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tgmsunmontue · 1 month ago

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Season to Taste - 42/42

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.

PROLOGUE/1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 (interlude) 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 (interlude) 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 (interlude) 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 (interlude) 41

CHAPTER FORTYTWO

“I don’t care about the weather ruining the day Maria. As long as Leo and I am married then I consider the day a success. Mission accomplished.”

Jake is quite frankly sick of talking about nothing but the wedding. Reassuring his sisters, Silvia, and Vi that he doesn’t care if they end up getting married in a fucking barn. However, he guesses he should have listened and answered some of their questions more clearly, because it’s come back and bit him on the ass. Or come home to roost as Phoenix has gleefully pointed out.

“I’m not spending the night before our wedding day apart. We spend too many of our days and nights apart as it it…”

“It’s bad luck!”

“It’s bullshit is what it is. We’re doing this together and this is just… making it very very public.”

He doesn’t care about the photographers and cameras that will be there, he cares that Leo will be there, and as if summoned by mere thought he’s there and Jake reaches for him.

“Come here…” Leo says, and he’s wrapping his arms around Jake’s waist, nuzzling into the crook of Jake’s neck and Jake knows exactly what he’s doing, which is distracting him and calming him down all at once. “Jake’s right, I already talked to Olivia and Nicola. We aren’t spending the night apart beforehand.”

“Fine,” Maria huffs, and she stalks off and Jake lets himself slump again Leo a little, because of course his sisters will respect what Leo wants but try and browbeat Jake, despite it being his fucking wedding.

“Just a couple more days and it’ll all be over and we’ll be on a beach lying in the sun…”

“Yeah. You in nothing but a swimsuit for an entire two weeks. Definitely looking forward to that…”

“Who says I need a swimsuit? It’s a private beach.”

“Ugh. Killing me…”

“What a way to go,” Leo says with a laugh and Jake laughs with him.

… … …

The rehearsal and dinner go off without any problem, and it’s loud and chaotic and Jake is so glad his Italian is as good as it is, because he understands what everyone is saying. Mostly. Because he’s the asshole Jake knows and loves, Leo has taken to switching to French whenever he doesn’t want Jake to know what he’s talking about, which Vi, Leandro and Silvia all speak perfectly fluently as well.

They’ve just finished practicing their first dance, led by Jake seeing as he actually had to learn when he was at USNA, and Jake shakes his head as Leo starts a rapid fire conversation in French and Jake pulls a face and rolls his eyes, catches Leo’s quick glance and pokes his tongue out. He gets a quick kiss pressed to his cheek, later murmured in his ear and he shakes his head and decides to go and annoy Leo’s other parental figures.

Maverick is standing beside Admiral call me Tom Kazansky, and they’re both looking emotional, but then again it seems par for the course recently, everyone’s emotions close to the surface. They’re having the ceremony as early in the day as possible to allow for the hope that his mom will be less confused, but he’s also prepared himself for the scenario where she simply cannot attend.

“Maverick. Admiral.”

Admiral Kazansky lets out a tired sigh, he finally seems to have given up trying to get Jake to call him anything less formal, and Maverick also seems to get a kick out of it. He wonders when Admiral Kazansky will click that Jake is now doing it more to be a bit of an ass than anything else.

“Hangman… you. The. Uh. The dance song. Did… you choose that?”

“No. Leo wanted it.”

“Oh…”

“What?”

“Did Bradley tell you why he wanted that song?”

Jake hears Maverick’s voice crack, then the cough to clear it.

“No. He didn’t…” he’s about to ask why it’s significant, but like Leo has pointed out, he’s smart about the important stuff. He knows without asking that this song was part of Leo’s parents’ wedding ceremony in some way, maybe their first dance song as well. Sneaky asshole.

“Excuse me Mav, Admiral. I need to go and talk to someone…”

… … …

Bradley wakes up with Jake pressed along his back. In deference to the fact that it was the night before their wedding they had let themselves be booked into a little boutique hotel. Vi told him in no uncertain terms that he wasn’t going to be cooking the morning of his wedding when he’d moaned about there not being a kitchen. He turns in the bed to face Jake, kisses him slowly and sweetly to wake him, grins against the answering smile he feels appear.

“Morning.”

They keep kissing, fingers trailing over bare skin and Bradley wonders if they’re going to have time for anything before they’re meant to be up. It’s still early though, and they’d definitely made time last night, leaving early despite the catcalls. Jake had seemed a little preoccupied but happy, and Bradley’s pretty sure he could have been described the same way.

