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startrekfangirl2233-writes · 7 months

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Spring, 2020 - San Diego, California

Chapter 7 Part 2 of You Are My Soulmate

Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x Reader

Description: Bradley's in love. One night with Tinkerbell has already been like no other experience in his life. And he wasn't even alone with her! Now his soulmate's agreed to go on a date with him - and the pressure is on. It has to be perfect. He has to make her smile. Bradley's not sure there are very many first impressions left to make on his soulmate. This date might be the last first impression they've got.

Disclaimers: Misogynistic speech. Mentioned Homosexual Relationships. Angst. Flagrant disregard for protocols or Authority. Angst. Anguish.

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

Warnings: Female!Reader

Word Count: 3207

A/N: All aboard the slow-burn train! It's Roo and Tink's first date and they're so fluffy I could die

Thanks to @desert-fern who beta-read this chapter and made sure it was all flowing right. Your girl got stuck in Angst Central (TM) and got lost trying to write fluff again.

AO3: Cross-posted Here!

Wattpad: Cross-posted Here!

My Masterlist

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Rooster

Inviting Tinkerbell to his dad’s birthday celebration had been a better choice than he’d ever imagined. She’d agreed so readily, in a way that was balm to his bruised soul, sitting there on the beach. He’d spent the night split between two foci, caught between his family and his soul, cataloging the emotions flitting across her face just as hungrily as he sucked up the stories of his parents from the people who knew them best. As worried as he had been to invite her into the center of his messed up life, seeing her make herself at home, charming his family as easily as she’d charmed him, had been a balm to his soul. His family adored her. He’d been a little worried, standing in his dad and Pop’s colossal kitchen, that she’d feel lost and alone. Instead, it felt right, seeing the smile on her face, as sweet as the first rays of the sun on a spring morning. All night, Bradley felt his parent’s presence on the ocean breeze. He’d felt their approval, their joy as the wet, salt-laden breeze brushed over his skin.

His heart had lurched painfully when Tinkerbell asked him why he’d aimed words meant to hurt like a shrapnel-filled bomb the night he met her. He’d been less than eloquent, stumblingly explaining his feelings and his fears, trying to distill the rage in his chest, crouching like a disgruntled, hastily awoken hibernating bear. She’d let him chatter on, unblinkingly serious, reminding him of a museum statue, an eldritch being carved from the stone with a brow furrowed in thought. She’d forgiven him just as easily as breathing, too. It was an easy forgiveness made a hard pill to swallow. Bradley’s not sure he deserves it.

There will never be anything but forgiveness between us, darling.

Standing in his small apartment on base, as the morning sun slants in through the windows, weak and watery through clouds, Bradley’s only got Tinkerbell on his mind. Her words resound through his mind, coupled with the resolute look on her face. She said the words like they were facts like she’d be a fool to do anything other than forgive him. Her easy agreement to a date shocked him, too. That his soul would be so easy to trust him when he’d never shown her a reason to?

It makes his decision of a place to take his soulmate on their date even more important. Maybe he’s putting too much pressure on himself. This is just a first date, after all. He’s been on hundreds of first dates before. But this isn’t just any other first date. This is the last first date of his life, and hers, if he’s got anything to say about it. This is the last opportunity to make a good impression on his soulmate. After so long being antagonistic, Bradley’s sure there’s no way he could make a worse impression than he has in the months since Tink came to North Island. But he can make an effort.

If he had the time to plan a bit more, he could have made reservations. But there isn’t time. There are only hours. How can he make today special? Dinner at a restaurant would be ideal. But every place he calls has been booked for months. He’d tried texting Nat, hoping his best friend would have an enlightening idea. The response he got back is less than ideal: I’m sure she’ll like any place you take her, Roo. He’s driving himself crazy, mind running in circles. Pent-up energy crawls through his veins, and the more he thinks, the less he wants to.

Maybe getting out of the house will help? He’s out of the house before he can think, sneakers tied tight as he pushes through the humid air. His lungs burn far sooner than they would have before the accident, twinging in concert with his weakened muscles. He’s got his crutches jammed under his armpits, walking in a slow, wobbly cadence in the sand. It’s as he’s stumbling up the steps to the boardwalk that he sees the flyer. It’s not special by any means, but it should be fun, something Tinkerbell will adore.

The nerves are still crawling up his spine a few hours later when he’s standing on the stoop of the address Tinkerbell texted him last night, facing her green door. He rings the doorbell in a burst of confidence, holding a bouquet in his sweating, clammy hand. The flowers were the first thing he’d ordered when he got back to his quarters, asking if the florist could make something to denote his love and an apology. The resulting arrangement of purple-blue asters, bluebells, white tulips, baby’s breath, and green myrtle is what he’s cradling in his hands. There’s a note included in the bright white butcher’s paper wrapping, asking her to look up the meaning of the flowers. Bradley wants his soul to know what he’s saying, especially since he’s not sure he can say the words without making a fool of himself.

When the door opens, he swears his heart skips a beat. His jaw drops and he couldn’t keep his eyes off his soul if he tried. She’s wearing shorts and a flowy top. Her hair is in a braid, a signature look of hers, and all he wants to do is bury his fingers in the lush strands. He needs to know if she smells like oranges because of her perfume or because of her shampoo. Tinkerbell is just as awestruck and silent, which makes him preen over his choice of a white button-down and dark jeans. He blinks a bit more and then practically shoves the bouquet into her face.

Her nose scrunches as she laughs, her mirth making him chuckle too.

“Let me put these in water, Bradley.” She steps back and tugs him in with one delicate hand on his forearm.

“You look a little nervous, Roo.” Her voice is teasing.

“Well, can you blame me? When I’m taking a girl out who looks as good as you do right now?”

Tinkerbell’s steady hands nearly fumble as she’s filling the vase up. He’s content to watch, drinking in the sight of her moving in her kitchen. His mind is filled with visions of sleepy mornings with Tink puttering about in the kitchen, with him draped over her back, of cooking dinner together, of kissing her skin as she smacks his knuckles when he tries to steal a taste. It’s a dream he’s still not sure he’s going to get to have.

When she turns around and chirps, “All Done!” in that upbeat tone, he pulls her into his arms. He’s been barely an arm’s length away from her since she opened the door, and in that moment, even the short distance feels like it’s too far from his soulmate. She smells even more like oranges in his arms, the scent blending with his favorite cologne, sandalwood, and citrus blending in the air like they were meant to.

“C’mon gorgeous. I promised you a date.”

Her hand finds his as she locks the door behind her and follows him out to the Bronco. He opens the door for her, just as he did last night, and is enraptured again at the sight of his soulmate marveling at his car.

“I love this car.” The words spill out of her voice in a near moan as he starts the Bronco with a rumble of the engine.

