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tgmsunmontue · 4 months ago

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Season to Taste - 1/? WIP

Explicit Hangster - Celebrity Chef Bradley and Naval Aviator Jake Seresin who have a relationship spanning the globe before they realize how tightly bound they are to one another. Heading into this little world.

PROLOGUE

~2001…

He hadn’t thought about where. Hadn’t cared. Away. As far away as he could. Getting on a plane seemed like a good idea, and he had the money and a passport and hadn’t really thought about it further than that. He’d arrived at LAX and walked up to the ticket counter and asked about the next flight and then asked if he wanted to be put on standby. He has no idea what that means but next thing he knew he was on a flight to Rome. He hadn’t had a visa, but he’d applied for one when he arrived.

He’d hadn’t considered money until he paid for a month in a backpackers and then realized he still needed to feed himself. And he was on a tourist visa, eighteen years old and no skills to speak of. He’d found the restaurant, the price of the margherita pizza the most appealing thing on the menu. He’d returned daily because not only was it was the best damned pizza he’d ever had, the waitress, Silvia, seemed to appreciate his fumbling attempts in Italian and would ask him questions, forcing him to practice. It also made him feel a little less lonely.

He hadn’t expected to feel so homesick, anger simmering away but for there to also be the deep-seated ache for home. Then there had been a knife, used to beckon him into the kitchen and a severe looking man called Leandro who put Bradley to work washing dishes. Then he’d been fed food more substantial than pizza and realized that maybe the looks he was getting from both Silvia and Leandro were of concern. He’d been thoroughly enveloped into the Gallo family. Taught how to make pasta by Leandro’s mother, then sauces, breads, desserts, dishes that made his mouth sing.

He hadn’t thought that they would care about what had happened to him, but been quickly disabused of the notion when Ice had walked in not even two months in and he’d seen the relief on his face, the grip of his arms around him hard and bruising. The shame he’d felt when Leandro and Silvia realized his family didn’t know he was alive and well. They’d let their displeasure be known, making him do all the prep for the restaurant and then some. Ice had left after two weeks with the promise of regular postcards and monthly phone calls.

He hadn’t realized that the languages he’d studied so diligently, hopeful that he’d one day get sent to foreign destinations where he’d be able to use them, would suddenly become useful. Helped tourists from all over with his rudimentary Italian, Spanish and French until it was no longer rudimentary. Silvia and Leandro switching between French and Italian whenever they think he’s getting too comfortable. He finds joy in creating new dishes, not afraid to try different things which make Silvia roll her eyes but surprise Leandro, who starts giving him more and more freedom, keeps pushing him to be better.

He hadn’t ever thought he could have a different dream.

… … …

~2008

Bradley doesn’t get nights off very often, but the peak tourist season is over. He’s more than earnt the pleasure of not having to cook or wait on tables or, for a very brief period there, act as translator for a film crew travelling with some British celebrity who was trying authentic cuisines throughout Europe. He wants to go dancing, cut loose a little and then head back to his little studio apartment and crash, knowing he doesn’t need to get up early in the morning. Dressed in his skinny black jeans and black t-shirt he isn’t dressed for anything fancy. Not looking for it tonight. He heads toward the club he likes the most, because it’s difficult to find and they generally don’t let in tourists, so he won’t feel bad pretending he doesn’t speak a word of English, can just be one of the crowd.

Of course his plan is completely out the window as soon as he steps inside, it’s after eleven, but that’s still early hours yet, the club doesn’t open before ten so it’s only the very keen or people like himself who potentially want an earlier night. However there is a guy standing by the bar and he can tell they’re not fucking local simply by the way they’re standing and they way they’re dressed, far too stiff for a start and far too formally. And from Giacomo’s expression they’re trying to talk to him in English. Which he knows Giacomo understands but he’s also a bit of an asshole. He catches Bradley’s eye and by the curl of his lip he knows he’s likely an American tourist and Giacomo is going to make him Bradley’s problem. Great.

“Leonardo,” Giacomo greets, and Bradley tips his head in greeting, grins at the name because it’s an inside joke now after years of it being used. Giacomo slides his eyes to the man he’s clearly begrudgingly served a beer to. Bradley rolls his eyes and shakes his head, he’s not going to take responsibility for drunken tourists of any nationality tonight. It’s his fucking night off and he wants to make the most of it. Then the guy turns to him and Bradley swiftly reconsiders his stance. The guy is cute, hair cut in a buzz, smile easy and wide and looking at Bradley like he’s maybe interested in… something.

“Hi…”

“Hi.”

“You speak English?”

“Yeah. I do. Enough.” He ignores the snort from Giacomo.

“I’m Jake. Dance?”

“Leonardo,” Bradley offers, because he’s not getting into the explanation of why everyone calls him Leonardo when his name is Bradley. Or the fact that’s he’s a fellow American because this guy’s Texan accent is thick and broad and unmistakable. “Sure.”

He watches as Jake throws back his bottle of beer, wonders if Jake was a member of some frat where they had been beer chugging competitions. He’s been getting lessons on wine from one of Leandro’s cousins and has started enjoying it, although it’s still not his first choice. Then he’s following Jake onto the dance floor and the lights are almost non-existent over the space, some strobing flashing lights and making it difficult to focus on anything that isn’t directly in front of you. Even then…

Jake’s fingers hook into the loops of jeans and for all his stiffness when he’d been standing at the bar Jake moves like he loves dancing, in time and responsive to Bradley’s own body movements. The beat is loud and pulsing, filling him with the energy to just let his body go and he lets his hands rest around Jake’s neck, brushing over the spiky-soft hair with his finger tips and they tingle a little. There isn’t much space between them, not meant to be with Jake’s hands effectively resting on his hips as they move. The DJ changes the song and Bradley’s head shoots up, catches Lara’s eye and she laughs at him, the sound not at all audible over the sound of the music. He gives her the finger but continues dancing, because there is no way that Jake is going to know what this song is called or why his friend has just decided to put it on.

More people join the dance floor and the press of bodies and heat increases, the space between the decreases though, each of them with thigh between their own, grinding against each other easily. His cock has grown heavy under the ongoing pressure and movement and the fact that the guy in his arms is cute as hell and keeps staring at his lips like he wants Bradley to kiss him but is too polite to ask or take.

So he kisses him, feels Jake smile against his lips and then he’s kissing back and they’re making out more than dancing, he can feel Jake’s fingers digging into his ass and he lets one of his own hands come to rest on Jake’s ass, palm a handful and sucks his bottom lip and nips it lightly. Savors the sudden shift of air against his face, a little gasp that Jake makes; wishes he could hear anything other that the pumping base of the club music. Wants to ask if Jake wants to come back to his little studio apartment and maybe spend some time doing a similar activity sans clothes… Jake is pulling away, eyes a little wide and alarmed.

“I’m sorry, I’ve got to go. I’ve got a curfew. Shit. Sorry.”

He presses his lips against Bradley’s again, his expression apologetic and Bradley wonders if Jake thinks he didn’t understand what he just said. It feels like a Cinderella moment, the guy disappearing into the night and him standing there staring after him.

