echoric

[echoric]

the morning before the end...

Fanboy and Bob have a tender morning as the sun starts shining in the morning of the mission. If something goes wrong, this could be their last morning together...

(close up, glasses version and other lightning options below cut)

[echoric]

i have a passion for the homoerotic subtext of war media from the 1900s and early 2000s before hollywood was scared to be gay 💔˙◠˙

[echoric]

i think some people get so obsessed with wanting to be a fandom famous fic writer that they make themselves miserable like they obsessively check their own stats and the stats of fics they consider to be their “rivals” (?????) and go to ridiculous lengths to “win” some imaginary competition as if it’s not supposed to be about fun and the love of creating. on the other side it’s totally a catch 22 because the people who have accidentally written the ‘fandom famous’ fics often end up miserable because it opens them up to lots of criticism and it feels like their next fics have impossible standards to live up to. step away from the ao3 stats page you’ll be so much happier i promise

[echoric]

I am back on my trans bob train and you are part of the trans bob agenda in my head so i just had to remind you of trans bob. because it is just true, it is so true, he is so trans to me, i am shaking him violently

Hi, yes, certified trans!bob enthusiast here! You have inspired me so I drew you a thing :) a happy trans!bob taking his shirt off at the dogfight football game with the encouragement of the rest of the daggers, as a goodluck for your exams! <333

[Click for better quality, reblogs and tags highly appreciated]

[echoric]

like the roof on fire

CHAPTER 2 POSTED :D

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Word Count: 4,943 Hurt/comfort

Summary:

Something felt wrong about the way it was flying. Ice had flow with Maverick enough times to have developed an almost sixth-sense when it came to the other pilot’s flying style, and he knew the same could be said for Maverick with him. He tracked the jet closely as it got closer to the runway, eyes narrowed as he tried to figure out what was off about it. The jet seemed almost unstable, off balance. It almost looked like one engine was pulling harder than other. As its wheels hit the surface of the runway, Ice realized what was about to happen, but before he could say anything or brace himself, flames erupted from the left engine. Ice barely registered the shout and blaring alarms that went off immediately, people bursting into action to grab extinguishers. aka a landing gone wrong for Maverick leads to Iceman losing his cool

[echoric]

and with 2,135 words of icemav being gay fucks, i rest on day 13 of my christmas writing o7

[echoric]

i thought that it was too early into the relationship for the main 2 characters of this fic to kiss and that it would feel forced/awkward if i wrote a kiss...

then i blinked and somehow they were being even gayer than it would've been if i'd just let them kiss. dont you love it when characters rebel against the author?

[echoric]

I fucking love your fics so much and have been for years

I'd like to request a little drabble :D maybe some hurt Mav with Rooster witnessing it before they reconcile? Maybe they were both in the same town without knowing and Rooster witnessing mav get thrown off his bike at a stoplight. Doesn't even realise it's Maverick until he lies on the floor not moving or so. No stress though haha

thank you :') im so glad you like my writing :D & your wish is my command <3 (apologies that it's short and sorry for any typos, i rushed this out over my lunch break at work haha; i can edit [and add more] and post it to ao3 later if anyone wants that!)

see how it shines

hurt mav, protective rooster (Word Count: 1,615)

The sky was over cast, and it was raining, but only just enough to be annoying as Rooster walked back to base - as it had been for days now. Rooster was about to give up on the idea of ever seeing the sun again before the spring. His shoes were just wet enough that he could feel his socks getting wet, and his hair was just starting to get to the dampness where it was falling in his face. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair again, pushing it back and looking up at the grey sky with a frown.

Rooster heard the sound of an approaching motorcycle and he quickly stepped further away from the road. He’d already been splashed by a garbage truck flying through a puddle on the street, and he wasn’t keen on having another rain water and run off bath. The motorcycle passed him – shockingly seeming to obey the speed limit and other traffic laws. Rooster huffed quietly to himself and tucked his hands in his pocket as he approached an intersection. The sign changing to a red hand right as he got to the curb felt like the universe laughing at him, but he didn’t dare jaywalk this close to base – or in this intersection at all. 

He saw a car flying up to the light before it had even been green for more than a half-second.  Someone was driving like a moron – an unfortunately common occurrence with this specific intersection. Rooster swore it had to have been haunted by some road raging ghost or something, the amount of crashes that occured there were too many to remember.