The entire drive, he has to force himself to pay attention to the words she’s saying and respond to them like he’s supposed to. She’s talking about his car, asking when he got it, where he got it, and how he’s taking care of it. It’s difficult when all he wants to do is bury his face between her thighs until she’s moaning over him instead of his car. Tonight’s going to be torture. The way her eyes light up and she bounces in the seat when they pull into their parking spot half an hour later just cements his feelings. The only parking spot he found was up at the top of a hill near a big tree. Down below is a sea of cars, shining chrome and polished finishes glinting in the sun.

“Are we at a car show, Bradley?”

He has to thank his lucky stars for the body of the Bronco, hiding his embarrassing, unexpected hard-on at the sight of her excitement as he gets out of the car and opens Tink’s door for her. His futile attempts at calming down don’t help, though, because he’s met with an armful of his excited soul the minute the door opens. He feels like he’s drowning in the scent and heat of Tinkerbell as she yanks him into a messy, filthy, wet kiss. Her hands slide through his hair, short, blunt nails raking over his scalp as he drags her closer than is decent.

When he pulls away, she’s breathing heavily, eyes glazed, and skin hot to the touch. He’s not much better. His dick is rock-hard and aching. All he wants is to whisk her away and make her scream his name, a feeling intensified by the kiss they shared and the whimper leaving her kiss-slicked lips.

We’re taking this slow, we’re taking this slow. It’s a mantra his brain is quickly grinding into dust from over-utterance, a mantra that is not helping the situation he’s encountering. But he has to get himself in check. This is his soulmate. It’s high time he makes a good impression.

“Yeah, Tink. We’re at the car show.”

Bradley has to grin, chuckling a little bit under his breath, as he gets hugged again in a mess of orange-scented hair and warmth. She’s practically bouncing once he pays for their tickets, dragging him in her wake as they flit from car to car. Tinkerbell’s in her element, soaking up every crumb of information from the owners as they show off their cars. Her eyes are wide and child-like in joy as she oohs and aahs over the vehicles.

Three hours later, the sun has set over San Diego. Bradley has his crutches jammed securely under his armpits, and Tink’s bought a commemorative tote bag stuffed with merchandise. His cheeks hurt from smiling so much, and Tinkerbell’s rumpled and gorgeous, her hair escaping from her neat braid as the afternoon passed by in a blur of shining metal and exhaust fumes.

Tinkerbell is also holding a bag containing their dinner in one hand and a carrier with drinks in the other. He'd offered to take something from her, but his firecracker soul just glared at him until he backed down. The bounce in her steps still hasn’t faded away. Some of her boundless enthusiasm gives way to exhaustion when she’s sitting on the picnic blanket he pulls out of the trunk of the Bronco. The grass is fragrant and warm, and they’re far from the only couple to have the idea of a picnic underneath the stars.

“I don’t know how you did this, Bradley, but today has been perfect.”

Her eyes seem to reflect the stars as they take in the vista.

“Yeah?” Bradley’s tongue tied at the look on her face. “I wasn’t sure what you’d like to do today.”

His voice is raspy and low as he whispers the words into his soulmate’s ears.

“I loved today, Bradley.” She curls into his side like she was meant to be there. “A car show? You spent hours today listening to me talk about cars, Bradley. Hours.”

“Of course I did. I picked this place because of that cherry red convertible you drive to base.” He presses a kiss against her temple as he hands her a fork. “C’mon, start eating, pretty. I’m starving, and I know you have to be, considering how you’ve been bouncing around in excitement all afternoon.”

He waits until she’s placed a forkful in her mouth before continuing. It might be a little bit sneaky and underhanded, but there are a few more things Bradley needs to tell his soulmate.

“I never thought I’d have this.” Her brow furrows at the words, eyes widening even as she chews and swallows. “I never thought I’d deserve to have this with my soulmate.”

“Why is that?” After a day spent with a wildly curious Tinkerbell, Bradley can tell when she’s got more questions than answers.

“Bradshaws don’t spend very long with their soulmates, or well, not in recent memory.” As always happens when he’s talking about his mom and dad, Bradley feels the pit yawning in his stomach, and his throat close up as his grief threatens to yank him under again. His heart stutters in its steady beat when Tinkerbell crawls into his lap. With her head over his heart and her arms curled around his back, he feels stronger than ever.

“My dad was younger than I was when he passed away. 24. He was 24 years old.” Tink presses kisses across his face, seemingly content to stay in his lap. “I barely remember him. I don’t know how to treat a soulmate, I don’t know how to make you happy, how to keep you happy.”

“What makes you think I know how to make my soulmate happy, either?” Her quiet question is so at odds with her bubbly, confident personality that Bradley isn’t sure how to respond. “I- I want to make you happy. I want to love you.”

“But I don’t know how to.” It’s a bold statement, spiraling out into the night air. Bradley can see the pain, the worry creasing her face. Her brow is furrowed as her big brain analyzes his words.

“Shhhh.” He tries to smooth the furrows away with his fingers, a gentle caress cupping her cheek. “I don’t mean to worry you. Sweetheart, this is a promise.”

“I promise I’m going to take care of you. I promise to love you, to make you happy. No matter what happens, even if I die tomorrow, I never want you to doubt that I love you.”

This time, Bradley can’t figure out who starts the kiss. It feels like he’s free-falling, synapses firing behind his eyes in starbursts of color and zaps of electricity. Tinkerbell’s warm and solid in his arms, moans slipping out of her mouth as he traces kisses down the firm, supple skin of her neck. Goosebumps rise up across her skin as his mustache rasps over sensitive flesh. He steals the opportunity to suck a hickey against her breast, slipping the neckline of her blouse down until he can smell more of that delectable orange scent emanating from her flushed skin. When he captures her lips again, he swallows the sweetest sigh.

Her lips are spit-slicked and puffy. “You’re not dying on me so soon, Bradshaw.” Her voice is breathy and soft as she settles back down on the blanket, toying with the fork in her meal.

“Oh yeah?” His question, coupled with how he starts to scarf down his own meal, prompts Tink to eat too. For several minutes, only the rustling of the leaves in the tree above them punctuates the silence.

“Yeah.” Tink’s smile is soft as she looks up at the sky. “I have plans to grow old with you.”

Once again, his soulmate takes him by surprise. She’s planned a life with him. She wants to spend her life with him.

“So what do those plans entail?” Bradley needs to know, watching as Tinkerbell’s eyes flutter as she sets her bowl to the side and sips on the bottle of ridiculously overpriced sparkling water she’d ordered.

“You and me, mostly.” She murmurs, tipping her head up to watch how the colors mingle in a riotous mix of red, yellow, indigo, and violet. “But also so much laughter and love.”

Her voice is quiet as she lays down on the blanket, eyes reflecting the skies above. “Maybe a family?”

The grass is cold and damp under the blanket as Bradley settles down next to his soul. She’s got her right arm under her head, eyes wide and wondering as her face is illuminated by the silvery light of the moon.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it, Bradley?” She’s still looking up at the stars, shivering as the cool ocean breeze drifts across her skin, illuminated in the silvery light of the moon.