CHAPTER ONE

#Season to taste #Hangster #Sereshaw #Top Gun Maverick fanfiction #AU

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the-authoress-writes · 7 months ago

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Up Where We Belong

Part One

Pete “Maverick” Mitchell x Writer!reader

Up Where We Belong Masterlist

Synopsis: When a writer experiencing horrible writer’s block goes to the Apple Valley Airshow for inspiration, she meets a certain older, daring naval aviator, leading to maybe a little more than just inspiration.

Warnings: Mentions of hospice and family member deaths, age gap (reader is in their late thirties to early forties).

But really, this is just fluff.

Author’s Note: The plot bunnies have reproduced at an unholy rate, and I am so stupid for writing this, especially since I have another chapter of “Wherever You Go”, to write, the first chapter of “Safe and Sound” and a MavDad story to finish.

The second part and another Mav story is lined up, but at this point, I’m not going to complain, because at least I’m writing, and Mav is finally getting more of my writerly attention.

We’ll see what gets finished next, 😂.

#writerlife

Again, I name a story after a song, from another movie about the Navy, funnily enough.

(Only three of my stories on my masterlist are not named after songs—I can’t stop, apparently)

So here we go!

She had always been somewhat interested in planes—it was hard not to be, when most of her family was in commercial aviation.

Her father had flown for nearly thirty years for American, her younger brother was currently a first officer coming up on his command upgrade with Delta, and her grandfather, whom she affectionately called PopPop, had flown for Continental.

Some of her fondest memories were looking over her grandfather’s maps and airport diagrams, and sitting on his lap while he taught her how to use an analog flight computer.

But one day, when she was home from her freshman year of college, where she was taking her degree in English, her grandfather took her up to the attic to show her something.

It was a footlocker from World War II, the faded paint on the outside reading “USAAF”.

“This was your granduncle Joseph’s—my eldest brother.

He was a P-51 pilot.

He ran many successful missions in his aircraft until he got shot down saving his wingman’s life, near the end of the war.”

PopPop opened the footlocker, revealing a faded American flag folded into a tricorn lying neatly atop several dark greenish-brown uniforms.

PopPop gently lifted the flag and uniforms out of the footlocker, uncovering yellowed, brittle-looking maps, a compass set, and a thick stack of letters, tied together with a black ribbon.

It was the stack of letters that PopPop lifted out, and held out to her. “Look at these, and read them.”

She did, and the story the letters contained was beautiful and heartbreaking.

Her granduncle had fallen in love with a woman who was a member of the French Resistance, named Céline, whom he’d met during a covert resupply mission, and they even had plans to marry after the war.

But she’d died in a skirmish with German soldiers in Paris, leaving him so bereft that he’d taken to writing letters to her specter, just to have an outlet for his grief.

The last letter in the pile was heartwrenching, where her granduncle Joseph talked about how he was only living because she would want him to, only being careful in the air because she’d want him to.

She’d cried reading the letters, and she’d asked PopPop why he’d wanted her to read the letters.

“I wanted someone else to know their story,” he’d simply replied.

“No one else knows?”

He hummed, considering his answer. “Sometimes you keep some things to yourself until the right person to tell comes along.”

A few years passed, and when PopPop was on hospice, the two of them were watching “Band of Brothers”, when she remembered Uncle Joe, as she’d taken to calling him in her head.

“What’s going on in that bright head of yours, darling?” PopPop’s voice interrupted her thoughts.

“Oh, uh, nothing much, I was just remembering Uncle Joe.

Thinking that he and Céline deserved better.”

“They did.”

She shook her head, “I wish I could write them a happier ending, you know?”

PopPop hummed weakly. “Well, why don’t you?

If anyone could do it, it would be you.

If you do that, I’m sure in a few years, those English professors of yours would be saying that they taught a great American author.”

She was shocked and touched. “Wha—I—well, I guess I could, but, are—y-you’d be okay with that, PopPop?”

He laid a cold hand on hers, “I wouldn’t trust it to anyone else, my dear girl.”

“Okay,” she smiled tearily, and nodded, the two of them returning their attention to the episode.

A week later, PopPop passed, and many things happened over the ensuing years that caused the idea of writing about Uncle Joe to be put on the back burner.

In fact, she forgot all about it, until she was sitting on her couch a couple of weeks after having been let go from her job as an English teacher at her local high school.

She was mindlessly watching an episode of some show she couldn’t even remember the name of, when her eyes landed on the footlocker which PopPop had given to her in his will.

The memory of PopPop encouraging her to write about Uncle Joe came back to her, and she paused the episode, strode over to the footlocker, carefully opened it, and drew out the letters.

Madly, over the course of the next several hours, she reread the letters, numerous research-related tabs quickly opening up on her phone, tablet, and laptop.

As months passed, she made good progress on her first draft, but somewhere along the way, about slightly less than halfway through her intended story beats, she hit the dreaded dead end, writer’s block in full force.

Rereading the letters did nothing—every line she wrote, she deleted; she felt lost, and like she’d completely lost Uncle Joe and Céline’s voices.

She felt right back at square one.

Then, one day, as she was looking at her brother’s latest Facebook reel from his layover in Korea, she saw an advertisement for the Apple Valley Airshow, which would feature an aerobatic demonstration with an actual, airworthy P-51.

Maybe seeing the aircraft her Uncle flew would shake something loose in her brain so she could move forward.

She didn’t even hesitate—she immediately booked a ticket, and prepared herself to take down a lot of notes.

The airshow was absolutely wonderful, and even though she never got as into aviation as the rest of her family, it was still something which fascinated her, and seeing the planes made her marvel all over again at the miracle that was aviation, how humankind had successfully taken the skies for itself through brutally elegant means.

Finally, it was time for the reason she’d come—the emcee began, “Now, everyone, you’re all in for a treat, because up next, we have a nearly eighty-year-old aircraft, a P-51K named Bianca, and she’ll be giving us an aerobatic demonstration!

So let’s give a warm Apple Valley Airshow welcome to Bianca and her owner and pilot, US Navy Captain Pete Mitchell!”

She clapped along with everyone else, eagerly awaiting the arrival of the P-51.

Soon, the sound of a propeller engine grew louder and louder, and then, there she was.

Bianca was gorgeous, gleaming silver with red markings, the American star roundel on her side.

The shining aircraft got closer and closer to the ground, towards the crowd, and just as she was about to worry that the P-51 was in an upset condition, the plane pulled up slightly, buzzing the transfixed people.

Laughing in awe and delight, she clapped with everyone, and watched as the daring pilot put the plane through a series of hair-raising spirals, rolls, dives, and elegant, breathtaking passes with such precision, skill, and ease, just knowing that whoever was flying that old girl had aviation in his blood as surely as it ran in hers; it made her wonder what her granduncle would say about how the venerable fighter was being flown.

Before she knew it, the demonstration was over, and with another low pass and wing wave, the P-51 flew off to land.

It actually took her a moment to come back to herself, she was so stunned by what she saw, and she knew she had to see Bianca up close.

After asking for directions to the flight line, she scanned the row of planes, eventually spying a flash of red.

She walked over, catching sight of a tall, mustached man a few years younger than her, standing in front of the aircraft, wearing a borderline-obnoxiously-loud Hawaiian shirt unbuttoned over a white tank and jeans, stereotypical Ray-Bans pushed up onto his head.

