celescere

[celescere]

of his bones sneak

[celescere]

finally, it's completely canon

gifs by @alexisrosemullens

[celescere]

wip wednesday

from "you and i were almost nothing" - a soulmate story based on this prompt: Soulbonds Identity Porn - Soulmate Goes By A Different Name Than The One on Soulmate's Skin

To give Carole credit she at least waited until Goose had drifted away to the diner’s beat-up piano to begin her interrogation. “All right, something is up with you. Tell me everything.”

Short and to the point, Mav wasn’t sure if Carole even knew how to beat around the bush. He nudged the french fries closer to Bradley, it was what passed for a vegetable on a plate full of chicken nuggets and bought himself a few seconds of a reprieve. “Nothing is up with me, unless you’re talking about our chances for the Top Gun trophy.”

Carole gave him the look again, and then, as if in sync, Goose started up with the slow tune that Maverick instantly recognized from his faded memories of his childhood. They were working together against him, using their mysterious Soulmates connection apparently to outnumber him. Mav held firm, until Goose tipped his head back to look at them with a saucy wink, “These… arms… of … miiiinnne-”

“Carole.”

“Mav.”

“Carole, stop him-”

She held up her hands in a faux show of powerlessness, “I don’t have any control over him, Goosey is his own man. I mean, just look at that mustache and shirt, do you think I’m involved in that decision makin’ process?”  She smiled wider as Mav glared across the table at her. Like it wasn’t a planned ambush.

In the meantime, Goose kept singing to the nearly empty dinner with a gusto, “These arms of miiiiinnnnne, they are yearning, yearning for wannnnting you-” From the front counter, their waitress was smiling at the display and everyone knew, Goose needed no encouragement to continue his ridiculous act.

Traitors, both of them. Mav realized he should have never shared his childhood connection to Otis Redding with them, and caved. “Okay, fine, there’s this guy-”

“You found him!?” Carole cut him off with joy and excitement.

“No,” he answered firmly. For as maddening as Tom Kazansky was, he wasn’t Avnotom. “Nothing like that. He’s in our class and he just pisses me off.”  

“Keep eating, baby,” Carole said gently to Bradley, nudging him away from playing with the nuggets on his plate, and then fixed an eye on Mav, like a drill sergeant during inspection. “And you, keep talking, you’ve dealt with assholes before, what makes this guy different?”

“Nothing.” Maverick winced at the frankly blistering look Carole sent him, and amended it, “It’s a competition, of course, guys are going to be into it,” another look, even more narrowed, “Okay, I’m into it, I know I push things to the limit but the safety of my aircraft and crew comes first. I might have been a little too aggressive chasing down the CO, but I apologized to Goose about it. But this asshole, Kazansky, had the nerve to imply that I was in it for personal glory, that I only care about myself, that I don’t know what side I’m on out there-”

“And you’re mad because he’s wrong?”

“I’m mad because-” Mav broke off, unable to finish the sentence to its conclusion. He was mad because Kazansky had taken something he had learned in a vulnerable moment and had broadcast it to the whole class. He was mad because he had thought they had reached a new understanding after that volleyball game and he was apparently wrong. He was mad because he wasn’t mad at all, he was hurt instead- 

After leaving his aunt’s house as an adult, he had made a vow to never let someone hurt him again like that, and Kazansky had just brushed right past that wall. His words had cut deeper than Viper’s after that failed hop.

“I’m mad because he doesn’t seem to get it.”

[celescere]

*chucks very messy cowboy au coloured sketches at y’all*

[celescere]

How’s my wingman?

[celescere]

when ao3 is back up i want all of you to leave comments on the fics you were interrupted from reading, the fics you were looking to find, the fics you were thinking about re-reading, and the fics left open in your tabs for months now.

when ao3 is back up, i want you all to show some love to your favourite writers, favourite fics, or even just the 600 word one-shot that brought a smile to your face that tuesday three weeks ago.

when ao3 is back up i want you all to remember that comments and explicitly voiced appreciation are what keep writers going.

