From one writer to another I'm telling you that every effort towards writing your story is a step forward. Daydreaming, making playlists, sketching your characters, worldbuilding right down to the for centuries before your story starts, binge watching content related to or in the same genre as your story, everything counts and you should never feel guilty about taking the time to play around with the world that you created.
"Everybody says, 'Aren't you tired of being recognized for doing Emergency!?' No. I'm remembered for something that changed emergency medicine forever. That actually saved lives. How lucky can any one person be?"
Randolph Mantooth
September 19, 1945 - July 9, 2026
“There are no female aliens in our game because we don’t know how to make a female version of this alien” You know that alien you just designed? That male alien? Give it a female voice actor and have characters refer to it as she. That’s it. That’s literally all you have to do
Last October '25 started the most wonderful ride for me, one I still hadn't gotten off of. Emergency! has brought so much fun and even education for me. And of course, the character Johnny Gage was my favorite.
I know that he dealt with illness since 2015, off and on and so for that, he is now out of pain. But boy, still too early. He did so much good for the EMS industry even after E! had ended. And he won't be able to see the release of his documentary.
I know that Kevin has lost such a dear friend. And to his sister and brother, they've lost their treasured sibling.
I'MA TELL THE WORLD THAT YOU'RE MINE, MINE, MINE! / BRADLEY "ROOSTER" BRADSHAW
SUMMARY Maverick gets a taste of the past when he sees you with Rooster.
WORD COUNT 3.5k
WARNINGS/TROPES Fem!Kazansky!Reader, childhood friends, ambiguous relationships (in the sense I never actually define if this is the first time they've kissed or a regular thing), references to the first Top Gun movie, no use of Y/N, pet names (sweetheart, baby, ma'am), PDA, uncle mav!! set during that first hard deck scene in TGM, in which hangman unknowingly digs himself a bigger hole with mav
AUTHOR'S NOTE wow, a non-hockey + reader-insert fic for once! not sure if this'll be a recurring thing, but i'm giving y'all a taste of my AO3 :)
Gold spilled through the windows, glinting against the ceiling-hung model airplanes and sweating beer bottles scattered throughout the Hard Deck. Most chairs lay unoccupied, and the wooden planks creaking beneath your feet were still visible past the sparse early evening crowd.
You were reveling in the calm before the storm.
Each time the front door gave way to a sudden rush of wind, you glanced up, observing, picking apart. There was the civilian, whose wide eyes flickered like he'd stumbled into a place twenty miles from where he was actually meant to be. Then came the couple—definitely military—who sidled up to the counter and rattled drinks off like a maintenance checklist, like they couldn't quite shake off work.
The worst ones were the slim-bodied, khaki-clad aviators, who sauntered in with the confidence of a vain peacock, laughter as vibrant as the attention-grabbing feathers adorned in deep blues and verdant greens.
Hangman leaned against the counter with that perfectly, frustratingly charming grin of his. Your name rolled off his tongue, laced with shallow affection. A light-hearted flirt fest was all. "How've you been, sweetheart?"
"You're a few hours from Lemoore," you said. "Both of you."
The corners of Coyote's lips flipped up. "Missed us?"
"Terribly." Sarcasm dripped from your tone. "What can I get you tonight?"
Amber beer bottles scraped against the counter. Hangman winked as he threw a few dollar bills down—a hefty tip, as always—and you blew a meaningless kiss in the air that sent him and Coyote away.
"Your dad know you're flirting with his men?"
You turned slowly in hopes that you could rein in the widening stretch of your mouth in time, but a full-blown beam glimmered beneath the dim bar lights as you met the familiar raised eyebrows and knowing green eyes that had watched you—and seen past your innocent eyelash batting—through nearly every stage of life.
"I was wondering how long it'd take before you showed up here," you said, cheeks flushed with remnants of a passing youth. You rounded the bartop, two strides becoming one, feet light like the floor was made of springs.
Maverick barely twisted in his seat in time for your embrace, his shoulder digging into your sternum as you flung your arms around his neck. He shifted, winding his grasp around your ribs, unable to hide his smile as your sweet laughter echoed in his ears like a bright sunny day. "Hi, kid."
"Hi, Mav. It's been a while. I missed you."
"How'd you know I'd be around?"
You were behind the bar again. "All this time, and you're still asking."