“Excuse me?”

“Yes?” the man replied.

“Is this the P-51 which flew a few minutes ago?

She is a P-51, right?”

“That’d be a yes to both questions, ma’am.”

She chuckled grimly at the idea that her age was maybe showing enough for her to be ma’am-ed by someone only a few years younger than her. “Are you the owner?”

He scoffed, good-naturedly. “Nah, that’ll be my dad.

Hey Dad, someone wants to talk to you!”

A moment later, a man stepped out from under the P-51, and she’d absolutely be lying if she said her breath didn’t catch.

First off, if she had to guess, he was older than her, but there was something about him which made him seem younger than his age.

Then there was the fact that he was absurdly good looking—ridiculously so, in fact; impossibly raven-dark hair, mischievously sparkling, brilliant green eyes, and a physique that people half her age would kill for, all sinewy muscle, visible with the snug white t-shirt and jeans he was wearing.

The final nail in the proverbial coffin was his smile—God, it belonged in a museum, because it was a work of art, and coupled with his roguish air, everything about him screamed the most delicious kind of trouble, sending echoes of Whoopi Goldberg’s voice saying, “You in danger, girl,” through her head.

“Hi,” he began, extending his hand.

Luckily for her, she was quick on the draw, and extended her own hand, proffering a “Hi,” of her own, though she kicked herself at the fact that the next words out of her mouth were, “Are you the owner?”

Oh, well—couldn’t win them all.

His grip was firm and calloused, but gentle, without the cool metal band she expected on his fourth finger, quick eyes observing the lack of even a pale band of skin on the same finger, and she shook herself from the observation in time to hear his, “That’s me—Pete Mitchell, you can call me Mav.”

At her quizzical look, he continued, “It’s short for my callsign, Maverick—I’m Navy.”

She nodded, “The emcee did say you were Navy, and that tracks; judging from that impressive demonstration, you don’t strike me as the kind who blends in.”

“Thank you—I aim to please,” he grinned.

Miraculously, she managed to ignore his brilliant, beautiful smile, somehow mustering a “Well, you certainly delivered,” before she introduced herself.

A cough from the younger man, Pete’s son, made her realize that she hadn’t let go of Pete’s hand, and vice versa, which caused the two of them to practically spring apart.

“Oh, uh, this is my son, Bradley,” Pete introduced the younger man, reaching nearly comically up to wrap an arm around Bradley’s shoulders.

“Nice to meet you, Bradley,” she replied, trying to recollect herself while her mind acted like it was the first time she’d interacted with a good-looking man.

“Nice to meet you too, ma’am.”

“I look that bad, do I?” she chuckled.

“Just the way he was raised,” Pete proudly said, patting his son on the back.

Embarrassingly, she just then remembered the reason she was here. “Oh, I—I actually had a few questions for you, Pete, about the P-51, because I’m writing a book, and I wanted to get some details.”

His eyes lit up. “Details about this old girl, huh?

I can do that; come on, let me show you around.” He moved to the side of the aircraft and gestured grandly. “Bianca here’s a Dallas-built North American P-51K, with a Packard V-1650-7 engine and an 11 foot diameter Aeroproducts propeller.

She was donated to the Civil Air Patrol in 1946, and I acquired her in 2001.

I’m not sure if she ever saw combat, because her military flight logs were lost, but I know for a fact that she routinely patrolled the California skies way back when.

Let me show you the controls.”

He nimbly boosted himself up to the wing and held his hand out to her. “Come on up.”

“Uh, is this a wise decision?” she asked, glancing between his hand and the wing. “She is nearly eighty-years-old.”

Pete laughed, “She’s stronger than she looks, and these girls were made to withstand this sort of thing, come on.”

Deciding to trust his judgment, she took his hand and jumped up to the wing at the same time as he pulled her up, causing extra momentum which propelled her body into his.

He caught them on the edge of the cockpit, and after a second, she realized that she was pressed up against his body, both hands resting against his…very solid chest.

She prayed that her suddenly pounding heart and the burning flush on her cheeks could be discounted as a reaction to her stumble.

“I’m so sorry,” she breathed, scrambling back to put some distance between them for her sanity’s sake, while trying not to fall off either wing edge.

“Eh,” he waved off, “that’s my fault, I should have said I’d pull you up,” as he shifted to kneel on the wing. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” she replied breezily, “I believe you were about to show me the controls?”

“Mm-hmm, come here.”

They slowly adjusted themselves into a configuration that enabled them both to see into the cockpit, and he pointed out the many gauges—explaining each one—and the literal stick stick, which looked nothing like the controls of any aircraft she’d seen in person or in the movies, as well as her general flight capabilities and technical specifications.

A further glance to the right showed something she didn’t expect to see. “I thought the P-51 was a single seat aircraft?”

Pete absentmindedly rubbed the back of his neck, “They are—I made a… few modifications.”

“Oh.”

“You want to sit in her?” he offered, gesturing to the pilot’s seat.

She was not about to pass up an opportunity like that. “I—wh—sure!”

He carefully helped her into the cockpit, and once settled, she breathed in and out while she absorbed this moment, and imagined her granduncle sitting in a seat similar to this one, looking out at the boundless sky. “Wow,” she reverently murmured.

“I know, right?”

“This is amazing, that aircraft like this is still around and still flying, I mean—this is history,” she said, getting slightly emotional.

“It is; she is.”

After a few beats longer, she sighed, and reached for his hand so she could get out, and he carefully eased her out of the cockpit, onto the wing, then both of them back onto the ground.

“Thank you, for showing me around, this was really helpful, Pete, I think this really helped me.”

“You’re welcome,” he nodded easily. “If I may ask, what kind of book are you writing?”

For the briefest second, she instinctively recoiled from the idea of telling the story, but then, some part of her heart said that Pete Mitchell was someone she could tell this story to. “It’s uh, a fictional version of my granduncle Joe’s love story; he was a P-51 pilot during World War II, and he was in love with a woman in the French Resistance named Céline.” She turned to look at Bianca’s gleaming fuselage. “But they both died in the war; she was killed by the Germans, and he got shot down saving his wingman soon after.

I never even knew until my first year of college, when my grandfather told me the story through the love letters my granduncle and Céline wrote.

When my grandfather was dying, I told him that I wished they had a happy ending, and… well, he told me to write it for them, since I was an English major.

So here I am,” she shrugged, turning to face Pete.

He looked grave and touched. “That’s… that’s beautiful.”

“Thank you, I have to admit, I’ve wondered if what I was doing was disrespectful.”

“I know quite a few people who deserved happy endings that didn’t get them,” he glanced into the distance, a wistful, pained look in his eyes. “If I can help at least two people who didn’t have their happy endings in this world get it somehow, I’m more than willing to help.”

She sincerely replied, “Thank you for the validation,” wondering what his story was.

“You’re welcome.

And uh… you know what?

Gimme a second.”

He leapt back onto the P-51’s wing, and rummaged through the cockpit, pulling out a flight log book and a pen, hastily writing something on a page, before he tore it out, and leapt back down.

