#day cruises from san diego

[cruisepartyinsandiego]

Unveiling the Best of San Diego: Dynamic Meeting Spaces and Scenic Day Cruises

San Diego, a vibrant coastal city on the Pacific, offers a plethora of options for business gatherings and leisurely excursions. From modern meeting spaces to breathtaking day cruises, the city caters to diverse interests, ensuring a memorable experience for all.

San Diego Meeting Spaces: The city boasts an impressive selection of meeting spaces suitable for corporate conferences, seminars, and workshops. From state-of-the-art convention centers to upscale hotels with well-equipped meeting rooms, businesses can find the perfect venue to host their events. The city's attractive location, coupled with excellent amenities and services, enhances productivity and fosters a positive atmosphere for successful meetings.

San Diego Day Cruises: For those seeking leisure and relaxation, San Diego's day cruises offer an unforgettable experience on the sparkling waters of the Pacific Ocean. Whether it's a harbor tour, a sunset cruise, or an adventurous whale watching excursion, visitors can revel in the beauty of the city's coastline, spot marine life, and bask in the calming sea breeze. These cruises provide a refreshing break from the bustle of daily life and offer a unique perspective of San Diego's stunning waterfront.

Seamless Blend of Business and Pleasure: San Diego seamlessly blends business and pleasure, allowing travelers to combine productive meetings with leisure activities. After a day of successful conferences, attendees can unwind with a scenic cruise, explore picturesque neighborhoods, indulge in delectable cuisine, or relax on sandy beaches. This combination of professional engagements and recreational opportunities makes San Diego an ideal destination for both works and plays.

In conclusion, San Diego's diverse offerings of dynamic meeting spaces and scenic day cruises make it a captivating destination for corporate events and leisure escapades alike. Whether seeking a productive business environment or a rejuvenating coastal experience, San Diego leaves a lasting impression on every visitor, earning its reputation as a must-visit destination on the West Coast.

[sometimesanalice]

Hey, Sailor

Summary: It’s Fleet Week and Rooster would rather be anywhere else than on the flight deck of the USS Portland. That is, until a pretty thing in a sundress catches his eye and then suddenly his day is looking up. 

Pairing: Bradley”Rooster” Bradshaw x Female Reader

Length: 5.8K

Warnings: Flirty Banter, Smut, and Bradley Bradshaw in Summer Whites (Minors DNI)

Note: When @roosterforme​ asks you to write her a Fleet Week fic, you write the Fleet Week fic! Here you go, Em!  💛

Normally, Rooster loved Fleet Week.

He loved the lively atmosphere and the parades. He loved the free drinks that were handed to him as soon as he entered a bar. And he especially loved all the attention he got from women when he wore his Summer Whites.

He usually came back to the ship looking less than pristine with lipstick on the collar of his uniform and hidden on other places on his body.

The USS Portland was teaming with excited families and camera-happy civilians taking in the sights from deck of the transport ship as they settled in for the five-hour journey to the San Diego. It was a Fleet Week tradition to welcome people aboard for an immersive experience, picking them up from a port further up North and then cruising along the coast before making their final docking for the week.

There were grills set up on the deck and the smell of flame kissed hamburgers and hotdogs mixed with the sea salt air. The sun was shining and the mood was light.

But this year, Rooster simply could not be bothered to give a fuck.

Especially not when he could have been home already instead of being stuck giving tours on a ship that he’d never even stepped foot on prior to three days ago when he and Hangman had been given orders to join in the procession on the vessel into the city after completing a short training deployment.

His superiors had okay-ed the terrible suggestion from some random Public Relations Specialist who clearly didn’t realize that he had better things to do with his time.

Early that morning, Bradley had stood on the dock with his arms crossed and wearing an impassive scowl as they had lifted his Super Hornet onto the flight deck like it was some kind of decorative hood ornament.

Sure, it was fun to watch the kids’ eyes get wide with excitement as they ooh-ed and ahh-ed over the features as he pointed them out, but he was getting hot and uncomfortable in his uniform in the mid-afternoon sun on the black tarmac.

He’d rather be in his service khakis like Seresin. Or better yet, naked at home in his own bed.

How Hangman had weaseled himself onto barbecue duty with a beer in his hand, Rooster would never know. The bastard probably played his Texan sir, I came out of the womb grilling shtick.

And every time he passed by the son of a bitch would give him a cocky salute with his tongs.

Jake was irritating on the best day, but today he was downright insufferable.

And he knew it had everything to do with the fact that Hangman’s girlfriend was laughing and lingering at his side, having surprised him by flying in with tickets for the coastal cruise.

At least someone was having a nice time, because it sure as shit wasn’t him.

Rooster was in the process of wrapping up his fourth tour of the day and handing out a couple of Dixie Cup hats to kids on the landing deck on the stern when he was stopped dead in his tracks and had to do a double take because he eyes were definitely playing tricks on him.

You were the prettiest thing he’s ever seen.

And he swore for a minute time slowed down as you flashed the most gorgeous smile at some Junior Officer as you laughed along with whatever undoubtedly stupid joke he’d told you. All while the wind played with the ends of your hair.

You looked like such nice girl, such a good girl in your pretty light blue sundress.

The sun was bouncing off your shoulders and the little ruffle at the hem was taunting him with the way it danced around your thighs. It coasted over your curves like water, and fit you just snug enough that there wouldn’t be any Marilyn Monroe moments on deck, much to his disappointment. But the blow was cushioned by the stunning display of your smooth, shapely legs.

From the way your breasts bounced as you walked, he knew there was no way in hell you had a bra on under that little dress.

He’s never been able to resist a bad girl wrapped up like the girl-next-door.

From the second he saw you, he knew you were just his type.

And for the first time that day Bradley is grateful to be wearing the crisp, pressed Summer Whites. 

He knew how good his biceps looked in the short sleeves of his uniform. And the way his pants clung to his legs and ass. He’d been spending a lot of his free time in the gym lately and it showed.

He never did mind playing An Officer and a Gentleman when the occasion presented itself, he was always happy to help fuel some fantasies.  

The last time he had worn this uniform out during Fleet Week he ended up going home with an absolute smokeshow, so hopefully whatever appeal his uniform had for him back then can still work for him now.

Fleet Week was finally looking up for him.

However, what he didn’t like was the fact that the butterbar was still dominating your attention.

He wanted that smile turned on him. Wanted to see if the look in your bright eyes would be just as playful with your gaze pinned on him instead. He wanted to be the one making you laugh.

It’s not like he’s going to go over there and lick your face like a kid might try and claim dibs on a cupcake.

No, he was going to act in accordance to his rank and station as an Officer in the United States Navy.

Securing the white cap on his head from where it’s been tucked under his arm at every opportunity he’s had that day, he straightens up to his full height and purposefully struts over to you.

Bradley’s never been one to shy away from making an entrance.

He forcefully taps the younger officer’s shoulder, and glances down when the guy turns around to get a look at his name tag.

“Ensign Hubbard, you’re up for civilian tour duties. The next one is due to start at 1400,” he looks down at his watch for dramatic effect, “Which is in about 10 minutes on the starboard bow, so you best get going if you don’t want to be late, junior.”

He might feel a little guilty for springing this on the kid if it wasn’t entirely within his right to assign him the nonexistent task 684 feet in the opposite direction- a fact he learned in preparation for giving tours all day- and away from you.

Especially when he sees how flustered the guy gets as he rushes through his salute and the stammered apologies he gives you before he takes off in a brisk jog heading towards the other side of the ship.

He stands up a bit taller and makes himself a bit broader as your eyes sweep over him. 

“Apologies for interrupting, ma’am. But I’d be happy to pick up where the Ensign has left off.”

There’s no missing the appraising interest in them as you take him in.

“The tours are starting at the front of the ship now, are they?” you muse out loud with a little tilt of your head. “What are all those folks over there are lining up for then, I wonder?”

You point deliberately to the group of people who are currently being greeted by the Lieutenant who was scheduled to relieve Rooster of tour duties for the next hour.

“Mm, that sure is a mystery. But Hubbard seems like a smart kid, I wouldn’t worry too much about him.” He shrugs with an unapologetic smirk on his face.

You lift a pointed eyebrow at him.

“So, you sent him away…” the almost-but-not-quite question trailing in the breeze.

“I sent him away,” he readily agrees with a nod. His eyes catch on a golden heart-shaped locket that you’re wearing around that dainty neck as it glints in the sunlight.

A smug smile tugs at the corners of your lips as you notice where his eyes have dropped too, “You’re not even going to deny it, Sailor?”

“Nope,” he says with a grin. “And actually, it’s Lieutenant Commander.”

“Ok, Lieutenant.”

“Commander.”

You hmm contemplatively like his rank was somehow up for debate, toying with that damn little heart-shaped locket in a way that was tempting his eyes to drift further down.

Rooster didn’t think it could be possible, but you’re even prettier up close. He knew you’d be stunning, but he couldn’t have prepared himself for the way your mischievous eyes sparkled magnetically. Or for the warmth spreading in his chest with the way you are broadly smiling at him now.

The top buttons of your dress are undone one more than would be strictly considered family friendly. But Bradley wasn’t bothered by that in the least.

 Clearing his throat, he notes, “It’s a nice day for a sail.”

“Ensign Hubbard and I already covered that rather riveting subject earlier,” you tease while looking at him like well, what else have you got.

“Let me try again then.” If you wanted him to put in the work, he was more than up for the challenge. “What brings you for a casual five-hour cruise down the coast on one of the Pacific Fleet’s finest?”

“Now that’s not something we got to before he was telling me about what his ribbons meant in great detail,” you say with a laugh. “Would you believe me if I said I had a deep appreciation for $1.6 billion-dollar ships purchased with Uncle Sam’s defense budget?”

He gives you a half smile as he pretends to contemplate it for a moment, “You know, for some reason, I can’t say that I would.”

“Well, shucks,” you say with an over exaggerated shrug. “What about if I said I was roped into waking up at an ungodly hour to catch a flight up here because my best friend’s boyfriend is a Naval aviator and she wanted me to keep her company for the ‘casual five-hour cruise’, as you called it.”

“Now that I believe,” he drawled. “So, what’s his name?”

“Well, she calls him Jacob. He has one of those silly callsigns too, but I always forget it,” you scrunch your nose adorably as you search for it, “Something-man.”

“You mean Bagman?”

“Yeah, that sounds right.”

He smirks to himself. 

“I take it you know him then?” You wait for his nod before looking up at him from under your lashes and asking him, “Does that mean you have a callsign too?”

“Yes, ma’am. It’s Rooster.”

He doesn’t miss the way you glance down, and he definitely doesn’t hold back his pointed smirk waiting for your eyes to meet his again.

And when he gives you a cocky raise of his eyebrow, all you do is shrug.

You didn’t just look like his type, you are exactly his type.

“Rooster Bradshaw, huh?” you ask, reaching out to tap a finger on rectangular name tag on his chest. “I take it you have a first name, Lieutenant Commander?”

“Sure do,” he drawls, “But it only seems fair that I get yours in return.”

You grin knowingly at him. His cheek ticks up as you stick your hand out towards him and give him your name. It’s pretty and suits you perfectly.

Bradley says it out loud savoring the syllables in his mouth as he shakes your outstretched hand. And he gives you his in exchange.

He likes how much smaller your hand looks in his.

“Since it seems like your friend has ditched you, what do you say about getting a tour? Not to brag, but I’ve been doing it all day and I’ve got it down to a science now.”

“A private tour? Lucky me,” you purr. “Lead the way Lieutenant Commander Bradley Rooster Bradshaw.”

You knew what you were doing, he’d give you that. And he was eating it up with a spoon ready to ask for second, third, and fourth helpings. 

It’s less busy on the flight deck, as people are collecting around the grills waiting for their turn in the buffet lines for the late lunch.

He starts off by showing you his aircraft, giving you a brief rundown of its features.

You run a hand over the body of his fighter jet as he wraps up his now well-practiced spiel, “Do I even want to know how much taxpayer money contributed to this?”

“It depends. Does your appreciation for Uncle Sam’s defense collection extend to F/A-18s too? Or is that strictly reserved for amphibious transport vessels?”

“I’ll keep you posted after I get the full tour,” you say coyly.

“Well then, I shouldn’t keep a lady waiting then. Should I?”

“No, you certainly should not,” you agree.