[celescere]

Source

[celescere]

HELP WHILE Ao3 IS DOWN SOME PEOPLE ARE POSTING FICS IN THE DOWNDETECTOR COMMENTS 😭😭😭

I’M SCREAMING

[celescere]

good fences make good neighbors

Commiseration Tuesday

With AO3 temporarily down, lots of us are sad at not being able to read when we wanted to! With that in mind, I’m taking the opportunity to invite you guys to share a little something from a WIP to keep us going through the downtime! Preferably something we haven’t shared before, but whatever works for you! Tagged by @ravens-words​ - thank you! I am working on an exchange fic, so I can’t share that, but I can share a WIP that I had before then…

ICEMAV - Set just after 1986 - based on a prompt where Mav and Ice are roommates and they have noisy neighbors. mentions of period-typical homophobia, and some misunderstandings ….

4400 words currently, but unfinished.

***

It was the third time that week.

Maverick stared sightless up at the plain white ceiling, tracing the cracks in the plaster while he listened to his next-door neighbors, Wolf and Hollywood, do their best to medal in the sex noise Olympics. It would be one thing if they decided to do this during the early evening hours when Mav could raise the volume on the ball game enough to drown out the moans and rhythmic thumping, but apparently, no one had any excess energy *right* after a work day. Instead, the second wind came at 2 am.

Keep reading

[celescere]

Icemav F1 AU Snippet

With AO3 temporarily down, lots of us are sad at not being able to read when we wanted to! With that in mind, I’m taking the opportunity to invite you guys to share a little something from a WIP to keep us going through the downtime! Preferably something we haven’t shared before, but whatever works for you!