The motorcycle had stopped for the red light, another rare occurrence for the local motorcycles. Rooster looked at it a bit closer – not like he had much else to look at while the light stayed red – and saw the base parking permit on the liscense plate and hummed to himself. A new transfer. He wondered if it was the new captain who was supposed to be coming in to supervise a test flight. He’d heard whispers that it was some Top Gun hotshot, one of the best graduates who had gone back to be a teacher before leaving that behind for combat and test flights. 

He didn’t care.

Of all of the Top Gun graduates he’d met, he’d only liked as many as he could count on one hand. So Rooster wasn’t excited like all of the other pilots to meet this ‘living legend’, and if it was him on the motorcycle, he wasn’t going to bother with trying to follow him to his parking spot to introduce himself early like he knew the others would. Anything for a possible promotion.

The light switched to green and the walkman started glowing white. Rooster glanced over at the motorcycle and saw the rider kick the bike into gear, starting through the intersection. He stepped into the road and glanced to the other side to check just in case there were any other idiot drivers – and quickly hopped back up onto the curb as a car flew past close enough that he felt the breeze tug his clothes with it.

Rooster’s eyes widened and he turned just in time to watch the car’s break lights light up and the motorcycle swerve futilely. Before he’d even processed what had happened, he was running into the street. The car flew into reverse, peeling away from the scene without any hesitation. The motorcyclist wasn’t even moving, and the bastard was fleeing the scene even with Rooster there as a witness. Rooster would’ve tried to memorize the plate, but he knew there were cameras, and he was more concerned with the way the cyclist’s bike was shredded and pinning one of their legs under it.

“Hey, hey, I’m Bradley. Don’t try to move, I’m gonna lift your bike off of you. Can you say anything?” Rooster asked quickly, hands hovering over the bike and waiting for a sign that the biker was even aware of his presence. A weak groan was his only response, and he took it as a confirmation to go ahead.

The cyclist choked back another cry of pain as he lifted the bike, rocking more of it’s weight onto the cyclist’s leg for a brief moment before he was able to pull it fully off. Rooster paused, unsure what to do next, scanning the person for any bleeding – there was a lot of blood already. He let out a shaky breath and tugged his phone out of his pocket, dialing 9-1-1 as fast as he could manage with adrenaline making his hands shaky. He threw the phone onto speaker phone and set it down next to them, pressing down on an injury in the cyclist’s leg that was bleeding way too heavily for Rooster’s liking.

“9-1-1, what is your emergency?”

“I’m Lieutenant Bradshaw, I’m at the intersection of 132nd and West Center. A motorcyclist was hit by someone running a red light, I need medical and police,” Rooster spoke as he pressed harder on the wound, apologizing under his breath to the cyclist as they groaned again and shifted like they were trying to move away from the pressure and pain.

“Thank you, lieutenant. Is the victim breathing?”

“Yes, ma’am. I think they’re awake too, but I don’t want to move their helmet incase of a spinal,” Rooster said quickly. 

He heard muffled typing on the other end of the phone call before the dispatcher spoke up again, “That’s a good call. Are they bleeding?”

“Yes, I’m applying pressure to a wound in their thigh. Not sure if it’s arterial, but it’s bleeding a lot. They’re wearing biking leathers.”

“That’s good. You should be able to hear the paramedics’ siren soon. They will be with you in less than a minute, keep the steady pressure until they tell you to switch out,” the dispatcher said calmly. 

Too calmly. 

Rooster knew it was her job to keep one emergency from spiraling into multiple, but that didn’t help the uneasy feeling in his chest as the person under him might be bleeding out and she sounded like it was any other Thursday night for her. He nodded to himself and glanced up at the visor of the helmet. In the distance, he could barely make out the sound of an approaching ambulance and he sighed in relief. He managed a weak smile and tried to sound as reassuring as possible, “Hear that, buddy? It’s your lucky day. The ambulance must’ve already been in the area.”

A groan was again his only response. 

He didn’t care.

As long as the person was groaning, they were still alive. Rooster had known enough death in his life, he didn’t want to have to watch it again even if it was a stranger. The ambulance pulled to a stop near them, paramedics hopping out and grabbing a bag with well-practiced speed. Rooster waited for them to kneel next to him; one of the paramedics pressed a gauze pad over his hands and they quickly traded places. Rooster stood up and backed away, giving them space to work. He saw them go through the quick checks for a spinal injury, the cyclist passing all of them.

“Alright, then, I’m going to go ahead and get your helmet off you, okay? Should help you breathe a bit easier,” the lead paramedic said with a warm smile. 