He guides you past the table that’s set up with squadron memorabilia for people to buy and to the door with a hand on your low back. He’s close enough to smell your perfume now, he wants to bury his nose in your neck to inhale the scent directly from the source.

Rooster navigates the two of you like a pro through the narrow passageways as he takes you to the mess hall where coffee and pre-sliced cakes awaited tour guests. From there he takes you to the galley, the wheelhouse, the engine control room, the 24-bed hospital ward, and the massive hull used to transport heavy machinery.

You as him thoughtful questions every now and then. And he does his best to answer them.  The two of you drift closer and closer, it doesn’t escape his notice the way you brush against him when you pass by to get a closer look at some of the things he shows you.

It’s easily his favorite tour of the day. 

He loves the sound of your laugh as he tells you about some of the mischief that he and members of his squadron managed to avoid getting caught doing.

Along with some of the things that they did get caught doing.

Your teasing grin and witty banter and little sundress have done a number on him. And he isn’t ready to wrap this up by delivering you back on deck until the absolute last minute he has to resume his official tour duties again.

So when he circles back to the airwing, instead of turning left when he should, he leads you to the ladder that would take you down a level.

And he knows he shouldn’t, that he could get in some big trouble for showing you areas that weren’t explicitly on the official list of tour stops. But he’s always been more of the apologize later type.

Plus, he hasn’t been on this ship for very long, it’s not his fault if he manages to get conveniently turned around.

Bradley waits at the bottom of the steep ladder, actively looking anywhere else but up as you make your descent. When you’re at level with him, he helps you down the rest of the way with a steadying hand at your waist.

And when you turn around he doesn’t step back. 

You reach up and run a playful finger along the brim of his cap, “So what’s a girl got to do to get a turn wearing the hat?”

His mind flashes with images of the last time he’d let a woman wear it.

“I’ll have you know this is technically Naval property, they don’t let just anyone have one. You usually have to earn it. But for you?” he pauses and gives you a heated once over, “I’ll let you try it on for free.”

“Well, I wouldn’t want any special treatment,” you say demurely. “But I think in this case, Uncle Sam would understand. I’m a model citizen after all.”

He takes the cap off of his head and gingerly sets it on yours, “You’re something else, that’s for sure.” 

It slides forward down your head, “Oh, it’s heavier than it looks.” And Rooster wishes he had his phone on him to get a picture for himself. He likes the way you look wearing his things.

“Looks good on you,” he hums, letting his finger brush against that little locket around your neck.

You run a bold hand down his chest, “Where to next, Lieutenant?”

This time he doesn’t bother to correct you, he knows the game you’re playing now. 

Instead he grips your hips and pushes you against the ladder and brings his mouth to yours.You make a noise of surprise before your arms are wrapping around his neck to pull him in closer. 

The kiss starts out light and teasing. Your lips are so soft beneath his. He gently grazes his teeth against your lower lip, before gliding his tongue along the seam of your mouth seeking entrance. The sweep of your tongue against his is everything. The soft moans escaping you are making his pulse thrum in his veins. 

It would be so easy for him to get lost in the feeling of your perfect body against his and of the way your fingers were playing with the short hairs on the nape of his neck. But he’s already pushing the limits bringing you down here, he can’t get distracted by kissing you out in the open where anyone could stumble upon the two of you.

The small whimper that you make when he pulls away makes him grin. As does the sight of his cap sitting crookedly on your head. 

He thumbs at the lipstick that’s smudged at the side of your mouth, “C’mon, I’ve got one more place I want to show you.”

This time he takes your hand as he guides you down the gray passageway and through the door on the left.

The ready room on the USS Portland is much smaller than the one’s he is familiar with from the aircraft carriers he is usually on, but the set-up is mostly the same. There are a couple of projection screens adhered on the bulkheads and there are a few rows of leather seats with a swivel tray tables attached to the arm rests.

“Tell me what happens in here.” You ask him so genuinely, so sweetly and he already knows he wouldn’t stand a chance against you with the way you flutter those eyelashes at him.

So he tells you. 

He likes that you want to know these details about his job, he likes that he gets to share this with you. Even if the clock is ticking down before he has to get back on deck.

Rooster watches the tantalizing way your sundress dances around your thighs as you walk around the space. You take a seat in one of the chairs in the front row and pull the desk top over you before turning to him with a beaming smile with his cap still perched on your head.

And he is hit with a wave of affection for you so intense that it makes it hard for him to breathe for a moment.

He’s grateful when you see something else that catches your eye, giving him a moment to get himself back under control. You’ve got him feeling like he should be on his knees for you.

In the spot where he is used to seeing a lectern, on this ship there is a glossy wooden table inlaid with the ship’s coat of arm that you standing over.

“Does every ship have their own unique crest? Do you know what the symbols are for?”

He really needs to figure out who put him on tour duty and send them an Edible Arrangement or something. And maybe one for whoever put together the ten-page packet of “fun facts” that he had rolled his eyes at when he had first seen it.

“Yes, ma’am, I sure do.” He comes up to stand behind you, resting his chin on your shoulder as his arms cage you in against the table. “Yes, all ships come with their own. It’s something that the prospective commanding officers are responsible for designing when new ships are about to be launched.”

You lean forward a bit, gazing your ass against him, “Dark blue and gold are traditional Navy colors, right?” He hums confirmation into your neck, as he runs his mustache along your soft skin. He feels more than hears your sharp inhale. “What does the gear on the anchor mean?”

He drops a kiss to your shoulder, “The cog is a symbol of manufacturing, a nod to the ship’s namesake and the city’s history for building ships in World War II.”

You grab his wrist and bring his arm across your body, he takes the hint and presses in closer into you. “And the trident?”

God, you feel so perfect in his arms. Your body is fitting against his like a dream.

“The black symbolizes determination,” he murmurs into the space where you neck and shoulder meet. “And the choice of the three prongs is because it’s the third ship to be given the name.”

You lean your head to the side, and he takes the opportunity to trail open-mouth kisses up your neck. Your nails bite into his forearm in response, as you rock back against his rapidly hardening cock. “And the rose?”

“Portland is the City of Roses.”

“Does it have any other meaning?” you ask soft and breathy.

“It represents strong ties, baby. It’s a symbol for the supportive partners and wives of those serving onboard,” he whispers low and sweet into your ear.

“Bradley,” you sigh as you turn your head towards him for a kiss. It’s desperate and wet. And he can almost taste the neediness of your moan on his tongue.

He’s never done anything like this while on duty on a ship before, and the thrill of it has his veins thrumming with adrenaline.

“You’ve had me hook, line and sinker since the damn second I saw you.” He grinds himself against your ass and you whimper at the contact. “What do you want from me? I’ll be so good to you, so good for you.”

“Want you to touch me,” you pant into his mouth, “Want you to fuck me, Rooster. It’s the only thing I’ve been able to think about.”

“Fuck me.” He can feel his pulse thundering in his throat.

“I’m trying to,” you whine.

He barks a strained laugh before he spins you around, crowds you into the table. He doesn’t waste any time getting his lips back on yours, slipping his tongue into your mouth. You meet him stroke for stroke, just like you’ve been doing since the moment he laid eyes on you.

“This fucking dress,” he groans when he cups your breast through your fabric, as you fill his palm in just the right way. You arch your chest into his hand, and he was feeling entirely too self-satisfied in the confirmation that you weren’t wearing a bra. “Knew you weren’t a good girl.”

“So why are you treating me like one?” you taunt, breathlessly. Your greedy hands go straight to his cock, squeezing him through his pants.

Your hand feels so good on him.

“God, you’re so much fucking trouble,” he rasps, throwing his head back.You lean forward and your hot mouth works against the hollow of his throat. 

He’s trying to undo some of the tiny buttons that line the front of your dress, but the teasing way your tongue is dipping out to trace the line of his tendon is making it hard for him to think.

“Are you gonna show me how you got that silly, little callsign of yours or not?” You give him one more squeeze, before bringing your hands up to the button of his white pants.

He knocks your hands out of the way before roughly grabbing your ass and hauls you firmly against him, “That feel little to you?”

Your gasp makes his fingertips dig further into your ass. The pretty color of your eyes has been completely eclipsed by your heavy, dark pupils. He can feel the way your thighs clench together.

“You want my attention? You’ve got it, baby,” he roughly rasps, “Go on then, show me how bad you can be.”

He dips his head down for a filthy, hungry kiss.

You push him back with a hand to his chest and a gleam in your eyes. You hold his heated gaze as you slowly undo his zipper and reach into his boxer briefs to pull him out. He moans when your thumb sweeps over the top of his cock.

Rooster thinks for a second that you’re going to drop to your knees for him, the mental image of you looking up at him with those doe-eyes is enough to make his jaw clench with desire. Especially with the way your sundress is gaping open at the top, giving him a clear view of the swells of your breasts.

Instead, you surprise him by bending over that glossy table and shimmying the skirt of your dress up over your luscious hips.

“Holy shit.”

You’re wearing the smallest, laciest little thong he’s ever fucking seen.

The band is a series of crisscrossed straps attached to some intricate and dainty floral lace. The juxtaposition of it against your skin is enough to make his ears ring. He’ll be dreaming of the way you’re enticingly arching your ass towards him for months.

And he’ll sure as shit never be able to be in a Ready Room again without getting a hard-on. The memory of you bent over the table before him will forever be ingrained in his brain.

“Is this bad enough for you, Lieutenant Commander?” You shoot him a grin over your shoulder as you wiggle your hips invitingly.

That sultry smile is swiped from your face the moment his large hand connects with your perfect ass. The sound echoes throughout the small room. He palms you once more before he yanks down your barely-there thong.

“Gonna fuck that attitude right out of you.”

Giving himself a few rough pumps, he lines himself up and slides into you with one steady thrust.

You both release an unrestrained groan of the sensation of him filling your warm, wet cunt. He barely gives you a moment to adjust to the size of him before he starts moving.

“’s big,” you sigh shakily.

“Tell me how much you like this cock.”

He slaps your pert ass again when you release a breathy whimper instead of answering him.

“Feels good, Rooster.” Your hands are struggling to find a way to support yourself as he fucks into you. “You feel so good.”

He pushes your dress higher up your body, his eyes are greedy for more of your skin. What he wouldn’t give to have you entirely naked and spread out before him. He wants to see all of you, he wants to hear you loud and needy for him.

“You’re so fucking pretty,” he murmurs as he watches himself smoothly gliding in and out of you.

The little noises you are making are driving him crazy. He knows you’re trying to muffle your sweet moans and sighs and whines. The sound of your bodies coming together fills the room.

How his cap is still perched on your head he doesn’t know, it jostles every time your bodies come together.

“I need more,” you beg, “Need you to touch me.”

“Ask me nicely.” He punctuates the demand with a sharp snap of his hips.

“Please, Bradley. Please.”

He slides his hand around to the front of you, his fingers drawn to your clit like a magnet. You keen at the contact and tilt your hips into his hand. The sound is music to his ears, “That’s more like it.” 

He doesn’t think there’s anything else better on the planet than being buried in your perfect pussy. You’re so wet for him. He already knows he’s going to need more of this, more of you.

“You’re taking me so well,” Bradley grunts as he speeds up his thrusts, “Looks like all you needed was a nice, thick cock. Just a sweet thing now, aren’t you?”

“Oh my god,” you gasp as you writhe against him. “F-fuck.”

He is so turned on by the way his hands span across you as he grips your waist and pulls you against him with every roll of his hips. His heart is racing in his chest.

The feeling of your body tensing around him is paradise. There is nothing he wants more than to be able to draw this out, but he is all too aware of how quickly time is slipping away from him.

He sets a rough and unrelenting pace. Redoubling his efforts on your clit, his indulgent strokes turn into tight, purposeful circles. And you cry out at the change of sensation on that sensitive part of you.

Your thighs start to tremble as his cock drags against that spot deep inside of you. The heat is pooling in his lower back as he fucks into you over and over again.

“Rooster, I’m gonna-”

“I know, baby. Let me feel it,” he murmurs hotly against your ear, his thumb rubbing back and forth across your clit. “Come on my cock like a good girl.”

The goosebumps erupt across your body like fireworks a moment before he feels you shiver and tremble beneath him as you come with a choked sob. The way you spasm and clench around him is dizzying.

Bradley is teetering on the edge, your cunt felt like heaven. Warm and wet and gripping him just right. He almost doesn’t want to give himself up to it as the pressure at the base of his spine intensified. He doesn’t want to stop fucking you.

