I’m sure now that she felt the moment he died. She was nearly catatonic, Nat. I had to let the Admirals in when they came to tell us he was gone as she screamed, wailed, and sobbed.”

When Bradley looks up at his best friend, he knows tears are cascading down his face, mirroring hers. “How, Nat? How could I put someone else through the pain I’ve already felt once in my life? I’m sure now that feeling my dad’s death killed my Mom, Nat. She wasn’t the same afterward. I had Mav and his own soulmate, sure. But it wasn’t the same. I should have had my dad.”

“What changed your mind, then?” Bradley knows that Nat’s forgiven him. “It had to have changed sometime between then and now. Because the way you held her after we left headquarters? That embrace wasn’t platonic.”

“I nearly died during the accident, Nat. One month in a coma and all of the rehab after it showed me how fragile my life is. I’m not ready to waste another minute of it. Tinkerbell….” Bradley can’t hide the joy on his face, expressing itself in a soft smile. “She feels so right to be around. I haven’t been happy over the past few months. But talking to her during the recess Admiral Kazansky granted? I felt happy and light. I felt like I found the place where I belonged.”

When Nat collapses onto the sofa beside him, he knows he’s won this disagreement.

“So what are you going to do? How are you going to whoo her?”

It’s a question Bradley doesn’t have the answer to. Everything in him still screams he should attempt to be her friend first. He mulls it over through the night, waking up feeling unrested yet filled with nervous energy. Unsurprisingly, though, his day on base is filled with paperwork. He’s still a month from being cleared to fly, and filing reports for the Admirals is all he’s allowed to do. Maybe Mav will let him help with training one of these days?

It's when he goes in search of his godfather that he meanders past Hangar Two. A Welcome Back banner is spread across the back wall, and a few strands of sparkly tinsel are strewn across the floor. Besides that, it seems to be business as usual for the AMDO team. But Bradley can’t see Tinkerbell. She usually wanders with her tablet in hand, chatting and laughing with her team. He loiters near the open hangar door for a few moments but eventually leaves when he sees maintenance crew members approaching.

Unsurprisingly, when Bradley tracks Mav down, he's ecstatic to have help with the lesson plans. It feels good talking about flying. That one afternoon has him dreaming about flying again. He can’t wait to get back into the cockpit of his jet. He never does find Tinkerbell that day on base. Nor does he find her during the next one or the one after that. It worries him not seeing her around the base. Commander Grayson is still lurking around, his face expressionless as he leads the AMDO team that should rightfully be hers. The case of the missing Tinkerbell concerns him, so much so that he keeps an unconscious eye out for her and her pretty red convertible even when he's out running errands in the Bronco the following weekend.

It's a beautiful spring day. The sun is out, a delicious breeze is blowing in from the ocean, and Bradley feels at peace. Bradley’s out purchasing Goose’s favorite beer and Ice’s favorite vodka for the freezer as a favor to Mav. It’s been a very long time since he’s had the chance to celebrate his dad’s birthday with his dad’s closest friends. Most of his dad’s Top Gun cohort are flying into North Island - Hollywood, Wolfman, Slider, Merlin, Chipper, Sundown - the whole gang will be in the same place again for the first time since ‘86. Bradley hopes they won’t hold a grudge against him for the years of no contact. 

When he pulls his car into the parking lot of The Hard Deck hours before opening, he's surprised to see the cherry red convertible he's been searching for all week right there. When he saunters into the bar, she’s not in there. He’s half aware of what he’s saying as he gives Mav’s colossal drink list to Penny. But really, he’s jumping at every sound in the building, every creak, moan, and groan as the sea-soaked wooden surfaces settle around them. His head is on a swivel, and his eyes are peeled for one person’s sweet smile and melodious voice.

“Bradley?” He yanks his attention back to Penny, who has known him since he was a baby, with a sheepish grin.

“She’s out on the beach.” He starts, looking at her. “Pete told me a little bit of what’s happened. She was meant for you. Go to her. It looks like she needs you. It will take me a while to compile this ridiculous drinks list anyway. Of course, Pete would need upwards of 5 gallons of alcohol!”

Bradley feels like he’s living in an alternate universe as he staggers onto the sand. Everyone in his life seems content to step back and let the Fates drag Tinkerbell and him together. Why doesn’t anyone seem to see how much he’s hurt her? Why doesn’t anyone seem to see how much he has hurt himself? Why is nobody threatening him - ordering him to take care of her? Do they only see what he does in the mirror? The sad, sorry soul covered in scars who only wants to make her smile? The person who never wants to see her cry again? Or do they see the villainous knave who will break her heart? Bradley’s no longer sure what he’ll see in a mirror - the protector or the heartbreaker.

All the questions get washed out with the tide as he finally sees Tinkerbell. She’s in a tie-dye print white sundress, toes stretched out in the sand as the tide wets them. Her hair is loose around her face, whipped around by the wind, and if the sight of her doesn’t take his breath away, her smile at the sight of him does. He can see it now as he staggers unsteadily across the sand on his crutches, the sweet grin, her lips looking plush and glistening in the sunlight.

“Hi, Bradley.” He wobbles a little at the naked affection in her voice, plonking down almost too heavily onto the blanket she’s sitting on. Half his ass is on the blanket, and the other half is definitely in damp sand, but he doesn’t mind. Not when she giggles at him and then grabs his crutches to lay them carefully out on her other side.

“Hi, Tinkerbell.” He lets himself lean just until his arm brushes hers. It’s silent out here, just the air rifling through his hair and clothes, snatching at the full skirt of Tinkerbell’s pretty sundress.

“What’re you doing out here, Bradley?” Bradley can’t believe how good his name sounds falling out of his soulmate’s mouth. 

“I came to buy some drinks from Penny.” Faced with Tink’s big doe eyes and soft smile, Bradley lets the whole story spill, telling Tinkerbell about the annual celebration for Goose Bradshaw that Mav plans.

“It must be nice,” There’s a faraway look in her eyes as she looks out of the blue ocean. “To have so much family coming to see you, to celebrate your father’s life even after so many years.”

“Where are your folks, Tink?” Her head jerks up, mouth parting in shock as her cheeks flush. She wraps her arms around her knees, resting her cheek on her knees, facing him. The new position allows Bradley to see the smooth skin of her back and a glimpse of stark ink curling around her right side. It’s too soon to kiss her soft skin, right?

“My parents are on the East Coast.” There’s something sad in her voice as she clutches her knees to her chest like she’s holding in her emotions. “I haven’t seen them in a few years. Not since before I was on the Nimitz.”

“I’ve been on or deploying out of the West Coast for much of the last decade. I talk to them on the phone whenever I can, but it never feels like it’s enough. I’ve forgotten what it feels like to be with my family. I’ve forgotten what it feels like to be loved by a family.”

Bradley can sense the despair in her voice as he scoots closer and mirrors her position as much as he can. “Can I tell you a secret?”

At her shy nod, he takes a breath before fishing in the pocket of his jeans for a handkerchief. He hands the folded-up, square of fabric to her.

“You also gave me one of these in the atrium during the inquiry.” Her voice is soft as she traces over the embroidered name and monogram on the fabric.

“Yeah.” Bradley’s voice quiets even further. This close, all he can smell is the salty sea breeze and the citrus of Tinkerbell’s perfume. “Those kerchiefs belonged to my dad, Nicolas Edward Bradshaw. They were an anniversary present from my mom to him for their fourth wedding anniversary. These kerchiefs are one of the few things I remember about my dad, Tink. Every time I cried, my dad used to swoop in with one of these kerchiefs, the ones my mom always ironed and lightly starched for him. It was a labor of love for her. He even had one of these kerchiefs in his flight suit the day he died. I’ve been carrying them around with me ever since my eighteenth birthday because I needed a little bit of Goose Bradshaw’s indomitable spirit when I thought I was alone.”

“I’m sorry, Bradley.” He takes her hand in his at her apology, drawing them up until he can kiss her knuckles. 

“You’ve nothing to be sorry about. What I wanted to say is that I remember these kerchiefs in his hands. I remember the smell of the starch my mom used. I remember how soft the fabric was against my face. But I don’t remember much else of my father. I get snatches of his voice every once in a while or hear his laughter in the wind. Everything else I know of my father comes from the stories I’ve heard my whole life. I can’t tell anyone who knew him this. They all look at me like I’m horrible for forgetting him. But I was so young when he died, so absorbed in growing up, that it feels like I missed out on knowing him, so therefore, I missed out on grieving him entirely.”