Maverick's lips thinned. Of course. "How is he?"
A sharp breath inflated your chest, your gaze falling to the lemons yet to be cut. You picked up the knife. "I don't feel like crying on the job today," you said with a slight tremble. You made one slice before putting the knife back down and forcing your chin up. "You should go see him while you're here. I'm sure he'd appreciate it after all the strings he's pulled for you."
"You're making digs at me now?"
"Only fair for all the teasing you've put me through as a kid." Your gaze slid to the door as it swung open. Just another group of civilians. "Look," you propped your forearms on the counter, "I'm not supposed to know anything about this, but you know my dad has never been able to keep things from me, especially not about..." You paused when Maverick's expression wavered, then cast a glance over your shoulder, toward Hangman and Coyote by the dartboard—the only kind of people you'd come to know throughout your life. "I know Bradley got called back here. Are you ready to see him?"
Are you? came close to slipping out of Maverick's mouth—a quick rebuttal he'd slammed down with teeth grinding together, just short of painful. The sting eventually shot through his jaw when he noticed the threaded bracelet looped around your wrist, weathered and stained as time frayed the edges. You and Bradley had matching ones. He remembered that. He was there when you made them.
And the shirt you were wearing—a deep blue with the University of Virginia insignia printed in the middle—was loose around the collar, nearly sliding down your shoulder, sleeves scraping past your elbows. It was almost comically oversized. If he had to guess, he'd say it was Bradley's, somehow in your possession over the years—years he'd lost with him, but years you hadn't.
Those aviators, too, roosted atop your head, clearly forgotten to take off before the start of your shift, looked an awful lot like the ones he'd gotten Bradley as a teenager. You must have been the recipient of them after their relationship had plummeted into the seventh circle of Hell.
Money not wasted, he supposed.
But his question would've been a stupid one to ask.
You were nearly doused in Bradley Bradshaw, and instead of the tumultuous ball of dread cradled in his stomach, your heart was probably jumping for joy at the very thought of seeing him again.
Something in his chest clenched as the mission loomed over his head. You. He had to think of you, too. He couldn't afford to blow this.
"Get back to work," he finally said.
Your gaze flitted over his face—steely, calculating, like you were dissecting every thought that passed through his brain, paired with a cocky edge that pushed your head atilt, obnoxiously chomping on the stale piece of gum in your mouth. God, you were every bit Iceman's kid when you did that.
Maverick wasn't sure if he found comfort in that.
"Fine," you relented. "We'll do it your way, Uncle Pete." You pushed away from the counter. "But you owe me dinner."
You returned your attention to your job, mentally preparing for the moment this bar would be turned upside down and inside out as the clock struck closer to midnight. The limes and lemons were cut into wedges, and you'd wiped down the counter more times than truly necessary, and really, you should be switching out the kegs, but Maverick looked pathetically lonely as he nursed a pint, and you'd run your luck—and a keg—dry the last time you tried to do it, so you remained at your station and hoped someone else would do it for you.
"Oh, you've got to be kidding me." Penny froze, a crate of freshly washed glasses and schooners perched on her hip. "You know about this?"
You bit back a grin, innocently shrugging. You could feel Maverick's disbelief burning into the rear of your head as you attended to a new patron. Then another. And another. Until the bell clamored beside you, a jingle that coaxed cheers from everyone but the reason behind it.
"Tough night, Mav," you said over your shoulder, but your amusement trailed off when Hangman's voice ricocheted like a jet engine.
"What do we have here?"
With Payback and Fanboy flanked behind her, Phoenix strolled through the front door—just three. Your stare lingered on the closing gap as the door thudded against the frame, trying to keep the small puff of dejection from blowing against the bottle of vodka in your hand.
He'd be here soon enough.
Hangman eventually found his way back to the bar. "Penny, my dear."
"Yeah?"
"I'll have four more on the old-timer."
Your lips slanted. The slight tilt of Maverick's head was meant to snuff out your impending rib-aching, tear-filled laughter, but your smirk only deepened. "You gonna be able to buy me dinner after this, old man?"
"You're trouble," said Maverick. His gaze darted to Penny, long enough for you to understand that he had meant more than just the fun you were poking at.
All you responded with was a wink.
Hangman beckoned you over with his fingers. He leaned down, his voice a quiet hum against the ruckus flowering around you. "I'm not one to judge, but he's a little older than your usual target, ain't he?"