You’re so perfect for him.

He loses himself to the feeling of your pussy milking him as you continue to pulse and writhe in the aftershocks of your orgasm. He grips your hips harder as he pounds into you before emptying himself inside of you with a shattered groan.

And for a moment all he can hear is the blood rushing in his ears as he works to catch his breath. Rooster feels like his knees might buckle as the soft whimper you make when he pulls out of you.

He gently pulls that lacy little thong back up and helps to pull your dress back down over your hips and thighs before turning you around and lifting you onto the custom table. 

He doesn’t know how he is going to make it through the rest of the journey knowing his come is collecting in your panties.

You’re flushed and looking thoroughly well-fucked as you smile up at him brightly.

Bradley threads his finger under the chain of your little gold heart-shaped locket that was etched with a rose in full bloom, and lightly tugs you in closer for a lingering kiss.

“I see you found your gift early, baby.”

Bradley would never forget the first time he saw you that night at the bar downtown last year during Fleet Week.

He had noticed you right away, it had been impossible not to. You and your girlfriends had been all done up in hot pink outfits for the Bachelorette party you were out celebrating.

Your friend had flounced right up to Jake taking the shot of whiskey out of his hand before swallowing it down then cheekily offering to buy him a replacement. Hangman had been wrapped around her finger ever since.

While your friends had all but shoved you in his direction while he had looked on entirely entertained as you had shot a scathing glare back at them. A sparkling tiara that read Bridesmaid sat crookedly on your head.

And then you had greeted him with a “Hey, Sailor” so weak that the couldn’t help but let out an amused laugh. There was a split second where he thought that he might have fucked it up before it could even start, but then you smiled back at him.

It was a charmingly self-deprecating smile and he was yours from the moment he saw it.

“Hiding it in your nightstand next to the batteries wasn’t the most original of spots, Rooster,” you affectionately tease him. “I didn’t mean to peek, but the remote stopped working. I hope you’re not mad. I love it.”

He could never be mad at you, especially not with his necklace around your neck. You were his, and he was so gone for you.

“It looks so pretty on you,” he tells you softly as his fingers brush over your collarbones.

“Oh my god, Rooster, I can’t we defiled Naval property.” You giggle as you wrap your legs around him to pull him closer to circle your arms around his neck.

“I hate to break it to you, but you’ve been defiling Naval property ever since you brought me home with you the night we met.”

You take that cap off of your head and set it back on his, and lean in to kiss him on the cheek, “Glad I’m getting a good return on my taxes then.” 

He snorts a laugh, “God, I’ve missed you, baby. What are doing here? I thought you weren’t coming until the end of the week.”

“And miss the visual and culinary offerings of the USS Portland? I wouldn’t dream of it.” You joke as you run your hands along his arms where they’re pressed on the table on either side of you. “This uniform drives me just as crazy as it did last year.”

“Just the uniform?” he asks as he nudges his nose against yours.

“Maybe it has a little something to do with the man in the uniform,” you make a little hum as you check him out. “You’re so tan, Bradley, have you been using the sunscreen I sent with you-”

He crushes his mouth to yours, you were undoubtedly best thing that’s ever happened to him during Fleet Week.

“I’m glad I still do it for you,” he murmurs against your mouth before giving you another deep kiss.

The two of you work quickly to get yourselves looking presentable again. He’s only got a little time left before he is due to return to his tour duties back on deck.

He helps you back up the ladder and takes that left turn when he’s supposed to this time. All while your hand is tucked securely in his.

When you’re both back on the open flight deck he walks you over to the railing along the edge of the ship and wraps you up in his arms to watch the coastline crawl by with his last few moments of freedom. 

“I really love Fleet Week,” you say with a contented sigh, as you lean your head back against his shoulder.

The golden rays from the sun are hitting you in a way that makes his chest warm.

“I do too, baby. It’s the best.”

Yeah, Rooster fucking loves Fleet Week.

Who doesn’t love a man in Summer Whites?! Consider this my formal petition for more Dress Whites in TG3!

Thank you for reading!

Update! If you want to learn about the night they met, I wrote these two a little prequel series you can read here!

Hey, Sailor Moodboard

A peek inside the USS Portland One | Two

If you’re curious, here is some info on the crest I found! One | Two | Three

You can check out my other stories and series here!

Taglist:

@gretagerwigsmuse​ @sehnsuchts-trunken @notroosterbradshaw @tongue-like-a-razor @laracrofted @bradshawsbitch @starryeyedstories @top-hhun-main @itscheybaby @prettylittlelauraa @startrekfangirl2233 @marantha @callsign-viper @teacupsandtopgun @itsizzythebell @shanimallina87 @angelbabyange @boltgirl426 @oneelleandaneye @mizzzpink @cornishkat @torres-espana @uzumegui @dont-talk-me-down @fandomunite2107 @alana4610 @20th-centu-fairy-girl @pariahsparadise @pono-pura-vida @donttouchmycarrots @nina-sj @eg-dr3amer3 @whaledots-blog @a-beaverhausen @misty-inferno @angellwingsss @hangmanscoming @mandolin22 @theweekndhistorybook @lilpeekabooze @high-bi-imgonnacry @ahintofkiwistrawberry @mrsdaamneron @ruewrote @spiderman-stilinski @jayniebop @melllinaa @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @mandolin22 @imaginecrushes​

[bradshawssugarbaby]

Girl, You're My Angel - Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

summary: Bradley Bradshaw's a down on his luck first baseman in the MLB, struggling to find his stride in the game he loves so much. A wedding invite from his ex-wife is enough to convince him to go for a drink, trying to forget about everything going on. He wasn't banking on meeting you though.

pairing: baseball!Bradley Bradshaw x reader (nicknamed Angel)

warnings/content: baseball au, mentions of divorce, smoking, alcohol, reference to drunk driving, bar fight, mentions of blood, Bradley having a dirty mind.

word count: 3k.

taglist (also tagging those who were interested in Take One For The Team since it's a similar vibe and explains the lack of updates lol): @avengersfan25, @jessicab1991, @atarmychick007, @b-bradshaw, @nouis-bum, @mamachasesmayhem, @floydsmuse, @kmc1989, @dckweed, @katfanfic, @nerdgirljen, @whatislovevavy, @mrsevans90, @averyhotchner, @yuckosworld, @tgmreader, @allepaula, @lourd-ita, @mariaenchanted

The booming bass drum of a classic rock song thumped in your head as you gripped the cocktail glass in your hand. The liquid sloshed around in the glass as you danced, swaying to and fro with your best friends, trying your best to enjoy yourself on your girls’ night out. Your finals had just wrapped up, and you were this much closer to earning your masters, the only thing standing between you and getting that embossed sheet of paper, was your grades. To unwind after the cram sessions you’d mustered your way through for the past month, your friends dragged you out to some new amusement bar in the Gaslamp Quarter. 

Across the bar, on the other side of the room, stood Bradley Bradshaw, a once promising baseball star who now, had earned himself a reputation as the MLB’s resident asshole - unable to take criticism or a loss without lashing out at someone. His recent stunt involved hurling his baseball bat across the diamond when he struck out in practice, frustrated with his sudden lack of skill, a skill that once came so naturally to him when his mind wasn’t preoccupied. 

The invitation had come in the mail two days before the bat throwing incident. His ex-wife, the one who left him two and a half years ago, was remarrying the fucking prick she cheated on Bradley with. The invite had come completely out of the blue, and when Bradley opened it, he felt all of the air leave his lungs as his fingers traced over the gold embossed lettering, donning her name and the name of her new fiancé. He’d never admit it to anyone, but that single piece of cardstock had been enough to reduce him to tears, slumping down the kitchen wall as he hugged his knees to his chest, crying loud enough that it made him thankful he had no neighbours near by.

Bradley had pulled himself together, lit a cigarette from the pack he’d been nursing for the last few months, reserved only for social events and times of pure stress, and got in his vintage Ford Bronco, his first purchase when he signed his first contract. Taking a drag from the cigarette, his brown eyes scanned over San Diego’s downtown core as he cruised past a few of the typical nightlife spots - each one a little too public for what he wanted. All other options exhausted, he pulled up outside of a newer bar that had opened the previous week, neon lights advertising an arcade on one side and drinks on the other. 

He figured if nothing else, a couple of rounds of Pac-Man on an old video game after a handful of beers might do him good. He could leave the Bronco parked there and walk to the hotel around the corner, and forget about how his ex-wife’s wedding was coming up in six months, how she’d had the audacity to invite him to see her marrying the guy he’d walked in on her with.  

He sidled up to the bar, nodding his head to the bartender in thanks as he ordered himself a beer. Standing across from him was a group of women, not much younger than him, gossiping and giggling together. He sized the group up, thinking to himself that maybe a one-night deal was what he needed to take his mind off his ex. 

You were the tallest girl of the group, with bright eyes, and hair brushed back in a sleek, high ponytail, sporting a form-fitting cocktail dress that made Bradley’s heart race when he saw you. He pounded back the rest of his beer, trying to find his confidence in himself once again in the comfort of the drink. 

Bradley set his empty bottle down on the bar top before walking his way around the circular counter. He rested his elbow on the bar, leaning in with a broad smile as you looked in his direction. He offered a polite wave of his hand, chuckling awkwardly as he felt his confidence wavering as he spoke to you. 

“Hey, could I buy you a drink? He said simply, his Virginian accent dropping into a thicker drawl than usual.

“I’m good, thanks, still got one,” You held up your half-full glass and shook your head politely, not wanting to reject him too brutally. 

Bradley nodded his head once at you, his smile faltering for a second. He quickly regained himself, smiling once again politely before grabbing himself another beer and heading over to the arcade, resolving that a couple of old-school video games might make his night a little better. 

It wasn’t that he wasn’t used to rejection - he’d been turned down almost as often as he’d been accepted, but for some reason, your rejection stung just that little bit more. Maybe it was the wedding invitation still making things sour, or maybe it was the fact that the mere sight of a girl hadn’t been enough to make his heart accelerate like this in a long time. He shook his head once, trying to focus his train of thought once again on something, anything other than what was currently occupying it. 

Baseball? Too stressful, his game was starting to slip up on him. Buying a puppy? No, it’d just be one more thing he could let down. Hitting the gym? He already went 6 days a week - if he went any more frequently, he’d have to consider moving his bed in there. 

His mind raced as he pressed the buttons on the video game, moving the small yellow circle across the screen, collecting points between sips of beer. Behind him, he heard a couple of guys shouting at a tv screen, the sound of the latest sports highlights blaring out in the background. 

“This Bradshaw asshole needs to get his shit together. Twenty-nine and he plays about as well as my ten year old. Drop him down to the minors or get rid of the bastard. He shouldn’t be missing plays like this.” One of the voices shouted at the tv, his friends nodding their heads in silent agreement with his rant.

Bradley felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand at attention as the insults about his playing continued to spout from this guy’s mouth. He couldn’t have been much older than Bradley was, one of those armchair commentators who probably hadn’t swung a bat since Little League. As the criticism continued, each jab focused directly at Bradley’s game performance, missing one play that cost a game - one that he’d already been feeling pissed off about - it became harder to ignore. 

“I bet that hot little piece of ass wife of his left him because she knew he was a dogshit baseball player.” 

Bradley spun around on his heels so fast that he swore the room was spinning. He turned to face the group, crowded in a corner in front of the tv, faces all glued to the female commentator. Bradley could practically hear the derogatory thoughts they were having about her and it only fuelled his anger more. 

“Hey, man, if you’ve got an issue with how I play the game, I’d like to see you get off your ass and go play nine innings against Boston. Keep my ex-wife’s name out of your mouth.” Bradley scoffed, narrowing his dark brown eyes at the trio. 

“You got a problem, jackass?” The other man growled, raising an eyebrow at Bradley as he slammed his drink down on the table. “She probably left you for that rookie because even she knew you weren’t good for anything.”

“That so? Your wife would probably like to go a couple rounds with me though.” Bradley retorted, a devilish smirk forming on his face as he folded his muscular arms across his chest. 

Before Bradley had time to blink, the man drew back his arm and landed a hard punch to Bradley’s jaw. Bradley quickly delivered a stronger hit to the man’s face, watching him stumble backwards for a second. Bradley turned around and walked outside, getting ready to light another cigarette as he ran his hand over his jaw, assessing if he had any damage to worry about. 