A different paramedic lifted the cyclist’s head and she carefully removed his helmet. Rooster felt like the air had been punched out of his lungs. He stared at the man with eyes the size of the moon, unable to suck in a breath as he stumbled back. It had been years, almost a decade at this point, but Rooster would’ve recognized that man even if he was blind.

Pete “Maverick” Mitchell.

The reason why Rooster was stuck on a base as a lieutenant instead of being a commander out on a carrier. His hands were covered in Maverick’s blood. They were trembling. Distantly, Rooster heard police cars arrive on the scene, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the way Maverick’s face was screwed up in pain as the paramedics lifted him onto a stretcher. Of all the people he could’ve saved, of all the people who could’ve been assigned to his base – Rooster felt dizzy. A hand on his upper arm yanked him out of his thoughts and his head shot to the side to look at the officer. He smiled reassuringly to him, glancing down at the blood on Rooster’s hands with a sympathetic wince.

“Come with me, son, we need your statement.”

“Y-yeah,” Rooster whispered quietly, eyes moving back to the ambulance as doors slammed and the siren turned on. “Is he–”

“Don’t ask yourself that, son,” the officer said quickly, cutting him off before he could even voice his question. “It’s best not to dwell on what might happen. You did your part. We’ll get your statement from you and then get you all cleaned up, and that’s as far as you need to worry about it now, alright?”

“Yes, sir.”

The ambulance flew off into the night.

Rooster stared after it for a few seconds before the officer gently touched his shoulder again to get him to follow. His hands were shaking. They were covered in cooling blood. Rooster felt the rain picking up, starting to mix with the blood covering the pavement and making pink water drip from his finger tips. He let out a shaky breath. Inhale, exhale. The officer opened his car door and Rooster sat down, orders were easy. He could follow them.

[echoric]

FIRST OFF I ABSOLUTELY LOVE YOUR FICS!! Secondly I was wondering if I could request a little Drabble? Maybe a “Iceman is openly gay with slider, Hollywood and wolf man. But Maverick isn’t as comfortable with his sexuality and thinks he still has to act straight even though he’s got it BAD for ice”

first off thank you so much!!! :DD im glad you like my writing <3 & secondly of COURSE i can write that, i love a bit of closeted angst (i hope i got everything the way you wanted) this got a bit longer than i expected lol, it is crossposted to ao3 (HERE) if anyone prefers that format

standing face to face with "i told you so"

icemav angst (Word Count: 3,488)

Ice was staring again.

Maverick could feel those intense blue eyes burning into the side of his head as he intentionally stared forward, scanning the crowd at the bar as if he were actually looking for someone or something. He’d already gotten caught twice by the man when he had chanced a glance back to see if he was watching or not, and Maverick wasn’t sure his heart could take anymore eyecontact with the other pilot. Goose had kicked him in the shin in time for him to look away before an approaching lady caught him staring at Ice last time. But Goose had since drifted away to join the other pilots and RIOs in conversation, leaving Maverick alone at the bar and painfully aware of Ice’s attention. His pulse was racing, making his cheeks flush slightly as he thought about meeting his gaze again just to see.

“Right, Maverick?”

He almost jumped. He had forgotten completely about the lady at his arm – Sandra…or was it Sarah? He scrambled, but flashed her a smooth, well-practiced grin, and laughed, not knowing at all what she was asking him and hoping it was the right resposne. She seemed pleased with his laugh, giggling to herself as she leaned into his side to distance herself from the tall, frustrated-looking man who had followed her up to Maverick’s spot at the bar. Maverick gave the man a sharp, teeth-baring grin as he draped his arm over Sandra’s shoulders, leaning into her like a confident boyfriend.

“In fact, everyone keeps asking when we’re going to be engaged. This scoundrel just can’t commit, isn’t that right, Maverick?”

“You know what they say about us sailors. Brandy, you’re a fine girl,” Maverick crooned, half-singing with a wink. He placed a chaste kiss on her temple to keep up the act.

She laughed and put her arm around his waist, squeezing him as she looked up through her eyelashes, “What a good wife I would be?”

“But my life, my love, my lady–”

“Is the sea,” they finished in sync, laughing together. The man at her heels finally seemed to take a hint and walked off with an irritated huff, muttering under his breath.

Sandra stayed close up against his side for a while as she watched the man leave. She relaxed as Maverick leaned back against the bar, sighing and shaking her head. Her arm fell from around his waist and he took his arm back. She smiled at him, a sad look in her eyes and exhaustion in her voice as she spoke quietly enough that the music would’ve kept it a secret from anyone else, “Thank you for being a good man, Maverick.”