“Happy wedding day…”

“Yeah… going to make it happier?”

“Of course,” Bradley laughs, licking over Jake’s collar bone and inhaling deeply, smelling the peppermint-rosemary-green-tea of his own body wash that Jake now exclusively uses, regardless of whether he’s deployed or at home and it reminds him of what he got made. “Wait, wait… I got you something…”

“You got me a present?” Jake asks, pulling back to judge him, one eyebrow going up and Bradley can’t help smirking, feeling smug. Because he has, but it’s not just for Jake. Neither is the other little surprise he has planned. “You… of course you did. What did you make me this time?”

“I didn’t make anything. I had an idea and got in touch with the company and… well. Here. Open it.”

He hands the bottle over. It’s the same brand of body wash that Bradley has been using for years; sent to him to try out for free years ago, and to feature on one of the shows. The particular scent of peppermint-rosemary-green-tea had touted itself as reducing stress, and Vi had told him he needed it. Now it reminds him of a lot more, so many moments with Jake. However he misses the citrus undertone of Jake’s old bodywash, smelling that sharp sweetness mixed with the mint and he watches as Jake flips the lid open.

“It smells…” Jake frowns. “It’s like you’ve mixed your body wash with my old one…”

“Yeah. Probably a bit more complicated than that, but that’s pretty much what I asked them to do,” Bradley says, and he goes back to placing a trail of kisses up Jake’s neck, the smell of the open bottle tickling his nose and he knows this moment is going to be a new scent memory and he breathes in deep.

“You… got us a bespoke body wash?”

“Yeah. Want to go try it out?” Bradley asks, pulling back to grin at him.

“Oh… yeah. Fuck yeah.”

They keep kissing as the shower warms up; he hasn’t had a chance to look at the time, but at least he and Jake don’t have hair and make-up to worry about. It feels early enough. Phoenix and Vi both had muttered about unreasonably early starts, and Jake’s sisters are also getting everything done. He’s glad he only has to worry about shaving and doing his hair, knows Vi will have opinions regardless. Does even when there is a team of makeup and hair artists working on him.

Jake is grabbing supplies from his toiletry bag, grumbling under his breath about having to stay away from home the night before his own wedding and Bradley laughs, catching his mouth in a kiss as he takes the lube from Jake’s fingers, wants Jake’s hands on him instead. They don’t have infinite time; he knows Vi won’t hesitate in barging in if they don’t keep to the timeline she’d pressed into their hands two days ago. Fortunately, he’s pretty sure this won’t take long.

After years together they know each other’s bodies intimately, how to get each other off as quickly as possible, and how to drag it out and make it really good. Jake has treated it like a job to learn all of Bradley’s little quirks, ones he himself didn’t know he had, and he loves Jake more every day for it. He pushes his ass against Jake’s cock, lets his head tip back so Jake can lick at his neck.

“Can’t wait to marry you…” Jake murmurs, and his fingers are already slippery with lube, slipping between his ass cheeks and Bradley lets his eyes fall closed and just relax into the sensation. “Getting to call you my husband.” He’s still a little loose from last night, when he’d insisted on Jake fucking him just in case they slept in today or ran out of time. He should have known that wasn’t going to happen, not with how early Jake rises, but still.

“Yeah…” Bradley murmurs, because it’s the same for him. They’ve had quiet conversations in the dark and feel the same about so many things, fingers tracing over ring fingers and pulse points. And right now pressing lube into him.

“You want me to wear a condom? Or you want to have my come dripping out of you all day?”

“Jesus Jake…”

“Or I could just pull out and come all over your ass…”

“Yeah. Yeah. That…” Bradley breathes, because he also doesn’t want Jake to leave him to go and hunt out a condom. He groans then, breath catching as Jake just slides into him. It’s tight, just the way he likes, the fine line between pleasure-pain as Jake presses into him, fingers of one hand digging into his hip, the other wrapped around Bradley’s cock, not yet doing anything other than hold him proprietarily. His mouth and teeth are on Bradley’s neck and shoulders, stubble scraping against skin already sensitive from last night.