“Here, it’s my number—if you had any more questions, feel free to call, I’d be happy to answer them.”

If she had been placed in a similar situation as this maybe twenty years ago, she’d have probably done something to embarrass herself, because this—things like this didn’t happen to her—they only happened in movies, but here she was.

He gave her his number—yes, it was if she had any research questions, but still.

‘Get a grip, woman, just because you didn’t see a ring doesn’t mean he isn’t in a relationship,’ she told herself, trying to project “Respectable Professional Woman”, while her inner adolescent was trying its level best to come out.

“Th—thank you,” she managed to get out, with only a minute stammer on the first syllable.

“I’m serious, call if you need anything—I mean—there’s not a lot of people out there who can tell you what it’s like to actually fly one of these beauties.”

“Be careful,” she chuckled, already determined not to call unless it was absolutely dire, “You don’t know if I might take you up on that offer.”

“It’s what I gave you my number for,” Pete winked, and she commended herself for keeping it together.

Deciding to quit while she was ahead, and while she still seemed like a normal human being, she came in for final approach, as her dad would put it, with, “Alright—I better go, I’ve already taken too much of your time.”

“It’s fine, it’s always a pleasure to talk to someone about this girl.”

“Thank you again,” she stated, honestly grateful, feeling the creative juices flowing and simmering in the background.

“You’re welcome.”

And with that, she walked away, exhaling evenly for so many reasons.

That night, she wrote and wrote just as she expected, and the story was flowing.

That is, until she hit another wall just before the next weekend.

And this one was even more stubborn than the first.

It didn’t help that she had written herself into a corner with this dogfight scene she was on—she had no way of knowing if the tactics were sound, and she was thinking of completely cutting it, but it seemed so stilted without it, and she had no idea of how to avoid writing this scene.

But one part of that thought, she realized, wasn’t true.

Her gaze landed on her coffee table.

The sheet of flight log paper with ten numbers written on them stared tauntingly back at her, daring her to call Pete.

“Nope, no, I am not going to do it,” she told herself. “No—absolutely not.

I’m sure he has better things to do than answer stupid questions.

No—I will not call him.”

The paper raised a nonexistent eyebrow.

“No!” was her battle cry, and she turned back to her laptop screen, but it offered no relief.

The depressing reality of her blinking, unmoving cursor cackled at her in harmony with the flight log paper.

It was like that healthy cereal ad from years ago, with the little girl in a prim uniform, enticingly calling “Donuts?”

However, after ten more minutes, the dictatorship of the blank page grew too cruel and harsh, and she folded like a house of whatever was more insubstantial than cards.

“Fine,” she muttered, snatching up the paper. “I’ll call, but if he doesn’t answer, it’s no skin off my back—I’ll manage… somehow.”

At least that’s what she told herself.

She dialed the number, heart pounding as the phone rang…

And rang…

And rang.

She was just about to breathe a sigh of conflicted relief and hang up, but then the line clicked, and she heard a slightly breathless “Pete Mitchell.”

“Hi,” she blinked, cursing herself for not thinking through what she was going to say. “I don’t know if you remember me, we met at the Apple Valley Airshow—”

“__, right?

The writer.”

“Yeah, that’s me, you said I could call if I had any questions,” she scratched her head.

“Uh-huh.

I’m guessing you have one,” she could hear the smile in his voice.

“More like a lot, really.

I’ve unfortunately written myself into a corner, it’s this dogfight scene, and there’s no way I can currently remove it without sacrificing practically all of my progress since last week.

I just need to know if the tactics are sound.”

“Huh.”

“I—you know, I can figure it out myself, if it’s too much trouble—”

He interrupted, “No, it’s no trouble, I’m more than willing to help, in fact… uh, this might sound—weird and uncomfortable—or—both, really, but if you want, why don’t you come out to my hangar tomorrow, we can talk about this, rework your scene if we need to, without having to do video calls or text or email.”

“Oh,” she breathed, eyes wide.

“I promise I’m not a serial killer or anything,” he chuckled.

“I—thank you for the reassurance, by the way—but I mean, that’s a lot of confidence in how well I can write a dogfight.”

“It can’t be all that bad,” he assured.

“I’ll just prepare to be ripped to shreds,” she half-teasingly replied.

Pete snorted. “Even if it were that bad, I wouldn’t rip it to shreds—I save that for my new students.”

She couldn’t help but laugh. “I don’t know what’s worse, being torn apart or the porcelain treatment.”

“How about a balance, then?”

“I’d be very happy with that.”

“So… is that a yes to coming out to my hangar?”

“I… suppose it is,” she replied, before she could convince herself otherwise.

She was a mature, responsible adult, and she was capable of being said mature, responsible adult.

(And if time permitted, she was even capable of looking respectfully, when he wasn’t watching.)

(She was only human, after all.)

“Perfect, I’ll send you the address; I have to warn you, it’ll probably be a bit of a drive, is that okay?”

“That’s fine, after all, where else will I find someone with experience flying the P-51?”

“You could always try the local VFW post,” he joked.

“What are the odds my local VFW has a former P-51 pilot?

I’ll go with the expert I’ve already met.”

“Alright, alright, I already agreed to help, no need to butter me up,” he lightly said, humorously.

“Just send the address,” was her amused response.

And that was how she found herself on US-395 North making the three-and-a-half hour drive from her apartment in San Bernardino to the Mojave, praying that she wouldn’t somehow make a fool of herself today.

To be continued…

Next Part

Was part of this story inspired by Atonement?

Maybe.

I didn’t really have the movie in mind when I wrote the plot device, but I realized the similarity after the fact.

Analog flight computer

USAAF

Band of Brothers

The Apple Valley Airshow takes place every year in the town of Apple Valley, located in San Bernardino, California.

(I considered setting this story at the annual Miramar Airshow, which takes place at MCAS (formerly NAS) Miramar, but I imagine that Mav would probably want to avoid going to MCAS Miramar for obvious reasons.)

Roundel

I don’t think that most pilots would do very daring aerobatic stunts in a plane as old as the P-51, just because she’s a darn P-51, and she’s a flying piece of history, but this is Mav, he absolutely knows what his girl can handle, I’m sure he knows how to make something look more crazy than it actually is, and bottom line, let’s just suspend our disbelief, 😂.

Did I introduce Mav in that way just so I could use that gif?

Probably absolutely.

It’s a great shot, and I do not blame me.

“You in danger, girl.” Timestamp 1:35

All the information about the P-51 is taken from the information available about the model and history/registration of Tom’s P-51, except for the details of her name and the military flight logs being missing, as the history available for N51EW never mentions if she saw actual WWII combat.

She is registered in the FAA database with the serial number 44-12840, and her name since 2006 has been “Kiss Me Kate”.

(I know why she’s named this, and it hits something in my heart that Tom never bothered to rename her.)

Her name in this story will be explained later, but those who follow me on my main blog, @oh-great-authoress, might have a hunch as to why I named the P-51 “Bianca”.

The ad I mentioned was a real Kellogg’s Special K ad.

VFW

The travel time between San Bernardino and Mav’s hangar is estimated using the travel time from San Bernardino to NAWS China Lake, and then a further hour and twenty minutes from there.