“Pete,” Maverick said with a smile, holding his hand out like it was a business deal. Her smile softened and she took his hand in a firm grip.

“Sandy,” she said as she shook his hand once, “but you can call me Brandy, sailor.”

Maverick grinned and tilted his head with a shrug, “It was improv.”

“It was good. Really,” she waid with a grin. She pulled a small compact mirror with an ornate carving of a flower on it from her bag and checked her reflection in it. She ran a hand through her hair and sighed again. “Some men can never seem to understand that some ladies just aren’t interested.”

Maverick raised an eyebrow, slightly caught off guard by the change in topic. He was about to respond when his eyes scanned over the crowd absently and caught another pair of eyes watching them. Ice still hadn’t looked away – or if he had, he was looking again. Maverick felt a thrill shoot up his spine as he locked gazes with the man, dangerous and electric, but it was overpowered by the familiar urge to smother it and push it back down deep where no one might see it. Not even him. He cleared his throat and tore his eyes away from Ice, looking back to Sandy.

“Mhm. Can I buy you a drink, Brandy?” Maverick asked waving to the bar behind him and pointedly ignoring the stares he was getting from Ice and the other pilots and RIOs. “Just between friends. I understand when a lady only wants to use me for her protection.”

Sandy laughed and snapped her compact mirror shut. She turned to lean against the bar with her forearms crossed. Maverick caught a flash of a white handkerchief in the left pocket of her jeans as she hummed, scanning over the bar’s options. Sandy eventually smiled and waved the bartender over, “I’ll have a whiskey, neat. Put it on the sailor’s tab.”

“Mitchell,” Maverick said in response to the glance from the bartender. He nodded and turned to make her drink as Sandy turned to face Maverick more. “So, Brandy, what brings you here if not to flirt with all the sailors? Everyone knows that’s the main crowd at this dive.”

“My taste is less…salty, more sweet,” Sandy said with a wink. She nodded to the bartender with a smile as he handed her the drink she requested. “If you know what I mean?”

Maverick had no idea what she meant. He nodded anyway, pretending to understand with a quiet hum. He waved to the bartender and he slid Maverick another glass of the tequila that he’d been sipping on all night. He couldn’t resist glancing tot he side out of the corner of his eye as he waited for the drink to be poured, seeing if the attention from the table across the bar was still on him – it was. Sandy lifted her cup when he picked his up, they clinked them together before tossing them back in sync.

“Put it on my tab this time. Tequila,” Sandy called out to the bartender. She ran a hand through her hair again before sliding a shot to Maverick with a grin. “You up for a challenge, sailor?”

“I can drink in circles around you, Brandy,” he said confidently. His mind was already drifting back to Ice even as they clinked their glasses on the bar before tossing them back in sync. 

It wasn’t the first time he’d felt the sharp, nervous edge around the other pilot, but the awareness of that was always muted, vague. He blamed the tequila for how loud it seemed now. Maverick smiled easily at Sandy, feeling easy and in his element even if he could pick up that it was strictly platonic competitive energy between them. He was good with women. He’d dated countless women he genuinely liked; he could talk with them easily, laugh with them, play the part of a flirt without breaking a sweat – it was easy. Comfortable. Ice broke away any part of that comfort with his harsh words and challenging stares. He wasn’t simple or easy to get along with, and it was equal parts thrilling and terrifying.

“You’re not as oblivious as other men, are you?” Sandy asked before their next shot arrived. Her eyes were studying his face intensely, softened by alcohol and maybe a bit of camaraderie that Maverick wasn’t sure why she’d feel with him. Her eyes flitted briefly over to wher eIce was sitting, one eyebrow lifted just slightly out of his neutral resting face as he watched them – watched Maverick. “I mean, you’re clearly aware of your surroundings.”

Maverick shrugged and gave Sandy the grin that had saved him countless times in the past. “Iceman? Yeah, he’s competitive and a good pilot. We’re just…you know, rivals.”

“Oh, is that what they call it now?” she asked, her voice low and teasing as she grabbed two more shots for them from the bartender. For a split second, he felt his heart lurch into his throat and his face felt hot, a definitely blush creeping over his face that he couldn’t blame on the alcohol – an embarrassing reaction to what was likely just a harmless question. 

Sandy gave him a sympathetic smile and pushed the shot into his hand, tossing hers back. “Relax, sailor. Just a friendly observation.” She didn’t look away from him though, and her expression softened a little as he took his shot and forced his eyes away from Ice for what felt like the umpteenth time. There was understanding in her eyes, sad and compassionate. “Listen, Pete, I know we don’t…know each other at all. But if you ever need to, you know…talk through it, or whatever, I get it.”