“I’m not sure my dad knew how much I loved him when he died. For that matter, when my mom passed away from cancer when I was sixteen, and the dumbest little shit, did she know? Did she know how much I loved her?  Did they know how much I missed them when they were gone?”

The words dry up in his throat then because tears are brimming in Tinkerbell’s eyes. Her voice is soft as she squeezes his hand back like he did hers. 

“They knew, Bradley. They knew you loved them then. I’m sure they know you love them now, as well. I’m so sure that if they had the choice to stay or go, they would have picked to stay here with you for as long as they could.”

“I know, sweetheart.” A small, disbelieving smile curls up the corners of her mouth. “But they left a family behind for me. It took me over a decade after my mom passed away to realize they did, but I’m done taking my family for granted.”

Her small giggle makes him smile, too. He ducks forward and carefully dabs the tears away.

“Basically, sweetheart, I brought that up to ask you a question.” At her nod, Bradley inhales. “Would you want to come with me? To celebrate my dad tonight?”

“His birthday is today?” There’s disbelief on her face, lips parted slightly.

“Yeah. Mav holds a get-together for everyone my parents considered family at his place every year.” Bradley’s got his heart in his throat. Would his soulmate want to meet his family this soon? Please let her say yes. He can’t think of a better way to introduce Tinkerbell to his family.

“I’d be happy to.” Her smile sets his heart alight as she stands up and helps him stand. Before Tinkerbell folds up the blanket, she wraps her arms around his waist, soaking in his warmth. His heart thuds frantically as he walks her up to the Hard Deck because it finally feels like good things are happening.

I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN HERE, ON WATTPAD, OR ON AO3 BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN HERE, ON WATTPAD, OR AO3, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.

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[goldenseresinretriever]

You Catch More Bees With Honey: Chapter 18

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Reader

Part of the San Diego Dogfighters universe

Summary: Bradley Bradshaw, blindsided by a team he trusted like family has been traded to the San Diego Dogfighters. Across the country from the place he calls home, Bradley feels lost and betrayed. Not to mention the familiar faces and ghosts from his past that he now has to face every day at work. Bradley’s caught between wanting to show his former team the mistake they made in double-crossing him and wondering if it’s time to hang up his skates after one final season. You’re living your dream as the PR representative for the Dogfighters. When Coach Maverick made a bid to bring his godson to the team, you hadn’t batted an eye. Bradley was a good teammate, and a good player. Unfortunately, the Bradley that shows up in San Diego is nothing like your research suggested. He’s moody, irritable, aggressive, and angry, throwing a wrench in all your careful planning. What’s caused such a drastic change in him? And can you figure out how to help him before he makes a mistake you can’t fix?

Series CW: 18+ ONLY, swearing, dead parents, drunkenness, alcohol consumption, violence, sports violence, blood probably, angst, fluff, eventual smut, age gap (28 and 38), enemies to lovers, suggestive language, hockey inaccuracies etc. There will be individual chapter warnings. No use of Y/N.

Word Count: 4k

A/N: This is a repost of my completed series, You Catch More Bees With Honey. It was originally posted in November-March 2023, and was lost when my blog was deleted.

Previous Chapter // Series Masterlist // Next Chapter

The energy in the arena this evening is electric. Bradley recognizes it even if his teammates don’t. It happens anytime he plays the Boston Bruins. He had hoped it was exclusive to Philadelphia but this confirms that it’s him they’re buzzing for, not his former team. What they expect to see, he’s not sure. His mind tries to convince him it has everything to do with the two former Bruins in the building, Tom “Iceman” Kazansky and Beau “Cyclone” Simpson.” Maybe they expect him to lose it? To let out almost four decades of rage and resentment, but why would he? He doesn’t harbor any of those towards the players warming up on the other side of the rink. None of them were playing that day. It was thirty-six years ago, after all.

He’s seen the video, of course, grainy and not the best quality yet you can clearly make out the defenseman that lands the hit on Maverick before Nick Bradshaw steps in. He wasn’t a defenseman. No, Bradley’s father wasn’t built to be a defenseman. Where Bradley’s all hunking muscle and broad shoulders, his father was slender, their only common physical trait being their height. Nick Bradshaw was a right winger and he shouldn’t have tried to fight that defenseman from Boston. They called him Goose in the league because he was always sticking his neck out for Maverick. Bradley hates hearing the nickname now. It leaves a sour taste in his mouth as he thinks about how avoidable it all was. If his father hadn’t gone after that defenseman, he wouldn’t have lost his helmet. He wouldn’t have crashed into the boards with the force of the hit. He wouldn’t have been discharged without a proper concussion diagnosis. He wouldn’t have dropped dead in his kitchen in front of his wife two days later from an unprecedented brain hemorrhage.

So no, Bradley doesn’t harbor any hatred for the Boston Bruins. He harbors it towards Pete Mitchell and he studiously tries to ignore his assistant coach’s eyes that he can feel on him. Instead, he focuses on the other pair of eyes he can feel. You look beautiful tonight, dressed in a smart-looking lavender skirt suit. It hugs your curves in all the right places and he’s selfishly looking forward to taking it off you later tonight. He can see you brush your hair away from your cheek, irritated. While for the most part, you’ve been enjoying your new, shorter cut, he’s caught you on more than one occasion attempting to sweep the strands into your signature ponytail only to find that you can’t anymore.

“What’s with the crowd tonight?” Javy asks Jake and Bradley turns as Jake nods towards him. Javy arches a dark eyebrow at Bradley.

“Him? What about you, Bradshaw?” Javy asks as Mickey and Reuben skate over, Bradley grimaces.

He hesitates before he answers, “It’s always like this when I play Boston,” he explains. “My dad’s accident was during a game against the Bruins.” He sighs. “It always feels like they're waiting for something but I don't know what. Whether it's for me to follow in his footsteps or for me to take some kind of revenge I don’t even want, I have no idea.” He shrugs before regarding the mixture of somber and surprised expressions. “It’s just another game, let’s win it.” He says and Jake nods in agreement.

***

The game has been exactly as he’d said, just like any other game. He could tell the other Dogfighters were mildly off put by the strange atmosphere but after he and Jake had reiterated that it was just another game, they seemed to have settled. The crowd continues to feel like it’s holding its breath and now Bradley’s tempted to join them.

They’re setting up for a faceoff after Boston iced the puck, Jake standing face-to-face with one of Boston’s centers. One of the other defensemen to his right is looking into the stands and Bradley’s uninterested until he speaks up. “Did you get a load of San Diego’s PR? What a smoke show, I bet her pussy’s as tight as her attitude.” Bradley stiffens and he watches the other guys, Jake included, follow suit. He grits his teeth, trying to control his temper even as he feels a surge of angry solidarity from his teammates. He thinks he’s just managed to reign himself in when the center opposite Jake smirks back at the defenseman, his expression oily.

“Eh, I hit that back when she was with Jacksonville, she wasn’t that great.” His smirk widens as he watches the Dogfighters tense up, basking in the daggers everyone within earshot is currently sending his way. Bradley can feel the anger inside him chafing at its leash as he struggles to keep it in check, to push aside the center's crude words that is until he keeps running his mouth. “You’re more than welcome to my sloppy seconds, though.” The leash snaps and Bradley barely remembers to toss his gloves aside as he tackles the center across from Jake. It’s an illegal hit, the puck wasn’t even in play, he knows that but he can’t see through his rage as he lands hit after hit on Boston’s center. He hears a shout of anger from the direction of the defenseman who made the original comment on you and then a cry of pain as the ice descends into madness. It’s a full-on brawl as the Dogfighters and Bruins go head-to-head. He can hear the whistles of the refs and shouts to break up the fight but he can’t see anything but the smirking face beneath his fists. When he pauses to catch his breath, the center spreads his bloody lips in a gross grin as he spits in Bradley’s face. “What’s wrong, big guy?” He smirks at Bradley’s red face now splattered with a combination of his saliva and blood as Bradley’s blood boils at the use of the nickname. “Upset Barbie isn’t a virgin?” Bradley doesn’t speak at first, his rage passing through him in a wordless, feral growl and he watches as fear flashes through the center’s eyes for a split second.