“Yeah, it is.” Bradley is not looking at the stars. He’s only looking at Tinkerbell. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees her lips part as she gasps up at the vista.

The night is quiet and still around them as they chat with each other, their voices barely loud enough to be heard over the rustling of the leaves. It doesn’t bother Bradley. Nor does it bother his soulmate. In fleeting moments, he marvels at their positions. As the night deepens around them, Tinkerbell moves closer, hands against his chest, head pillowed against his bicep. In the dark, all he can see is her silhouette, smell her orangey perfume and feel the heat of her skin against him. Even lying on the hard ground, he feels more at home than he's felt in a long time.

Bradley wakes up to weak, watery sunlight and fat raindrops splattering across his face. Tinkerbell’s still fast asleep, her face buried in his chest, her weight more comforting than a weighted blanket as her limbs entangle with his own.

“Hey, Tink.” Her nose wrinkles as she clutches tighter to his shirt and nuzzles even further into his chest.

“C'mon, sweetheart. It's 7 A.M. We have work today.”

Her head jolts up so fast it nearly impacts his chin.

“Shit!” Braley's not sure he’s ever heard Tinkerbell curse before. Now all he wants to do is hear her curse some more.

She's mussed and indescribably gorgeous as she chivvies him up off the blanket and into the Bronco.

“I'll get you home in no time, Sweetheart.”

Tinkerbell’s smile is like the sun filtering through rain clouds, golden and gorgeous. “Are you going to kiss me at the door, too, Bradshaw?”

That's exactly what Bradley does. He presses his soul up against her dark green door and kisses her until her lips are swollen and her eyes are lidded. She whines, quiet and strung out when he pulls away.

“I'd come join you in the shower, Sweets, but we need you clean, not dirty before work today. It'll also make us both late. I don’t think we need any more demerits after the past few months.”

Her laugh curls warm in his chest. “We really don't, Bradley.” With a snick, that pretty green door opens and his soulmate leaves him with that heart stoppingly sweet grin.

They're both a little late on base that morning. Commander Grayson glares when he sees Tinkerbell walk in, Bradley following behind her like a lost puppy. Mav just sighs and orders Bradley to do a hundred pushups as Tinkerbell giggles. In the grand scheme of things, there are worse things he'd do for his soulmate than one hundred pushups. His arms hurt like hell that night though.

Yeah.

He didn’t regret it one bit.

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

Taglist:

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#star writes #top gun fanfic #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfic #top gun maverick fanfiction #you are my soulmate #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw x reader #soulmate!au #miscommunication

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f0point5 · 2 months

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Seeing VER next to 1 where it belongs is balm to the soul, now he's gonna stay there forever, thanks

My heart is just breaking this season I can’t 😭😭😭😭 why are we back in 2020

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scoobydoodean · 11 months

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"Everyone who knows you sees it"

A soothing balm for the soul if you were a bitter deangirl circa 2020 on Tumblr dot com.

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struggle-but-its-all-ocean-floor · 1 year

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Am I the only one who’s not really enjoying chapter 2 so far? I feel a tad guilty for saying it but apart from Jimin’s album, none of the solo work we’ve seen so far has really made it for me 😕 Objectivity I found Indigo really good but I realize I never really reach for it. Face has been the only album I’ve listened to loads of times. I like Layover, but I know it won’t be to the point of listening it again and again. I was a bit sad because I was excited for Jungkook’s album but I really don’t like Seven at all. I miss Jin and Hobi’s humour and energy. I guess I’m much more a BTS fan as a group rather than the members separately. Jimin is my bias, I have a soft spot for him, but I would still choose the band as a whole over him as a soloist. I feel a bit bad for saying it.. I hate the way the fandom is right now, all the competitiveness, and oftentimes I catch myself thinking I want this chapter to be over so we can get the band together again. I just want to see them live at least once, as I became a fan at the beginning of 2020 and as I live in Europe I didn’t have the opportunity to see them. I’m also bored about how they tend to focus so heavily on the US market now..of course I understand why, but still, it’s annoying. I don’t know if there’s anyone who feel the same? I just want the solo area to come to an end.. sorry for the rant, I know I’m being selfish but I’m getting bored with this area😫

I understand where you're coming from. I miss BTS like crazy. Nothing tops how much fun they are together and how their love for each other is a balm to the soul. I miss them dropping music and their performances. I miss the excitement of a BTS comeback. It's really not the same with them solo. Nothing is as exciting, everything is rushed, and we have no time to even anticipate or feel excited about new music dropping because it happens too often.

Indigo is a great album but I haven't listened to it much either, V's debut was my least favorite in many ways, I didn't like JITB as a whole, I didn't care about Face either. I like Seven but I've many, many complaints about it, and am feeling very apprehensive about JK's next single and debut album. I would've been happier if I had more performances to look forward to. When BTS have a comeback, they perform their title track so much that we get tired of it. But Hobi and Suga were the only ones who performed more than a handful of times, and doing a tour isn't the same as having performances uploaded to BANGTANTV every week. I miss group performances, Bangtan Bombs, Run BTS, the random promotional videos for Chuseok or whatever, Bon Voyage, Winter and Summer packages, ITS, etc. Photoshoots and variety shows aren't the same, I don't care for them... I miss the excitement of waking up and seeing them all at a certain event or at the airport. Nothing is as fun with only one of the members, and I know they're all looking forward to 2025 as well!

It's insane that it feels like BTS was an hallucination. Before 2021 the idea of the members not being seven was just fucking crazy, but now BTS don't even feel like a group anymore. I can't even imagine them together now. You're definitely not the only one who prefers them as a group. Most Armys do. It's okay to be bored by their solo ventures. It is what it is. It's not selfish. You're allowed to not like the way things turned out. I'm sure you're not blaming BTS and that you understand their current situation.

Also, I've no plans to seem them live. I know it won't happen and I'm more afraid of having the opportunity than not. If they go to Spain, for example, it will be relatively simple for me to see them live so I will feel pressured to buy tickets, but it's so fucking complicated to do so. Plus, there's traveling, the waiting at the venue, and all the stress that goes with it. If I don't get tickets, I'll be sad, and if I do, I'll be nervous that the experience won't live up to my expectations. I honestly prefer it that I've never had to worry about missing a chance to see them live because it's never come up. But I also get your pov haha. I hope you get to see them at least once!

Thanks for the ask!

#ask #bts #text #thanks for the ask!

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sleepysera · 2 months

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"Wheel of Fortune Reverse: As the Wheel turns, our fates turn with it. With each rotation, there are people who cling to its sides to try and force its direction. This is wasted energy and emotion and makes the inevitable change that much more painful. Others may search for reasons why the Wheel turns as it does. This can either be a balm to the soul or create more pain when no answers are found."

-Tina Gong, Tarot (2020)

#books #quote #tarot #spirituality #nonfiction

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rishabhgautam001 · 8 months

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Ram mandir ayodhya top facts

1.Sacred Grounds

The Ram Mandir in Ayodhya stands as a testament to the profound emotions that stir the hearts of millions, for it is believed to be the very ground where Lord Ram, the epitome of virtue, took his divine birth.