“Get what?” he asked – too quickly. She gave him a look that let him know that she could see straight through him. A slow grin worked across her face as she ordered another round.

“Oh, nothing,” she said lightly, “just some people like their whiskey neat, others like it with a twist.”

Maverick forced himself to laugh at Sandy’s comment, but her words lingered, stirring something he didn’t quite want to confront. He swirled the tequila in his glass, downing it quickly – he was drinking too fast, too much, he should cut himself off, but he lifted his hand to order another round from the bartender. Sandy simply watched him with a calm, knowing smile. After a moment, she leaned in with a conspiratorial grin.

“You know, Pete, I think I’ve had enough of sailors for tonight. I’ve spotted someone who might be more might type, think she’d be interested?” She nodded subtly toward a tall brunette with a sharp undercut and a black leather jacket, looking just a bit out of place in the sea of Naval whites. Maverick raised an eyebrow, watching Sandy adjsut her hair and straighten her jacket. She looked at him and gave him a playful wink and sly grin. “Wish me luck, sailor?”

He grinned back, feeling a strange sense of relief as everything clicked into place. He lifted his new glass to her, “Good luck, Brandy. I doubt you’ll need it.”

Sandy winked again and, with a confident sway to her hips, headed off across the bar with an impressively steady gate for taking so many shots with him so quickly. Maverick once again was alone with his own thoughts at the bar. He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck as he felt the full force of Ice’s stare on him again. He tossed back the drink and slid his card to the bartender to close his tab. He’d probably regret his game with Brandy in the morning, but he didn’t care in the moment as he gathered himself and headed over to the table where the other pilots and RIOs were laughing and talking.

“Hey, Mitchell!” Slider called, smirking as he looked to where Sandy was now talking  to her new interest. “What happened to your date? You let a catch like that slip away?”

“Oh, come off it, Slider, she was just looking for help to get away from that creep,” Maverick said, shrugging it off. “She wasn’t my type anyway.”

Slider gave him an exaggerated look of utter disbelieve. “Not your type? That was probably the hottest lady in here, man. You’re slipping.”

“Maybe my standards re higher than yours,” he shot back, crossing his arms defensively and rolling his eyes.

“Please,” Hollywood chimed in with a grin and chuckle. He leaned back with his drink and pointed at Maverick. “Just face it, Mav, you just got friend-zoned by one of the hottest girls in this dive. Maybe she could tell you were already in love.”

“Or maybe I don’t chase after anything with a pulse unlike some people,” he snapped, his tone a little sharper than he had intended – the tequila. He glanced away as everyone went silent, feeling uncomfortable and awkward from the tension he’d accidentally caused. It was broken after a few moments by a low chuckle from Ice, which made Maverick glance over at him.

“That’s bold, Maverick. Those ‘some people’ might be at this table, you know,” Ice said, making intense, pointed eye contact that made Maverick’s cheeks burn before sipping his drink casually – vodka and lime. The usual. Always so predictable, going by the rule book even when they were supposed to be relaxing with friends.

“I’m just saying, I’m not into the…what, all the new-age ‘free love’ shit going around lately. Some of us still have standards,” he muttered – the words tasted bitter even as he said them. It was a cheap shot, a low blow, and not even something he believed, but he felt cornered and couldn’t think of an escape besides digging his way out. The air around the table grew still, and Maverick had the feeling his escape had actually been his grave he was digging deeper.

“You’re out of line, Mitchell,” Hollywood said evenly, his usually easygoing tone long gone. “It’s one thing to tease, but you don’t have to be homophobic about it.”

“Mav, I think we should get going. You’ve probably had too much,” Goose said slowly. He’d been laughing a moment ago, Maverick felt guilty over being the reason why his RIO looked so uncomfortable. “C’mon, man–”

“You know, Mitchell,” Ice said, cutting Goose off with a calm and measured tone. His depression was impossible to read, ice-cool as always but his eyes were sharp, as if he were silently daring Maverick to say something else. “I wouldn’t have thought you’d have such a problem with someone like me. There are so many better things for you to hate me over.”

Maverick’s stomach dropped. He could feel his pulse pounding as he stared at Ice. His mouth felt dry, and suddenly, any bravado and defensiveness he might’ve still had disappeared. He glanced around, trying to gauged if the others known all along, trying to read their expressions – but the tequila was making his thoughts feel muddled. Hollywood seemed to take pity on him and sighed, “If you didn’t know, now you do. Ice here is about as interested in women as that lady was in you.”