“Shut the FUCK up about my girlfriend, you worthless piece of shit.” The words are just as much of a growl, almost inhuman as he hurls them into the center’s face. He watches humor war with fear in the other man’s blue eyes as he realizes his mistake. “You talk about her? Look at her? So much as THINK about her? I’ll fucking KILL you.” His voice is so quiet he knows only the two of them heard it and then fear wins the war in those blue eyes as they see something in Bradley’s that wins the turbulent war in his head. He grabs at where Bradley has the collar of his jersey fisted in his hands, trying to remove them, but Bradley tosses him to the ice like a rag doll, standing to his feet just as the firm, furious fingers of the ref clasp his upper arm like a band of iron.

“That’s enough, #84, you’re done for the night.” He makes to drag Bradley to the bench but Bradley follows without resisting. At some point, he lost his helmet during the fight and his curls are stuck to his forehead with a combination of his sweat and the various fluids the center spit onto his face. He didn’t hand a single hit on Bradley other than that. He looks around to see the other Dogfighters in various states of injury being led off the ice. Mickey gives him a hard look, nodding firmly as if to thank Bradley for what he did. Jake meets his eyes at the bench as Bugs checks him out. There’s a shallow cut on his forehead that she’s assessing and his nose looks broken. When the ref releases Bradley, Jake reaches out to clasp his hand.

“Whatever anyone else says?” He says, tone even despite the heavy rising and falling to his chest. “You did what we all would have done. It was the right thing to do.” Bugs scowls at him, pinching his ear slightly before turning to Bradley.

“You okay, Bradley? Anything I need to look at before you get in the box?” He shakes his head as he looks around, the haze he was in early wearing off. Jake seems to understand as he supplies,

“Ten minutes for misconduct for every player on the ice.” Bradley’s eyebrows raise.

“EVERY player?” Jake gives him his signature cocky smile.

“You even got Bob to fight,” He nods in the direction of the goalie who’s currently being chewed out by his coach and girlfriend. He doesn’t get a chance to respond as Dare walks up.

“Bradley, what the hell was that?” She’s wearing an expression that’s partly irritation but mostly concern.

Bradley shrugs. “He was mouthing off, I didn’t like it.” Dare shakes her head before pinching the bridge of her nose. “Well don’t bother going to the box, you’re out for the rest of the game. You’ll be lucky if you’re not out for the next few let alone the rest of the season.” Bradley doesn’t say anything but shakes his head as Jake grimaces.

“I’m serving my penalty with my team first.” He watches Dare’s face soften with surprise before she nods curtly.

“Get over there then. Jake, you too.” She calls out to Bob as well as Bradley skates towards the box. As he climbs in, he takes a good look around at the other three guys in there. Javy’s got a split lip but he grins at the sight of Bradley, extending a fist out of sight of the cameras. The penalty box wasn’t designed for this many players at once. Bradley bumps his fist, subtly before turning to Mickey, who gives him a tired and tight-lipped smile.

“I know why you did it,” he says and he sounds exhausted. “I would have done it too. I just hope you’re ready to live with the consequences. She deserves a hell of a lot better than cleaning up after your messes.” Bradley’s heart stops at his words, instantly turning to look back at the bench. He hadn’t seen you when the ref brought him back, and you’re not there now.

“She’s talking with the reps, trying to see how they're going to punish you for starting that fight,” Reuben explains from where he’s sitting. Bradley feels his shoulders drop. He’s given you a reason to worry yet again. He keeps giving you reasons to worry.

“I need to talk to her,” he says and Mickey snorts.

“Get in line.” His normally cheerful expression is stormy. Bradley frowns at the change.

“What?” Mickey looks at him, his brown eyes dark with exhaustion. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“I’m tired of seeing her cry, man,” Mickey says, fire licking to life in his eyes with anger. “And I’m sick and fucking tired of seeing her cry over you.” Bradley’s blood runs cold. You were CRYING? He’d made you cry again? He curses under his breath but doesn’t have a chance to say anything as the door to the box opens and Bob and Jake shove themselves in. It’s a tight squeeze but they manage.

“While I’d normally be touched by your sudden bout of sportsmanship and loyalty, this box wasn’t meant for six,” Jake says with a playful grin on his lips even as he presses tighter against Bradley.

“Did you see Zam by any chance?” Bradley asks instead of commenting on Jake’s statement. Jake’s expression clouds as he chooses his words carefully.

“Yeah, she was understandably upset but I’m sure everything will be okay once you explain what happened.” He reaches out to squeeze Bradley’s shoulder in the cramped space but it doesn’t make him feel any better. He needs to find you. He needs to talk to you. He needs to be sure you’re okay.

***

At the end of the longest ten minutes of his life, Bradley heads down the tunnel in search of you. Normally, he’d be led down by a coach but Dare’s busy with the game and Maverick was sent off to talk to Cyclone and Ice about how to move forward. When he reaches the hallway at the end of the tunnel, he’s not sure where to check first but he doesn’t have to decide as you round the corner. Your face is puffy from crying though Bradley can tell you’re trying your best to hide it. On his skates, he towers over you. As he crosses the space over to you your eyes widen in surprise at seeing him. His heart breaks a little as you step back, almost like you’re afraid of him and he pulls up short as much as his body is screaming to pull you into his arms. He can barely hold himself back when he sees your lower lip tremble as you regard him warily.

“Honey, please, please don’t cry.” He urges, trying to resist the urge to cross the distance between the two of you. Restless and confused, he shoves a hand into his unruly curls, chest heaving with anxiety. You don’t say anything, simply watching him as he watches the lights wink out slowly in your eyes. “Honey, say something, you’re killing me, please.” That makes your lips move but all that comes out is an exhausted and dead laugh. It sends a chill down his spine.

“I’m killing YOU? Bradley, you promised me this was over. You promised me no more fighting.” His heart breaks in two, sinew snapping as he struggles to push the pieces back together.

“Honey, I know, I know I promised, I just-“

“No.” The word is so firm it shakes him to his core. “No Bradley, I can’t. I can’t do this anymore.”

“What?” His voice is dry and unfamiliar as the words tear past his lips. Never in his wildest dreams had he considered that he’d screwed up this badly.

He sees the pain twist your features even as your trembling lips set in a firm line. “I can’t live every day of my life, scared to lose someone else.” He feels like the breath has been punched out of his lungs as he stumbles back at the weight of your words. “I’ve spent the past eight years, afraid to let anyone in, afraid to get too close to anyone because I was scared I was going to lose them too. And then you came along and you showed me how to love again. You showed me it's okay to let people in. And I thought it could be different,” he watches the last bit of light wink out of your eyes and your shoulders slump with so much exhaustion that Bradley just wants to take the weight, for you to lean on him and let him carry you.

“It can be, Honey, I swear it can be. This is different, I can be different. I never want to hurt you, Honey.” He feels tears burning the backs of his eyes as he struggles to hold onto you, the best thing that’s been in his life all year, in all his years, truly.

“Then don’t.” You swallow and he watches you fight back tears of your own. “Stop hurting me and let me go, Bradley. I’m so tired of losing people. I can’t lose you too, so just let me let you go, please.” He never did stand a chance when you begged. He stands aside when you push past him and when the sound of your heels has retreated far enough that he can’t hear you anymore, he falls to his knees.

***

He’s not sure how long he’s been there, the picture of a fallen soldier but a hand finally closes over his shoulder. He looks up, not sure who he’s expecting but starts at the sight of a pair of blue-green eyes.

“You okay, kid?” Maverick’s voice is careful, cautious as if he’s trying not to spook a horse. Bradley’s too exhausted to reply, or even shrug his enormous shoulders. The two of them stay in that position, Mav’s hand on his shoulder until Bradley finally finds the words.

“She left me.” He barely makes it to the end of the sentence before his voice breaks. Maverick’s quiet for a minute, considering his words before he replies.

“She’ll come back.” Bradley chokes out a twisted excuse for a laugh, the sound dry and broken.

“You didn’t.” Maverick’s quiet for another long moment before he replies.

“She’s smarter than I am. Than I was,” he adds.

“She’s scared,” Bradley says then, unsure why he’s opening up to Maverick but right now he doesn’t know what else to do. “She thinks she’s going to lose me too.”

“I know the feeling,” Maverick says then. “It’s a valid fear.”

“She’s not the only one who doesn’t want to be left.” He says then, fists curling at his side. “I don’t want to lose her, because if I lose her,” he takes a sharp breath that pierces every one of his vital organs on the way in, unable to finish the thought. The two of them stay silent for a long moment before Bradley speaks again. “Trade me.” Maverick starts in surprise, his fingers curling tighter into Bradley’s jersey. “Please,” Bradley turns then, gripping the older man’s hand in his, even as Maverick holds onto Bradley’s jersey. “Please just get me out of here. I can’t be here. I can’t be here if I don’t have her, I can’t.”