He braces his forearms against the wall, spreads his legs further apart and pushes back, a little gasp escaping as Jake pulls out a little and then fucks straight back into him sharply. Jake’s groans make his own cock jerk and that’s what get Jake’s hand moving, a rhythm he’s perfected while he fucks Bradley. He mixes it up depending on what he’s aiming for; and Bradley knows better than to reach down and touch himself. Jake will tell him if he’s allowed, has never failed to make it good for him. Sometimes turning him around and dropping to his knees and sucking Bradley down until he can’t take it anymore or dragging it out and edging him for fucking days; the resulting orgasm bringing him to tears and scream-sobs of pleasure.

He can count the number of times he’s fucked Jake on one hand. Past the first time he’s never felt the urge, more than content to have Jake’s body covering him, holding him, pressing into him. The few times Jake has asked, and Bradley uses the term ask very loosely, it’s been intense, sure Jake was going to shake apart, certain he was going to halt Bradley in the act. The most recent time had been about ten weeks post mission, and Bradley is fairly certain Jake was trying to chase away the fact that he had almost died by reaffirming their own connection.

“Leo… you with me?”

The hand on his cock is tight, Jake grinding up against him and Bradley’s attention snaps back to the present, the realization that this is the last time they’re having sex as un-married men and he lets out a little half-hysterical breath and nods, his breath coming in hot hard pants, mixing with the steam from the water.

“Jake… yeah… yeah… come on…”

“Fuck I love you…”

Bradley laughs again, because Jake sounds almost angry about it as his hips slap against Bradley’s ass, then he’s shifting slightly. Bradley swears under his breath, the head of Jake’s cock now incessantly pushing, dragging over Bradley’s prostate with every thrust of Jake’s hips. The hand on his cock has sped up and his entire body is lighting up with all-over shiver-tingles, nerve endings all alive and he groans, so close to coming, his gut and balls tight with anticipation. He’s repeating Jake’s name over and over like a mantra, then the fingers digging into his hip are gone, and he knows Jake is jerking himself off frantically. Feels the hot splatter of come on his lower back, Jake’s teeth in his shoulder, his groan vibrating against his back and he lets out a whine.

Then Jake’s kissing what is undoubtedly going to be a bite mark, and there are fingers pressing back inside him, seeking with practiced precision and –

“Jesus fucking Christ Jake…”

“Yeah… come on. You can come for me now…”

He shudders apart at the request-command, Jake’s hand working his cock and fingers inside him and he knows when his knees go from beneath him Jake will be there to catch him.

… … …

“Oh for fucks sake… you’ve both got beard burn. This is why you should have spent the night apart…”

“Pretty sure you don’t want us fucking each other in the aisle…”

“You wouldn’t.”

“You willing to risk it?” Jake asks and Bradley snorts in amusement.

Vi rolls her eyes and scoffs, and she looks stunning in her burnt-orange off-the-shoulder dress, dark curls pinned artfully on top of her head.

“You look beautiful…”

“Grazie. Vorrei poter dire lo stesso…”

“Fuck you too…” Bradley says with a laugh and Jake is laughing as well and he’s so glad that Jake can understand Italian now.

“He’s plenty beautiful,” Jake murmurs, giving him a wink and Bradley knows he’s blushing, can’t hide how Jake makes him feel even if he wanted to.

“Ugh. I can’t even with you two. Not on your wedding day. Here. I got you both something…”

Then she’s shoving little boxes at them and Bradley takes it with curiosity.

“You got us…”

“Cufflinks… oh my god. It’s… are they F-18s?” Jake asks, and of course he’s already well ahead of Bradley, opened his and looking at them closely with a wide grin on his face. Bradley snaps his little box open and stares at the tiny golden whisk and knife crossed over each other.

“Grazie Vi…”

“Mmm. Now do something sappy like swap one with each other and there, you’ve got something new and something borrowed…”

Jake mumbles under his breath about superstitious bullshit, but his fingers work effortlessly to remove Bradley’s plain cufflinks and replace them with one each of their new pairs, before he places a kiss on the side of face and he turns his head to capture his mouth in a proper kiss, although not a long one because he doesn’t trust Vi to not kick them both in the shin.

“Right. You now both look… ready to get married. Jake, Javy is waiting for you downstairs. We’re doing the illusion of you seeing each other for the first time. Try and look like you’re in love… oh… huh. You won’t have a problem.”

“I’d hope not.”