The man returned, practically running outside after Bradley. More heated words were exchanged, insults flying between them both before the man delivered another hit, this time to Bradley’s nose. He shook his hand off and headed off down the street with his friends, disappearing off to the next bar. Bradley held his nose, blood dripping down from his nostrils and onto his hand. 

You and your friends had heard the commotion when it unfolded inside, and decided to head out, having enough excitement for one night. As you stepped out, you saw the man who’d hit on you earlier, this time with his nose bleeding onto the pavement under him. You ran over to him, raising an eyebrow.

“What did you do, hit on a girl who had a boyfriend?” You asked playfully as you rooted through your purse for something to help clean his nose.

“Called a guy out for saying my ex-wife was a “hot piece of ass”, actually,” Bradley nodded once, gratefully taking the tissues from you and using them to clean his nose. 

“Stick your hand out for a sec,” you instructed, squirting a dollop of scented hand sanitizer into his large palm before raising an eyebrow at him, “You don’t have anything I could catch from helping you without gloves?”

“What the hell is that suppose to mean?” Bradley scoffed, trying to laugh but wincing instead, “And why the fuck does my hand smell like a flower?”

“Lavender hand sanitizer. It’s not as good as washing your hands, but it’ll do while we’re outside. And I’m going to hold the tissues in place while you rub it into your hands, but I don’t want to catch something. I’m just fresh out of latex gloves.”

“Good thing. I’m allergic,” he laughed, shrugging his shoulders as he tried to brave through the pain, “I’m clean. You’re fine. I get drug tested and physicals through work constantly.” 

“What kind of a job provides those? Military?” 

“Professional athlete.” He nodded as you pinched the tissues to his nose, applying pressure to help with the bleeding. “Fuck, that hurts.”

“Your nose is broken, it’s suppose to hurt.”

“What are you, a doctor?”

“No, just wrote my finals for a masters in nursing.”

“Close enough,” Bradley nodded slightly, cringing as you continued to apply pressure to his nose.

You rooted through your purse, laughing softly as you pulled a tampon out of your bag. Bradley raised an eyebrow at you, not quite registering what the item was until you pulled the plastic wrapping off of it, stuffing the garbage back into your purse.

“What the fuck do you plan on doing with that?”

“I need to stick it up your nose on the left side. It’s bleeding more than I’d like to see, and a broken nose should probably be set in a medical setting. This way, you won’t bleed all over my car.”

“Your car? You’ve been drinking.”

“Half a vodka-cran over the span of three hours? I think I’m probably not gonna blow over the limit.”

“You are not sticking that up my nose,” he replied stubbornly, arms folding over his chest like a petulant child. 

“Look at your shirt,” you laughed, gesturing to the white floral print button down he was wearing, its collar now tinged with red and pink splotches. 

“Fine,” he said with a reluctant sigh, “but if anyone finds out about this, I’m denying it.”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” you nodded as you offered him the plastic applicator. 

Bradley rolled his eyes and reluctantly pressed the bottom of the applicator, pushing the tampon into the edge of his nose. He looked at you with another dramatic eyeroll and shook his head before walking down the street to a garbage can. He discarded the applicator before turning to face you, sighing. 

“I can take myself to a hospital, you know.”

“I’m already here, I may as well come with you. Besides, I feel kinda bad about turning you down.”

“Oh, so you’re taking care of me out of pity?” He teased, raising an eyebrow.

“Maybe. Even more so with a tampon hanging out of your nose.”

“It’s quite the fashion statement, isn’t it?” He laughed softly, unbuttoning his dress shirt. He shrugged the shirt off his shoulders, revealing a clean white t-shirt. 

You unlocked your car, the familiar beep as the doors unlocked causing Bradley to stifle a laugh.

“What is that?!” 

“My car,” you responded matter-of-factly, “What does it look like?”

“One of those cars for a Barbie doll that my goddaughter plays with,” he said as he flourished his hand, gesturing to your pink steering wheel cover and coordinating seat cover.

“Listen, I like pink. Now are you getting in, or do I have to make you?”

Bradley’s eyes widened for a moment, your playful threat of making him get into the car sending his mind into a frenzy again. He eyed you up and down again, and found himself shaking his head as he wondered what colour underwear you had on under your dress. He bet it was probably a coordinating pink set - the kind that Victoria’s Secret mannequins would model in the store window, with delicate little bows or lace or something adorning them. 

Focus, Bradley. She doesn’t want to sleep with you. Stop thinking about her.

He sat down in the passenger’s seat, watching as you hopped into the driver’s side. As you pulled away from the curb, he raised an eyebrow at your choice in music as Taylor Swift started blaring from the speaker.

“You can change it if you want to,” you nodded. “You can put on whatever.”

“No, no, It’s fine. I actually like this song.”

“You said you’re a professional athlete? What sport do you play?”

“Baseball,” he said, slowly nodding his head, “my headshot’s on a flag outside of Petco Park.”

“I thought I recognized you, you’re that player everyone always talks about, right?”

“Unfortunately. It’s rarely good things.”

“How come?”

Bradley sighed, raising an eyebrow, “You know they talk about me but not why?”

“I don’t follow baseball, I've actually never even seen a game, live or on tv. I just know my friend does and she told me everyone talks about you. Bradshaw, right? Number 10?”

“Yeah, that’s me. Bradley Bradshaw. First baseman, used to have a promising career, then, you know, wife cheats on me with a rookie from a rival team, catch her in a hotel room that I paid for with him, and then, despite me stupidly telling her I forgave her and you know what, I was pissed, but I loved her anyway and I blamed myself for her cheating, she served me divorce papers. Said I was incapable of loving anything but baseball. Says the woman who refused to do anything with me when I tried to be loving and affectionate. My friends swear she only married me for the status and the paycheck. Her new fiancé just signed a multi-million dollar contract that’s being talked about as one of the highest in the league, so it sort of checks out.” 

“Jeez,” you whistled, shaking your head, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. It was two and half years ago. I just, I haven’t found my stride again yet, I guess.” 

“Is that why you got defensive about her?”

“They said she left me for this other guy because she knew I was a dogshit ball player. I mean, it’s probably not far off. But, I got an invite for her wedding in the mail today, and I was already on edge, so I sort of…snapped.”

“She invited you?!” 

“Yeah, like that, huh? She probably thought I have someone new I’m seeing and that we could still be friends or some shit.”

“So you need a date?”

“I’m not going,” he said firmly, shaking his head. “I’m not going.”

“Why not? Free drinks for a night, you can wish her well while secretly hoping her husband’s ball career washes out on him in a year or two.”

Bradley chuckled, shrugging his shoulders as he gestured his hand towards you, “I like your thinking actually, but I’m not going alone.”

“I’ll go with you,” you offered, shrugging your shoulders, “When is it?”

“In six months, you don’t need to come with me though. I’ll send her some cheap gift and call it a day.”

“No,” you insisted as you pulled into a parking space at the hospital’s urgent care clinic, “I’ll come with you. I love a good revenge story. Besides, it could be fun. I’ve never partied with a bunch of baseball players before.”

“You’re…you’re something else, you know that?”

“You mean, you don’t have dozens of women offering you a tampon to stop your nosebleed, driving you to the hospital and then offering to accompany you to your ex-wife’s wedding date?” you challenged.

“Can’t say that I do, no.”

“Well, I’m honoured to be your first.” 

Bradley couldn’t help his ear to ear grin as he followed you into the hospital. Despite his bloodied, battered nose, which was hurting more than he cared to let on, and his fledging career, falling apart around him as he stood there, he felt genuinely excited. Excited to get to know you better. Excited to see where things went with you. He felt a promising sense in your words - like maybe, just maybe, he might be able to be done with one-night-stands and empty beds in the morning. He felt giddy, like a teenager going on a first date with his high school crush. He wasn’t sure if it was the pain from his nose or the alcohol talking, but he was almost convinced you were a guardian angel of sorts. Refusing to believe that someone like you could be anything but. 

First things first though, he needed to bring you to a baseball game. 

[the-soliloquies-of-sadists]

#361

“Hey what’s going on?...  Yeah I recognize you.  You’re the cocksucker who knows how to take care of my fat hog.  You been up here for a while?  You get any loads?  Yeah this place has no cruising during the day.  Ever since they switched my schedule around, I am up here around 7:30 in the morning.  It’s been dead every time I stop.  I now only pull off to take a piss before heading back on the road; it’s the only good spot to do it.  I figured with me leaving the office three hours late that there would be some activity, some hungry boy needing some daddy dick….  Boy, I see you licking your lips.  You’re hungry for dad’s cock.  Aren’t you?  You remember where to go?...  Not, yet.  We are going to do it a little different today.  When you go to the other side of the truck, before you kneel in position, I want you to strip naked.  Naked means everything comes off including your glasses and watch.  Wait with your eyes closed and your mouth open.  I’ve got to make a call….

“...I spoke to dispatch, and I told them that I won’t be able to deliver this camper to them until well after closing.  We got plenty of time.  Keep your mouth open and your eyes shut.  Keep still….  Too bad I don’t have access to the keys to the camper.

“Ahhh. There we go….  I told you I had to take a piss.  It just needed a few moments.  I said keep your mouth open; when it fills, drink it down.  I want you covered in it.  Fuck yeah boy.

“You look natural down there.  Hell yeah.  You are going to smell like a fuck urinal.  My fucking urinal.  Damn!  You are covered!  And don’t you fucking insult me by wiping that off.  It’s to dry there. 

“I remember, you used to eat my ass.  It hasn’t been tongue scrubbed in a long time; most likely you were the last boy to do so.  Get in there.  It’s probably nasty back there.  Work called me in on my day off, and I left the house this morning without showering.  It’s probably real rank back there.

“Oh fuck! Your tongue does not care.  It feels so good.  You know how to treat a man’s asshole right.  Get that tongue in there. 

“Don’t worry.  I’m watching if anyone pulls off the highway.  Your focus should be on sucking yesterday’s sweat and musk from my ass crack. 

“You like eating dad’s hole?  I can tell.  I wish I had one of those toilet seats on legs.  You could slurp my ass for hours….  What?  In your trunk?  You have one in your trunk?...  You really are a whore.  Go get it. 

“No leave your clothes here.  Take your keys, I want to see you go across the lot naked….

“Fuck yeah boy!  Don’t cover your pecker.  Let it swing….

“…Hell yeah.  If it was up to me, you would be kept naked pretty much all the time.  Go on set it up right here on the asphalt.  In fact, I want you to lay in my piss puddle like a good little pig.  You really want my ass don’t you?

“Go on eat.  Tongue fuck me.  And leave your pecker alone.  You are here to satisfy my needs not yours.  In fact, reach up and play with my nips.

“Oh shit, an SUV is pulling in.  Stay put.  They can’t see you.  Fuck.  I knew it; as soon as I sat down…. Don’t move.  They appear to be turning around and pulling out.

“This probably isn’t the best thing to be doing right here.  What’s your schedule like for today?...  What about tomorrow?  So you are wide open.  Wanna ride with me to San Diego?  The company is paying for a motel.  I’ll fuck you all night.  I can cum multiple times. In between I’ll rest by sitting on your face. 

“There’s a 24-hour Walmart at the next exit.  We can store your car there.  Tomorrow afternoon, I’ll drop you off there with a stretched out hole and a belly full of piss and cum.

“You want to?...  Good.  Put that toilet seat on legs in the back.  But first.  I have to say.  I’m a demanding prick with a demanding prick.  I am in full control of both your holes.  I plan on using them without asking you first.  You come with me, you will be agreeing to that.  I don’t know if you remember how I fuck, but I go right to the root on the first thrust.  You better be lubed up and cleaned out.  Are you?... lubed up and cleaned out?  Good, good.  Let’s do this.  Get up…. 

“Where are you going?  Get back here.  Bend over.  Hold on to something.  I am not going to drive five hours all horned up with full balls, especially with a boy’s ass a few feet away from me.  Let’s get you loaded up.

“I thought you said you were lubed up.  Oh well, son, it’s your hole that’s going to bleed, not mine.”