“No.” Maverick’s words are firm even as he pulls his godson closer. “Take it from someone who knows a thing or two about leaving? Don’t run. Stay, fight for her. Fight for her because she’s everything.”

Bradley shakes his head. “She doesn’t want me. And if I lose her, I won’t have anyone.” Maverick grips his chin with his free hands forcing Bradley to look at him.

“Today, more than anything, proved that’s not true. You have a team that stands behind you, that wants to fight for you. That’s not nothing, and don’t you ever dare say it is.” His blue-green eyes are blazing with a fire that Bradley’s never seen. “Zam’s upset right now and she has every right to be. She’s scared of you leaving, so prove her wrong. Show her you can stay. Be the man I never could be. Tell her you’re sorry. Apologize, but don’t you dare leave her.” Shame washes over Bradley as he realizes what he’s just done. His shoulders shake as a son wracks his body and the tears he’s been fighting back break free. Maverick slides to his knees then, gathering his godson in his arms, and Bradley’s too tired to resist. “I know this doesn’t change the fact that I left,” Maverick whispers into his ear as he cradles the much larger man. “I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but you don’t deserve to make the same mistakes I once made. If I can prevent you from doing that, it’s the least I can do for you.

***

Bradley’s not sure he’s ever been in Iceman’s office. It’s on the top floor of the arena all by itself. The room is full, both his coaches standing on either side of him, with Cyclone pacing back and forth behind them as they wait. The chair next to Bradley is currently unoccupied and Iceman waits patiently as Cyclone grumbles and occasionally looks at the door. It's been less than twenty-four hours since the game against Boston. The Dogfighters barely edged them out at the last minute, Mickey scoring the winning point with an assist from Jake. Maverick told Bradley to go home after his breakdown, and so he hasn’t seen you since. The door opens with a click and he looks up to see you enter. You look exhausted. You’re wearing a suit in a soft butter yellow that doesn’t suit your darkened mood. There are smudges under your eyes that say you haven’t slept and Bradley’s heart clenches. He wants nothing more than to go to you and guide you into his lap but he forces his hands to remain in his lap as you cross the room, not looking at him and instead locking eyes with Iceman.

“Five games,” you announce and the pressure in the room releases like a heavy breath. “He’s suspended for five games.”

“How the hell did you manage that?” Everyone’s heads turn to where Cyclone has stopped his pacing. You look too tired to manage conversation right now and instead give him a tired shrug.

“I’m good at my job.” Bradley’s heart swims with pride even as it aches at the exhaustion that he can hear hanging off your every word. Cyclone shakes his head in astonishment before nodding curtly to you.

“Good work, then.” You turn to Iceman, placing a folder on his desk.

“That’s a summary of the official terms as well as summaries of the phone calls I made so we don’t get our wires crossed. As Beau said, we’re very lucky that this is all the penalty that Bradley’s facing. There’s also a pay cut taken out of his annual salary but nothing he can’t handle. The other guys are all off the hook.” Bradley’s stomach turns at the idea of his teammates potentially having to take a punishment as well for his actions. You look around the room, purposefully avoiding him before clasping your hands in front of you and turning to Iceman once again. “If that’s everything, allow me to excuse myself. We have a game tomorrow to prepare for, regardless of whether Bradshaw’s playing in it.” BRADSHAW. He hates the way you use his last name like it removes all emotion from the equation. It’s the way you used to address him when you were irritated with him, back when he was just a problem that needed solving. It’s what he feels like now. Iceman dismisses you and you exit the room without another word.

“She needs to go home, Tom. She’s no use to us exhausted.” Dare speaks up then and Iceman turns to her, raising a blonde eyebrow in curiosity. “Zam spent all night on the phone with the Department of Player Safety. It’s a wonder she got us the deal that she did. She’s done her part, she needs to go home and get some rest.” You’d been here all night? You’re wearing a different suit than you had been last night but knowing you, you have an extra stashed somewhere in your office for emergencies. Once again Bradley wants nothing more than to take you home and tuck you into bed where you’ll be safe, but he’s forfeited the right to do so. Guilt gnaws at him as Ice nods and Dare heads after you, squeezing Bradley’s shoulder before she goes. He hasn’t had a chance to talk to her about everything yet, but he has a feeling that Maverick’s filled her in.

When the door clicks shut behind Dare, Ice turns to Bradley and he starts in surprise at the twinkle of humor in the older man’s eyes as he regards Bradley silently. “You’re a lucky man, Bradley Bradshaw.” He says after a long moment. “She fought for you, better make it worth her while don’t you think?” Bradley nods firmly, trying to ignore the shame that’s worming its way into his chest at the idea of you on the phone all night, fighting for him even after you begged him to let you let him go.

“Yes, sir.” Ice nods back and the room is silent for a long moment, the other two men in the room having nothing to contribute to this seemingly private conversation.

“Good luck, Bradley.” He says, mouth curling up at the edge and Bradley feels a flutter of hope in his chest. “I think I speak for everyone in this room and on this team when I say I’m rooting for you.”

[file-unknown24]

Welcome!

I have realized that I've had this blog for how long? and yet I haven't made the intro to it, so thanks to a random whim, that's what I'm doing.

So, Welcome to my blog! I mainly do The Stanley parable as of right now, though I like many, and I mean MANY fandoms, so, let's do the main ones, shall we?

Five Nights at Freddy's

Undertale

Portal

The Stanley Parable

Bendy and the Dark Revival

Dayshift at Freddy's

Cuphead

Detroit Become Human

Spongebob Squarpants

Little Nightmares

Poppy Playtime

and those are my main fandoms I like. I used to like Don't hug me I'm scared, but then I realized they used the R slur to refer to someone

Also for a bit I didn't like Poppy Playtime because I heard of them doing some terrible things, though turns out that it was made up by people exaggerating things

There's other things I like of course, though here's the main things I like.

I have now realized, I never said what you could ask me about or anything.

TnT I'm sorry, let me correct that now

So, ofc all the ones above you can ask me about, though my main thing (at least at the moment) is The Stanley Parable.

My main TSP Au is Adwin's Au, so I'll either tag it TSP or TSP AU, though TSP and TSP AU is used for many other ones too

I should figure out how I should fix that... I'll do it later

Raveled AU for Curtis

Library Au for Mr. Shade's Au

Deep diving AU for Parvator

Stanley in Wonderland AU for Matty

Ask me anything for anyone in the AUs I'd be really happy to tell you things about these AUs (at least what I already have figured out) It'll also be fun coming up with things with you guys, so, ask anything

I keep editing this, but, I have a book I'm currently working on and I have updates and things on my other blog: When Fandoms Collide ask

It's currently (as I write this bit at least, because I'm sure it'll be forever before I change this part) only in the set up stage of the story, so, it'll be a little bit before I start the main story

There's one last thing (for now at least) I want to see how well I know Spongebob episodes, so, go ahead and say any spongebob line, say a scene, or even just link a scene and I'll try to see if I know the episode

I don't know the names of the episodes, but I know the episodes themselves

Just nothing after the spongebob birthday one, that's when I stopped watching new episodes for the show, so I can't name those

anyways, that's it for now. I hope you have fun with my blog

Have a wonderful day/night <3

[facet-project]

pre-blog catchup diary

*disclaimer: this is ALL pre-alpha art. these screenshots are BEFORE visual development started. it's ugly. it's supposed to be. i was focused on programming and didn't want aesthetics to get in the way. pretend in your heart that this is all beautiful pixel art

anyway go below the readmore for details!!

i started working on this game in october 2023!! i had been learning gdscript before that, a little bit, but i hadn't fully committed to this project until then. pictured below is. the First build of the game vs the most current build. we've come so far.

the prototype was just a one-week build of the farming sim. so i could test how the time mechanic worked (time only moves when you do an action, you're not on a constant ticking clock)(this makes it much easier to strategize what you'll do in a day and letting the player go at their own pace, making the game feel more relaxed)(you can also... undo actions... which was just me testing out the code in this version but in the full version... will have different Implications)

i am all by my lonesome on this project. mechanically at least. my brother, girlfriend, dad, and my best friends are constantly helping me test things and i bounce ideas off of them all the time. it helps that my brother is a master GM and writer and my girlfriend is a software developer. and i lean very heavily on my dad for music/soundscape assistance. so yes, solodev, but also i am not an island

so the prototype was made when i was still learning gdscript past the phase of "tutorials for babies that produce a single number-go-up game" which is. hard!! since this is a much more complex project. it's easy to make anything in isolation, it's harder to figure out how to make new systems weave into a bigger project! fucking hell i didn't even know about custom resources!!!!

the prototype went off with FLYING COLORS though. girlfriend and brother played it over the weekend i gave it to them and it worked, it made sense, and watching the two of them test out the mechanics gave me some very good ideas for future builds. also nothing crashed and gf couldn't find any crazy exploits! (however pictured below is the incredibly fucked up floating rabbit glitch that i couldn't fix)

i finished it in june and took a break in july. august will be the first proper devlog for this! i'm excited to have a little dev journal around! i probably will only post consistently about once a month, with maybe some little posts here and there about characters or concept art i'm excited for

so what's next?