“I didn’t— I mean, I don’t care if he’s— If you…I—whatever, do whatever you want,” he muttered in a voice that sounded defensive even to himself. He tried to laugh it off but it sounded hollow even to himself. Goose stood up and grabbed Maverick’s arm in a light grip.

“Let’s go take a breather, man. You’re good, just…let’s go take a break,” Goose said quietly, tugging on his arm gently. Ice’s eyes held Maverick rooted in place, steady, waiting. There was something like pity in his gaze, but there was something else too – a challenge. Maverick couldn’t look at him directly, so he looked away like a coward, mumbling something under his breath that he didn’t understand. Ice nodded to himself and stood up.

“You’re good, Goose, I’ll get him home. I was about to get going anyway,” Ice said, brushing Goose’s hand off Maverick’s arm and replacing it with his own.

“You sure?”

“Don’t play pansy with me, I’m the only one here,” Ice said, making the table erupt into laughter – the tension finally breaking.

Maverick felt like he was on fire, heat consuming him and originating from the spot where Ice’s fingers were holding his arm in a firm grip. He didn’t fight it as Ice tugged him gently to guide him through the bar. Maverick glanced around and saw Sandy with the other woman; she gave him a knowing once over before looking at Ice’s hand on his arm and back to his eyes. There was a glint of pride in her eyes as she lifted her glass to him, and then he was outside.

Outside and alone with Ice.

“Mind if I have a smoke while we walk?” Ice asked casually, as if nothing had been said inside. 

Maverick shrugged. Ice took that as permission and somehow fished a cigarette out of the pack in his pocket, lit it, and took a puff without ever letting go of Maverick’s arm. He blew the smoke out away from Maverick, which he appreciated – the smell of smoke was making his stomach suddenly realize how much tequila it had consumed in such a short amount of time. He was stumbling and swaying as they walked despite his best efforts, making his leg brush against Ice’s with every other step. Maverick felt like if Ice made eye contact or they touched one more time, his head might explode from the amount of blood making his face burn.

“‘m sorry,” Maverick said when he knew they were alone.

Ice glanced over, taking another slow inhale through his cigarette without saying a word. Maverick almost wondered if he’d even spoken out loud, or if his words had been too slurred for the other pilot to understand. Ice’s hand tensed around his arm and he pulled Maverick to the side, nodding politely to the man he’d almost walked straight into without even realizing. Maverick stumbled from the sudden change in direction, unable to stop his legs as he staggered into Ice’s side. The other pilot reacted faster than Maverick’s drunk brain could track, holding the cigarette in his mouth and catching Maverick with both hands, steadying him until he got his feet back under him.

“You’re a real piece of work, Mitchell,” Ice muttered, waiting for Maverick to start walking before he grabbed the cigarette out of his mouth again and exhaled the smoke. “Dangerous in the air, and dangerous on the ground. Never would’ve pinned you for one of those.”

“Of what?” Maverick asked, wincing at the look that question earned him.

“A homophobe.”

Maverick felt like the air had been punched from his lungs. He didn’t know what to say in response to Ice’s words. He’d said it so simply, so matter-of-factly, as if Ice was completely confident in Maverick being hateful and that he had almost accepted it as a fact just as easily as the sky is blue and Ice is the best pilot in the Navy. Maverick didn’t know how to convince him otherwise, he didn’t know what words could help him. 

So he didn’t say anything.

The rest of the walk was in silence. Ice eventually flicked the stub of his cigarette into a random ashtray. They stayed shoulder to shoulder, and the grip Ice had on his arm was the only thing keeping Maverick from falling into the street in front of oncoming traffic. Maverick didn’t really remember most of the walk, but Ice somehow got them both onto the base and into the barracks. He came back into his body sitting on his bed, swaying in place as Ice helped him pull his uniform off. Maverick blinked up at him when Ice stepped back. The silence felt heavy. Maverick needed to break it, or risk breaking the unsteady beginning of a friendship that he’d only recently felt starting between them.

“Ice–” Maverick staggered when he stood up too fast, feeling very underdressed in his boxers compared to Ice’s pristine and perfectly tailored Naval whites, but uncaring as he caught himself with his hands on Ice’s shoulders. Ice caught him again, hands gentle and firm on his upper arms as he helped Maverick find his balance. “Iceman, Ice, I–”

“Don’t say anything, Mitchell. You won’t remember it in the morning, and I need you to remember this conversation,” Ice said; his voice sounded sad. His eyes were sad. Maverick had made the steady, ice-cold Iceman sad.