2.Turbulent History

The journey towards the construction of the Ram Mandir has been marked by decades of strife and longing. The echoes of emotions from the Babri Masjid controversy linger, but today, they are transforming into the melodies of hope and unity.

3.Supreme Court's Embrace

In a moment that resonated with the beating heart of the nation, the Supreme Court embraced the aspirations of the people in 2019, affirming the rights of Hindus to construct the Ram Mandir and offering a soothing balm to the wounds of the past.

4.Bhoomi Pujan - A Spiritual Symphony

The air was thick with devotion on that sacred day of Bhoomi Pujan in 2020. The emotional crescendo was reached as the first stone was laid, promising not just a physical structure but an embodiment of faith, etched in the very soul of Ayodhya.

5.Architectural Elegance

The design of the Ram Mandir is not merely bricks and mortar; it is a manifestation of devotion. The intricate carvings, the majestic three-story structure, all speak a language of emotions, telling the story of Lord Ram in every grain of sand used in its creation.

6.Silver Lining of Hope

When Prime Minister Narendra Modi laid the foundation stone, it wasn't just a silver slab; it was a silver lining of hope, a promise to rebuild not just a temple but the spirit of a nation longing for unity and coexistence.

7.Teerth Kshetra Trust - Guardians of Faith

The establishment of the Ram Janmabhoomi Teerth Kshetra Trust became the custodian of dreams. Every contribution, big or small, is an emotional investment in the resurgence of a sacred symbol that transcends religious boundaries.

8.Global Embrace

Emotions overflowed not just within the borders of India but across the globe. Devotees from every corner made emotional contributions, expressing solidarity and shared sentiment for the construction of the Ram Mandir.

9.Anticipated Completion - A Joyful Wait

As the temple takes shape, each brick laid becomes a heartbeat echoing with anticipation. The completion of the Ram Mandir is not just a construction milestone; it is a joyous wait for the physical embodiment of a collective emotional journey.

10.Harmony Prevails

The emotional tone of the Ram Mandir story isn’t just about the past; it's about the future. The vision extends beyond bricks and statues - it's a vision of harmony, a promise of coexistence, where the Ram Mandir stands not just as a structure but as a testament to the emotional fabric of a diverse and united India.

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#ram mandir #india #ayodhya ram mandir

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splendidissimus · 11 months

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January 2020 - The Beginning of the End

((Content warning: dying / terminal illness / acceptance, physical weakness))

((Promptspiration: @whumptober-archive 2023: day 30: It's okay, just to say, I'm not okay. / Bridal carry / "Not much longer..." ))

Genre: angst

Romance level: major

Angst level: 5/5

Draco's headspace: tragic

((words: ~2100))

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Supervising the packing of his office was a heavy weight, but it was time. Draco hadn't been out of the house in nearly a month; he couldn't take the floo alone anymore, nor could he make it past the anti-Disapparition wards, or reliably Apparate even if he could. It had been at least six months since he spent a full day here, or anywhere that wasn't nearby his bed.

He was running out of time. If he didn't close up his office now, it would be left for his parents, and he didn't want to do that to them.

Theo had offered to handle it for him, but he didn't want that; he had a feeling like it was his responsibility to bear witness. He had been there when it was decorated and opened for business, and he should be there now, when it was closed and packed away. He should be the bookends on his own life.

He sat behind the desk, covered now with a cloth, holding his tea in front of him where the medicinal steam could help him breathe, watching the pair of movers pack away the final odds and ends from his shelves. The room was bare. Almost twenty years of accumulated trophies and detritus of living, packed now neatly into a few boxes stacked beside the door. The portrait frame connected to his father's study was propped beside them, empty for the moment, to be taken in the last trip.

Theo was directing the transfer of the boxes back to the manor through the floo, prowling the office's rooms to check every nook and cranny for a dropped paper or forgotten trinket. Behind him and the packers, an animated broom was sweeping up a pile of broken quills, paper scraps, and dust dragged out of every crevice and corner. A bent chocolate frog card topped the pile of refuse like a sad crown.

Draco watched another box being sealed and carried from the room, and turned his attention out the window behind his desk, looking through the sheer curtains out onto his terrace. He could only see the impression of Diagon Alley, not the details.

He wanted to see it. It had been so long.

He took a deep drink of the tea and set it far back on the covered desk, then, after a moment of bracing himself, pushed himself up from the chair. He had to hold himself up on the desk with his eyes closed for a long moment, breathing slowly as his head swam, and his arms trembled by the time he was able to lift his head without fear of losing his balance or his tenuous grip on consciousness. It took him another moment on his unsteady legs before he was able to draw his wand and cast the spell to float above the ground.

Moving himself slowly from the desk to the doorway and letting his hand brush over the wall to keep himself steady, he moved out to the reception room. The movers shifted aside to make space for him as they shuffled back to grab more boxes and bring them to the floo.

Theo looked over as he came out, instantly attentive, and moved to take his arm and help him. "Something wrong?"

"No." He squeezed his arm gently. "I'll just be a moment." He nodded to the front door.

"All right." Theo escorted him until they reached the portal, and then went back to his supervising, giving him privacy.

It was dreary outside, pearly white overcast spitting occasional snowflakes with a stiff breeze. The moment the door was open, he was greeted by the sudden noise of the street like a balm to his soul. It wasn't a busy day, a weekday in the middle of of January, but there were people moving, maybe a dozen in pairs and small clusters talking amongst themselves, a solitary wizard in a purple cloak and hat hurrying furtively toward Knockturn Alley, a pregnant witch wrangling a small child away from the bakery on her errands. He could hear silverware and discussion wafting over the road from Mastry's restaurant, and when the doors opened briefly there was a burst of spirited uproar — there was Quidditch on the wireless, he surmised.

"Draco, you're back!" Madam Ophelia from the stationery shop two doors down over the road came out, waving, and crossed the street to him. "Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes, love, it's been an age."

"A month, anyway," he agreed with the softness of his weak breath, and a smile. "How are you?"

"Oh, it's fine, nothing ever changes here, does it?"

"Some things," he denied mildly. He looked up at the small sign jutting out from his building front, bearing only a stylised white outline of a peacock that he liked to think stood out from the riot of signage on the Alley by virtue of its elegant simplicity, and levitated it down to his hands.

"No," she gasped in that gossipy way he so enjoyed, "you're closing?"

"It's time."

"It can't be. Here now." She waved down the street. It was a slow time on a slow day; fully half of the shopkeeps were probably waiting more for something gossipworthy to happen than for customers right now, peering out their front windows over tea, and Ophelia was such a good niffler for anything of interest. Merlin knew he had spent enough of his own afternoons on his terrace doing the same, and he would be right there to hear what she had found under normal circumstances. The utter banality of it gave him a nostalgic smile. She was waving now to Alexandros the barber who had poked his head out of his shop. "Draco's closing up," she called.