TIME TO GO BUILD ALPHA, BABY!!!!

which sounds exciting but i'm basically. starting from scratch again. new, fresh godot file. so it feels like i'm not very far in, even though i have an entire working prototype on my desktop.

and.... geez.... gotta actually make the pixel art and implement it into a working file???? so that it doesn't look like dogshit???? that would be nice. i didn't want to do it for prototyping/pre-alpha because i really wanted to make sure i had the capacity to code the game before putting my heart and soul into the art. and now i'm very certain i do?? it's not hard, it just takes time. and the time will pass anyway!!

i have two campaigns planned for the game, one that's smaller and one that's larger. the bigger one is the typical make your own character farming simulator, played straight in the setting. but i'm working on the smaller one first! you play as a specific character for the first year of the story. not all of the game mechanics are turned on for this mode, and it's more story-oriented than the straight Farming Simulator, so i think it's a good place to put development energy into. get it all ironed out. make it make sense before blowing it up on a larger scale. and it's more contained to test in which is a bonus

anyway. i'm going to post build updates on this on the last day of every month. and!! i'm not going to say a Lot about how the game works quite yet but the askbox is open. i don't think anyone will ask anything cause this is still in really early stages but it's there if you want it i guess

[writingdotcoffee]

#250: I Burned Out

You may or (let’s be realistic) may not have noticed that I stopped posting long-form posts a few months ago.

What’s up? Well, I burned out. After five years of writing a post every week, enough things in my life came together that caused me to have no energy left to keep this up. I was sitting at my desk at 11 PM working on the next post one Sunday, and I couldn’t do it. I gave up and went to bed.

It was surprisingly hard to do at that moment. The habit I created over the years was so ingrained. I wanted to figure something out and get on with it regardless of the circumstances. I hated myself for not being able to follow through.

The week after, it became a little easier to go through my Sunday without writing anything. Over the next few weeks, the habit faded away. That sucks, but it was necessary to take the pressure off.

How’s it Going?

The story is pretty boring, because burnout is boring, or at least it was for me.

I kept doing things that I’m obliged to do and spent the rest of my time reading the front page of Reddit. That was pretty much the only thing I could get myself to do.

Just before it happened, I remember this feeling of intense dread from doing work I used to not mind at all. Writing and particularly publishing what I wrote became a massive chore. It was very confusing.

I looked back at days when I was able to get 10x more done and wondered what the hell happened.

I knew what I wanted to get done, but I just didn’t have the will to do it. I found it super difficult to focus or make decisions. It’s frustrating and very hard to describe.

Fortunately, it was all temporary. I would not be writing this post if I weren’t feeling a lot better. I’m doing pretty great now. I’m back working on some exciting new features for Writing Analytics.

Burnout Isn't a Problem to Solve

To be completely honest, I don’t know what helped me get out of it. I wish I could make this post into a “5 Top Tips on Dealing with Burnout” type of listicle, but I’m not sure I even have one good piece of advice.

I didn’t slow down because I saw burnout coming. I did it because I couldn’t carry on. As I said, it’s very difficult to describe the actual feeling.

I guess I just accepted the reality of the situation. That let the pressure that I put on myself off. And then I waited.

There wasn’t any “oh, I’m not burnt out anymore” moment. Things improved over time until I was able to get excited about working on my projects again.

One thing I learned through this experience is that burnout isn't something to be "solved." There's no immediate fix. You have to give yourself space and let your body recover.

What’s Next?

I'd love to keep the blog going, but I'm not sure yet what will be the best way forward. As I said, my weekly writing habit has evaporated. I will have to start over and rebuild it. Or perhaps this is an opportunity to try something new? I'll keep you posted.

I've also been working on a massive new feature for Writing Analytics — perhaps the biggest update yet. I'm hoping to have it ready by NaNoWriMo this year 🤞.

Past Editions

#249: Finish More Things, July 2022

#248: Serious Procrastination, June 2022

#247: Learning How to Fail, June 2022

#246: Your Art Is Like a Journal Entry, May 2022

#245: Writing + Headspace, May 2022

[thehill-rpg]

Episode 2: Whispers on The Hill Part: 1/??

The quiet shuffle of bare feet on the gravel courtyard fills the air, accompanied by the faint squeak of a rusty pool gate reluctantly opening. With a pair of composed steps, a slender figure, tall yet delicate, makes her way towards an ageing pool chair. As she reclines on its worn surface, the chair emits a soft groan of protest, bearing witness to both its own well-worn years and the age of its current resting place: Palm’s Motor Hotel. Donning a pair of Ray Bans, she settles in, clad in a casual ensemble of a Washington Nationals' tank top and a worn pair of denim short shorts. In her hand, she opens a well-read copy of Cosmo, its pages gently fluttering in the breeze. Tucked between them is a torn clipping from yesterday’s issue of The Hill, resting over an article titled ‘The Secret to Finding Your Soulmate: Date Your Alter Ego.’ A good article, offering the kind of advice you could only get out of a drunk best friend, yet not the one currently capturing her attention.

Chelsea Dalton reclines beside a pool that seems questionably operational (was that the smell of an impending bacteria infection?), her gaze fixed on the familiar words. She reads it again, for what feels like the hundredth time, each word etched into her memory. She knows every line by heart. It’s beautiful.

It’s also months of dedication, collaboration, and hopefully, justice. Sure, it’s a departure from her usual flair, and while, yes, she’d normally sell her soul for this kind of traffic on her blog, she knew there was no way her posting this story would get it the attention it deserved. Hence, her email to Violet Shard, almost three months ago. She’d been hesitant at first. Sure, she was a fan, but this was something that needed to be handled with care. She was too close to her own source. She couldn’t risk being named. However, Violet had assured her of anonymity and a series of follow-ups that wouldn’t brush any pertinent details under the proverbial rug of Washington D.C. political justice. That's why she had agreed, and why she now found herself just outside the District, technically in Maryland, waiting for said blonde journalist. 

Where was she?

As she waited for Violet’s late arrival (had her trusty Saab finally coughed its last puff of exhaust?), she let her thoughts drift over to Gray, and the party she would have been at if the news she’d just leaked to The Hill, hadn’t implicated his father. She’d probably have been in some uncomfortable sundress right now, watching as Gray loosened a tie, only for his mother to promptly tighten it again, while she discreetly passed another crab puff to Mac. Of course, she hated every second of it, but even without her mom’s urging, she hadn’t missed one since she’d moved in next door to his family at six. What could she say? She had a thing for fish paste covered Hors d'Oeuvres. And tortured artists… She’d let the last one remain unsaid, stubbornly resisting even her subconscious attempts to divert her down that worn-out, oh so familiar road. Not today, Bucko! 

Just as she was attempting to shift her focus, fate intervened with the unceremonious thud of a bottle of sunscreen hitting her thigh, yanking her back to the realm of the living—or, more accurately, a realm that didn't revolve around pining over her best-friend of twenty-seven years. “Slip, slop, slap…” She glared over her glasses at a man holding a faded beach towel and a copy of The Hill. 

While quick judgments were usually her forte, she decided to withhold hers until he extended his hands to offer assistance. She leaned towards labelling him as the "concerned dad" type rather than a creepy motel lifer. "Uh, thanks, but— Is that the latest copy of The Hill?" She hadn’t been able to pick up a copy before she’d left her house in order to get here in time and she was keen to see how Violet had followed up. “Sure, kiddo. It’s yours.” She dropped her guard, leaning over to take the paper from his outstretched hand, “Are you moving in?” She’d have answered if the headline story hadn’t caught her attention. Violet Shard, facing charges of defamation and harassment, for her latest story on Congressman Whitman and Harris. “Uh, sorry, do you mind if I–” She was already up, picking up her copy of cosmo and hurrying out of the pool area and back towards her day room and her burner. FUCK. Voicemail. “Violet, call me. I— What can I do?” 