You ducked your head, hiding the way your face twisted in all the wrong ways and swallowing down the retch shooting up your throat, before the coquettish mask returned. "My usual target's not here."
"Will he be?"
"I don't believe I'm at liberty to tell you, Hangman."
His eyes crinkled. "Well, if you're looking for a new one," he said, "you know where to find me."
You snorted.
"Bradshaw!"
Your head whipped toward the door.
Amidst the throng of people pouring into the Hard Deck, you spotted the familiar sunkissed skin swathed in a loose, unbuttoned shirt, jeans mapping out the creases in his muscles, and those sunglasses you'd talked him into buying one day. Your mouth had tipped up in a smile before you even realized.
Hangman sighed. "And there goes my chance."
"Like you ever had one." Penny slid in beside you, putting down four beers in front of Hangman.
"I'll let him know you're here."
Your gaze followed Bradley as he bounded past the bar and toward the pool tables, joining the growing group of aviators. "No, you won't."
Hangman flashed another one of his charming smiles. "Much appreciated, Pops. Hey, sweetheart, what song are you feeling? I was thinkin' Slow Ride." He scrunched his nose when you fixed him with a dry and hardened stare. "Offer's still on the table."
"Keep dreaming, Seresin!" you exclaimed to his back.
Maverick handed his card to Penny to close his tab. His gaze was heavy on you, tracking the way your giddy grin faltered as a new song danced into the air. Hangman's laughter was a beacon within the crowd, as though he knew you were rolling your eyes at him. You hadn't even followed through when you drifted to Bradley again, like a compass needle always finding true north.
Yeah, his qualms with this mission went beyond him and Bradley. He definitely needed to think of you.
"Why'd you pull his papers, Mav?" you asked softly, a quiet hum that was nearly lost in the flood of commotion warming the room up. It felt misplaced for a place like this. But you asked anyway.
"He wasn't ready."
You slipped a lemon wedge against a glass. "Neither was I, and you and my dad hadn't made a sound when I put my application in. I think that only pissed him off some more."
"You weren't going in to be a pilot."
"Bullshit, and you know it. If my eyes hadn't shit the bed, I'd be in that cockpit." You handed the drink off to a waiting sailor. "I know it's different—you and him, you and I—but at the end of the day, he still made it here. Was it really worth losing him over it?"
The muscles in Maverick's jaw ticked. He shook the distant fog in his eyes away. "Do you always have heart-to-hearts with your customers?"
"Only the ones I grew up with."
Penny put Maverick's card down on the counter. "It's been declined."
Disbelief warped his face. "You're kidding."
Penny didn't pull her attention from him as she told you, "Why don't you take your fifteen?"
You didn't stick around. You didn't want to. You'd seen Penny and Maverick dance around each other for as long as you could remember, spanning since before you were born. Whatever unresolved tension hung between them was something you did not want to be trapped in the midst of.
Hangman wooed. "I knew you couldn't resist, sweetheart."
But his words fell on deaf ears as your hand glided up Bradley's arm and across the expanse of his back. His skin didn't twitch, and there wasn't a flicker of surprise in Bradley's eyes—not at the sudden warmth encasing the scars littered on his neck that traced the path of your touch, not at the brush of your thumb against the hairs on the back of his head, not at the comforting press of your body against his, not at the weight of your stare that seemed to settle his entire soul.
No, of course not. He would know you even if his memory were wiped.
Bradley snaked his arm around your waist, meeting your eyes with a face-splitting grin. A sweet mix of seasalt, wood, and sweat encircled you as his body draped over yours, the tautness in your shoulders dissipating with a slow exhale that would make the next few hours of fulfilling drink orders worth it. You weren't sure if the shivers prickling your skin were from the ticklish brush of his mustache or the gentle kiss on the curve of your neck.
"Watch the hand, Bradshaw," you warned when his palm ventured low over the curve of your spine, skimming the top of your jeans. His chest trembled with laughter, and yours followed as you pulled away—a sound so attuned to his, a familiar beat you'd grown up with, one your heart had learned to mimic. "Hiya, you big stud."
"You look good," he said, kissing the side of your head. "Always do."
A satisfied hum rippled in your throat. You remained nestled against Bradley, but turned to Hangman with a sugary sweet smile. "Oh, I'm sorry, Seresin. Did you say something?"