"Is he." Alexandros hurried down to join them.

A couple minutes saw a half dozen of his fellows congregated around the front of his shop, and Draco basked, letting it wash around him — not so much the attention, although the attention certainly never hurt, but in the chatter, the flow of conversation that it was so easy to fall into. He was tired from standing long before he was tired of talking, and he ignored it to indulge himself in the social interaction.

They politely talked around his illness, and an eavesdropper might have got the impression he was going away on a long holiday. The conversation was well padded with gossip from the rest of the Alley, just the perfect amount of conversation that could include him instead of focusing on him, like this was just another scrap of mildly interesting life, and he appreciated it.

"What are you going to do with your office?" was asked, just after a bit of talk about Alexandros' daughter's latest romantic catastrophe.

"Draco Malfoy Memorial Museum," he quipped without a thought, to general laughter. "Actually, there's been no decision yet. It may stand empty for some time." In reality, that would be up to his parents, and he wouldn't be surprised if neither of them wanted to deal with it, but there was no reason not to convert something as valuable as Diagon Alley property to the family fortune. They may appreciate it someday.

"That's for the best," Ophelia said, and a couple others nodded.

"This is your space. It wouldn't be right for someone else to try to take it over."

"I appreciate that, all of you," he said, with genuine feeling, and looked down at the sign in his hands. He ran his fingers lightly over the lines of the peacock carved into the smooth wood. Then with his wand he wrote above it "Closed for Good", the words carved into the wood and standing out in white to match the bird, and a performative impulse made him write "It's been an honour" beneath it as well. He looked at it a moment more, then he focused on levitating it back through the nearly-closed door and through the waiting room to prop it against the inside of the window.

Someone patted the back of his shoulder firmly.

—

Draco came back inside; the bell jingled over his head, and Theo looked up from the inventory list he was signing off on. "Okay?"

Draco nodded and reached for Theo's hand, and found it there waiting for him. "I'm ready to go."

"All right." Theo handed off the parchment and helped him to the fireplace, and held him tight against his side with Draco's face buried in his neck, making sure Draco's eyes were closed, to minimise the effect of the spinning and tumultuous visions of the floo on his vertigo. On the other side, he had to basically carry him out of the fire and helped him sit so he could catch his breath and fight down the nausea.

"Is this good?" He ran his hand over Draco's hair. "There's just a little left to do at the office."

Draco nodded. "Go ahead." A glass of water had appeared by the magic of house elf, and he picked it up to sip and settle his stomach. "I'm going to go upstairs."

"Wait a moment and I'll be back to help you."

"It's all right, I can make it." He squeezed Theo's hand on his shoulder.

"All right." He gave him a light kiss. "I'll be right back." He tossed floo powder into the fire, called out for Draco's office, and vanished.

Draco gave himself another couple minutes to rest, then took out his wand and floated his chair out of the drawing room, conserving his energy. His thoughts were distant as his eyes passed over the boxes stacked in the hall, his things that would need to be moved upstairs or packed up, sold or stored, given away or destroyed. It would be a kindness for him to handle that. But not today; he was worn out from the trip to Diagon Alley.

He left the chair at the bottom of the stairs and tested out standing. Moving with a measured slowness, he could hold the lightheadedness at bay, although he could feel how just the strain of being upright made his heart struggle. The act of climbing stairs was torturously deliberate; push himself up the step physically, float the length of it with his hand on the bannister to keep him steady or help pull him along, stand on his feet on the other end, repeat the entire process, a little bit slower this time…

He stopped to catch his breath halfway up, and in looking up the staircase it seemed to stretch away to infinity; he realised he didn't have the energy to lift his feet again once he stopped moving. It was all he could do to hold himself up, but even that was ultimately asking too much of his body. His wasted hand didn't have the strength to grip the bannister. He sank to his knees on the stair with a shaky breath.

—

Theo found Draco kneeling halfway up the stairs, looking at the carpet in front of him, breaths slow and even, but shallow and tremulous. He immediately came up and crouched beside him, running his hand over the back of Draco's hair, as much for his own benefit as to comfort him, and twitched up Draco's sleeve to check the cuff that measured his heartbeat. It wasn't especially bad; this wasn't a spell that made him collapse, he just needed to rest. He rubbed his back and gently lifted his strengthless hand off the railing to help him up.

Draco's hand gripped his weakly. "I can't." Draco's voice was a broken near-whisper, and the words stabbed him in the heart.

He wrapped his arms around Draco and held him as tightly as he dared. He was so frail against his chest he felt like he would break him if he wasn't careful for even a moment. "I know," he murmured into his hair, voice thick. He had tried so hard, fought for so long, and now he had nothing left, and couldn't deny it any longer. Willpower wasn't enough anymore.

Draco turned his face into his shoulder, weakly holding onto the front of his robes, and he made the impulsive decision to lift him in his arms. He should have levitated him if Draco couldn't find the strength to move himself, but he didn't weigh enough to be a burden. He held Draco's hand with the same arm supporting his shoulders, and carried him the rest of the way up the stairs they both knew he wouldn't descend again under his own power.

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finishinglinepress · 2 years

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NEW FROM FINISHING LINE PRESS: Balm for the Living by Angie Minkin

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Balm for the Living offers poems of #hope and celebrates our very human urge to connect with each other. These poems lift us with kestrels and cedar waxwings, anchor us solidly to the earth, show us how to ebb and flow with life’s tides, and help us to consider profound loss. Reading these poems, we contemplate stars, tango in Havana, and celebrate #life in all its beauty and mystery.

Angie Minkin is a San Francisco-based poet who stands on her head for inspiration. Angie volunteers as a poetry editor of Vistas & Byways Literary Review. Her work has been published in that journal, as well as The MacGuffin, Rattle, The Poeming Pigeon, The Unbroken Journal, Persimmon Tree, Rise Up Review, and several others. Angie is a coauthor of Dreams and Blessings: Six Visionary Poets, published in 2020 by Blue Light Press. Her work has been included in Fog and Light, San Francisco through the Eyes of the Poets Who Live Here and Pandemic Puzzle Poems, also published by Blue Light Press. She has won awards in the Soul-Making Keats Literary Competition in the Prose Poem and Sonnet Categories, and in the Ina Coolbrith Circle Annual Contest. Angie is inspired by the political landscape and the voice of the wise woman. Some of her favorite authors include Elizabeth Alexander, Ellen Bass, and Jane Hirschfield. In addition to writing, Angie practices yoga, takes dance classes, and travels to Oaxaca, Mexico as often as possible.