… … …

It’s obviously not the first time he’s seen Leo today, but it is the first time they’ve locked eyes with the intention, knowing they’re walking toward each other. Their aisle song had been some song that both he and Leo had agreed on, from a list made by Maria, but played by a string quartet; it had sounded good. Fine. Neither of them had had an opinion. Until last night when he’d pivoted and likely caused Maria and the string quartet more stress. However this is better, an instrumental version of the same song that Bradley had asked for as their first dance song.

As the music starts playing he pauses and waits, wonders if Leo will notice the change, and he does. Jake is watching him closely enough as they walk toward one another that he catches the falter in his step as he notices the tune, his mouth dropping open slightly as he registers. Then his lips go flat and Jake can see the trembling of Leo’s chin and fuck, he’s crying, but okay, no, he’s also smiling, a little shaky, but Jake knows he’s done a good job as they get closer.

They’re both in dark blue, bespoke suits he has no idea when he’ll wear it again. However he doesn’t care, because Leo looks stunningly gorgeous and happy as he walks toward Jake. Then they’re standing face to face and he reaches for Leo’s hands, brings them up and presses a kiss to the knuckles of each hand.

“You asshole…” Leo breathes and it just makes Jake grin wider, because his words might be saying one thing, but his eyes, the look on his face, they say something completely different.

“You could have told me…” Jake says under his breath.

“I… I didn’t want to say anything. How did you… Did someone tell you?”

“I figured it out…”

“Smart…”

“Mmm. I mean. Maverick was sort of emotional about the song choice, so I did have a hint that maybe the song was more important than you let on…”

“I didn’t want to make you have a song you didn’t like…”

Jake rolls his eyes and shakes his head minutely, because they’ve gone over this before but he’s suddenly aware that they’re having this conversation in the aisle of their wedding and everyone is waiting on them, and Leo seems to have the same realization.

“It’s beautiful. Thank you.”

“I love you. Ready to get hitched?”

“More than ready.”

… … …

Apart from the little stolen moments everything seems to blur, but he tries to set in amber the moments he wants to really remember. Seeing Leo for the first time, linking fingers as they turned to walk down the aisle together, the officiant welcoming everyone, Vi doing a reading and speaking about having a front row seat to their developing relationship.

His mom as she sits beside his dad, it isn’t a good or great day for her, she’s a little confused but she knows what a wedding is and recognizes Leo; has had time to watch the small collection of videos so she knows she’s a guest of honor. It’s enough, and the fact that she’s here at all is something he’s grateful for, the earlier hour of the ceremony meaning she won’t be as tired, and then the lunch celebrations which are just going to roll into an all-night party.

As they read their vows with shiny-wet eyes he knows that someone is translating them into Italian for over half the guests, little headphones pressed to ears so they can follow what is being said. Then he’s taking rings from Javy and holding Leo’s hand in his, the officiant looking between them.

“Jake, repeat after me. I take you, Leonardo Bradley Bradshaw Gallo…”

There’s a sob from the crowd and Jake turns, notes that Leo does as well. Sitting beside Admiral Kazansky and Maverick, Leandro has gone pale, is now crying along with Silvia and okay, Jake’s clearly not the only one in the dark with this little surprise and he turns to Leo and shakes his head a little. Asshole he mouths and he didn’t think Leo could look happier, but his grin widens, eyes glint with mischief and Jake’s entire life feels perfect.

“I take you Leonardo Bradley Bradshaw Gallo,” he repeats dutifully.

“To be my lawfully wedded husband.”

… … …

He doesn’t have a chance to bring it up, there are so many people. It’s family, and the Dagger squad, and Jake did not expect for there to be so many brass at his wedding. The fact that they’re there as Leo’s side of the family is wild, and he wonders if this is what it would be like marrying into some type of royalty. There’s so many photographers he knows he’s going to be so grateful for them capturing lots of moments he will either forget or simply won’t get to see. Lincoln dumping the rose petals in a single move by overturning the basket. Lincoln’s younger sister then sitting down and picking them all up and placing them back into her basket. Little anecdotes he’s heard from his sisters throughout the day.

He never thought about his wedding day, but he can’t imagine it getting better than this. The small details don’t matter, it’s the big things, like the happiness and love he just feels surrounded by. The combination of English and Italian which all just blur together now.

The food is of course plentiful and amazing, and Jake isn’t sure, but he thinks they may have shut the restaurants down for a week and pulled all the staff here. And because his husband loves him there are little bottles of sauce on every table; every single member of the Dagger squad finds him to give him shit about it personally, however they also congratulate him and Leo. The number of admirals who have congratulated him has started to make him sweat, a little panicky because while no one is in uniform they’re still admirals.