Well, she knew one thing she could do…  

She hastily opened her laptop, disregarding the unread emails clamouring for her attention with their requests for her usual freelance work. Instead, she navigated to her blog and swiftly crafted a new post.

Ms. Whisper here, emerging from the shadows with a scoop hotter than the Capitol's political inferno. It appears our esteemed journalist, Violet Shard, finds herself in the clutches of controversy. But this isn't your run-of-the-mill scandal, my darlings—oh no, it's a tale of truth-telling and the ruthless consequences that follow. Violet dared to shine a light on the dark dealings of Congressman Whitlock and Harris, revealing their insidious involvement in the war-torn realm of Matamba. Yet, instead of accolades, she's met with handcuffs and accusations of defamation and harassment. But fear not, dear readers, for Ms. Whisper is always on the case, ready to peel back the layers of deception and hold the powerful to account. In this cutthroat world of political intrigue, even the bravest truth-seekers like Violet Shard aren't safe from the claws of injustice. So, keep your ears to the ground and your eyes peeled, because when it comes to unravelling the truth, there's no hiding from the relentless pursuit of Ms. Whisper. #StandWithViolet

Her phone buzzed—an SOS. She shot a text back that she’d be there soon. Though even with her foot planted to the floor of her beemer she knew she’d never break an hour. Hastily rummaging through her overnight bag, she retrieved a somewhat acceptable dress (she didn’t own many); though the party might've been cancelled, she was certain Gray's mom wouldn't want the reminder. Hastily, she made her way over to the shower, and tried her best to find the password to get the hot water working longer than two seconds.

She did her best to keep her hair from getting wet, as she washed her nervous sweat from under her armpits. Chelsea hadn't seen this coming without a fight, but nabbing a journalist? This wasn't just a hiccup; it was the kind of move that had First Amendment lawyers rubbing their hands with glee.

She gave up trying to tune the shower into submission and let the cold water run down her back, as she wracked her brain for a way to assist Violet beyond mere page views. Nothing. Nothing.

When it came down to taking action, what good was being Ms. Whisper if all she had in her arsenal were a sharp tongue and a quick wit? That certainly didn't grant innocent journalists a Get Out of Jail Free card, did it?

After a quick drying session (as evidenced by her dress clinging to her back and making it a challenge to slide down over her thighs), Chelsea grappled with her wayward curls, victims of the fierce heat akin to the Battle of Waterloo. With her belongings in tow, she checked out of the motel, conceding that, for the time being, there was little she could do for Violet. As for Gray, a sense of obligation stirred within her to mitigate the unintended turmoil she had caused him. Nonetheless, she refrained from assuming full culpability, acknowledging that the root of this mess lay primarily with his father. All she’d done was overhear a phone call, sneak into his office at night, and make a few dozen or so copies of a report that she only wished now had more than just Congressman Harris’ name to it.

Pulling up to Gray’s house, adjacent to her own, Chelsea switched off the ignition and discreetly covered her overnight bag with one of Mac’s car seat covers in the backseat before stepping out and making her way inside. The atmosphere was sullen, with white chairs being shuffled in and out from the patio to a van parked out front. From a distance, Chelsea observed Nora overseeing the operation with an overflowing wine glass in hand. She couldn't shake the feeling of responsibility for the sombre mood, knowing she had played a part in it, at least partially.

Following the faint strumming of a bass, Chelsea ascended the stairs, purposefully bypassing Mr. Whitlock’s study. She had been instructed to call him Brody, but it just didn't sit right with her. Instead, she made her way down to Gray’s room at the end of the second floor. Her fingers brushed against the wooden door as she announced herself before slipping inside.

"So, on a scale from six-pack therapy to a spa retreat in the German highlands, how concerned should I be about you?" She offered a tentative smile. However, the instant she caught the strains of "Darn The Dream" by Ron Carter, being plucked, she realised she was entering yodelling territory.

[horce-divorce]

We don't really have a deadline to leave other than "sometime when the weather is nicer," but generally speaking we have about 2 months to either find a new car or fix our setup for the summer. If we can't swap it out we'll still be okay out there, it's just so exhausting to have to move our stuff around constantly to make it fit inside a Murano. We can NOT stealth camp with this setup, it's boondocking only, which makes things a lot more complex, and we can't even really fit all of the supplies we actually need with us in there at all times. We also can't take anyone else in the car with us when we've got it set up for camp, which can make things weird in a pinch at times, too.

I've posted this before, but here's a couple pics of what we're working with: the whole house from the outside, and the view from our bed when its set up. I could probably keep doing this indefinitely if it was just me, but with both of us and all our supplies in here it's pretty tricky.

I've never sold a car before, and I know mine is NOT worth the full blue book value, but if I could get even 1/4 of it I'm pretty sure we could buy an equally used van with that. But I also have never bought a car bc my dad passed this one down to me... I know you need to, like, check the frame for rust, among other things? but idk how to identify other big deal breakers.

Anyway... saw the notif for ~60 days and I just got ponderous. I'm working on some posts for Ko-Fi right now as well, thinking about what kind of art and other incentives I'll be able to keep offering from camp this summer.

I've been trying to post more on Insta, too, as much as I hate it... I've sworn off all other social media and I don't really want my tumblr attached to my IRL stuff as much as possible (i know it already is to a certain degree, i just try to keep things tidy), so I guess Insta is where I'll be for now, unless a worthy successor to DeviantArt shows up. I suppose I could make a side/art blog too, but I already have one for photography and like, mehhh Idk.

In any case, I'm very grateful not to be out there now. Here's some pics from the last few days. Michigan is getting even more snow than here because of the lake effect.

We're hopeful of coming back here next winter as well... it'd be nice to be able to stay here long term. Our friend shares our dream of being able to bring the cats here and reunite them with Bel, but it's ultimately not up to them, so we're not sure if or when that might ever come to pass.

For now, the one thing that's for sure is that we need to be able to stay mobile, and we need more space in the car. But I do think that keeping up our usual lifestyle like this is feasible. We've both been making art here, and we do it out at camp more than anywhere else. If I can figure out a good sub tier structure for ko-fi and have subscriber stuff go out once a month instead of going to the post office every time I get an order, that would be way easier. And having some money coming in would mean ebegging less. I haven't looked into air fairs/fests yet either but maybe I can sell some art there too. But again, we either have to have a bigger vehicle or some kind of home base for all of it to work. It's tricky, but no moreso than trying to get housing.

I accidentally added a poll and I'm not copypasting this entire draft to get rid of it omg. End of post

[yevmarie]

Just my mental state and thoughts below

Please go past it if you don't want to read it. The idea is not to ask for any comfort, or whatever may seem I need. I just want to let go of my thoughts in written form. Yeah, in public, but still in my blog. So…

---

There have been almost four hard weeks already since the breakup. I'm emotionally exhausted and tired of repetitive haunting thoughts. I'm constantly pushing myself to get rid of recalling him digging into work (which is not much unfortunately), looking for a new job to cover my basic needs (haha, I won't find anything worthy as I'm just useless and still need to live separately), asking myself what if I move to my home city and these four years would be washed away… But the rational part of me says it doesn't work this way. And I'm sure I'll drown in depression more than now being with my old parents with no friends/acquaintances around as the home city is still dangerous and gets missile attacks.

I miss him badly, but I don't see any reciprocity from him. I found him as my soulmate, but definitely, soulmates don't do such things, right? I'm even more stupid giving him a chance to fix the things, hearing him he'd like to do it, but not seeing corresponding actions so far, instead continuing conversations with the girl he cheated on me with. Maybe it was just the way he soothed my pain lying again.

I think I'm starting to realize which lesson this situation has brought me: not betraying myself first, loving myself again, being independent finally from everyone, accepting myself, and enjoying being on my own not being afraid of loneliness. Finally understand I really could love and care (not sure I'll be able to do it once again towards someone), but no one ever will love me back so unconditionally as parents and me. It's very sad I came to this conclusion only after the breakup, not after my one-year therapy.

I assume I did everything wrong towards myself pushing down my personality, being a comfortable girl, swallowing his anger, and trying to be the 'best' version of myself for him. He admitted that I was the perfect one. So fucking perfect that he didn't appreciate that and decided to cross the lines. Sadly, no one is perfect, and I can't be such as well. But maybe I'm just trying to purify his shitty actions by explaining my false ones. I don't know. All I see is that I've never been such before, it's not me. And I don't know whether it's the real him currently. But I assume I was just blind.