PRAISE FOR Balm for the Living by Angie Minkin

Balm for the Living offers poems like stoppered jars that hold the essence of our humanness—generational memory, our urge to connect to one another and the natural world, the exultation of our creative play, our staunchness in facing war, pandemic, and even, especially, ordinary loss. The dying, too, are allowed their humanity in these poems, which pay unusual, careful attention to last words, last breath, and the “slide between worlds.” Throughout the collection, Angie Minkin’s verve and wit are evident in the variety of lyrical forms—abecedarian, cento, erasure, prose poem, sonnet, villanelle, and free-line—that she capably employs. Though these poems are permeated with lemon, eucalyptus, salt marsh, and cedar, San Francisco is less a setting than a confluence of energies—wind, waves, and, penetrating everything, the starlight at which we gaze to trace “the arc” of our mysterious lives.

–Erin Redfern, author of Spellbreaking and Other Life Skills

In this glorious collection, birds are cherished everywhere. The opening poem meditates on the healing magic of homemade chicken soup, and the closing poem sings the praises of cedar waxwings who “arrive/ to show us how to feast fully.” In between, in both formal and free verse

Angie Minkin celebrates sparrows, hawks, “an unseen thrush,” blue herons, finches, a kestrel that “lands in the hawthorn tree,” pelicans, snowy plovers. Among these marvelous birds, we also hear children dancing and “hollering wishes to heaven,” as well as old women “humming private melodies” and retracing steps “in this origami life.” Angie Minkin’s poems brim with wonder, vitality, and reverence. They lift us off the ground. They give us wings.

–Kathleen McClung, author of A Juror Must Fold in on Herself and Temporary Kin

Angie Minkin’s Balm for the Living is a joy to read – superb crafting of language, nicely sensual, woven with memories and tenderness. In these poems, you can conjure spells in a dented soup pot, follow the reverberations of a meditation bell, and tango in Havana. You can get drunk on wild cherries with the cedar waxwings, hear “whistles of an unseen thrush rise / on a collective sigh of cedars.” I love the wisdom and compassion in these poems, and everything speaks emotionally. Poems like these are elixirs of beauty in our deeply troubled world.

–Diane Frank, Chief Editor, Blue Light Press Author of While Listening to the Enigma Variations: New and Selected Poems

Please share/repost #flpauthor #preorder #AwesomeCoverArt #read #poems #literature #poetry #hope #life

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ebooksreadernow · 2 years

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Download Now Hello Grief: I'll Be Right with You BY : Alessandra Olanow

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Description

The author of the bestselling I Used to Have a Plan is back with more balm for the soul, offering advice, inspiration, and solace for everyone who has lost something or someone special.After losing her mother to cancer, Alessandra Olanow was overwhelmed by the sadness and uncertainty she felt each day--the shifting tide of emotions that everyone who has suffered loss experiences in their own unique way.In this wise and intimate book, the artist and writer draws insights from her personal loss and also her training as an end-of-life doula to explore the complex, heart-rending process of grief. Olanow chronicles her journey through pain and how she learned to bear a sorrow that will never leave her. In spare but incisive writing and more than 75 full-color drawings, she shares her own struggle with feelings of loss and longing and shows that with time, grief evolves and we relearn the world changed by that loss.Hello Grief can be read straight through from cover to cover or can be

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startrekfangirl2233-writes · 10 months

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Spring, 2020 - North Island Naval Base

Chapter 5 Part 2 of You Are My Soulmate

Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Reader

Description: Rooster's been on house arrest for months now. Months of Ice and Mav, his parents for all intents and purposes, constantly around. Months in which he's been thinking and thinking about Tinkerbell. How she could be his. How she's all alone. How everyone seems intent on painting her as the bad guy. But more than that, Bradley's been thinking about how sorry he is. Sorry that he hadn't said anything before that disastrous flight. Sorry that he was so stupid. Sorry that he wasn't enough.

A chance encounter on base shows him who the true culprit is, as well as how many people are on his side, on both of their sides.

Disclaimers: Misogynistic speech. Mentioned Homosexual Relationships. Angst. Flagrant disregard for protocols or Authority. Angst. Anguish.

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

Warnings: Female!Reader

Word Count: 3465

A/N: Here’s the second part of Chapter 5! We've seen what is happening with Tinkerbell, now we're going to see what is happening with Rooster. He's a bit of a mess, but hopefully he's able to sort himself out. Thanks to @roosterforme for reading over this part when I was struggling with Rooster's perspective and giving me all the feedback!

AO3: Cross-posted Here!

Wattpad: Cross-posted Here!

My Masterlist

Previous Part | Series Masterlist | Next Part

Rooster

There’s this incessant beeping in the background and all Bradley can think in that moment is that he wants it to stop. His limbs feel like they weigh a million pounds and his eyelids feel even heavier. There’s somebody talking, but a part of Bradley isn’t ready to leave the fantasy world he’d been in. Honestly, who could blame him? He’d spent time with his parents! Bradley’s not sure it was real, not really. He's too rational for that, but it feels like the balm his soul needed. Maybe it is time to wake up.

All through his time dreaming, there’s been a nagging thought in his mind. His soulmate. How is she doing? What is she doing? Did she feel his pain? Bradley can still remember what it had been like when they’d found out his dad had passed away. The Navy had sent out an honor guard with that stupid ridiculous triangular folded flag like it would automatically bring him back. But they hadn’t needed to send the guard out at all. His mom had known the second it happened. The invincible Carole Bradshaw had blanched and folded onto her knees like a marionette with its strings cut. She had gone quiet and unresponsive at first. If that wasn’t terrifying enough for a two year old, then there was the way she had screamed and screamed.

Mom had screamed like she was the heroine in a horror movie facing down the villain. And she hadn’t stopped even when the Navy had come a-knocking. Bradley had climbed a stool and opened the door to the soundtrack of her wails. That’s the sound he hears in his nightmares. That’s why he never wanted to find his soulmate. He’s his father’s son. How could he leave behind a soulmate like his dad left his mom? It’s only inevitable after all.

When his eyes open, it's to a blinding white light. It's almost too bright for sensitive eyes that have been closed for far too long. It's obvious he's missing time, if only in that the last thing he remembers is sirens blaring and voices screaming and flames crackling. Then there had been silence, blessed, complete, silence before he’d seen his parents again.

The hospital room he's in is anything but silent. There are alarms blaring and hurried footsteps and there is the pain throbbing behind his temples. It's far too much, far too soon and it hurts. But he hadn't wanted to stay in limbo with his mom and dad, where everything was cool and quiet and calm. Bradley has a soulmate to find after all, and he’s already spent far too long without her.

It's time to live life like Carole and Goose, like his Mom and Dad, would have wanted him to. He can't be afraid of death, of loss, of pain and sorrow and suffering, not anymore. As his eyes adjust, he's faced with the other reasons why he hadn't stayed asleep. Mav and Ice. They look incredibly worn and old and tired. There are new lines creasing Mav's forehead and a tremble to Ice's hands that he's never seen before.

“Bradley, kiddo, can you hear us?” Bradley can’t do anything other than blink. His entire body feels like it weighs a ton and it takes far too much energy to even blink. But that seems to be enough for Mav and Ice. A tremulous smile curls his dad’s mouth even as tears shine and well in his tired green eyes. Mav folds into the nearest chair, his legs seemingly unable to hold him anymore even as his hand clasps securely around Bradley's own.