Hangman rolled his eyes as laughter erupted around you.
Bradley's lips grazed the shell of your ear, breath warm. "Unplug the jukebox and meet me at the piano?"
"I was getting sick of this song anyway." You slipped from Bradley's grasp, even as his arm seemed to contradict his words and tightened around you.
Groans weaved between patrons as you yanked the plug from the outlet, slicing through the song that Hangman had selected.
Bradley held his hand over his shoulder, waiting patiently to feel yours slide against his before pulling you onto his lap. "How long do I have you for?"
"One song," you said, taking his folded sunglasses from the collar of his white vest and resting them back on the bridge of his nose. "Make it a good one, hot stuff."
"Yes, ma'am." His fingers dexterously tapped along the black and ivory keys of the wooden upright piano, quelling the complaints around them.
Something warm wrapped around you, memories infiltrating your mind of late summer nights in high school, and endless karaoke nights he'd back you up with, and ballads after your first heartbreak, and thunderous thrumming that kept the party alive, and relaxing Saturday mornings as the waves crashed into the nearby shore, and stories you'd heard from your dad and Maverick over the years, and behind each one, you could hear Bradley pressing one key after another.
There was nothing quite like it.
The bell rang again as a distant echo in your head. You managed to catch the moment Hangman, Payback, and Coyote carried Maverick out of the bar by his limbs. Overboard. Briefly, your eyes connected over Bradley's shoulder, and you picked out the subtle shift in his expression, like he, too, was caught in a memory. A very different one.
Then, he was gone in a blink of an eye.
Maverick left your mind just as quickly as he'd gone as the first few notes of Great Balls of Fire played out. Bradley had told you about the fading recollection he had of him perched on a piano while his dad belted out the song. He also spent hours teaching you to play it. You were sure Carole would've been sick of the song by the time you'd figured it out if it didn't remind her so much of Goose.
"You shake my nerves, and you rattle my brains," Bradley started strongly, his voice rasping with charisma. His mouth was hot against your ear. "Too much love drives a man insane!"
Laughter shook your chest as you joined in, your head bobbing to the rhythm. You didn't care for the way his body jostled, or his head bumped against the back of your shoulder as he damn near shouted the lyrics for everyone to hear.
It was fun. Being with Bradley was always fun.
Whether it was doing fifty push-ups in the kitchen together because your dad thought he was standing too close to you, or helping you with the infinite mountain of paperwork you needed to fill out during your tenure in the Navy, or grocery shopping with his mom before she passed—all of it was a zing of adrenaline and a rush of dopamine when it was with him.
You were out of breath by the time the song ended, throat scratched raw from belting out the familiar song. Ecstasy leaked into your exhale, trembling yet light, and your lips remained pinned up as Bradley squeezed your waist, his arm winding around securely, a comfortable heat seeping past the fabric of your shirt.
It took everything in you to peel away from his grasp.
"What time are you off?" he asked.
"You've got an early morning," you said. "Don't do it to yourself."
Bradley twisted around as you disappeared through the sea of people. "But I want to!"
The rest of the night had stretched long and strenuously, incessantly churning out drink orders, wiping down sticky counterspace, and restocking bottles. By the time the last drunk-to-high-heaven person had ushered themselves out, you were ready to collapse behind the bar and call it a night.
Penny had to pull you off a stool before your eyes fluttered shut until daybreak.
Hauling your bag over your shoulder, you shouted goodnight to her on your way out. The chilly coastal breeze beyond the front door did enough to revive what little energy you had left, bones chattering beneath your pebbled skin.
A startled gasp cut past your lips when you found Bradley leaning against your car, sunglasses askew on his nose and one sleeve of his loose, unbuttoned shirt sliding down his arm. Somehow, he still looked more put together than you. "I thought you left with the rest of 'em."
His head snapped up, a slow grin stretching across his face. "You wouldn't tell me what time you got off, so I waited."
"And now you need someone else to get you home," you said, recounting the drinks you'd served him (and cut him off from for his own benefit).
Bradley dug his keys out of his pocket, the matching bracelet you had with him hanging off the keychain that glinted beneath the exterior lights of the Hard Deck, and handed them to you for safekeeping. "Yes, ma'am." He watched you haphazardly stuff your things into the backseat of your car. "D'you know why we got called back?"