Maybe I'm just too demanding towards myself again willing to get everything I want and need just in a snap and I just need time, to slow down, ground myself, and distance myself from him mentally, letting us move on separate ways. I don't know the right answer yet. I hope I'll find it, if not, then recover and start a new brighter and happier chapter of my life.

Chapters by the way. There is no privacy at my friends', so it's difficult to focus on writing. But hell, I want to continue this. At least the imaginary world brings me more calmness and comfort, than the real one. And there's the third chapter almost ready to be published, and the fourth is under work when I have minutes of privacy. I hope I'll figure out how I can put writing in my routine.

Take care of yourself and see you soon.

[drawnaghht]

So! I think I've figured out how to tag both the leosagi and leochi ships.

Since this is mainly a BLOG and not just a random social media page, it will be easier for me to organize the tags as if this were a more traditional blogging site. So I will be trying to keep the tags as few and as relevant as possible.

I'll be mainly using YuiNardo / yuinardo from now on for just the Yuichi Usagi/rottmnt Leo ship, and stuff like my own fanart. it's specifically "show x show" for me (Yuichi x Nardo, bc those are their unique names in their respective shows xD) and not some of the fan OC stuff

leosagi for the general 2003 Miyamoto Usagi/Leonardo ship but maybe also i.e. crossovers where ppl draw all the versions?

katanashipping also for 2003 leosagi? like I guess I'll decide based on how specific it gets (edit 1.05.23) definitely about 2003 leosagi, since that's where it originated from

I'll use 2003 leosagi when it gets more specific i.e. fanfic recs or longform comics which I wanna find later

Rise Leosagi for the 2018 versions that people have made their own, based on the Miyamoto/Leo ship (lol this might be difficult to retag, cuz I'm not sure what I've tagged with what anymore)

Sliderbunny for people's own versions of rottmnt Leo and (both romantic and platonic ships, cuz there aren't as many posts for this anymore)

and I guess Leochi for something more specific? like that's been the tag now for Leo/Yuichi but I'm not sure where it started from so idk how to use it but I guess I'll find out when I see more stuff in the tag lol. might use it just for reblogs/fanart but I’ll see

I can't remember any other names so those are it for now. I probably won’t use the longer names like Yuichi x Leo, Miyamoto x Leonardo etc just bc I find it tedious to use that many spaces in tags when tagging can be sorta annoying to do on mobile and then fix later on PC. I’m more of a “tag and go” kind of person and I like my tags to be easy to write.

like im sorry I write so much (I don't enjoy writing lenghty things) but i legit need to tag like an oldschool blog occasionally bc I ENJOY finding stuff on my own blog later. it just makes sense! it is so confusing going thru multiple tags for the same thing when it could have a singular tag. or a single new tag for a specific use. and I've forgotten to do that after using social media so much for so long lol

anyway this isn't that important i am just chillin and remembered that I thought of this and needed to post it so I wouldn't forget.

more related random thoughts under the cut!

Thinking of that, I guess the tag clogging starts to make sense, considering how much people are more used to the "tag clouds" popularized by twitter and instagram and social-media-like sites before those (the sites inbetween blogging and web 2.0, maybe, but didn't really use those as much so I don't remember either) + the confusion about what the og leosagi was (+ maybe general tmnt fandom confusion over various versions of media for the franchise)

lol it's gonna take a bit long but I'll reorganize the blog more once I have a bit of time on the side from other stuff. now it feels nice that this blog isn't actually that big yet. I don't use sideblogs very long usually and it's my first time actually making anything TMNT related for this long, so it'll be interesting seeing where this blog will go in general. like how it's probably been subtle that while this userhandle/blog started as a tMNT sideblog, I actually have started blogging more about Usagi Chronicles now bc I like the show. and idk what else I'll post if I have time but I will probs keep it as a reblog blog anyways!

I try not to write long blog posts on tumblr anymore but I think the whole "leosagi-leochi tag clogging" point brought up in the "Why do we ship leosagi" video is also just a good point abt how we don't really treat blogs like blogs anymore. every sort of behaviour online has become so influenced by the want to make it trend or have it at least be read at all ("social media" aspect of online behavior now) that even stuff like ao3, a fanfic site, will have tags like "AO3 algothithm, PLEASE be nice to me" when sites like that don't even HAVE algorhithms. it's interesting to think about but also a bit sad on the side because that "tag clouding" does seem to be the only way for some works to become noticed on the above-mentioned actual social media sites. this almost makes me miss sites like deviantart and blogger because things always felt more centralized and easy to find vs twitter, insta or occasionally even tumblr.

ANYWAY

lol all this just to organize my thoughts on ship tags

if you've read this far, lemme know if there are any other tags ppl use? or are there any other types of tagging conventions we should bring back i.e. mashing the names together?

[willenator]

Tumblr Domains Challenges

I decided to move my domain name from Google Domains to Tumblr Domains. Google Domains sold off their business to SquareTrade, but they still manage it for the time being. Since Tumblr Domains is the same price as Google Domains, and I used Tumblr for my blog, I figured it would be a good fit for me. Transfer my domain and then have my blog and domain hosted by the same company. Seems pretty simple, right?

Unfortunately, that hasn't been the case for me. I know that Tumblr Domains is new, and I'm sure there are some bugs they need to work out. However, Tumblr is owned by Automattic, who also owns Wordpress, and Wordpress has been selling domains for years now. I figured they were using their experience from that, but maybe it is handled by a different team. Either way, it has been an interesting start.

The first challenge I had was actually triggering the start of the domain transfer. I had grabbed the auth code from Google Domains to approve the transfer, and I kept getting an error code when I would click submit on Tumblr's end. After trying for a couple of days, it finally worked. I had actually submitted a support ticket about it on day two, but on day three it worked.

Like most domain transfers, I figured it would take a few days for everything to move over. I was able to start configuring the basic settings the very next day which was nice. After four days, I noticed I could still not access my domain by typing it into my web browser, so I reached out to Tumblr support again. A few days later it started working just one hour before they reached out to me. I only know this because I had connected my domain to a third-party email provider and it couldn't verify because they couldn't see the domain. All of a sudden, I got an automated email saying it was now connected and then I got the email from Tumblr support that they weren't seeing any issues on their end. I actually chuckled at that. Either it was pretty impressive timing that they checked on it right after it worked itself out, or they did fix something first and then reached out to me.

Okay, so now I have my domain working, but in the most recent response from Tumblr support, they told me that I had yet to verify my contact information, and my domain would be suspended after 10 days of registering it. So, I checked my emails, and I never received an email stating anything about verifying. The Tumblr support help site even lists what the subject line would read, and I tried searching for that in my email. Nothing. So, I am now waiting for another couple of days until someone with Tumblr support responds to me about this.

I have one other issue to report to Tumblr support, but I'm holding off on that one until I know I can keep using my domain with my Tumblr blog. That additional issue is DNS records. I need to add a handful of of records to get my email working with Tumblr Domains. However, it only lets me add three records after the initial one, and won't let me add anymore, which doesn't let me add all the additional records I need to fully make my provider work with it.

While it is a little frustrating, I would really like to make this work, and I'm willing to keep giving it a try. We shall see how this goes. I'm curious if others have had similar issues trying to use Tumblr Domains so far. I'm rooting for Tumblr and Automattic, and I'm only sharing this in case someone else is struggling as well. I think sharing information like this might help someone else. I'll post some updates to my blog as things continue to be worked out.

[anthonysstupiddailyblog]

Anthony’s Stupid Daily Blog (277): Sun 18th Dec 2022

I was nice and careful on the bike ride to work today even though the snow and ice looked to have cleared up and it was all but gone on the main roads at least. I figured that as long as I was careful on the slip road that takes me on the final stretch to work and kept a look out for black ice then I should be okay. Unfortunately the council have put up a fucking barrier to stop people going directly down that road and you have to go all the way down the dual carriageway, turn right and then circle back on yourself (which if I’m not mistaken is the first thing the Nazis did when they got into power). I was approaching the right turn and gently put on my brakes but I must have broke too harshly and turned too quickly because the bike slipped out from under me and I went flying onto the road. Luckily the bike literally slid right the fuck out from under me so it didn’t land on me and also I ended up going arse over tit and landed on my back which thankfully was cushioned by my rucksack which was full of all my work shit. I wasn’t hurt at all but more annoyed at the fact that I hadn’t seen this slippery patch and obviously thankful that this had happened on a quiet day when I was travelling relatively slowly because of this had been on a packed dual carriageway and I’d been doing 50 then I’d probably be dictating this blog from a hospital bed to a nurse via blinks of my eyes. A guy in a car saw what had happened and slammed the breaks on his car and backed up to make sure I was okay. I motioned to him that I was fine but this guy must have fucking shat himself when he saw my legs go up in the fucking air like that and the bike go hurtling 10 feet down the road. Plus he kept asking if I was sure I was alright before I got back on the bike and continued on my way. I hate to think that this guy drove off worried that I’d hurt or concussed myself and he just let me go. Unfortunately the right pedal rest has come off the bike so I’m going to have to get that fixed now but to be honest I couldn’t give a shit about this fucking bike at the moment. There’s too much going on with work and Christmas and the holiday that I can’t be dealing with this shit right now. I’ll just wait until the new year to get this sorted and just get the bus / walk to work in the meantime. I don’t know why but I can’t help but feel like this is somehow Matt Hancock’s fault.