Taglist

@valmare

@callsign-skydancer

@permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88

@tadomikiku

@malindacath

@aviatorobsessed

@lynnevanss

@djs8891

If you’d like to join my taglist, just send me an ask!

#not me 👀 at men literally old enough to be my father #but my reader DEFINITELY is—and he’s not old enough to be HER father #bahaha 🤣#top gun: maverick #top gun maverick #top gun: maverick fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfiction #top gun: maverick fanfic #top gun maverick fanfic #top gun: maverick fic #top gun maverick fic #pete maverick mitchell x reader #pete mitchell x reader #pete maverick mitchell #pete mitchell #tom cruise

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marie-swriting · 1 year ago

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Confession Of Love - Jake "Hangman" Seresin [1/2]

Top Gun Maverick Masterlist

Speak Now TV Masterlist

Part two

Part one - two (French version)

Summary : You've been seeing Jake for four months but you're still not officially dating. It's going to happen soon, though, right ?

Warnings : Jake is an asshole (it's not against him, I love him, I swear), angst, cheating, alcohol consumption (be careful with your alcohol consumption), maybe some grammatical mistakes as English is not my first language, tell me if you see some or if I missed any warnings.

Word count : 4.7k

Song inspiration : Foolish One (Taylor's Version) (From The Vault) by Taylor Swift

you take the new arrival of books in the box next to you and put them in the correct shelves. You pay attention to place them in alphabetical order and sometimes, you take a look at the back cover, adding then a new book to your - long - to be read list. You set the last book of a saga in its place when a masculine voice comes behind you.

“Sorry, would you have a book on how to apologise after cancelling a date last minute ?”

“Jake !” you exclaim, taking him in your arms. “What are you doing here ?”

“I felt bad about yesterday. Those are for you.” he says, breaking the embrace and handing you a big bunch of red roses.

“Oh, thank you ! They’re beautiful.” you smile, pecking his lips, “But I already told you it was okay. You were tired because of your day at work, I get it. We can always plan something another time, like tonight for example. My shift ends at 6:30 P.M, you can come pick me up at seven.”

Hope can be heard in your voice on top of nervosity. Jake and you can’t see each other frequently because of his job as a naval aviator and he’s also often hanging out with his friends. You’re aware it’s normal for Jake and you to not spend every single day together though, two or three times a week would be a good start you think.

You look at him, waiting for his answer impatiently but as soon as you hear him sigh, you guess his answer. Even if you expected it, you can’t help but feel disappointed.

“The problem is I already told my colleague I would spend the night with them.”

“It’s okay. You can send me a text when you’re free.” you affirm, forcing a little smile.

“Perfect. I’m not gonna bother you much longer. See you.” he says and kisses you.

You lovingly watch Jake leaving. Once he’s not in your line of sight anymore, you smell the roses and your disappointment leaves your body to let affection take over. It doesn’t matter if he wasn’t able to have some free time for you that night, he always makes sure to make it up to you like today. You stay in your bubble and walk in the direction of the backshop to put the flowers down. You find a container to put your roses in when your colleague Cora blows your bubble.

“Who gifted you those roses ?”

“Jake. They’re pretty, aren’t they ?”

“Wow, he must feel ashamed about a lot of things.” she comments, gazing at the flowers while you put them in the makeshift vase.

“Not at all. Why do you say that ?”

“Like they always say, the bigger the bouquet, the bigger the guilt.”

“No one says that.” you state, frowning.

“He cancelled again, didn’t he ?” she says, her question sounding more like an affirmation.

“He has a good reason.”

“I bet he does ! I don’t understand how you can still be with him. If my boyfriend was always cancelling dates, I-”

“He’s not my boyfriend.” you interrupt her, avoiding her gaze.

“What do you mean ?”

“We’re not really dating.” you inform and she gives you a look so you quickly add : “We’re taking things slow. Jake can be on a deployment any day so we don’t want too many strings attached.”

“Wait, you’re telling me you’ve been with a guy for more than four months, you go on dates, you kiss, you sleep at each other’s house but you’re not official ? He’s worse than I thought. I mean, Y/N, don’t forget about his reputation ! Jake doesn’t do serious relationship. And just to prove it to you, has he finally presented you to his friends ?” Cora asks and you stay silent. “That’s what I thought. Why are you still with him ? He’s going to break your heart just like Logan.”

“He’s different !” you say, angry by her words and the mention of your ex. “Look, you don’t know him and you know nothing about my relationship with Jake so stop giving me unsolicited advice. I’ve learned from my mistakes, I know what I’m doing.”

On that note, you pass by your colleague and go back to your work. While you keep reorganising the books, you can’t prevent yourself from thinking back to your conversation with Cora. You know she didn’t mean any harm but you’re annoyed by the way she thinks you’re too foolish to know how to handle your love life on your own. You’ve known men… stupid ones, to stay politically correct, however you know better now and Jake has proven to you he’s different from your exes. It’s not because he cancels a lot of dates that he’s a bad guy. He is a nice guy. You’re sure of it.

At the end of the day, you take back your roses and bid Cora goodbye without adding anything else, still pissed off by her words. Upon arriving at your place, you put the roses in a real vase and set it on your dinner table.

That night, you spend it alone eating, watching Pride And Prejudice. As you’re watching it, you can’t help but melt because of Mr.Darcy’s confession of love to Elizabeth. You’re waiting for the day where it’ll be your turn, the day where, like those cheesy romances you read, you will get your confession full of love by the love of your life. You know you look like a hopeless romantic but you grew up with this idea of great love stories where the man is perfect and you’ve been searching for him since your teenage years. Maybe Jake will be this man and he’ll confess his feelings to you soon. You like him a lot and you wish you could share the future you have in mind with him.

Once your movie is over, you take your phone and check your notifications. You haven’t received anything. Not a call, nor a message. You thought that maybe Jake would send you a text to tell you about his day or at least say some nice words but nothing. Radio silence. It should be a good sign he’s having fun with his friends and yet, you can’t stop yourself from thinking this silence sounds like some bad signs ; he doesn’t seem to miss you. Sure he’s with his friends, you know he’s not spending his night on his phone though, a text wouldn’t be too much ! With mixed feelings, you put down your phone and start watching another romantic movie.

During the whole night, you keep checking your phone without any change. When you go to bed around midnight, you keep on sighing and your mind starts thinking back to your relationship with Jake and to doubt it.

Once you’re laying down on your bed, you glance one last time at your phone and when you see nothing new, you groan and aggressively put your cellphone on your nightstand. You change position in your bed and try to fall asleep, in vain. You toss and turn and yet, you don’t seem to be comfortable enough and your mind who is currently overthinking doesn’t make things better. This lack of message from Jake hurts you more than you care to admit. One thing is certain, you won’t get your love confession tonight. Maybe you shouldn't have gotten ahead of yourself so much ? Maybe your relationship with Jake won’t last ? Maybe there was a little bit of truth in Cora’s words ? You shake your head, hoping to get rid of these voices who start to make you more puzzled. If you discuss it with Jake, surely the situation will get better. Right ?

At least, you feel like the situation gets better the following week. You haven’t really talked with Jake but you’ve been able to see each other more often.