Clearly Leo picks up on something because he drags Jake off to the house, has clearly given instructions that they’re not to be interrupted and Leo drops to his knees and sucks him off to distract him, not wasting any time and not wanting any type of reciprocation because he likes drawing out his own arousal. That’ll be fun for both of them later. He’s fucking perfect for him.

“Fuck, getting too old for that. Need a cushion for my knees.”

“Serves you right…” Jake mutters, although he already has plans for them to have a bath together later. Relax and sleep. First though, he has a bone to pick now that they have a moment alone and he’s not getting a blowjob. “You changed your name.”

“Well, figured I’d be changing it anyway. So might as well go the whole way. Make it a five-barrel abomination…”

“You ever thought of double-barreling the last name Gallo and Seresin?”

“Uh… no.”

“Well. Maybe we should talk about that. And if I had Gallo as well maybe Hangman would get a different meaning…”

“Yeah? You’d want that?”

“Well, pretty sure my reputation as a complete asshole is completely shot to hell after today…”

“Yeah, it was definitely today that did it,” Leo says with a grin and Jake shoves him playfully, aware that he probably has a point. He’s always made it known that he had a soft spot for his family and boyfriend. Husband.

“Come on, we’re meant to be the guests of honor.”

“I wasn’t the one that needed to be distracted.”

“I thought all that was because you can’t keep your hands off me.”

“Mmm. True. Just a happy coincidence that it also distracted you then…”

“So happy…” Jake says, and he knows Leo understands him without spelling it out any further.

… … …

Despite their years together they’ve never managed to spend time in Italy together. It was something they had both agreed on immediately, a ten-day honeymoon in Italy. Private house, private beach. Big kitchen. Pool. No need to wear clothes, maybe just an apron when he’s cooking, which he knows Jake loves. It reminds him a little of their first chunk of time they spent together, when they’d both been circling around each other uncertain about what they were doing. He’s so glad he trusted his gut all those years ago.

Right now Jake’s swimming laps, his wry comment about how if he’s going to be doing nothing but eat Bradley’s food for ten days he needs to ensure he’s still fit enough to work. Bradley had simply said it sounded like a him problem, that he’d be in the kitchen. He’s made fresh pasta for later, as well as some dough for bread rolls. He’s not meant to be working on a new book, but he finds himself scribbling down some ideas anyway, startles a little when he feels a much cooler body press up against his bare back.

“Hey…”

“Hi. Mmm. Smells good.”

“I haven’t even made anything…”

“Wasn’t talking about food…” Bradley laughs, twists around so he can get a proper kiss, feels Jake’s arm go around his waist. “Why do people write that?”

“Write what?” Bradley asks, not quite sure what Jake is talking about, then sees Jake’s hand pressing his scrappy notebook open.

“Season to taste… surely people are going to do that anyway right?”

Bradley laughs, turns around so he can kiss him more easily.

“Yeah. You’d think so. But some people are sticklers for following a recipe. So it’s like a little addendum. Season to taste… make it perfect for how you want it.”

“Huh. So that’s what I’ve been doing all along with my ketchup then?”

Bradley opens his mouth to argue, closes it again.

Jake has a point.

An annoying one.

He’s lucky Bradley loves him.

“Yeah. You’ve been making it perfect all along.”

--- THE END ---

Their aisle song - instrumental of their first dance song.

Thanks for coming on the journey with me. It's posting on AO3 if you want to go and bookmark it, or re-read it with chapters going up Mon-Wed-Thurs.

I've also got two one-shots planned, which is why I have made it a series on AO3, so feel free to subscribe to the series there if you want to be notified of those updates. 👌

🌻🌻🌻

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

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marie-swriting · 1 month ago

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Just Live - Natasha "Phoenix" Trace

Top Gun Maverick Masterlist

Summary : You always feel like you have to work harder to be recognised as your own person, instead of just Natasha's sibling.

Warnings : Trace!sibling reader, reader is one year younger, use of they/them pronouns, set during the movie with some canon deviant elements, angst, mention of plane crash, happy ending, 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 : 2k

French version

Request : made by anonymous, here's the link to the request. To whoever requested it, I hope you'll like what I wrote and again, sorry for taking so long to write it 🫶🏻

You’re with Payback, Fanboy, and your sister Natasha when you’re arriving in the Hard Deck so you can find the other pilots you’re going to work with for a new mission. You almost have no information about it, you just know you’ve all been called back to TopGun.