Thanks to @lambourngb for the tag, and @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut for the idea! I’m tagging @perishablealex and @seresins if they fancy sharing, no pressure though :))) Here’s a little snippet from the middle of the first draft of chapter one of the Icemav F1 AU that i’m working on. I already know that it’s going to be long one. And VERY much a slowburn. enjoy! Somewhere in Imola, Italy, late February 1986. Tom’s sitting in the hotel bar that evening, nursing his water like it’s a pint of Guinness. It’s a posh place. Well, it’s a nice place. It’s not the fucking Ritz, but it’s certainly no Travelodge either. The bar reflects that: the dark wood counters, the panelled walls, the glass-block partitions that are just the wrong side of in style. It’s busy, probably more so than usual, given that most of the drivers are staying here. Tom doesn’t mean it to sound arrogant, but they tend to draw a crowd. Politely turning people away has become something of a forte of his. Truthfully, he doesn’t even want to be at the bar, it’s Ron that dragged him here. Leo slides into one of the spare chairs at their table. Rick follows a few paces behind, three beers balanced precariously in his grasp. “That better be straight vodka,” Leo frowns at the glass in front of Tom. “Like hell it is,” Ron snorts. At the same time, Tom replies, “rubbing alcohol, actually.” He wouldn’t be overly disappointed if it was; that morning’s testing wasn’t the best he’s ever had. This time, it’s Rick that levels him a somewhat disapproving look. It isn’t the first he’s received today and it certainly won’t be the last, that much he knows. “Come on. Have a drink with us.” Ron just smiles, he knows that Neven’s fighting a losing battle. When he’s in the car the next day, Tom never drinks. Not even one. He knows that a single pint, or a vodka on the rocks, will be out of his system in a few hours but that doesn’t change his mind. Neither does the fact that it’s just another day of testing, not racing. He still won’t, not after - Tom takes a deep breath, pushing the thought from his mind. He shakes his head; Leo rolls his eyes. “Killjoy.” “You won’t be saying that when you’ve all got a cracking headache tomorrow.” “Hey,” Ron puts his hands up in front of him, feigning surrender, “we’re only having one.” “Sure.” Tom smiles, shaking his head slightly. He’ll believe that when he sees it. That evening, they aren’t the only drivers at the bar. Earlier, he saw Bryn Hughes chatting with some engineers over a drink or two - Ron suggested that they listen in for any potential intel; Tom just told him he was a fucking idiot, they won’t be talking about anything official, not unless they too share only three collective brain cells. Over by the far wall - wedged between a floor-to-ceiling window on the left, and a steady stream of drinks on the counter to the right - stand both of the Ligier drivers, Toshio Ito and Javier Marquez. Both of them are standing in the middle of a crowd a women, a few of which came to Ron and him first, only to move on when they realised the two of them wanted to be left alone. Tom has never understood it, doubts he ever will - this whole obsession with fame. Half of these women wouldn’t even give them the time of day if they didn’t spend half their lives behind the wheel of a Formula One car. Tom doesn’t know if it’s the money or the acclaim that attracts them, only that Marquez has all the personality of a blank sheet of paper and neither of those things will make up for that. “Speak for yourself, I might have two.” “Testing go that badly, huh?” Ron grins, looking down his nose at Leo who has always been a few inches shorter. Though, compared to Ron, most people are. He’s by far the tallest on the grid, it certainly isn’t to his advantage. “Like we’re telling you.” Tom doesn’t see Rick’s right elbow wedge itself between Ron’s ribs, but he hears the surprised hiss of pain and Rick’s reactionary snigger. He wastes no time in shoving him back but then turns to face Tom, palm perpendicular to his mouth, and makes a point of whispering loud enough that the whole table can hear. “That sounds like a yes to me.” Tom’s lips curl into a smile. That’s enough of an agreement for Leo, who says, “Fuck you. I’ll be waving at you in my mirrors” “Yeah,” Ron laughs. “When I’m coming round to lap you.” Tom stays silent, as he does for most conversations, watching the three of them in mild amusement. Often when around them, he feels like a single mother. And, if this is anything close to what it’s like, Tom has a lot of respect for the women who manage to do that. Ten minutes with this lot and he’s already at the end of his proverbial tether. Behind him, there’s a shuffling of feet, rubber against hardwood. Tom looks up, more on instinct than anything, just in time to catch Ito walking by, two girls alongside him. The first clings to his left arm, whispering in his ear as they walk, while his hand remains on the small of the second girl’s back, guiding her through the crowd. Turns out, he isn’t the only one who notices - but he is the only one who planned on leaving the poor guy in peace - because the next thing he knows, Rick’s pressing his tongue to the back of his own teeth, whistling loud enough to get the attention of the whole room. Ito is one of the only ones in the room not to redirect his attention. If anything, Tom thinks that he begins to walk fast. Rick cups his hands around his face. “You’re in for a great night ladies,” he shouts after them. “Trust me. I know.” For good measure, he throws a wink in there. Leo dissolves into laughter, as does Ron, and even Tom has a hard time schooling his expression. Most of the crowd join in on the laughter, save for a few sour-faced businessmen at a nearby table. Leo’s expression is caught somewhere between fond and disapproving, like that of a parent watching their child get its head stuck between the bars of a play-park climbing frame for the second time that afternoon. “If people took you seriously, they would think you’ve fucked half the paddock.” Rick snorts. “For a podium last season, I’d have fucked the entire paddock.” Leo rolls his head towards him. “Don’t tease me.” “Sure the wife would have loved that,” Ron jokes.

“She’d understand.”

“I don’t know why she puts up with you.”

“Honestly?” Rick grins. “Me neither.”

The minutes go by slowly after that. Tom tunes out most of the conversation, his thoughts instead turn to the two sessions earlier. Not a lot can be gleaned from testing - about the other teams, that is - many make an effort to sandbag, others run strange setups, but Tom mind just keeps wandering to that McLaren and how goddamn fast it looked. Sure, it seemed a little tetchy in the corners - and that’s putting it lightly - but on the straights? God that thing had some pace on it.

Cain wouldn’t say it aloud, but Tom knows that he’s bothered by it. He could see it in the lines between his brows. Honestly, Tom would be lying if he said that he wasn’t concerned either. They’re a good team, always have been, but he wasn’t expecting that.

No one was.