Today, you spend the afternoon together. You don’t do anything special. Jake just came to your apartment and you stay on the couch watching movies and talking about random things.

Your head on his shoulder, you think you were right to trust Jake. When he has the time, he’s the perfect… boyfriend ? Partner ? Friend ? Whatever the word may be, he is perfect. You never argue and your conversation knows no awkward silence ; everything is for the best in the best of all possible worlds. You even feel like you’re getting closer and closer to the moment where you’ll finally be official. You’ll finally be able to call him yours and you’ll be able to share more than some hours here and there with Jake. You can imagine a whole future with him, that’s why you want to believe so hard that what you have is something good, despite the particular circumstances.

As soon as it’s getting late, Jake gets ready to go back to his house. From time to time, he stays to sleep at yours however when he has to wake up early the next day, he prefers to go home, his apartment being closer to his workplace. Once he’s set to go, Jake walks to the door while you follow him, tiredness visible on your face.

“Send me a message when you’ve arrived.” you say, yawning and Jake tenderly looks at you.

“I will.”

“Can we see each other next Saturday ?”

“I’ve already got something planned with my squad at the Hard Deck.”

“And do you think it’d bother them a lot if I came with you ?” you ask with a small voice before embarrassment catches you. “Sorry, it was rude. I shouldn’t have invited myself like that. It was stupid. I… Tell me when you get home. Good night.” you exclaim, ready to close the door but Jake stops you.

“It wasn’t stupid. Actually, I’ve been thinking of introducing you to them for a long time now.”

“Really ?”

“Sure. We’ve known each other for four months, it’s normal for you to meet them. I’ll pick you up and we’ll spend the whole evening together.” he states, putting his hands on your cheeks.

“Perfect.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

Jake gives you a smile before pressing his lips on yours. Your kiss only lasts a few seconds and you enjoy it as much as possible, celebrating this new milestone in your relationship. You’re still not official, nonetheless he wants to introduce you to his friends, you’re on the right track. Once Jake breaks the kiss, he tenderly strokes your cheek before turning around and walking away. You watch him leave then close your door, a goofy smile on your face.

When you get to the Hard Deck, Jake’s arm around your waist the following Saturday, it’s not a goofy smile you have on your face anymore but a nervous one. You know Jake is close with his colleagues and you want to make a good impression. You hope with all your heart this moment will go well. For you, this is a key moment and you can’t allow yourself to make a wrong move.

As soon as you find the group of people wearing Khakis, except one man is wearing a Hawaiian shirt, your hands become a bit more clammy. Jake quickly introduces you to every member of his squadron and you do your best to remember their names. For now, you only know Natasha’s name, as she’s the only woman. Jake proposes something to drink and judging you need to relax, you ask for a beer. He kisses your cheek before going to the bar, leaving you alone.

“I can’t believe you’re real.” Natasha starts with eyes wide open. “When Bagman told us he wanted to present us to someone, I thought he was joking. I never thought he was the kind of guy to settle down and I have to admit, I’m surprised to see you can put up with him.”

“Once you get to know him, he lets the arrogance go and you realise he’s a nice guy.” you respond, laughing.

“Hangman said you two met four months ago, right ?” Bradley questions.

“Yes, at a café. I had just gotten my coffee when Jake bumped into me and, long story short, he offered me a new coffee with his number on the cup.”

“I see he still knows how to make a good first impression.” Natasha jokes. “What do you do in life ?”

“I work in a bookshop. I’m paid to be surrounded by books, I couldn’t have dreamed of anything better.”

“That’s so cool ! I should come sometime. I haven’t read a new book in a long time.” Bradley informs you and instantly, your eyes shimmers with excitement.

“Oh ! I can give you recommendations if you want. What genre do you prefer ?”

Ensued then a conversation about your favourite topic : books. Bradley tells you some titles he likes, novels he’s been meaning to read for years and you listen to him with passion. You give him a whole list of authors and books to check out and he writes them down on his phone. Thinking you might have some other recommendations for him later, you ask him to give you his number. At the same time you’re saving his contact, Jake comes back to you and puts his arm around your shoulders.

“You’re not stealing her from me, aren’t you Bradshaw ?”

“We were talking about books, a subject you might not be familiar with.” Bradley retorts and Jake smirks.

“Oh no, she talks about it all the time. You haven’t finished getting new suggestions.” Jake says, faking desperation in his voice.

“Hey ! You’ve discovered good books thanks to me.” you defend.

“True. Anyway I’m going to play pool. You’re good here ?”

“Yeah, I am.”

Jake smiles at you before going to find his friend at the pool table. You stay with Bradley, Natasha and Bob, who just came next to you. You keep getting to know each other and you feel better, realising you don’t struggle to fit in - you’re not really the social butterfly, preferring your books more than people.

As the conversation goes on, you learn that Bradley is a good pianist and you ask to see him play. He doesn’t need to be asked twice and walk to the piano before playing Great Ball Of Fire by Jerry Lee Lewis. Natasha, Bob and you sing with him and you’re quickly followed by the other people in the bar. Jake comes to you and sings by your side and sometimes he spins you around.

Once Bradley finishes the song, you laugh with your new friends, glad to realise you’re having a good time. Jake asks you if you want something else to drink and you inform him you haven’t finished your beer yet. He tells you he’s going to grab another drink, leaving you for a moment.

“Natasha wasn’t joking when she said you were an outstanding pianist ! Very good choice of song, by the way.” you compliment Bradley.

“It’s my favourite. My dad used to play it when I was a kid. I have good memories with this song and my parents.”

“I can see that. Your parents seemed to be cute together.”

When you talked earlier, Bradley quickly told you about his parents and you have to admit the way he speaks of their relationship, it looks like a story from one of your favourite books.

“They were !” Bradley confirms with nostalgia. “Maybe too much. I’d like a relationship like theirs.”

“I’m sure you will. You seem like an amazing guy. You deserve a love story as beautiful as theirs.”

“You too.”

Bradley smiles at you before talking about his pianist skills while you’re searching for Jake next to the bar. You expected to see him with a drink in hand, but it’s a vision of Jake with a woman who has her arms around his neck that you find. Your eyebrows furrowed, not knowing who this woman is and why she’s so close to your… to Jake. Jake gets rid of the woman’s arms then tells her something. He comes back to you at the same time where Bradley excuses himself to use the bathroom.

“Who was she ?” you question, not giving him the time to start a conversation.

“Who ?”

“The woman who was literally in your arms.”

“Oh, huh, I don’t know. She tried to flirt with me but I told her I was already in good company.” Jake explains with a flirty smile yet, you stay sceptical. “Y/N, I swear I don’t know her. You don’t have to worry.”

“I’m not. I’m curious, that’s all.” you lie.

Not fully convinced by your affirmation, Jake put his hands on your cheeks before leaning in and kissing you with passion. Even if you still have some doubt, Jake’s kiss helps you to calm down.

However, it’s really during the following weeks that you feel much better. Jake is being more present, casting away every doubt you have in mind. He’s managed to have some free time for you and you’ve even spent three days together, something never done before in your relationship. This time, you’re sure, everything is alright. Everything Cora told you or even everything you thought was fake. No matter what people say about Jake and his love life, you are the exception. Jake cares about you and he’s honest. Your relationship has a real future.