“Ice,” Maverick repeated, shifting his hands to hold his shoulders more firmly. He licked his lips to moisten them and saw Ice’s eyes dart down to them before the man looked back in his eyes. “Ice.”

Maverick threw all caution to the wind, leaning in and standing up on his toes. A hand pressed over his face before his lips could reach their target. Ice’s expression was tense, eyes still sad but filled with understanding that made Maverick feel like his soul was laid bare between them for Ice to inspect. He shook his head slowly and pushed Maverick back gently, taking his hand away from his face as he helped him sit back down on the bed. Maverick stared at him with confusion and hurt probably written clear as day in his expression, and Ice gave him a sad smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He cupped Maverick’s face and brushed his fingers through his hair before pulling all of his touch away all at once.

“You won’t remember this in the morning, Mitchell,” Ice said softly, he tilted his head as he studied Maverick. “Go to sleep. If you remember anything, I’ll be at breakfast.”

Ice’s words felt like an order that Maverick couldn’t ignore as his eyes grew too heavy to protest. A gentle hand helped ensure he was lying on his bed as he tipped over bonelessly. He heard footsteps and shuffling nearby, but the world faded too fast. The last thing he thought he felt was a hand brushing through his hair as the sheet was pulled over his chest.

[echoric]

=Top gun tweets pt. 1=

[echoric]

"im not her"

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Word Count: 3,247 Emotional hurt/comfort

Summary:

The dare is nothing, at first. It was some offhand, playful challenge thrown out by Slider while they were sitting around a bar table. It wasn’t even a serious dare, it was more a joke to pass the time. ... “I bet you can't get a kiss in under five minutes.” aka icemav are hiding their early relationship to keep themselves & their careers safe and a miscommunication happens (but is resolved quickly)

[echoric]

can you sketch hangmav reunited after the tgm mission? <33 :D

hangmav finally embracing each other after almost dying, woop woop

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If you are taking requests maybe some Goose art?

Its the first time drawing him, give me mercy

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can you give us some icemav angst? like early early relationship when they're still figuring things out and maverick is dared by someone to flirt with a lady at a bar & ice expects him to say no but instead mav goes along with it?

absolutely I can, that is delicious!! (it's going to be short though because I need to go to sleep and not spend another hour writing gay pilots after writing almost 4k words about them earlier today lol)

"i’m not her"

icemav; hurt/no comfort (1,188 Words)

The dare is nothing, at first. It was some offhand, playful challenge thrown out by Slider while they were sitting around a bar table. It wasn't even a serious dare, it was more a joke to pass the time. Ice had a glass of some sort of alcohol in his hand - sweeter than normal, ordered by Maverick before Ice could get his usual vodka lime - and they were all laughing about some sort of mess-up from that week. Slider smirked and nudged Maverick gently with his elbow, nodding toward a brunette at a bar.

"I bet you can't get a kiss in under five minutes."

Maverick just laughed, and Ice assumed he was going to brush it off. Before Ice could even turn to look at him, Maverick was already moving to stand up with that shit-eating grin he wore when he knew he was about to win something. It took a second for Ice to catch up with Maverick's mind - a short, confusing second where he expected Maverick to shake his head, say something like 'nah, not interested', or even play it off with a snarky remark about Slider's inability to get a woman. Anything but. . .that.

And yet, Maverick was already sliding out of his chair, adjusting his jacket and setting his beer down on the table. Ice watched in stunned silence as Maverick smirked and raised an eyebrow in Slider's direction before saying, "Watch and learn, sonny."

Before Ice could even react, Maverick was halfway across the bar. He looked relaxed, cocky, confident - and Ice realized with a cold chill that he didn't know if that was for show or if that's just who Maverick is, something Maverick does. A thrill-seeker, show-boater, a man who flirts with anything that moves because it's all just another game for him.

The first flash of anger in his chest surprised Ice. It was quick, cutting, and went straight to his gut in a way that he wasn't expecting. Sure, they were keeping everything under wraps for safety, but Ice thought they were at least on the same page that there was something. They'd spent almost every night for the past few weeks together; Ice had gotten used to a certain gleam in Maverick's eyes that was reserved for him, the way he would lean closer to Ice when he thought no one was looking just to speak quietly, the casual brush of arms and knees when they sat at a table together.

Maybe there had been nothing there after all.