The second you step foot in the bar, you hear Hangman's arrogant voice near the pool table where he’s with his friend and fellow pilot Coyote. As if he felt you coming, Jake looks up towards you and catches Javy’s attention.

“What do we have here? If it ain’t Phoenix! And here I thought we were special, Coyote.” he exclaims with a cocky smile. “Turns out the invite went to anyone. Oh, there’s even Phoenix Number Two,” Jake adds, seeing you, “So, you’ve finally reached your sister’s level?”

At the mention of the nickname ‘Phoenix Number Two’ - which is, obviously, not your callsign -, you can’t help but be annoyed. Hangman always knows how to get under your skin. You’re about to reply when Natasha beats you to it.

“Fellas, this here’s Bagman.”

“Hangman.” the concerned person corrects.

“Whatever. You’re looking at the only naval aviator on active duty with a confirmed air-to-air kill.”

“Stop!”

“Mind you,” you start, looking him up and down, “the other guy was in a museum piece from the Korean War.”

“Cold War.” Coyote rectifies.

“Different wars, same century.” Payback specifies.

“Not this one.” Fanboy adds.

“Who are your friends ?” Javy asks.

You decide to not participate in the conversation any longer and go to ask for a beer. The assignment hasn’t started yet and you’re already sick of it. Sure, for once, you didn’t get more than one comment comparing you and your sister but it’s still a sore subject.

You’re only a year younger than Natasha and yet, those twelve months are enough for the entire world to use your big sister as a comparison. Even before getting in the Navy, you received a lot of remarks explaining how you should be more like Natasha; and this happened only when people were noticing what you were doing. In general, when you were a kid, your achievements were whisked away.

By choosing to be a naval aviator, you thought you’d finally detached yourself from Natasha as you’d be doing a job that is out of the ordinary. At that time, your sister was already in the army, she just didn’t know what she wanted to be in particular. A year before you officially became a pilot, Phoenix proudly announced that she wanted to be one, too. Your parents were immediately proud of her; they didn’t show as much joy when you had told them - as for you, you were irritated. Being a pilot was your dream, it was supposed to be the thing that differenciate you from Natasha, it was supposed to help you show who you truly are and now, it’s just one more thing that you share with your sister.

Your callsign, Griffin, is also another common point with Natasha. People from your year racked their brains to find another mythological creature so you could have a link with your sister. They meant well, you know it, but the fact is that even in the Academy without your sister, you lived in her shadow, in spite of yourself. With years, it drew you and Phoenix apart. You still get along and you’d do anything for her, though you can’t help but be bitter. You know it’s ridiculous, you’re mad at yourself for being this resentful towards her; after all, it’s not her fault, Natasha has always made sure people would see you for who you are, though it doesn’t change the way you feel. With time, you’ve learned to be discreet about this pain that is eating you from the inside. However, from time to time, like tonight, the pain and the anger that comes with it find a way to the surface. So, during the evening, you stay on your own, your beer in hand, conversing with people just enough so they remember you’re here but not enough to be the main topic.

The mission you’ve been assigned to is the most dangerous one you’ve ever had. You all agree to say it’s almost impossible to complete it. Even Hangman is not cocky enough to pretend he’s confident about it. You’ve always given yourself fully for your work, however this time, you work twice as hard. It’s not only about your own survival but also for the other ones, including your sister. You might train every single day, it still doesn’t seem enough. In training, no one has succeeded to complete this mission, except Rooster if we forget the fact he arrived at the target too late. Besides Bradley, you’re the one who did best before ‘colliding’ in the mountain just when you were about to hit the spot where the uranium would be. You could have succeeded if you hadn’t been distracted by Natasha and Bob’s plane behind you.

“Why are you dead?” Maverick questions, tensed.

“I didn’t communicate correctly and I didn’t notice they needed help.” you reply with a neutral tone.

“Exactly so, stop playing solo and learn to pay attention to your wingmen. Besides that, you had good technique. Phoenix, as for you, you know how to communicate but you have to be a bit more careful when you fly.”

Reluctantly, you accept Maverick’s critic. He’s not wrong, communication has never been your strong suit. You’re a very lonely person and though sometimes, this might be a strength, when you’re a naval aviator, it is not. You have to do better, you have to do like Natasha. It is not easy for you to admit it but you can’t deny Maverick is correct so you take it upon yourself to learn from his critics so you can be a better pilot, hoping you’ll be able to make it if you’re chosen for the assignment.