[helloitstsyu]

Heated Look | Pete "Maverick" Mitchell [18+]

my masterlist

A/N : Basically i can't get this picture out of my head. So this is inspired by this beautiful picture of Tom Cruise's arms

Pairing : Maverick x Female Reader

Warnings : unprotected sex, oral, guys i don't have to warn you the [18+] has already said it all and don't pretend y'all don't know what you're getting yourself into! Xx

The scorching heat of San Diego beamed to the inside of the room. The air conditioning barely even helps cause you're feeling hot all over your body. Due to the intense heat, you barely can wrap your head around the topic Maverick presenting to the whole dagger team right now. He's probably explaining the same thing over and over again that the mission is a death penalty when it's not flown exactly how he pictures it.

Your body is in the room, but your soul goes away. Your focus is elsewhere, not on what he has to say or what he has to teach. Honestly, you just want this day to end quickly. You want to hop under the shower head and turn it to the coolest setting possible.

You watch how Maverick rolls up his sleeves, revealing his arms. Suddenly, the temperature feels as if it drops a couple of degrees hotter. His arms are veiny and muscular. The way he moves them when he explains the mission makes you wonder about something else. Something that is rather inappropriate to thought about your instructor. Your much older than you instructor.

The room went silent, his voice becoming a muffling sound to your ear. All you could focus on is his arms. You imagine the filthiest things it could do. How good it'll look pinning you against the wall, gripping your hair, holding your hips. More than that, how good it'll look around your neck.

Not gonna lie, Maverick has caught your attention ever since he made the dagger squad to join him for a dogfight football. That day, you notice how appealing he truly is. And ever since, you can't deny there's an attraction that's pulling you towards him.

"...Y/CS." Maverick's calling you.

You woke up from your daydream. All eyes are on you now, including Maverick's. Maverick walks in front of his desk and leans back on it. He crossed his arms in front of his chest.

"Could you repeat what Rooster just explains to me?" He asks.

Shit.

You have been zoning out and went to the fucking fantasy land for the last 5 minutes. You have no idea what Rooster just said.

"Uh... um--" you stutter and struggle to find an answer.

"Care to tell me what's occupying your mind, Lieutenant?" He cuts you.

That you imagined him having filthy sex with you? Choking you with his sexy hand?--- Not a good idea to share that with the whole squad, yeah?

Maverick nods and walks towards you. He sets both of his hands down on your desk and leans forward to you while keeping his eyes glued to yours. His face stays only inches away from you. His beautiful green eyes stare deeply into your eyes as if he scanned your thoughts. You could smell his intoxicating perfume. Your heart starts to pound a little faster inside your chest.

"If you want to stay on the mission i suggest you to pay attention, Lieutenant," Maverick said with a voice just above a whisper.

"Ye-" you clear your throat. "Yes, Sir." You answered.

Maverick stands up tall again, green eyes still glued to you while he takes a few steps backwards from you.

"That's it for today, you're all dismissed."

Everyone quickly stands up to their feet and walks to the door, including you. You want, no, you need fresh air in your lungs.

"Not you, Y/CS." Maverick stop your step once you nearly make it out of the room. You turn on your heels and look back to your instructor. He walks towards you after he gathers up his files.

"Meet me in my office." He said as he walk past you.

---

You wait for Maverick in his office while he went to report back today's activity and progress to Admiral Simpson and Admiral Bates. Took him about 15-20 minutes. But those 15-20 minutes feel like hell. You keep wondering and overthink about what he'll say.

Is he really that mad, are you grounded?

Then the door opened, Maverick comes in with a smirk on his face when he founds you already in his office.

"Sir," you stand up straight in a formal position.

He walks behind his desk and puts down the files that he's holding on.

"Sit down," he orders.

You then just follow what he said. You keep your eyes away from him though his eyes never left a moment away from you. Maverick suddenly just unbuttons his jumpsuit, the top half of the jumpsuit just fell and hangs on his hips. He wore a black t-shirt underneath that hugs his torso so well. Revealing more of a good figure he has, too good to believe for someone his age.

"Hot day isn't it," he said a smirk on his face.

Out of the many things you overthink what he'll say to you. Something about the weather doesn't really cross your mind.

"Um... I'm really sorry Sir, i--"

Maverick waves up his hand to shut you up. He went to the side of the room and let down the blinds on his windows. And he also closes his door and then locks it.

"I've got to say, you quite surprise me. You're the only one close enough to achieve the target in time." He said as he turns on his heels looking at you.

He put his hands in his pocket and just lean back to the door behind him.

"You got tremendous potential but you're unfocused, Y/CS, that is dangerous,"

You only look down at your hands on your lap.

"See? Now you're doing it again, darling"

Darling. You felt a flutter of excitement rushes through your veins when he uses that nickname to calls you.

Maverick comes to you, he leans to you and his hand grazes your face softly. Like a feather-like touch, his thumb trails your lips, and he pulls your bottom lips from in between your teeth.

Unconsciously, your way to cope with nervousness is to bite your lip. And Maverick finds it very hard to keep himself put and sane when you do it.

"You're testing my patience, darling, Looking at me like that in front of everyone," Maverick scoffed. "What am i gonna do to you,"

His hand moves from your face to your neck, then his thumb grazed your collarbone. Doesn't stop there, his hand travels onto your breast, just softly runs his hand on top of your clothed asset, but the friction of the touches alone already making a pool in between your legs. His face on the crook of your neck, his hot breath brushing on your skin. You're fighting back a whimper and you feel heat building up inside of you.

Maverick stops. He grunts before he pulls himself off you, he shut his eyes closed and shook his head.

No, no, don't stop!

His green eyes falls to your eyes again, "You better go before i--"

You shut him up by pulling his t-shirt and just clashing your lips to his. With no hesitation, Maverick kisses you back passionately. Your tongue meets his and it fights for dominance.

Maverick's hand holds your face and he lifts your chin. His veiny muscular arm holding you now. Just the way you imagined it.

"You sure you want this?" He asks.

You grin, "Yes, Sir"

"Alright... but my rules, sweetheart,"

Maverick then kisses you again. He takes off your jumpsuit quickly while his lips move to your neck giving the needy space attention. His hand slips under your white t-shirt and he yanks it off you and after, tossing it to the floor, leaving you only on your matching powder blue bra and underwear.

He pulls you by your hips to move on top of his desk. His lips now meet your collarbone and his hand slips underneath your little lacey panties.

"So wet already," Maverick chuckles.

Maverick takes off your panties as he kneels in front of you. He spread your legs apart and stare into your pink flesh. He kisses your inner thigh before he finally connects his tongue to your needing core.

You nearly scream when he takes your clit with his tongue. Your hand covers your mouth and your teeth are digging into your finger.

"You're so sweet, darling, you taste so good for me" Maverick whisper above your heated core.

He continues to eat you, swirling his tongue on your clit while his sharp eyes never once leave to watch your reaction.

"S-sir!" Your pleasure starts to build up and nearly spills all over the place. That's when Maverick decided to stop sucking your clit and leave it with a popping sound.

He stood up and quickly takes off his jumpsuit and discarded his boxer brief down. He teases you with a few swipes of his head before he pushes himself inside of you. He groans to the crook of your neck as he enters your cunt. Your walls stretch to the unfamiliar size of him. Your nails rake in his bicep. You're gripping hard on his arms as he pushes himself deeper inside of you. After giving you a moment to adjust to his size, Maverick starts to drill your pussy, fucking you hard that you're sure you won't be able to walk straight after this.

You're a moaning mess. All of those fantasies about Maverick fucking you hard, having his veiny muscular arms holding you. Now it all comes true. His hand holds the nape of your neck. Your forehead connects to his while you keep moaning and crying out the unbearable pleasure that he keeps giving you.

"Is this what you're daydreaming about, huh?" He whispers.

You can't even form a word out of your mouth, you only nod.

"Yeah? You thought of me fucking you, darling?"

"Yeshhh- ohh please Sir," you beg.

Your head falls back and you just lay your back on the hard surface of his desk. Accidentally, you knock some of his stuff down which makes you gasp and chuckle. Maverick grins and he holds your hips as he picks up the pace of his movement, drilling into your tight little channel. Your hands hold his arms as he keeps your hips in place.

"You're so-- fucking... tight!" Maverick moans.

"Mmm, Maverick," Maverick caresses your cheek softly again.

"Yes! yes, moan my name, sweetheart! C'mon cum for me, cum, Y/N" that's the first time he uses your real name. It sends shockwaves of pleasure all around your body when you hear his voice calling out your real name.

Just when you thought, he's giving you above and beyond. He wraps his hand on your neck.

"C'mon baby, take that cock like a good girl. I need you to cum, i wanna feel you cum on my cock, Y/N"

"Oohh!! M-mav!"

Maverick covers your mouth so you don't moan or practically scream louder than you already are. Your walls are clenching hard around him, sucking his length deeper into your tight channel. You could feel his length throbbing inside of you. He's coming close. Following your high, Maverick cum right after you came. He groans your name as he cum inside of you.

Both of you are panting with a messy breath. He pulls out slowly from your cunt. You could feel his seeds dripping from your sweet hole.

"Like i said, dangerous."

Yeah, yeah, it's definitely dangerous to give him that look.

--------

Let me know if you wanna be tagged in my future post!

Tagging @malavera @call-sign-shark @tom-cruiseisalegend @youlightmeupfinn @cherrycola27 @moondustfairies

[bearterritory]

Offense Powers Cal On Opening Day

Defending Champs Start 2-For-2

SAN DIEGO – The No. 2 California men's water polo team put on an offensive clinic on the first day of the 2024 season, claiming a pair of wins over No. 6 UC Irvine, 20-14 and Claremont, 19-8 at the Triton Invitational.

With the departures of nine seniors from last year – including Paris Olympians Nikolaos Papanikolaou and Adrian Weinberg – the three-time defending NCAA champion Golden Bears headed into the year knowing there would be new opportunities on both sides of the ball, and that was reflected in the opening-day box scores.

Seniors Roberto Valera and Max Casabella picked up right where they left off in 2023, leading the way with seven and five goals on the day, respectively. Against the Anteaters, fellow ACWPC All-American Albert Ponferrada had a huge game with three goals and six assists, while George Avakian dominated in center with three goals and seven earned exclusions.

In the Bears' first game of the day, they cruised to a double-digit victory over CMS behind four goals from Valera and three by Casabella. Cal took a 5-1 first-quarter lead and outscored CMS 10-3 in the second half. Maddox Arlett, Patrik Kolak, Alex Oprea and Bende Pardi all secured braces in their Cal debuts.

Taking on its first ranked opponent of the year in the evening, Cal found itself trailing 10-8 at the half. The Bears turned things on right out of the break, as Ponferrada converted a power play and then found Avakian for an equalizer less than two minutes into the third. Ponferrada added two more assists before the quarter's end and Casabella scored twice to put the Bears up 13-12 heading into the fourth.

It was all Cal from there. The Bears started the final frame with an onslaught, getting a pair of quick goals from Valera and another two from Pardi and Arlett to go up 17-12 with 5:04 to go. Cal ended up outsourcing UCI 7-2 in the quarter after two late goals from senior Jake Howerton put the game to bed. Redshirt freshman goalkeeper Riley Clansen – who played every minute in goal on Saturday – finished the game with seven saves.

[alakeeffectgirl]

cruisequarries PART TWO

PART ONE What did we get up to yesterday? 2018? Okay. I will put everything behind a spoiler cut again (there are more pictures/a video today).

Actually, let's rewind just a little, for some Fallout premiere pictures just because.

Paris, July 12th:

London, July 13th:

Seoul, July 16th (according to the designer's website, the hanbok Heather is wearing was designed as a wedding dress, mmhmm)...

I love this picture because they're making those faces at Chris. Here's the bit of Tom making Heather cry in Tokyo:

I highly recommend listening to Tom & Chris commentary track on Fallout, which starts with McQ introducing himself as the writer/director and then Tom introducing himself - as McQ's friend. After the Fallout press tour wraps up, work starts in earnest on Top Gun: Maverick, which Tom and McQ have been discussing - idly, on McQ's part - for years now. "Our relationship is one long conversation about movies," indeed.

While TGM is filming, pre-production is also happening on MI:DR, which McQ has signed on to direct. (These two are usually juggling at least two projects at a time, and really it's probably more like five projects at a time.)

In January of 2019, they're all back in LA so Tom and McQ can pick up some awards.

The McQuarries also go to a premiere and look fantastic (I love McQ's suit):

Tom and McQ go to Ukraine to scout Dead Reckoning locations later in 2019, meet President Zelenskyy, and McQ gets to put his arm around Tom for once instead of their usual other way around.