You’re so over the moon that you’re not as sad as usual when Jake tells you he can’t spend the evening at your place because he’s exhausted. You wish him a good rest before reading your book again. You’re in the middle of a chapter when you receive a message from your friend Laura who you haven’t seen in months. She asks you if you want to come to the bar next to her place. As you miss your friend, you accept without a second thought before getting ready.

Once you arrive at the Scented Sky bar, you have a big smile on your face, impatient to meet Laura. Once you leave your car, your eyes find their way to a vehicle not too far away who looks like Jake’s. At first, you think it’s just a mere coincidence then you pay attention to the licence plate and recognize that it is Jake’s. Instantly, you frown. You don’t understand how he can be there when he told you he wanted to sleep, not to mention the fact this bar is far from his place.

You keep searching for a rational explanation while you go to the bar. Before you walk through the door, you glance at the window and your eyes get teary at what you’re seeing. Jake did lie to you. He is at the bar and far from being tired as he presses his lips on a woman, the same woman at the Hard Deck he swore to you he didn’t know. The world is crumbling down your feet as you’re looking at them kissing passionately and being in each other’s arms. Tears are running down your cheeks and you can’t stop them. You want to go in and insult Jake with every bad word you know yet, the shock is so strong you turn around and go back home, trying to understand what you just saw.

When you close your door, you lean on the wall before sliding down and bursting into tears. You have your head in your hands, totally desperate and angry, not only at Jake but at yourself too. You wonder how you couldn’t see the signs. Now that you think back on it, you realise that, indeed, every element was in front of you : he keeps an emotional distance, he never uses pet names, you’re never his priority and so and so forth. You thought you found someone honest and you feel like a fool as you realise it isn’t the case. You should have listened to Cora, you should have listened to your instinct. You thought you learned your lesson, especially after your relationship with Logan, apparently you still have a long road ahead of you.

Once your sobs calm down, you stand up and throw yourself on your bed, not really taking the time to change your clothes. You stay there, laying on your back, staring at the ceiling, without understanding what’s happening. In the end, you are not the exception. As always. And you never will be. You will never have your love story, your confession of love, your happily ever after.

Your phone notifying you of a new message interrupts your downward spiral. You take it and when you see it’s a text from Jake wishing you a goodnight, you want to answer him with a long paragraph, explaining how much you hate him. However, you don’t have the strength so you delete his number and block him on your social media. You feel lighter but still miserable. You don’t want to see him ever again.

Your wish is not granted. You’ve been able to avoid Jake only for a week. Despite all your efforts, Jake forces the hand of destiny by coming to your workplace. You see him entering the bookshop but you keep working, pretending to be too busy. You don’t even react when he’s in front of you. Your lack of reaction confuses Jake. He expected you to throw yourself in his arms and yet, he is taken aback by your silence.

“Hey, Y/N, it’s me.” he starts with a big smile, “I saw you weren’t answering my texts and I can’t reach you on social either, weirdly, so I got worried. Everything okay ? Are you ignoring me ?”

“I don’t know, did you give me a reason to ignore you ?” you question looking up to him, forcing a smile.

“Huh, no. I mean, I don’t think so.”

“Then no, I’m not ignoring you. You’re such a nice guy, I don’t see why I’d want to ignore you.” you exclaim, ironically.

“Ok, I’ve missed something. Can we talk about it ?”

“I don’t want to talk to you !”

“If you don’t want to talk to me anymore, I think I deserve at least an explanation. I mean, we’ve had something for four months.” Jake demands and this is your last straw.

“In the back shop. Now.”

Because of your authoritative tone, Jake doesn't dare to make an inappropriate comment and follows you while you go to the backshop. Cora looks at you from afar, completely confused by the angry expression on your face - you haven’t told her anything about your discovery, feeling too ashamed.

Once you close the door behind Jake, you cross your arms on your chest and glare at him.

“So, what’s up ?” Jake casually asks.

“I don’t know, you tell me.” you start, trying so hard not to scream, “I thought you were too tired so why were you at the Scented Sky ?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t try to outwit me ! A week ago, I asked you if you wanted to come to my place to which you gave me the stupid excuse of “I’m too tired to come”. And yet, when I went to the bar, I saw you, in great form.”

At your last sentence, Jake’s eyes widen, panic visible on his face. His brain tries to find a rational explanation however before he can say it to you, you quickly add.

“And do I need to specify you weren’t alone when I saw you ? You were with the woman from the Hard Deck. You know, the same woman you didn’t know at all. And not to mention you were kissing her.”

“I have a good explanation,” he fastly says.

“Oh yeah ? Which one ?”

Jake stares at you and chooses his words carefully before speaking, as if he was in front of a wild animal. He never saw you mad before. He didn’t even think it was possible so he doesn’t know the way you could react if what he says came out wrong.

“She was flirting with me again and before I could react, she kissed me.”

“I just told you I saw and you keep taking me for a fool ?” you retort, shocked by his lie. “You were the one who pressed his lips on hers, your hands were on her hips ! How can you think I’m gonna believe what you’re telling me ? How could you do this to me ? I thought we had something !”

“I…”, he stutters before starting with a calm voice, “Look, I told you I wasn’t ready for a relationship, nothing was official between us and-”

“And I get it !” you cut him off sharply, “But It doesn’t give you the right to make me believe you care about me just for you to go see someone else. You know, if you had told me you weren’t ready for a relationship and you wanted to meet other women at the same time, I would have told you I didn’t want that and we would have called it quits ! You haven’t been honest with me when I’ve given you everything ! You’ve betrayed my trust just like the others.” you sigh, your eyes getting teary.

“I didn’t mean for this to happen. I swear I had the best of intentions.”

“If that is you with the best of intentions then I don’t want to imagine how you’d act if you didn’t care about the person ; you’ve ruined everything. You’ve taken me for an idiot for months and you have no remorse about it ! All I did was defend you, repeat to everyone you were someone nice and you’ve proven to everyone you live up to your reputation and that I am the stupid and desperate woman who only sees the best in the worst guys. Tell me honestly, were you even gonna tell me one day you didn’t want anything serious with me or were you gonna let me guess it by ghosting me ?” you question and Jake doesn’t answer. “Your silence says it all. I can’t believe I could have thought you were good. But, at least, you were useful for something. I had to learn to listen to my instinct when it tells me to walk out from a relationship instead of persisting. Thanks to you, I’ve finally learned my lesson. I hate you, Jake.” you pronounce, staring him right in the eyes. “I don’t want to see you ever again.”

“Y/N, wait-”Jake tries to say.

“No ! Leave and never talk to me again.”

Jake doesn’t add anything and leaves the room without looking back. Once the door is closed, you let your tears run freely down on your cheeks. You sit down, not having enough strength in your legs when the door opens once more, letting in Cora. She doesn’t wait before taking you in her arms. She affectionately strokes your back while you’re sobbing.

“I didn’t know what I was doing. You were right, Cora.”

“I wish I wasn’t.”

“I’m so stupid.”

“He’s the stupid one here, he doesn't know what he’s lost.”