A teasing spark shined in your eyes. "Should've known you just wanted to use me."
Something akin to a wounded noise escaped Bradley. "Baby, no." His hands clumsily cradled your jaw. "I would never."
"What about the time you tried to make Vanessa Torres jealous?" You pushed his sunglasses into his hair.
"That was one time. Almost twenty years ago."
"So not never." The amusement on your face faltered, easily wiped away as time plunged deeper into the night. You curled your fingers around his wrist, his radial pulse gently beating beneath you. "I don't know what the mission is," you conceded quietly, swallowing thickly, "but whatever it is, promise me you'll come back."
Bradley's eyes flickered between yours. You had probably done this a million times by now—made him swear that he'll return. That he'll return to you. Alive. And each time, he felt the weight of his career compressing his bones until he was about ten inches shorter. Was this what his dad felt? He wished he could ask him that, see if it got any easier.
"Haven't I always?" He hoped you wouldn't notice the slight crack in his voice.
You gave a short hum, as though you could see right past him. He doubted that the lingering alcohol coursing through his system was any good at keeping a mask up; then again, he was never very good at hiding things from you to begin with.
"Get in the car," you said softly, pulling your face away from his hands. "We'll grab your Bronco in the morning."
"Can I get a kiss first?"
That got a quiet little huff of laughter from you, swelling when he pulled you even closer, his arms tightly looping around your waist, like the very notion of space between you was inexcusable.
"Kiss me, baby," he sang like he was behind the piano again. Quieter this time—a personal serenade.
"You're something else, Bradshaw." You pulled him down for a surprisingly gentle kiss, a delicate pressure that sent a quiet, warm ripple straight to your chest. You hated to pull away, even as your heart rapped against your ribs and your lungs heaved for air, but you couldn't stop the giddy stretch of your lips as age-old butterflies erupted in your stomach.
"Ooh," Bradley shivered, "that feels good."
"Yeah?" You notched an eyebrow. "You gonna love me like a lover should?"
"Oh, baby, I'll do a lot more than that." He nuzzled his face against your neck. "I'ma tell this world that you're mine, mine, mine."
"Good." You stole another kiss. "Now get in the car."
It’s recently been found that even hive insects rest. Bees will play with colorful toys. Ants sleep for about 1 minute but they do it so frequently it amounts to a few hours per day. Even trees take breaks.
The only things that work without rest are machines; literally everything that lives requires rest.
EVERYTHING THAT LIVES REQUIRES REST. STOP JUDGING YOURSELF FOR NOT BEING A ROBOT.
robots require very frequent breaks! welding machines generally have it programmed in that they can’t run so long they melt themselves. ive overseen two different manufacturing robots now and each of them were fragile, finicky idiots that require constant maintenance and repair. they pause in between moves, in between jobs. you’re always keeping an eye on programming errors, on coolant levels, on heat. you’re always pulling bits of scrap out of joints, sweeping up debris, washing off nozzles and untangling hoses. and even then it snaps a chain and takes a whole morning’s vacation.
anyway sound off. at what stage do ppl think Han figured out the Force was real. the boring answer is after seeing Obi-wan vanish but i think he could rationalise that away as his eyes playing tricks on him. what do we think.
that's so funny. that means he accepted Vader deflecting a blaster bolt with his hand as just something freaky government cyborgs can do, and stuck by Luke for multiple years as he tried to figure this Force stuff out, and just treated it like your friend getting really really into neopaganism to cope with a loss.
like yeah kid good job with the witching. i'm certain it will be more useful against your enemies than your sharpshooting. no i do not think your witchcraft is supplementing your aim but i'm not gonna argue about it.
yeah Luke was like 'I heard Ben Kenobi's voice in my head telling me how to blow up the Death Star :)' and Han was like 'kind of an unusual coping mechanism but I'm not gonna argue with him'
thanks to carbonite han not only misses learning about luke's training montage on dagobah, he's also half-blind during their whole escape on tatooine. luke's out there force-kicking henchmen with his gucci boots and doing flips and shit and han can't see a goddamn thing. now on endor luke's yeeting threepio with the power of his mind and han's just like 'the last time we hung out i had to stuff him in a tauntaun sleeping bag'.
tangentwithtanner
izzy806
baratheonpilled