OH NO I ALMOST FORGOT - at the end of 2019, Tom took the whole McQ clan with him to Las Vegas to see Lady Gaga and ask her to write the TGM song. [cries in 'that's his family']

Production ramps up on DR - and then unfortunately, as we all know, COVID. Most of the cast and crew were in Venice when everything shut down, but Tom hadn't arrived yet.

Production resumes in Rome in October (their production struggles/trying to keep everyone employed/Tom rightfully yelling at people to follow protocols because a lot of jobs depend on them is all well documented), and then moves to Venice. Heather and the dogs are also part of this traveling band.

This isn't six feet apart, dudes...

Production breaks for the holidays, and resumes in Abi Dhabi for the airport/desert sequences, and also one of my favorite pictures of Tom and Heather, just for her expression.

Train sequence filming in Yorkshire in April of 2021, that's Heather in the blue coat:

DR production then breaks for a bit over the summer so Tom can take all his friends to Wimbledon, go to several car things, and make McQ watch football (the soccer version).

DR filming resumes in the fall/winter. Heather goes with to South Africa and they rent out what is basically an adults-only hotel (and save it from having to close!), for part of their stay. I love this picture because Gypsy looks so long-suffering:

OKAY IT'S 2022 NOW, time for the Top Gun: Maverick premiere tour to start - finally! (Do any of these people SLEEP? No. I think it's well-documented that Tom Cruise does not sleep, which is part of what makes him Tom Cruise, but also this means he calls McQ at two in the morning to talk about movies. There's a podcast somewhere where McQ says he thinks Tom might sleep "between the 2:05 email and the 2:40 email", or something along those lines.) (After getting back from South Africa, there was a bunch of test screening stuff for TGM, which is why there are those parking garage pictures. Wouldn't the movie be done, you'd think, since it was supposed to be out in 2020? COVID gave them a reason to tinker with it even more.) The San Diego premiere on the USS MIdway (all the McQs were there, but there aren't any good pictures):

Then Tom went to Mexico, and McQ went home to London for a few days before Tom returned, and they went to the Royal Windsor horse show together.

THEN EVERYONE WENT TO CANNES. Sorry I have just a shitty screencap with a watermark here but alas tumblr only lets you put one video per post. Tom and McQ stopped to get their picture taken en route to the actual photocall and Tom made Heather come back and be in the pictures with them. There is video here.

Cannes, of course, was amazing. I have garbage homemade gifs but they're too big for tumblr (also they're garbage) but all the Cannes red carpet footage is available on YouTube, here and here. (Worth it for Heather, tbh.)

They went straight from Cannes - on Tom's helicopter - back to London for the Royal premiere. Where the McQuarries looked amazing and McQ wore his McQ shoes.

And the after party, because heaven forbid they not all ride in the same car:

And then the McQuarries got a slight break, while Tom went to do more TGM press. But he was back in London by the end of June, and they went on what can only be described as a string of dates. First, they went to the Rolling Stones concert at Hyde Park.

McQ was on Tom's other side, but he's only visible in video (the Daily Mail might be garbage but they do come through with the media).

Then Tom and Heather went to The Eagles show at Hyde Park:

And they all went to see Adele - also at Hyde Park. (The woman in the pink sweater is Tom's CAA agent Maha Dakhil Jackson - I found the picture where you can see Heather over Tom's shoulder.)

Then for Tom's birthday, they went to the F1 British Grand Prix (with some other TGM folks, but they aren't three steps behind Tom like the McQuarries are).

Oh no, we're not done. Tom takes Heather to Wimbledon, where she holds his sunglasses (not visible in this picture).

McQ did not go with, as he was recording a Light the Fuse podcast - which he surprise-dialled in a bunch of DR folks - and his final surprise was Tom. Who was still at Wimbledon with Heather. McQ calls Heather to get Tom, and Heather plays dumb and is like, "oh I don't know where he is, did you try calling him?" and Chris says he already told the podcast guys that they were together. So Tom does his segment from the car he's in with Heather, and his part is only supposed to be like ten minutes but he talks for about forty-five and this includes telling the world they basically all live together. Then they went out to dinner!

And the next day they all went to Wimbledon with Maha and her husband.

I'm stopping here because this is already SO LONG and 2023 is going to be wild just by itself! PART THREE

[usafphantom2]

SR-71 Pilot Ed Yielding remember that day so well – March 6, 1990. I got up at 1 a.m., got to my briefing at 2 a.m., and into the suit and onto the flight line at 3:45. We planned our takeoff for 4:30 – it was 7:30 in Washington – from Palmdale in the company of a small crowd that gathered for the last flight. The first thing that we had to do was air refuel – the routine was to take off with half a load of fuel for safety, so we’d be light enough to climb in case an engine failed just after lift-off. At 27,000 feet, we did that, with a couple of KC-135Q tankers over the Pacific Ocean. Then, with a full load, we turned east, lit the afterburners, and had a 200-mile running start as we accelerated. Fuel was very tight for the coast-to-coast flight, so we planned to cross the West Coast accelerating through Mach 2.5 at 63,000 feet, before reaching our cruise speed at 76,000 feet.

‘As we crossed the West Coast in the early morning twilight, I could see the white ocean breakers all along the California coastline and the millions of lights of Los Angeles below me, as well as the lights of San Francisco and San Diego. Mexico, on my right beyond San Diego, was dark. As the sun came up, we were doing Mach 3.3, and I soon saw Vegas, Lake Mead and the Grand Canyon from 78,000 feet. I glimpsed Pike’s Peak as I passed the Colorado mountains, and Vida and I were soon over farmland. It hit me again that we were crossing country in minutes that took months for our pioneers to do 150 years earlier. I really reflected in this flight what a great country we had – and all of the courage, the prayers and the sacrifices of our forefathers. from the ground), but as I passed over the East Coast I got one last view of God’s earth at 83,000 feet. I thought about that too, and how I loved to fly this plane, seeing the slight, but noticeable, arc of the curvature of the earth; the darkness overhead; and the bright blue band of atmosphere over the horizon that was 400 miles from us.🇺🇸

the transcontinental flight, a distance of 2,404.05 statute miles (3,868.94 kilometers), required 1 hour, 7 minutes, 53.69 seconds, for an average of 2,124.51 miles per hour (3,419.07 kilometers per hour).

Intermediate closed-course records were also established: Los Angeles to Washington, D.C., 2,299.67 miles (3,700.96 kilometers), 1:04:19.89, averaging 2,144.83 m.p.h (3,451.77 km/h).; Kansas City to Washington, D.C., 942.08 miles (1,516.13 km), 25:58.53, 2,176.08 m.p.h. (3,502.06 km/h); and St. Louis to Cincinnati, 311.44 miles (501.21 km), 8:31.97, 2,189.94 m.p.h. (3,524.37 km/h).

Ed Yielding made the flight with JT Vida on March 6 1990

~Linda Sheffield

@Habubrats71 via X

[ediblegardenspointloma]

In My San Diego Garden and Kitchen

Strawberry guava jam moved up on the list last week because I needed to make room in the chest freezer for more frozen apricot products and applesauce. The strawberry guava puree was processed last October, awaiting a day to make jam. Some of the remaining pints of puree were added to rhubarb and applesauce this week, adding color and bright flavor.

My grandmother had a small strawberry guava tree in her yard in Laguna Beach. She made a delicate strawberry guava jelly but I prefer the richness and color of the jam. My recipe came from a family who moved to San Diego from Wisconsin in 1888. They had planned to grow lemons but trees were not available so they had a strawberry guava ranch.

Read more about strawberry guavas in Strawberry Guava Redux, Part 1 or use the search feature on my blog for other ramblings about strawberry guavas and their uses.

We’re still picking (or picking up drops) from the Blenheim apricot tree—usually several pounds a day. This week I made two quarts of apricot puree to freeze for ice cream later in the summer or even mid-winter.

Then there was the first apricot-almond cobbler of the season.

Few of the marionberries make it to the kitchen. My husband and I cruise the twenty foot stretch of canes eating the ripe ones as we go. Warmed by the sun, they are at their best. The botrytis fungus has yet to affect them as it has for the past five cool summers. Our solar data shows a sunnier June which may be the answer.

I used the last of our Yukon Gem potatoes along with a spring onion and dill from the garden for a simple potato salad. I dressed it with lime juice I had frozen earlier and EVOO.

I have a five foot high dill forest in the garden. Swallowtail butterflies lay their eggs there and I’m careful to relocate tiny caterpillars when I harvest. The hover flies love the flower heads.

I’ve yet to saturate the neighborhood with zucchini but I may be getting close. I ask first, then drop off.

The lavender is blooming now and I have lime juice in the freezer. Lavender limeade to refresh me this week as I process fruit.

I’m enchanted with the Apricotta cosmos grown from Botanical Interest seed. It blends well with a nearby alstroemeria. Here they appear more pink and less “apricot.” in color. They’re a modest 24-30 inches tall so they don’t overtake the garden. I’ll plant them again next year. Maybe they’ll just show up.

Check the What I’m Planting Now page as I plant the summer garden. Then head today to Harvest Monday, hosted by Dave at Happy Acres blog and see what garden bloggers around the world harvested last week.

To leave a comment, click on “Leave a comment/Show comments,” enter the comment, then insert your name. Finally, click on “Comment as Guest” to post comment.

[airkewld]

September 7th 2023 | Cores for Heroes Submission | M. Ford | 1963 Beetle

I served in the USMC from 05-09. I went through boot camp at MCRD San Diego and School of Infantry at Camp Pendleton CA. I was sent to 7th Marines in 29 palms the end of January and February 14th we left for Iraq. I had to learn everything on the go, baptism by fire. My 1st tour was in a town called Husaybah Iraq, on the boarder of Syria, and the Euphrates river. Was a wild west kind of town. My 2nd tour was in a small town called Kubaysah, just outside of Hit Iraq. My journey took me to Baghdad to testify against two bad guys we caught throwing grenades at our patrols. The best part of that trip was swimming in Sadam Hussain's pool, and i have the picture to prove it! My 3rd and last tour was in Karma and NE Fallujah, sadly having to leave my post early I was sent home due to my Dad's untimely passing. Upon arrival back in the States I also lost my great grandmother within two days of being home, grateful I was able to tell her goodbye, wish I could have had that closure with my Dad. My Dad and Uncle Dave brought me up with a love of cars and Racing. My first car was a 69 bug that I drove while in HS and sold it before I joined the USMC. I regret selling it to this day and no pictures remain of it. My favorite past-time was cruising in my 69 bug all over the Columbia River Gorge corridor and county back roads. After moving from Oregon to Texas I decided it was time to build something. So I found a 1963 that I am currently restoring from the ground up. The theme for this bug will be USMC, going to call it the "Teuful Hunden" bug or as most people know it "Devil Dog". It will be painted red, with gold doors and rims, the Marine Corps colors. This build is really helping me find parts of me I left over seas. It's going to be a long build being a disabled veteran and on a budget. I have been ordering all the new body panels first. Was going to order a pro beam with disk brakes and a Freeway flyer with disk brakes from Air kewld but having a chance to win them is really awesome of you guys. Thanks for the opportunity and your time. M. Ford USMC

M. Ford is entered into our Cores for Heroes Program here - https://www.airkewld.com/Cores-for-Heroes-Program-s/2532.htm

To date, we have 12 submissions to win and we have raised $445 dollars of our $10,000 goal.

In our honest opinion, the US Armed Force members, are so under-appreciated. The PRO's are finally in a place to put a plan together that helps everyone that participates, but more importantly, those who served or serving.

Details will slightly change as we get more context, but here's the idea.

I want to give back to those who have fought for our freedoms, regardless of our political beliefs. I didn't fight for my country but my father did and he is fighting PTSD, mental disorders, agent orange, etc., etc. I get to build products for the greatest clients in the world because of it. So, how do I make something happen?

The PRO's need cores. The AirkewldArmy has cores. Within the AirkewldArmy community, reside members of the US Armed Forces that want/need/could use a boost in their life, whether it is financially or upgrades to their favorite VW.

To give some context on our Core Program, the PRO's need certain parts to make our PRObuilt Line of Classic Volkswagen Drive-Train Components. In the past, the PRO's would print out a prepaid shipping label and rebate an order if our client/s sent that core in and it checked out. Payment would be reimbursed to the client, store credit or trade for something else, would take place. With a unique but small twist, a BIG change can make a humongous difference.