Cora’s words should be comforting and yet, it makes you feel worse. Jake might not know what he’s lost but you sure do know what you’ve lost, time, love, energy and above all, trust. You know you’ll need time to heal from it.

And indeed, you need several months before you can spend a day without thinking about Jake. Now you can finally start to move on. This relationship, though short, has left a trace in your heart, just not like you wished. Since your split-up, you’ve decided to put yourself first instead of waiting for a man to show you his love. You need to understand what you want and what you deserve in a relationship and you can only do that alone. You need to know how to exist and to love without depending on the gaze of a significant other.

For the first time in your life, you are your own priority and you feel good as a single woman. You wouldn’t be against the idea of living your epic love story one day but you are satisfied with your current life. You’re self-sufficient and that is the most beautiful confession of love you could ever have.

Top Gun Maverick Masterlist

Speak Now TV Masterlist

Part two

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carbone14 · 1 year ago

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Hydravion de reconnaissance catapultable Loire 130

#marine française #aéronavale #french naval aviation #aviation militaire #military aviation #hydravion #flying boat #avion de reconnaissance #reconnaissance aircraft #hydravion de reconnaissance #reconnaissance flying boat #loire 130

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dailyunsolvedmysteries · 1 year ago

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15 Inventors Who Were Killed By Their Own Inventions

Marie Curie - Marie Curie, popularly known as Madame Curie, invented the process to isolate radium after co-discovering the radioactive elements radium and polonium. She died of aplastic anemia as a result of prolonged exposure to ionizing radiation emanating from her research materials. The dangers of radiation were not well understood at the time.

William Nelson - a General Electric employee, invented a new way to motorize bicycles. He then fell off his prototype bike during a test run and died.

William Bullock - he invented the web rotary printing press. Several years after its invention, his foot was crushed during the installation of the new machine in Philadelphia. The crushed foot developed gangrene and Bullock died during the amputation.

Horace Lawson Hunley - he was a marine engineer and was the inventor of the first war submarine. During a routine test, Hunley, along with a 7-member crew, sunk to death in a previously damaged submarine H. L. Hunley (named after Hunley’s death) on October 15, 1963.

Francis Edgar Stanley - Francis crashed into a woodpile while driving a Stanley Steamer. It was a steam engine-based car developed by Stanley Motor Carriage Company, founded by Francis E. Stanley and his twin Freelan O. Stanley.

Thomas Andrews - he was an Irish businessman and shipbuilder. As the naval architect in charge of the plans for the ocean liner RMS Titanic, he was travelling on board that vessel during her maiden voyage when the ship hit an iceberg on 14 April 1912. He perished along with more than 1,500 others. His body was never recovered.

Thomas Midgley Jr. - he was an American engineer and chemist who contracted polio at age 51, leaving him severely disabled. He devised an elaborate system of ropes and pulleys to help others lift him from the bed. He was accidentally entangled in the ropes of the device and died of strangulation at the age of 55.

Alexander Bogdanov - he was a Russian physician and philosopher who was one of the first people to experiment with blood transfusion. He died when he used the blood of malaria and TB victim on himself.

Michael Dacre - died after testing his flying taxi device designed to permit fast, affordable travel between regional cities.

Max Valier - invented liquid-fuelled rocket engines as a member of the 1920s German rocket society. On May 17, 1930, an alcohol-fuelled engine exploded on his test bench in Berlin that killed him instantly.

Mike Hughes - was killed when the parachute failed to deploy during a crash landing while piloting his homemade steam-powered rocket.

Harry K. Daghlian Jr. and Louis Slotin - The two physicists were running experiments on plutonium for The Manhattan Project, and both died due to lethal doses of radiation a year apart (1945 and 1946, respectively).

Karel Soucek - The professional stuntman developed a shock-absorbent barrel in which he would go over the Niagara Falls. He did so successfully, but when performing a similar stunt in the Astrodome, the barrel was released too early and Soucek plummeted 180 feet, hitting the rim of the water tank designed to cushion the blow.

Hammad al-Jawhari - he was a prominent scholar in early 11th century Iraq and he was also sort of an inventor, who was particularly obsessed with flight. He strapped on a pair of wooden wings with feathers stuck on them and tried to impress the local Imam. He jumped off from the roof of a mosque and consequently died.

Jean-Francoise Pilatre de Rozier - Rozier was a French teacher who taught chemistry and physics. He was also a pioneer of aviation, having made the first manned free balloon flight in 1783. He died when his balloon crashed near Wimereux in the Pas-de-Calais during an attempt to fly across the English Channel. Pilâtre de Rozier was the first known fatalities in an air crash when his Roziere balloon crashed on June 15, 1785.

#inventions #inventors #history #facts

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usafphantom2 · 1 year ago

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IMAGES: B-1 bombers make a historic visit to Turkey

Turkish Air Force integrates with U.S. bombers on a long-planned mission.

Fernando Valduga By Fernando Valduga 11/02/2023 - 12:56in Military

Two U.S. Air Force B-1B Lancers bombers assigned to the 9º Expeditionary Bomber Squadron arrived on Tuesday (10/31) at Incirlik Air Base, Turkey, for a historic hot-pit refueling as part of the long-planned bomber task force training mission.

A hot-pit refueling refers to the tactic of refueling aircraft while the engines are still running. This marks the first time that U.S. Air Force B-1 has been replenished in this way at Incirlik Air Base. The aircraft stayed at the base for less than two hours before leaving for a training mission with the Turkish Air Force.

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The Deputy Commander of the Wing of the 39ª Air Base, Colonel Robert Schoeneberg of the U.S. Air Force, and the Chief Command of the Wing of the 39ª Air Base, Chief Sergeant. Kevin Helms greeted the Commander of the 9º EBS, U.S. Air Force Colonel Lieutenant Ryan Stillwell, and the Sub-Commander of the 489º Bombing Group Command, U.S. Air Force Lieutenant Colonel Andrew Marshall on the flight line.

The B-1s integrated with the Turkish military, including the KC-135R Asena refuelers and the F-16 Fighting Falcons, for training missions planned well in advance to practice Joint Terminal Attack Controller (JTAC) procedures and close air support training missions.

“Teamwork with our Turkish air force partners has demonstrated the interoperability and professionalism of NATO aviators,” Stillwell said. “Thank you to the 10ª Tank Base and 39ª Wing Team Titan Air Base for their specialized support and hospitality.”

Incirlik Air Base is one of the largest military facilities in Turkey and its strategic location makes it a center for NATO integration and the defense of NATO's southern flank.

“We are excited to support and celebrate this historic refueling operation in Incirlik,” Schoeneberg said. "This demonstrates the unique capabilities and strategic positioning of this base. In addition, it highlights for everyone that Turkey is a critical member of the NATO alliance and that Team Titan is open to business."

Tags: Military AviationB-1B LancerNATO - North Atlantic Treaty OrganizationTAF - Turkish Air Force / Turkish Air Force

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Fernando Valduga

Aviation photographer and pilot since 1992, has participated in several events and air operations, such as Cruzex, AirVenture, Dayton Airshow and FIDAE. He has work published in specialized aviation magazines in Brazil and abroad. Uses Canon equipment during his photographic work in the world of aviation.