Twenty metres to his right, where the door leads in from the foyer, there’s a commotion. It’s nothing big - a few murmurs, the shuffling of feet, a laugh that cuts across the room - but it’s enough to shift Tom’s attention. A small crowd have gathered, mostly women - actually, solely women now that he’s looking - and in the centre of it all, soaking up the attention like it’s his birth-right, stands Pete Mitchell. 

Frustration bubbles low in his stomach. It’s a vicious circle, curling into one bitter loop. Mitchell’s presence makes him angry, then he gets even more frustrated that he’s bothered by it. Tom pointedly looks away, turning his attention to his drink. He’s starting to wish that it was vodka now; at this rate, he’d even take tequila. Hell, the rubbing alcohol too.

His gaze flashes up, head unmoving. Rick’s staring at him with a look that he doesn’t like, as if he’s trying to figure him out. “You sure that isn’t vodka? Your face is sour.”

Ron laughs, knowingly. He shakes his head. “Nope, that’s just the effect Mitchell has on him.” He nods over to the door that Tom had just been looking at. Tom refuses to look again. For fuck’s sake. Tom likes the guy, he does, but he has a severe fucking case of foot in mouth syndrome. Either that or he just doesn’t give a fuck. He’s unsure which is worse.

“Why?” Rick raises an eyebrow. “What have you got against Mitchell? I know he seems like a bit of an ass, but he’s a decent guy.”

This time, Ron doesn’t just laugh, he cackles. Tom’s seriously considering kicking him under the table, hard enough to leave a bruise. Failing that, he’ll take him out at the first corner in Brazil. That’ll teach him a lesson. “Do you not remember F3?”

It dawns first on Rick. “Oh shit, yeah.”

Unfortunately for Leo, he doesn’t come to the same realisation as his teammate. More than anything, he looks confused. The frown doesn’t help. “What happened in F3?”

Rick shoots him a look of pure exasperation. “You were literally there that season. Eighty one. Final race. Thruxton. Three laps from the end, Mitchell went for the -“ “- FUCK. YES. I remember.” “Congratulations,” Tom deadpans. Ron leans back in his chair. Beneath him, the wood creeks. “This is what I’m going to have to put up with the whole season.” He gestures towards Tom like he’s some sort of inconvenience. “It was like five years ago, have you not gotten over it yet?” Rick asks. “Would you have?” “Fuck no.” Tom’s not really aware of which direction the conversation heads in after that. He should be - after all, he is expected to be an active part of it - but his attention’s elsewhere, and his mother would always say that men can’t multitask. Usually, she was right. Tom often found that out the hard way. Leo’s gesturing wildly with his right hand. Says something about the new BMW engine, or maybe the Renault. Tom doesn’t give a shit. Partly because his car uses a Honda, mostly because his eyes are tracking Mitchell as he weaves through the crowd towards the bar. That takes up most of his concentration. Nick Bradshaw is following only a few paces behind him and God, there’s a name Tom hasn’t heard in a while. Not since his karting days when he was, what? Twelve? He heard that Nick had made the jump across to race engineer but he hadn’t realised who for. Honestly, he hadn’t even known that the pair were acquainted until a few minutes ago. Nick’s just as lanky as he remembers, but he’s got another two feet on him that he didn’t have back then. The moustache is new too which shouldn’t surprise him - it’s not like he’d have been growing one that side of his teenage years - but it’s not something that Tom would have expected on him. Nick makes it work though, to his surprise, it suits him in a way that doesn’t make him look like he belongs on the register. Mitchell walks in front of him, two beers in hand, bottlenecks clasped between cold fingers. He hands one to Nick. He doesn’t even have it in a glass. Heathen. With him, moves Tom’s gaze. The bottlenecks meet, and they laugh. “Oh, shit.” Ron’s exclamation takes him from his thoughts. “Is that Bradshaw?” And then he’s off, weaving through the crowd towards the pair of them, and Tom finds enough arrogance to feel slightly betrayed by it. There’s an exchanging of words - none of which Tom can hear from the table - and Nick’s patting him on the shoulder with a broad smile. It’s annoys Tom that he can’t hear what they’re saying. Eventually, he gets out of his seat - not missing the look Leo and Rick send each other as he does. “- just like my Johnson.” Tom only catches the tail end of that conversation and, by the sounds of things, that’s something to be grateful about. “Mother Goose.” Nick’s attention moves to him, lips curling into a smile. It’s an old nickname, but one that brings fond memories. “Tom. How’s the racing life treating you?” He gives Nick a once over for effect. “Better than the engineering life is treating you.” It’s enough to earn him a shove to the shoulder, though a friendly one. Nick actually looks good. While he and Tom had a laugh together back in their karting days, he wasn’t cut out for open-wheel racing. He was never ruthless enough, too kind, but that’s what Tom had always liked about him. Being a race engineer suits him - having a driver’s back, keeping them safe on the track - but god knows how the poor soul ended up as Mitchell’s. He pities him. That’s when Nick decides to bring him into the conversation. “I’m sure you remember my driver, Pete.” He gestures to the man standing beside him. “Kazansky.” “Mitchell.” He pauses, unsure of what to say. He supposes that the least he can do is be gracious about it. “Congratulations on the McLaren seat.” Mitchell looks somewhat distrusting, like he doesn’t know whether Tom is just pulling his leg. “Thank you.” “Sorry to hear about Cortell.” He can feel Slider’s eyes burning into the side of his head. “He and I were like brothers back in the academy. He was a good man.” Mitchell’s expression falters ever-so-slightly. “He still is a good man.” “Yeah,” Tom nods, indifferent. “That’s what I meant.” “Thought so.” Silence falls again. For want of something to do, Tom leans forward, reaching for the bowl of nuts on the table. He’s close to Mitchell, closer than he expected, but he can’t back out now. Pulling back with a handful, he tosses a few into his mouth.