If our current or past clients, the AirkewldArmy, sent their cores in, based on a value proposition, the PRO's would give them the opportunity to win two ways. The first, for every $10 in core value, would be one entry on a quarterly drawing to win Airkewld Swag, like work shirts, tee's, hats, stickers and air fresheners, $100 gift cards to Airkewld.com or even a $500 Visa/Airkewld gift card. The second, for every $10 in core value, once the PRO's accrue $10,000 in cores, the PRO's select a Hero, to receive a Complete Airkewld Drive-Train Package or $10,000.00 (Our CEO would fly to them and personally hand them the check), delivered to their door, FREE of charge. Heroes would enter by telling their story, both about their military experience and passion for their Classic Volkswagen.

Airkewld receives usable cores. The AirkewldArmy wins FREE Stuff. Together, the PRO's and the AirkewldArmy show appreciation to someone who deserves better, our Military Heroes.

Who's ready to make a difference today?

[cruisepartyinsandiego]

Exploring San Diego's Splendor: Harbor Cruises and Burial at Sea

Introduction: San Diego, known for its stunning coastal scenery and rich maritime heritage, offers unique experiences for visitors and locals alike. Two remarkable activities that showcase the city's beauty and significance are harbor cruises and burial at sea ceremonies. This article will delve into the enchanting world of San Diego's harbor cruises and the solemn yet meaningful tradition of burial at sea.

San Diego Harbor Cruises: A harbor cruise in San Diego provides an incredible opportunity to witness the city's iconic skyline, pristine beaches, and bustling waterfront. Numerous tour operators offer various options, including narrated tours, sunset cruises, and private charters. Step aboard a comfortable vessel and relax as you glide through the calm waters of the harbor. Marvel at the breathtaking views of landmarks such as the USS Midway Museum, Coronado Bridge, and Seaport Village while learning about the city's rich history and vibrant maritime culture.

Burial at Sea San Diego: For those seeking a more profound experience, San Diego offers the solemn tradition of burial at sea. This meaningful ceremony allows families and friends to bid farewell to their loved ones in a serene and dignified manner. Burial at sea services can be arranged through licensed operators, ensuring that all necessary protocols and environmental considerations are observed. As the boat sails out into the vast Pacific Ocean, participants can choose to scatter the ashes or release a biodegradable urn, paying tribute to the departed in a peaceful and poignant setting.

Conclusion: San Diego's harbor cruises and burial at sea ceremonies offer contrasting yet equally captivating experiences. Whether you seek relaxation, exploration, or a profound tribute, the city's coastal charm and maritime traditions provide an unforgettable backdrop. Embark on a harbor cruise to soak in the beauty of San Diego's waterfront or participate in a burial at sea ceremony to honor and say goodbye to loved ones in a peaceful and meaningful way. Discover the allure of San Diego's maritime heritage and create memories that will last a lifetime.

[antigonenikk]

do i dare // disturb the universe?

chapter 1/2/?

pairing: john “bucky” egan/eugene sledge

summary: Eugene Sledge and John Egan are both adrift in the wake of the War. They find each other in a small bar in a small corner of Chinatown. And the rest, as they say, is history.

Chapter 2: april is the cruelest month

“April is the cruellest month, breeding

Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing

Memory and desire, stirring

Dull roots with spring rain.

Winter kept us warm, covering

Earth in forgetful snow, feeding

A little life with dried tubers.

Summer surprised us, coming over the Starnbergersee

With a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade,

And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten,

And drank coffee, and talked for an hour.”

——————————————————————

New York isn’t what he was expecting. He’d never been of course. He’d been to San Diego technically, for all that being stuck inside the barracks for two days before shipping out again to Alabama counter as “being in a city.” But the only real city he’d ever lived in had been Peking. He’d developed an idea subconsciously that New York would be the same. That the streets would smell of wood burning coal and fry-oil, that there would be streets crowded with sprawling marketplaces. That there would be labyrinthian alleyways and war torn buildings and giant palace complexes.

New York was not the same. The people seemed alien to him. Just as alien as the ones back home in Alabama. Their faces looked through him, leaving him a deep sense of panic that he had turned invisible. That he was a ghost. The streets smelled of baking bread and wet asphalt, and the noise of thousands of people all speaking English at once overlapped and brought him back to Pavuvu. When they’d all been living on top of one another, trying to pretend the world wasn’t ending.

It was unfamiliar. But it wasn’t all bad. He’d quickly found a place near Times Square, lured in by the neon lights and the friendly crossdressers prowling for rough trade. It felt liberating, to be here, to be alive and not in hiding. He’d remember what Shelton had told him. About the Red Light District down in New Orleans. How boys would cruise by the dockyards. He hadn’t believed it, not really. But it was true. There were people like him. Hundreds of them.

He didn’t dare touch anybody. Didn’t go out at night with desire on his mind. The wound of waking up cold and alone on that overnight train still stung a bit too deep. And besides, he’d always been a bit of a hopeless romantic at heart. The idea of cruising made him feel uncomfortable. Akin to jumping into the line of fire just to feel something. Instead he spent his days trying to figure out how to spend his unemployment. He had six more months of it left. And then it was pick a college or get a job. The possibility that he would choose wrong. That he’d waste the sum he’d earned through unwilling murder made him sweat. So he distracted himself. Spent hours at the bookstore, wandered the streets of lower Manhattan. Always somehow made his way to Chinatown by nightfall. And wasn’t that a gas. He thought he’d find something familiar there, but instead of Mandarin everyone was speaking Cantonese. And there were no families in sight. Just worn down men like himself. He’d found a bar though. A little place that reminded him of where he, Shelton and Burgie would go when they got Rec Passes. A hole in the wall with cheap beer and soft music. He’d sit in the corner sipping on drink after drink until it hit midnight. Then he’d drift over to the streets, empty as they could be, and try to clear his mind. Replace it with the sound of his feet moving one two three four. Marching easy like at base camp when they got far enough away from the huts. It didn’t seem to matter at night that you were lonely. With the sun gone down there was no one left to see. Almost like it never had happened at all. None of it.

That night he was feeling sorer than usual. He’d been at the butcher’s earlier when a car backfired. And he recalled with humiliation how he’d dropped to the floor like a sack of bricks, hands reaching for a sidearm that wasn’t there anymore. It had felt like eyes were on him. Like the whole store was staring. And so he’d ran out, kept running until his lungs started to ache. And spent the next hour curled in an alleyway for better cover, packing and repacking his pipe, not seeing much of anything at all. Now he was trying to return to normalcy. Beat down the shame. A glass of bitter Tsingtao in front of him. The place was filling up quick for a weeknight. And suddenly it just wasn’t worth it. Didn’t feel right. He wanted to be alone and to wallow and to curse at fucking everything that had led him to this point. He felt the inner lining of his jacket for his little Bible and tried to breathe. Getting up he strode towards the door, going for calm, hand on the book the entire time gripping.

And then his feet were knocked from underneath him and he landed hard onto his palms, hard. Groaning, he felt rage growing quick inside of him, begging for a release. He turned his head and felt himself torn between completely annoyance and unwilling attraction at the blue eyes and smiling face that stared down at him. He settled for an unimpressed scoff.

——————————————————————

New York was….well. It was. In a lot of ways it was like London. The only real city he’d had time to experience. The buildings were just as tall. Although these ones weren’t bombed out. Destroyed by the hand of some dumbass kid playing God, little toy soldiers collapsing into coffins. The buildings in New York were tall, and filled with pomposity. Just like the people. At first he barely noticed it. Off from Port Authority he’d made his way to Manhattan. Everyone was getting hitched and moving to the damn suburbs, so it hadn’t been hard to find a studio in a less than glamorous spot of town. After finally finding a place (a whole fucking week of living in a dirty ass hotel was starting to get to him) he holed up. Bought half a liquor store’s worth of booze, a carton of cigarettes and a month’s worth of canned food and just did nothing. Slept with a blanket on the cold floor, unable to bear the thought of buying a mattress. He checked the taps every few hours to make sure he still had water. He checked the cupboards four times a day to make sure he had enough food. And he let the panic run its course. Let it flood into and through him. He was all on his own now for the first time in five years. It felt alien. To not have someone lying beside you. To have enough to eat and drink. To be able to hear yourself really think. The silence rang heavy and weighed on him. And after two weeks he decided being a hermit wasn’t for him after all. And so he set out on the town. But man, he couldn’t stand most of the people.

He knew people now. Knew of people at least. Knew which bars were cheap, which folks were generous and would let him mooch. Knew the name of the baker and the grocer and the butcher and knew the price of a loaf of bread to the letter. But friends were off the table. It felt like everyone in the city was looking down on him. Looking at his sunken cheeks and his dead eyes and his twitching arm. Couldn’t stand it. So he rode the subway instead. The novelty of it hadn’t warn off. And even though his feet ached like a bitch he’d make a game of picking a random direction and just walking. Up the subway steps and through the alleyways, the long meandering streets. It felt a bit like the March. A bit like home. But that thought made him feel….But he didn’t think about the March, so it was fine. He played darts at bars all over the city. Got drunk as all hell and made a fool of himself. Listened to enough jazz to make his ears bleed. God. The jazz. Really that was the only time he was happy. He’d pick a spot. Any club in town. And fuck were there a lot of them. He’d sit and he’d watch the bands play. Good bands. Bad bands. God awful bands. It didn’t matter. The music sang through him. Made him want to bust up and dance and laugh and cry that he was alive at all. He lived for the nights. Lived for the music. That was reason enough to while away the days. Even if he didn’t have Buck anymore. Even if he was a shell of the man who was once a respected Major, he had the music.

That night he’d made a detour. Figured it would be funny to head down to Chinatown. See if Chinese drink had anything on Irish Whiskey. See if Chinese music had anything on American. He picked a small place, lit up with quaint little red lanterns that reminded him of the fireflies back home in Wisconsin. Except he didn’t think about Wisconsin. So he sat and smoked half a pack of cigarettes. One by one. Sipping on the oddly bitter beer the bartender had handed him, the name of which he couldn’t pronounce.

He could feel himself relaxing finally, a hazy buzz coming over him, when he turned and saw the Little Doll. Didn’t know how else to describe him. The kid, couldn’t be older than twenty one, was hunched over in the corner. His hair gleaming bright red beneath the lights. His face was an unearthly sort of white. The kind of white that reminded him of his sister’s dolls. He used to touch their cheeks when he was little. Amazed at how pure and clean the porcelain looked. Amazed that anything could be so untouched by living. The boy didn’t look untouched by living. His eyes were big and downturned and achingly empty. Cow’s eyes. Doll’s eyes. Sad little things. John heard him talking to another patron briefly and had to do a double take. The kid could actually speak Chinese. After that he tried to not look at all. But the buzz was gone. All that was left was a restless feeling. The need to constantly look over his shoulder and check that the Little Doll was still there. He felt giddy and stupid and old.

He got up to leave, drowning the rest of his piss poor drink in one go, and stumbled on the next step, watching as if in slow motion as the Doll tripped over his foot and went sprawling. Fuck. That had to have hurt. John felt himself grinning for a reason he couldn’t explain. For a moment he was a kid back on the school yard, getting ready to pull at some girl’s pigtails. He cleared his throat and reached his hand out determined to help, maybe. And then Doll turned around and he was met with the nastiest little look he’d ever gotten outside of when he’d dumped a whole bucket of ice-water over Buck’s head their second week into Basic. And he couldn’t help it. Really. He started to laugh.

He felt his hand shoved away with more power than he would have expected as Doll sprung up, glare still fixed to his pretty face, sneering out in a deep southern drawl, “Get outta my way, puhlease.”

He could feel the patented John Egan grin, the one that annoyed Buck to hell and back, making its way across his face as if it belonged there, even though it had been MIA for two years now. There was no way in hell he was about to do that.