"Baby Goose, don't you EVER do that again." If Bradley could talk right now, he would wholeheartedly agree. When his body feels like an open burn and everything stings and aches, there is absolutely no way he would ever willingly do what he did again. The doctors pull his dad away, leaving his Pops in his place. The two of them sit like that for hours, completely still in the midst of the frantic activity that erupts as the doctors and nurses check him out and finally spoon ice chips into his parched desert mouth.

Mav's knocked out on the sofa in the corner before the iceberg his dad has turned into melts. "Bradley Bradshaw. Kid if there was any doubt that you take after your dad, both your dads, that doubt would be wiped away at this moment." Pops smiles, his voice hoarser and deeper than it was when he was a kid. Bradley knows that was the price his Uncle Ice, his Pops, paid for fighting cancer and winning.

"Why did you do it, kiddo? Why?" There's this unreadable pain in his cool blue eyes as he stares down at Bradley.

"Because she drives me crazy, Ice." His voice is like he's been gargling a bunch of rocks.

"The AMDO Officer? Tinkerbell?" That his dad laughs makes Bradley feel irritated, like a porcupine with its spines out.

"Do you know what happened the last time I found somebody that infuriated me into doing something that stupid?"

It's a rhetorical question. One which prompts a response Bradley has been parroting for most of his life, "You married him?"

His dad's chuckle sounds like pure happiness. "Yeah, kiddo. I married him."

"So why haven't you acted on the reason why she drives you crazy yet?"

Damn him for getting exactly to the root of why this girl bothers him so much.

"Because as much as she feels like she should be mine, she's not, Pops." His throat visibly tightens at the thought of explaining how confused about Tinkerbell that he actually is.

"She's not my soulmate. She has a soul already and Ice, he's perfect for her. He makes her smile, he takes care of her, and he's never frightened that she's not going to be able to take care of herself or that she's going to get hurt, like I am."

"If you're afraid for her, then that makes it even more likely that she's yours. Kiddo that was how I felt on the Leyte Gulf all those years ago. And how I felt when Mav and your dad went into the flat spin. It feels like your heart is in your throat while at the same time it's in a vice nobody can escape."

That description feels like a punch to the gut.

"But what if I've seen her with her soulmate? What if I know exactly who he is? I have to fly with him, Ice. Work with him. I won't destroy their love when literally anything else, hell even the Navy itself, could." Ice looks thoughtful, pushing his wire-rimmed glasses up his nose.

"Who do you think her soulmate is, kiddo? Don't tell your dad, but I can be a rule breaker every once in a while. I can see if her file has a soulmate listed." There has to be a catch right? The last thing Bradley needs is to get into trouble again.

"Seresin. Jake 'Hangman' Seresin." Before Pops can even pull out his phone or make a single call, another all too familiar voice pipes in.

"Baby Goose, there is no way, Tinkerbell's soulmate is Hangman." Mav's voice may be half asleep but it still has all of the infectious energy it always has. "I look at all of your files pretty often. Hangman has a soulmate, but kiddo, it's not Tinkerbell."

"Why else do I feel so attracted to her then, Mav?" Bradley can't keep a hold on everything he's been feeling, not anymore. He lets every sordid bit of the tale spill. From the first electric touch to the dreams and the way he wants to peacock for her.

"It kind of sounds to me like you've found her, Brad. You've found your soulmate, kid." Mav's smiling, green eyes glinting with joy in the midnight light. But the sick feeling in Bradley's chest hasn't gone away. If what his Dad and Pops are saying is true, he's treated Tinkerbell worse than he thought. He's destroyed any hopes of ever having her take him seriously. All because of a misconception? Some miscommunication?

Mav misreads his grimace of disgust as pain, so it isn't long before his medical team is around again. When he's hopped up on the good painkillers, it feels like there isn't a thing to worry about in all the world. All of his emotions about Tinkerbell get pushed to the wayside over the next few days. First there's the pain and horror at seeing even more scars criss-cross his face when the bandages come off. Then there is the torture of the many, many rounds of physical therapy the doctors put him through.

Each session exhausts his body completely, leaving each muscle as weak as a limp noodle. But if only those sessions did the same for his mind. Since he's been released into his parents loving care, all he's been doing is thinking. About Tink, about his actions to her, about how much he regrets them. Then there were the articles plastered across the internet. The ones that little shit Taylor had spread about Tinkerbell.

His heart hurts thinking of the pain she must be in. At least she'll have Coyote and Hangman to make sure she's safe. Her brothers. Her best friends. He wishes he could be there too. That he could have stopped Hawk before he started spreading vile rumors. That was his fault too, sadly. If he hadn't been so chicken, for lack of a better term, he would've been able to tell Tink how he felt. Or at least tell her his suspicions before crashing down to earth with his feathers on fire. Now, it’s probably too late. He can try texting Jake to see how she is, right?

What’s the likelihood that he even responds though? If Bradley were in Jake’s shoes, he wouldn’t respond to his best friend’s soulmate, especially not if he’s as big an asshole as Bradley has been. And Bradley’s not sure she’d want to see him either. As if Mav and Ice would let him onto base and out of their range of sight anyways. Hell the two of them have been so overprotective that they haven’t even let Bradley be alone in a room by himself since he was released from the hospital. But he can’t blame them. He has the feeling his mom and Goose would have acted the same way. But they’re smothering and it’s an unintentional relief when Ice drags him onto base with him one day about two months after he woke up. He’s still bandaged up and walking on crutches, but it feels like a breath of fresh air to be on base again. Even lying on the sofa in the corner of Ice’s office on base feels like a new experience today.

Of course, he’s startled out of his dozing state when Pops’ secretary announces two JAG officers into the office.

"Commanders Marks and Greybank. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Pops coughs a little, sipping on some of the tea always present on his desk. “I only wish it had been under better circumstances.”

“Admiral Kazansky, yes.” It's Marks who starts off the debrief and what Bradley hears leaves him reeling.

“We wanted to speak to you about the incidents on base that occurred three months ago. But before we get started, we are aware that Lieutenant Bradshaw is here, and we wanted to speak to him as well.” It’s a little unwieldy to stand up and take the one remaining chair on crutches, but Bradley’s sure he manages without looking quite as ungraceful as he feels.

“You wanted to speak to me, Commanders?” Bradley’s feeling tense and worried, all of his languid ease dissipated into tension as he settles in for the conversation.

“Yes. We wanted to confirm what you heard in Hangar Three during the first AMDO inspection that the Lieutenant Commander most commonly known as Tinkerbell presided over.” Bradley’s a little taken aback at the line of questioning, but after exchanging a look with his dad, complies. He lays out the facts as he remembers them, including the look of derision on Hawk’s face as he’d laid into Tinkerbell’s team and Tinkerbell herself. If he takes a bit of joy in describing how she put Hawk back in his place, he’s sure neither his dad nor the commanders will ever mention it. But that’s only the tip of the iceberg.