Maybe Ice had been wrong. Maybe Maverick had played him, used him like a pawn and decided to toss him out once there was a prettier target to distract himself with. Ice felt like a fool sitting with his mouth pressed into a tight line, eyes and mind locked onto Maverick as Slider and Hollywood laughed about something. He tried to force his face to relax into something more casual; the last thing he wanted was for Slider - who knew him too well - to notice a flash of irritation in his eyes or the way his hand was white-knuckled around his glass.

Ice felt his heart break as he watched Maverick talk to the woman, leaning in with the same coy grin that had charmed him a few nights ago. He tore his eyes away as the woman laughed and looked away before looking back - he didn't want to see Maverick win the bet. Maverick appeared at the table a few seconds later, holding up a napkin with a lipstick stain on it and Ice forced a smile.

"That didn't take long," Ice said as casually as he could manage.

Maverick shrugged, glancing down at the napkin and back up at Ice. There was something playful in his eyes, as if he was expecting Ice to congratulate him - or maybe rib him about it.

But Ice doesn't feel like playing along with any of Maverick's games anymore.

"Guess it's still true, what everyone says, huh, Mitchell? You still can't resist a challenge," he said, keeping his tone cool and even and hoping the bitterness didn't slip through. He heard Slider and Hollywood laugh at his comment, but there was a flicker of confusion on Maverick's face, his smile faltering for just a second.

And maybe it was stupid, maybe it was bitter, maybe it wasn't fair, but Ice wanted nothing more than for Maverick to understand that he wasn't impressed. That he wasn't going to play whatever game Maverick thought this was. Because if this whole thing was just a joke to Maverick, Ice was glad he was learning now.

"I...I guess not," Maverick replied, quieter and more subdued than Ice had heard him since Goose's funeral.

Ice looked away, taking another sip of his drink and hoping the conversation would move on. Slider and Hollywood didn't notice the tension and uncomfortable air between them, but Ice could feel Maverick's gaze even as he refused to look the man in the eyes.

Finally, Maverick broke first and leaned over, his voice low so the others wouldn't be able to hear over the music, "Hey. Did I. . .Did I do something wrong?"

Ice refused to look at him, taking another long drink before shrugging, "Doesn't matter."

Of course, it mattered. And of course, Maverick knew that. And of course, the way Maverick was looking at him with his brow furrowed and head tipped to the side, his expression somewhere between kicked puppy and concerned lover, made Ice's chest tighten and made him want to say something that he knew he couldn't.

"I. . .I thought we needed. . ." Maverick hesitated and glanced around, ensuring himself that Hollywood and Slider and no other strangers were listening in, "I thought we needed to keep us a secret."

"Right," Ice replied sharply, his voice barely above a whisper. "So clearly it doesn't matter if you want to go flirt with someone else. Go fuck someone else. It's not like you're breaking any rules, right?"

Maverick tried to reply but Ice stood up abruptly, getting Hollywood and Slider to both look at him with matching startled expressions. Slider took in Ice's appearance and his expression morphed to concern as he tilted his head, "What's up, Ice? You heading out early?"

"Yeah. I just remembered that I have an early meeting, can't get too loose with you boys tonight," Ice said easily, grateful for the out that Slider provided. "Enjoy your drinks."

As Ice walked out of the bar, he kept his posture controlled, expression unreadable. He refused to look back at the table, not wanting to see Maverick's expression or the hurt that he half-imagined, half-hoped would be there. Instead, he pushed his way through the crowd and into the cool night air.

The silence outside cut into his mind as he walked off, a stark contrast to the loud, lively bar. Ice fished a cigarette out of his pocket as he walked. 'Don't smoke that shit,' Maverick had said once, 'it'll put you in an early grave.'

Ice lit it up and took a deep drag, blowing the smoke out into the sky.

[echoric]

chapter two is posted!!

It is the end of Whumptober, so to celebrate I wrote 4k+ words of married IceMav during the Top Gun Maverick mission <3

Summary:

He heard footsteps behind him, but didn’t bother with opening his eyes or standing up straight. There was no need. Ice knew who it was without looking, he would be able to pick out those footsteps in a crowd of a million. Hands landed on his waist with a firm but familiar touch, sending a warm, grounding sensation through him. He smiled softly to himself, then opened his eyes to see the ocean gleaming under the sun. “Hello, sweetheart,” he murmured, daring to break the silence of the ocean. “Hi, Ice.”   aka a married icemav top gun maverick au <3 Whumptober Day 31!

Notes:

Prompt: "Take it Easy"

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"fuck it we ball" - famous last words of any ao3 author before the writers curse strikes them down happy early ficmas y'all! i have to start preparing now

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YEAHHHHHH FUCK DADT

Icemav wedding