[aestheticvoyage2023]

Day 263: Wednesday September 20, 2023 - "Tucson Overnights"

On Monday we sat in the pool and mentally crafted how this next two weeks would go. Its a long stretch in front of the two of us. And our goal is for William to not have to feel anything but complete normalcy and stability from his parents. I want to be above any self imposed anxiety, and rise above the exhaustion of the grind. I suggested that we just take it in small chunks - just one quarter at a time. And I like the idea of winning each quarter. Especially the 4th Quarter. I am not sure that any of this resonated with Audrie, but I was saying it for myself anyway. Ahead of me an important gauntlet and measure of my nurturing fatherhood intentions - 10 Nights of "Primary Parenthood" - the phrase I am lending to these stretches where we let Mama focus on her career and the demands of her profession - during a time when potty training is fragilely in focus, and his two-year-old tides seem remarkably regulated; important, very important days. I told Audrie, "I just really need to on top of my game. I have to be well prepared to do good here." But the saving grace, making a 10 night stretch like this reasonably possible was that across the 10 nights, were some well placed Mama-breaks to get us on through. As I laid it out, it was perfect and smooth and easy in my mind - I totally got this! First Quarter - Monday evening "Bye Bye Mama" to Wednesday Night, where after a Tucson Overnight, we'd all get a break and refilled with Mama's love. We'd all go into the Second Quarter replenished and cruising towards the weekend halftime show in San Diego, where we'd be crashing mama's overnight for break #2.

In the second half, we get Mama home on Sunday night and Wednesday night again, as we close out the month, with me getting a little solo break for all my efforts.

Suddenly this big long intimidating stretch was manageable. 4 quarters. Take them one at a time. And so I had a plan to get me positively from Monday afternoon until today. I won the first quarter. I left Audrie alone and let her sleep in our bed most the day, and then she took William in the evening and did bedtime on her own (as if William would have it any other way - a couple times I tried to join them and was met with "Daddy go away". His Mama break time. I totally get that. And was grateful for the brain break that this gift gives me. I laid on the couch listening to them read books, mind mapping the 2nd quarter game plan. "These Tucson overnights are so damn cool." And by cool I knew the reflected expression was of being able to be totally off the hook for a few hours this evening. But it was also in seeing just how damn much William enjoyed having his mama here, to pick him up from school, to take him to dinner, to do his bath time. I have this thing with William where I ask him if he loves his mama and he says "yesssss. and then I tell him, "not near as much as she loves you." I tell him so often how much she loves him when shes gone to work. And he knows it. And when shes home, he feels it, and soaks it all up, every bit he can get. They talked at bedtime, about how shed be gone when he woke up, and sure enough he wailed and cried at 5am when he rolled over to try to find her. He knew she was back at work. He cuddled into my warm armpit with big real tears, and we breathed in the flowers, and out the candles, a trick shes taught both of us. She was there,even when she was gone - in the loving confidence and nurturing stability I can lend him in her absence - its all her. The 2nd Quarter started off in such a loving memorable way, thanks to that little break that let us all reset and regulate. She was off to work for one more leg back to LAX before starting her two day to Austin and San Diego where we'll see her again in about 60 hours. We cruise into the next quarter talking and scheming about San Diego and our next fill-up.

Song: Fall Out Boy- We Didn't Start The Fire

Quote: If you're lost you can look and you will find me Time after time If you fall, I will catch you, I'll be waiting Time after time If you're lost, you can look and you will find me Time after time If you fall, I will catch you, I will be waiting Time after time

~Cyndi Lauper

[indynerdgirl]

Happy 248th Birthday to the US Navy!

The bravery of four Catholic chaplains in the line of duty has been recognized by US Navy vessels named in their honor:

Father Aloysius H. Schmitt and the USS Schmitt

Aloysius H. Schmitt was born in St. Lucas,Iowa on December 4, 1909, and was appointed acting chaplain with the rank of Lieutenant (Junior Grade) on June 28, 1939. Serving on his first sea tour, he was hearing confessions on board the battleship USS Oklahoma when the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941. When the ship capsized, he was entrapped along with several other members of the crew in a compartment where only a small porthole provided a means of escape. He assisted others through the porthole, giving up his own chance to escape, so that more men might be rescued. He received the Navy and Marine Corps Medal posthumously for his courage and self-sacrifice. St. Francis Xavier Chapel, erected at Camp Lejeune in 1942, was dedicated in his memory.

The destroyer escort USS SCHMITT was laid down on February 22, 1943, launched on May 29, 1943, and was commissioned on July 24, 1943. The USS Schmitt was decommissioned and placed in reserve on June 28,1949 and struck from the Navy list on May 1,1967.

Father Joseph T. O'Callahan and the USS O'Callahan

Joseph T. O'Callahan was born in Boston, Massachusetts on May 14, 1905. He received his training for the Roman Catholic priesthood at St. Andrews College, Poughkeepsie, New York and at Weston School of Theology, Cambridge, Massachusetts. Prior to his commissioning as a Navy chaplain on August 7, 1940, he was head of the mathematics department at Holy Cross College. His earlier duty stations included the Naval Air Station, Pensacola, Florida, the USS Ranger, and Naval Air Station, Hawaii.

Chaplain O'Callahan was the Senior Chaplain aboard the aircraft carrier USS Franklin when the Japanese attacked it off the coast of Kobe, Japan, on March 19, 1945. After the ship received at least two well-placed bomb hits, fuel and ammunition began exploding and fires were rampant. The final casualty count listed 341 dead, 431 missing and 300 wounded. Captain L.E. Gehres, commanding officer of the carrier, saw Chaplain O'Callahan manning a hose which laid water on bombs so they would not explode, throwing hot ammunition overboard, giving last rites of his church to the dying, organizing fire fighters, and performing other acts of courage. Captain Gehres exclaimed, "O'Callahan is the bravest man I've ever seen in my life."

Chaplain O'Callahan received the Purple Heart for wounds he sustained that day. He and three other heroes of the war were presented the Congressional Medal of Honor by President Harry S. Truman. He was the first chaplain of any of the armed services to be so honored. He was released from active duty 12 November 1946 to resume his teaching duties and died in 1964.

The destroyer escort USS O'Callahan was laid down on February 19, 1964 and launched on October 20, 1965. Chaplain O'Callahan's sister, Sister Rose Marie O'Callahan, was the sponsor, the first nun tosponsora U.S. Navy ship. The commissioning took place July 13, 1968, at the Naval Shipyard in Boston, Massachusetts. The USS O'Callahan had its shakedown cruise out of San Diego and later operated largely in anti-submarine training and reconnaissance in the Western Pacific. In 1982-83, the ship had an eight-month deployment in the Indian Ocean. The USS O'Callahan was decommissioned on December 20,1988. 

Father Vincent R. Capodanno and the USS Capodanno

Vincent R. Capodanno was born in Richmond County, New York, on February 13, 1929. He was an avid swimmer and a great sports enthusiast. After receiving his training at Fordham University in New York City, Maryknoll Seminary College in Glen Ellyn, Illinois, and Maryknoll Seminaries in Bedford, Massachusetts and New York City, New York, he was ordained on June 7, 1957 by Francis Cardinal Spellman, Archbishop of New York and Military Vicar of the Roman Catholic Military Ordinariate. Shortly thereafter, he began an eight-year period of service in Taiwan and Hong Kong under the auspices of the Catholic Foreign Mission Society.

Chaplain Capodanno received his commission with the rank of Lieutenant on December 28, 1965. Having requested duty with Marines in Vietnam, he joined the First Marine Division in 1966 as a battalion chaplain. He extended his one-year tour by six months in order to continue his work with the men. While seeking to aid a wounded corpsman, he was fatally wounded on September 4, 1967 by enemy sniper fire in the Quang Tin Province. He was posthumously awarded the Medal of Honor "for conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity at risk of his life above and beyond the call of duty...." He had previously been awarded the Bronze Star Medal for bravery under battle conditions.

The destroyer escort USS Capodanno keel was laid down on February 25, 1972; the ship was christened and launched on October 21, 1972 and commissioned on November 17, 1973. The USS Capodanno was designed for optimum performance in anti-submarine warfare. Deployments included operations in the Western Atlantic, West Africa, the Mediterranean, and South America. The USS Capodanno was decommissioned on July 30, 1993.

Father John Francis Laboon, SJ and the USS Laboon

John Francis Laboon, Jr., a Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, native, born April 11, 1921, was a member of the Class of 1944 at the U.S. Naval Academy and a distinguished athlete. In World War II, Ensign Laboon was awarded the Silver Star for bravery for diving from his submarine, the USS PETO, to rescue a downed aviator while under heavy fire. Lieutenant Laboon left the Navy after the war to enter the Jesuits. With the Navy never far from his thoughts, he returned to his beloved "blue and gold" as a chaplain in 1958. For the next twenty-one years, he served the Navy-Marine Corps team in virtually every community and location including tours in Alaska, Hawaii, Japan, and Vietnam, where he received the Legion of Merit with Combat "V" for his fearless action as battlefield chaplain. He was the first chaplain assigned to a Polaris Submarine Squadron and Senior Catholic Chaplain at the Naval Academy. Captain Laboon retired in in 1979 as Fleet Chaplain, U.S. Atlantic Fleet and died in 1988.

The launching of the guided missile destroyer Laboon nicknamed the "Fearless 58" took place on February 20, 1993, at Bath Iron Works. The highlight of the event was the presence of the honoree's three sisters and brother. Christening the ship were sisters De Lellis, Rosemary, and Joan, all members of the Sisters of Mercy. Rev. Joseph D. Laboon of the V.A. Medical Center of New Orleans offered the invocation. Former Chief of Navy Chaplains and the then-current Archbishop of New York, Cardinal John O'Connor, offered remarks. The commissioning of the USS Laboon took place on March 18,1995 in Norfolk, VA. Throughout a lifetime of service to God and Country, Chaplain Laboon was an extraordinary example of dedication to Sailors and Marines everywhere.

[all information from the USCCB website]

[mikewheelertmmoved]

@willbyerstm​​​ rolled the dice ;; 🎁 ›» ( spotify wrapped has arrived. send me a number from 1-100 for a starter based on that song or 🎁 for a shuffled one )

      ⸻ cornelia street by taylor swift

The city never sleep,  and Mike seemed to follow suit on that pattern,  not that was such unusual thing for him.  Except he found himself dreading his current predicament,  as legs aimlessly dragged him around a city that should be unfamiliar to him,  after all he had been here for just short of a handful of months ( for the cases,  always his excuse ),  and yet,  he felt like he couldn’t look around without being reminded of him,  utterly bewildered by the way his own mind so easily etched the thought of Will in every single part of the town.

Perhaps San Diego was going to be written down in his imaginary list alongside Hawkins of cities he’d rather not step foot in for as long as he could.  The packed bags waiting for him on his motel room’s bed were a rather indicator of that being his plan.  A reiteration of what he did years and years ago,  leaving without saying a word;  leaving before he ever knew.

However there was a rather loud part of him that didn’t allow Mike to do such thing,  and he knew exactly why.  It wasn’t like it used to be,  perhaps it never would,  but being allowed near Will for such extended period of time ?  Had Mike’s resolve cracking;  had him wishing for his time here to never end,  to not lose the other all over again,  despite it all being Mike’s own doing and his stupid cruise to keep the other safe without his knownledge.  Perhaps,  that was why,  as stupid,  nonsensical and silly it might have sounded,  he had looked for a place,  even found one.  His own selfishness holding onto the possibility of a new beginning,  one that scared him.

Feet stopped,  head lifting from the cracked sidewalk,  and a snort slipped past cold lips,  of course he ended up in front of the same building it all started again.  A shake of his head,  and mere minutes later he was sitting on the roof of the building.  The cheap bottle of wine he got at the bar earlier sitting almost untouched next to him,  finger hovering above the SEND button on his phone screen for a second longer,  the text already having hung in there for the hours.

‹ want to keep me company on my last day in that shitty motel? i have wine and not that ugly of a view to offer. if you feel like it, i’m where it all began, mr. detective. ›

Even through written words there was the hint of humor,  his way of covering up his inner turmoil.  He was gambling with fate,  with luck,  the outcome of his own decision of going or staying,  put in the hand of the outcome of that single message.  And send,  now he only had to wait and perhaps. . .  hope.

[disneycruiselineblog]

Personal Navigators: 3-Night Baja Cruise from San Diego - December 8, 2022

Personal Navigators: 3-Night Baja Cruise from San Diego – December 8, 2022

Personal Navigators, and other details from the Very MerryTime 3-Night Baja Cruise from San Diego. The Disney Wonder set sail from San Diego, California on December 8, 2022. There are additional Personal Navigators from other sailings of this same itinerary for comparison. The Cruise Director during the sailing was Stephen.  Day 1 – December 8, 2022 – San Diego, California Guests Onboard: 4:00…