Once the day of the mission has come, anxiety is at its climax while you’re getting ready to fly. Maverick is the team leader and you’re his wingman, Rooster is with Payback and finally Phoenix is with Bob. You do not feel at ease at the thought of your sister flying with you; you are scared something might happen to her. You try not to think of the worst case scenario and instead focus on what you have to do. If you want to keep your squad safe, you have to stay focused on your mission, not on your fear of losing Natasha.

In the air, you all do everything perfectly, completing the two miracles necessary for this mission. Now, enemy missiles are coming from everywhere and you do everything to avoid them. The flares you used to avoid them fly left and right while you keep each other updated on every new threat. There is no end, every time a missile is destroyed, four new ones seem to appear in the sky.

Adrenaline is running through your veins while black smokes surround all of you. In spite of yourself, you look in Natasha’s direction in case she might need help. Though, a missile going right to Bradley and Payback’s plane catches your attention and you fly in their direction to help them, except your plane gets hit in the process and you can’t do anything but fall down as Natasha screams in fear in your ears.

The second you come back to yourself, you find yourself laying on the snowy ground. Thanks to your third unplanned miracle, you’re not hurt or your adrenaline is still high enough so you can’t feel the pain in your body. You barely avoid an enemy aircraft coming your way thanks to Maverick’s intervention who came to your rescue while crashing his own plane. Together, you find a plane for two before leaving enemy territory and going home.

After a landing more or less wonky, people present on the carrier cheer for you and Maverick as they know you’re safe and sound. You just have time to catch your breath before someone grabs you from behind and makes you walk to a room. Once the door is closed, you find Natasha in front of you and she hugs you, sighing in relief before taking a step back and looking at you with a severe expression.

“What got into you? It was reckless to pull a stunt like that!”

“Reckless? I saved Rooster and Payback’s life.” you retort, outraged she’s mad.

“And you could have lost yours in the process.”

“I didn’t. I knew what I was doing.”

“No, you didn’t. You were ready to sacrifice yourself and for what? To prove something? To prove you’re a damn good pilot?” Natasha asks, knowing you too well. “Breaking new, you already are! That’s why you were chosen for this mission.”

“This has nothing to do with that.”

“Really?” Natasha questions rhetorically. “Y/N, I don’t know what you need to realise you’ve got nothing to prove.”

“Easy for you to say.” you reply, avoiding her gaze for a second.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Everyone has always seen your talents. I have always had to fight to have a bit of recognition. No matter what I do, I’m only Natasha’s little sibling or ‘Phoenix Number Two’, I’m never just me. So, yeah, maybe I came to Rooster and Payback’s rescue to show I’m strong but what do you want me to say? Years of being invisible mess with your head.” you defend yourself, tearing up.

“That doesn’t mean you should sacrifice yourself at any given occasion. There are other ways to show your talent as a naval aviator. How would you think we’d react if you were to die after acting like you did? Sure, maybe people would recognize your achievements but we would be devastated, I would be devastated.” Natasha exclaims, her voice breaking. “And now you must think I’m insensitive because I’m making this situation about me and maybe I am, but if that’s what it takes for you to understand how dangerous and stupid what you did was then so be it.”

“I’m just tired of working harder just to not be seen.”

“Y/N, it’s not the case anymore.” she affirms, taking a step forward. “We’re not kids anymore. If people didn’t see you, you wouldn’t have been called back to TopGun and you wouldn’t have been Maverick’s wingman and yet, you were. It’s probably easier said than done, however you have to realise the child version of you who was never taken seriously has grown up and showed they had guts. I’m not saying people will stop comparing us but they don’t see you as an extension of me anymore, they see the real you now.”

“You’re probably right.” you end up saying, wiping a single tear on your cheek. “I’m sorry I scared you.”

“You better not do that ever again or this time, I’d be faster than Maverick and find you so I could kick your ass.”

You lightly chuckle before taking your sister in your arms again. Slowly, you feel the adrenaline leaving your body as you integrate the words you’ve exchanged with Natasha. She’s right, you have to realise things aren’t like they used to. Maybe one day you’ll finally be able to do it. Maybe you’ll finally let go of this idea you have to fight to be seen for you and you only, maybe one day, you’ll finally be able to just live.