“In your opinion, did it seem that day like Hawk had formed a grudge against the Lieutenant Commander for being a woman in her position?” Faced with that blunt question, Rooster’s forced to re-examine everything Hawk has done or said in his presence since that day about Tinkerbell.

And he doesn’t like the picture being painted at the moment. “Yes, sir.” His voice is quiet, subdued.

“Do you hold any ill will towards the Lieutenant Commander, either for her actions that day, or for her actions on the day of your accident?”

He’s blurting the word ‘NO’ out before his mind is even made up. “I do not hold any ill will towards the Lieutenant Commander, sirs.”

He doesn’t miss the telling glances the Commanders share with each other and with Admiral Kazansky, because his Pops is gone, the Admiral taking his place.

“Lieutenant Bradshaw, what would you say if we told you that we want to keep Tinkerbell from a court martial and that indeed we’re inclined to proceed with court martial proceedings against Lieutenant Junior Grade Taylor?”

“I’d be happy to help in any way I can. Tinkerbell isn’t at fault for what is happening to me. I went against her orders and got into my jet before it was flight-ready. It was not her fault.”

“There, Lieutenant Commander, we are agreed.” It’s Commander Marks who picks up the conversation. “Especially since we have video evidence that it was Hawk who sabotaged your jet.”

Bradley’s brain must shut down because he can’t believe what he’s hearing. That shit! That complete and total utter lily-livered coward! He sabotaged the jet. Hawk’s the reason why he’s in so much pain every day, the kind of pain that even a good night’s sleep can’t occlude? He deserves so much more than a court martial.

“Those news articles about Tinkerbell. Were they his doing as well?” There’s rage descending in a red film over his vision. His already pain-ridden shaky limbs quake with the force of it, silent tremors which he tries to quell by tensing his muscles.

“Yes, it appears so. We’ve been in contact with the news outlets who published those articles. The contracts Lieutenant Junior Grade Taylor signed did not include an anonymity clause. So we have the proof that he is culpable for those as well.”

There is a sick feeling roiling in his gut. It’s fighting with the rage pulsing with every beat of his heart for dominance. He barely realizes what’s happening, because all of a sudden he blinks and Commanders Marks and Greybank are being shown out of the office.

“Hey, kiddo.”

“Kiddo?”

“Baby Goose!” It’s his childhood nickname at a near shout which shakes him out of his thoughts.

“Yeah, Pops?” Bradley can hear the crack in his voice.

“Are you going to be okay? Testifying against Taylor so soon after your own injuries?” There’s an unreadable look on his face, something trapped between fear and Iceman calm and collected.

“Whether I’m okay or not, it doesn’t matter, Icepop.” Ice’s smile is halfway to genuine then. “All that matters is that we take that little asshole down before he hurts Tinkerbell further.”

“I agree, kiddo.” His dad sighs, slow and soft. “It’s what I would do if some idiot had been the reason why Mav had been injured. I can’t pretend to know what you’re feeling, but whatever you need, your dad and I are in your corner, yours and hers, no matter what.”

Bradley’s not ashamed in the slightest to find he’s brushing a couple of tears away.

“I have it on good authority that the Daggers are having a bit of a break right now. They should be in the ready room. Why don’t you head over there and catch up with your squad, kid? I’ll text you when I’m ready to head home.”

Bradley slips out of the door soon after, texting Mav to let him know that it looks like Pops has a killer headache if the way he is rubbing his temples is any indication. His progress down the halls of North Island are in direct contrast to any of the other times in his life where he’s positively rocketed down the halls. Usually he’s walking as fast as he can past the Admiral’s offices, because it’s well-known that everyone enlisted is a little bit paranoid around the big brass. Just because his dads are two of the members of the big brass doesn’t change that.

His progress is halting and slow, the crutches still seem incredibly unwieldy, despite the fact that he’s been using them for months now. He still can’t wait to be away from them. When he finally shoulders the door to the ready room ready, he’s praying that it’s only the Daggers on the premises. He can’t exactly hide the new scars criss-crossing his face, they’re far too evident for that. But while he can take Hangman’s gentle (nearly loving) prodding and Payback’s ribbing, he’s not sure he can handle the less light-hearted, less fun teasing if the Top Gun class is also in the room. As is evident by his luck, or lack thereof, it’s Hawk’s bray-like laughter which greets him as he walks into the room.

He shouldn’t feel like a specimen under the microscope as he walks towards the corner with the big sofa that the Daggers have claimed. But it’s hard to feel like anything but when it feels like everyone in the room has their eyes on him. In that instant, it feels like all of his injuries are worse than they were when he walked into the room. He can almost feel whispering conversations starting up, the ones claiming that “Bradshaw’s flown his last hop, ever. Bradshaw’s been cut down in his prime.”

Of course, the moment the Daggers see him coming, he’s greeted with nothing but smiles. It’s almost too easy to sink into the easy camaraderie he has with his friends. He still feels like he’s being watched, of course, but he can ignore the prying gazes so long as he’s with his friends. Nat’s showing him pictures of what he’s missed, and he’s actually having a nice time, for the first time in what feels like forever. At least, that is, until Hawk comes swaggering up to the sofa where he’s squished between Nat, Bob, Fanboy, and Hangman of all people.

“Well, hi there, Rooster.” He’s exuding smug superiority standing there in his neatly pressed khakis. “I thought you weren’t going to show up on base for a bit longer, old man.”

He’s not deigning this asshole with a response. Not now.

“I mean, I don’t blame you for wanting to come back so soon. I would want to do the same after what that stupid bitch did to me.” Bradley can’t decide if he’s puffing up in anger or if he’s feeling the second-hand rage from Jake at his side. “And let’s be honest, old man. You’re definitely not the spring chicken you were when you got your callsign. I’d take any jump on re-establishing my dominance if I were you.”

Now Rooster can feel Nat’s rage building in addition to his own.

“I’m sure we’re all agreed that the little whore that she is got her comeuppance. She sabotaged you, after all.”

That’s when Rooster’s tenuous control on his temper snaps. Before Hawk can blink or even gather his thoughts, he’s on the floor. His hand hurts and Hawk’s nose is bleeding. It hadn’t looked all that good earlier, either, still a little bruised and providing a horrible nasal quality to his voice. Hawk wasn’t half the looker he thought he was earlier.

But of course, just when Rooster thinks Hawk’s finally shut his mouth, he’s back up again. He’s spitting more nonsense about Tinkerbell, hell about Rooster again, But his voice dies down when he has Hangman, Coyote, Payback and Phoenix circling him. Say what you will about the Daggers, but they’re nothing if not family. And you may think that Coyote, Payback and Hangman are scary. But they’ve got nothing on Phoenix. Especially when Rooster can see the idiot’s face blanche at what she whispers into his ear. The court martial proceedings cannot come soon enough.

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

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