Beside him, Slider shuffles. “Say, you figured it out yet?” Mitchell frowns. “What’s that?” “Who’s the best driver.” Slider scoffs; Goose’s eyes roll lazily. Maverick raises his eyebrows for just a second, nodding slightly, before he replies. “No, I think I can figure that one out on my own.”

[celescere]

Top Gun (1986)

Director - Tony Scott, Cinematography - Jeffrey L. Kimball

"That was some of the best flying I've seen yet. Right up to the part where you got killed. You never, never leave your wing man."

[celescere]

Friendship goals 👻💃🕺

[celescere]

MAVERICK'S HANDWRITING FONT

Text sample:

Finally got the zip file into a drop box! This contains two files, one .otf and the other .ttf. im not sure of the difference, figured it wouldn't hurt to have both. Font contains the full uppercase alphabet, all number characters, and basic punctuation. If this drop box, for some reason, doesn't work, let me know and I'll fix it.

This is free for anyone to use as a resource for whatever artistic endeavours they can imagine!

Please reblog and signal boost this as I put a lot of time and effort into it so content creators can freely use it!

(Original information post about this here!)

[celescere]

It’s the man again. Except instead of his head swaying in time with the train, it’s stopped. Directly on Tom’s shoulder. Tom feels the man nuzzle in a little as he exhales, and Tom's higher brain function filters straight out of his eardrums. He sucks in a breath, and keeps it there, afraid to let it go like something will explode if he does. What… in the world does one do in this situation? Does he wake the man? Nudge him softly or say something? Poke him in the eye? Hit him with his book?

sooooo i wrote a fic...

it's linked here: last train home by enthyrea

this absolutely ran away from me, one day i'm on the train thinking about an au where mav falls asleep on ice's shoulder, and the next day i have 6k written and art to go with it 🐛

first time writing in five years so please go easy on me ok love yall bye mwah

[celescere]

the sluttiest thing a man can do is be good at performing shakespeare

[celescere]

Cuddles ♡

Ref

[celescere]

[SCRAMBLING FOR MIC FOAMING AT THE MOUTH VISIBLY VIBRATING]

[FORCIBLY GETS DRAGGED OUT SCREAMING KICKING MUFFLED YELLING]