Top Gun Maverick Masterlist

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the-authoress-writes · 11 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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dangerousthingobservation · 2 months ago

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Rafale M

French naval aviators won't only update their carrier qualifications, they'll also learn how to integrate with a U.S. Navy carrier air wing.

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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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redarmyscreaming · 2 years ago

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Farman 222

The Farman F.220 and its derivatives were thick-sectioned, high-winged, four engined monoplanes from Farman Aviation Works. Based on the push-pull configuration proven by the F.211, design started in August 1925 and the first flight of the prototype was on May 26, 1932.

The definitive F.222 variant was the biggest bomber to serve in France between the world wars. One variant was designed as an airliner.

Jules Verne, a variant of the Farman F. 220 of the French Naval Aviation, was the first Allied bomber to raid Berlin. On the night of 7 June 1940, it dropped eight bombs of 250 kg and eighty of 10 kg on the German capital.

#Farman F.220 #armee d'lair #french bomber

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dailyunsolvedmysteries · 2 years 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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helmador · 2 months ago

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,,☆ AHOY!! ☆’’

(Pinned/Intro post)

; Helm / Helmador ~ 🇪🇸 ~ He/Him or Any Pronouns ;

~ I am an artist! I primarily create digital artworks and animatics/animations, though I do touch into writing here and there.

~ I love military history, vintage Army, and anything related to the Navy or Pirates. These are frequent themes in my creations and blog!

~ I have many OCs for Treasure Planet/The Battle at Procyon and Guts and Blackpowder! I’m currently creating stories for both and will accept any questions.

You can find my art under #Helmador Art and my OCs under #Helmador OCs !

☆ Primary Interests (What my blog is centered around)

Treasure Planet, Treasure Planet: Battle at Procyon, Guts and Blackpowder, Vintage History (Napoleonic, World Wars, Civil War, etc), Naval Engineering / Aviation / Army Engineering

…

☆ Misc Interests (Things I may interact with, please don’t follow me for this stuff though)

Wings of Fire, The Lion King, Godzilla, Regretevator, Rango, Disney’s Planes / Cars, Roblox, The Cold War, Old Sci-Fi and Space Exploration, Modern Military / Post Vietnam War aesthetic and History

…

☆ Favorites (My little comfort characters I may bring up and draw a lot)

Treasure Planet / Battle at Procyon: Mr Turnbuckle, Admiral/Ambassador Evar, Procyon Submersible / Ironclads

Guts and Blackpowder: Jean Louise, Scared French Roscoff Soldier / Arnaud

Miscellaneous: Zira (The Lion King), Queen Chrysalis (My Little Pony), Queen Scarlet (Wings of Fire)

Non-Fictional: Jean-Andoche Junot, Civil War Ironclads, German U-Boats, HMS Titanic

~ My Linktree for my other socials,,, I am most active on Twitter, TikTok, and Instagram!

~ My full DNI can be viewed on my Strawpage. Though to point out important bits, don’t interact with me if you are/support any of this loserly behavior: Basic criteria (Zöö/Pëdo, etc), Bïgot/LGBTQ+phöbe, Pröships, Rïght wing/Islämophobe/Zïonists, and gënerative ÄI / Crÿpto.

My Tagging system + OC story tags (under cut):

#Helm txt - my random talking tag

#Helmador Art - Art tag (All art)

#Helmador Ocs - Oc tag (for every fandom)

#OUTDATED - tag for outdated ocs and designs

#Forged by the Frontlines - Tag for my Treasure Planet: Battle at Procyon ocs/fanfic || (Current Focus)

#The Divine and the Admiralty - Also for my Battle at Procyon ocs, but specifically dedicated to all Admirals/Senior Officers and their symbolism || (Semi-Focus)

#Chain the Underdogs - Tag for my Treasure Planet fanfic about John Silver’s youth || (Underdeveloped)

#Bloodsport Roulette - Tag for my Guts and Blackpowder OCs/fanfic || (Current Focus)

……

#Helm txt #Intro post

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ghostwarriorrrr · 7 months ago

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opelman · 1 year ago

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F-AZYI / 59 - Breguet Br 1050 Alizé by Laurent Quérité Via Flickr: Air Show Airshow French Navy BAN Le Palyvestre Hyères (LFTH) France IMG_9161

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tgmsunmontue · 7 months ago

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Season to Taste - 1/42

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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