While I was working I came up with a few ideas for the sitcom script. I can already tell that this script (which I haven’t even completed the first draft for yet) is immediately better than any of the scripts I’ve written before (which admittedly isn’t many but they were still dogshit compared to this). I’ve followed Graham Linehan’s sitcom writing advice very carefully by writing up all my ideas for jokes / scenarios on individual cards then mixing and matching the cards to look for patterns and trying to build scenes. Ive also tried my best to follow Linehan and Simpsons writer John Swartzwelder’s advice to not let it worry me that the first draft will be patchy and have bits that seem awful because the first draft is just something you need to cobble together so that you have something to change. Linehan seems to be of the opinion that going over their first drafts is the thing that puts off a lot of sitcom writers because the first draft isn’t usually any good and the thought of putting the first draft that they’ve come up with on the air fills them with dread. However he advises people to just keep in mind that no one is ever going to see this first draft and that with a little effort you should be able to turn that awful first draft into a hilarious third / fourth draft. I’m really happy with how this is coming along and after I’ve submitted it to the Sitcommission competition I might post it on here too so my friends / followers can tell me what they think of it (and that’s proof that I must be happy with it because ten years ago the very idea of showing anyone a sitcom script that I’d written would have made me cringe). For this competition they encourage you to submit “episode one” rather than a pilot episode because the winning script gets passed around to industry executives with the intention of making them into full seasons. As such executives want to read a typical episode and a pilot isn’t a typical episode because it will be spent introducing the characters and setting up the premise of the show. I’ve already written a pilot episode of the show and this script that I’m writing now is “episode one” (though really it’s episode two. If I can just churn out four more episodes then I’ll be able to cross “sitcom” off my bucket list because it’s long been an objective of mine to write a full season of a sitcom (I’m glad I’m not American because then I would need to write 22 of the fuckers before I could cross it off.

[thepravinshah]

How to be More Entrepreneurial and Creative

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Pravin Shah

[tteokbokkei]

𝘏𝘢𝘪𝘬𝘺𝘶𝘶 𝘉𝘰𝘺𝘴 𝘍𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘉𝘪𝘳𝘵𝘩𝘥𝘢𝘺

pairings - akaashi, iwaizumi x gn!reader

warnings - swearing, reader gets called clingy, small amounts of arguing, hurt comfort ofc

AKAASHI

Chances are he got to engrossed in work because it’s not like akaashi to forget something like this

Really, he remembers almost everything when it comes to you so when you were still sat alone at 10pm on your birthday, you began to worry something had happened to him

There was no dinner ready and you hadn’t dressed up yet, thinking Keiji would come home and tell you what you were doing

Yet you found yourself ringing his phone for the 5th time that night, this time he answered

“What y/n I’m really busy?” His tone led you to believe he wasn’t in the best mood

You asked him when he would be home and that seemed to set him off

“I told you i had to do things today okay, I won’t be home until later I don’t get why you have to know what I’m doing all the time. Think about me for once”

And with that you hung up, it was obvious what had happened.

Keiji felt guilty yeah, but he did need to work and he knew that he could just apologise when he got home. Sure, it wasn’t like you to just hang up but he figured you were also tired from the long week and left it at that. It wasn’t until he opened his messages he felt his blood freeze.

There, screaming at him from the screen of his phone, was a text from bokuto that read ‘hey, y/n isn’t picking up could you say happy birthday for me man?’

He had to get home.

-

By the time the black haired man had arrived back home, he was soaked from the rain and biting at his nails nervously. The lights in the house were all off and he just hoped to god that you were still inside the house. Even though it would be perfectly within your right to not be.

The living room held a silence that he had never quite hated as much as he did now. The pile of openers cards from your friends seemed to taunt him from the coffee table. How had even atsumu remembered and he hadn’t? He was your boyfriend. He hoped he would still be when he finally found you. You were curled up on your side in your bedroom. Obviously not asleep but not showing any signs of acknowledgment either. Guilt tugged at his stomach.

“Y/n” he started, trailing off

What was he supposed to say to you? ‘Hey sorry I forgot your birthday and called you selfish’. Yeah, great going Keiji.

“Y/n I’m really sorry and I know that probably won’t make it better and I can’t take back what I said to you.” He drew in a shaky breath, “I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to forget about you I’ve just been working so hard and-“

A sob cut him off. His soft hand on your shoulder broke your resolve and you allowed him to turn you around.

“Just,” you sobbed, “please don’t do it again Keiji, all I do is think about you”

He wrapped his arms around your shaking form, pulling you into his embrace.

“I know, I should’ve been thinking more about you. I’m so sorry sweetheart, I promise I’ll make it up to you tomorrow”

IWAIZUMI

Hajime had always been a pretty busy person, this was evident ever since you started dating

Now it was his final year though, you had never seen him more stressed

So, you decided to show up to one of his practices on your birthday, for the past 2 years he had always left early or at least with you when it was a special date

And it was your birthday but that didn’t mean you couldn’t treat him too and you know how hard he had been working, so you made a bento

The moment you walked in to the gym it was like everyone but him lit up, the third years came over to say hi and even Kyoutani sent you a quick nod

You tapped your boyfriend on the shoulder and when he didn’t reply you went for a hug, only for him to move at the last minute

“Why are you here y/n?” He asked coldly

You explained to him that you wanted to come see him like always, not mentioning your birthday in case it was a joke, he wasn’t laughing

“A little clingy don’t you think? You text me all day and now you come and interrupt practice? Why are you so needy today damn?”

You just turned and walked out, hoping nobody had heard your conversation

“Hey Iwa aren’t you gonna leave early?” Matsukawa asked him at the end of practice.

“No, why?” He had calmed down significantly now and had forgotten what he said to you

“Uh… cause it’s y/n’s birthday?” Makki called from behind the net, “you do it every year, right?”

Iwa dragged his hands down his face. He had been too stressed to even remember what day it was let alone your birthday. And now he had forgotten you completely after making those comments.

“Why would they want to?” Kyoutani growled up from his sweeping, “after what you said to them”

A dozen pairs of eyes seemed to bore into his soul. Guilt had stolen his breath and his head was spinning but he knew he had to go and fix this before it was too late.

-

You were sat on the cold step of your house, sobbing into the sleeves of one of your boyfriends jumpers. You should probably give that back. If your conversation earlier was anything to go by then he wouldn’t be keeping you around much longer. Staring at the fabric, now stained with your tears, you thought about what he said. Maybe you were clingy.

“Y/n!”

You looked up to see a very out of breath Iwaizumi runnning towards you, face flushed

Looking down, you grumbled a quick ‘what?’. You were hurt and the balloons attached to your bag were smacking against the side of your house as if taunting you.

“You know Iwaizumi” he flinched at the use of his last name, “if you wanted to break up, you could at least have the decency not to do it on my birthday”

“No y/n, I would never- I don’t want to break up” he cried, words were failing but he carried on, “I’ve been so stressed looking after the team and Oikawa with his knee I just forgot”

When your eyes met it felt like his heart had broken in two. Your eyes were glistening with unshed tears and you had obvious tear tracks down your face. A nod let him know it was okay to carry on.

“Please, I’m sorry baby I didn’t mean to forget, can we try again tomorrow? I’d never hurt you on purpose”

Tears began running down your cheeks again.

You nodded and the man pulled you in for a kiss, not caring about the taste of your salty tears. Murmuring ‘I love you’ against your lips, he pulled you in as close as he could to you. Like he would never let you go.

It might not have been the best birthday but you were content knowing he would always try his best to make up for the things he does.

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