#pete's funeral

[auseyre]

Prompt #8 Favorite Scene (again)

Reasons why this scene is amazing.

Porsche rubbing Kinn's back in comfort because Tankhun is genuinely pissed at him even while being incredibly dramatic and Kinn is feeling guilty and absolutely hates to upset his brother.

Not one, not two, but three trained bodyguards completely freaked the hell out and abandoned their charges(well, unless you count Porsche climbing on Kinn's back as some kind of protection) at the sight of "zombie" Pete.

That Yok is there. Tankhun feels close enough to Yok to include her and look, Yok is the first person in Tankhun's life that isn't either related to him or paid by his family in who knows how long, so that's a big deal.

Arm being upset that Tankhun told Pete's ghost to visit his dreams. The little flinch and "why?" look is hilarious.

The fond little face pat and smile that Kinn gives Pete when they realize he's alive, before he's literally knocked out of the way by Arme and Pol mobbing Pete.

The Pete mobbing. Porsche poking his arm to make sure he's really not a ghost before they all pile onto Pete's poor bruised body, my little gang together once more.

[blueeyeddarkknight]

Omg omg GUYS! ! SLIDER in tgm! ⚡❤️🥹😭😭

This pic just dropped of Rick slider rossovich and Tom maverick cruise during the iceman funeral scene 😭

[torchflies]

Jake would host a funeral for his spleen (that Mav totallyyyyyyyy didn't steal from pathology) much like you hold a funeral for a goldfish

(Shhh, it’s totally still in Pathology).

And Maverick is LUCKY if all he has to do is steal it back. Jake requests a full eulogy and serenade over the jar they bury 🤣🤣

Lol don't think they can flush a spleen. 🤣🤣

Thank you nonny!!! Ily!!!

[a-reader-and-a-writer]

Words Fail

Fandom: Top Gun, Top Gun: Maverick, Pete "Maverick" Mitchell Summary: On one of the most difficult days of his life, Maverick finds support in an unexpected place. Word Count: 568 TW: Canon Character Death, Funeral, Grief Notes: Written for day 14 of @whumpthemusical's event for "Words Fail" from Dear Evan Hansen. Thank you to @green-socks for beta reading and being my TG fact-checker 😘

Maverick opened his mouth, but he was unable to speak.

He had stayed up all night working on what he was going to say today. He had gone through draft after draft until the morning light began to creep across his papers and his hand cramped painfully. However, he had thought he had finally settled on something he could be proud of.

Yet, as he stood next to the portrait of the man who had been closer than a brother to him for over three decades and stared down at the shiny mahogany box in front of him, those perfectly crafted words failed him.

He knew his elegy would give Ice the farewell he deserved, however, it still wasn’t good enough. How do you condense 30 years of loyal friendship down to a few lines on a page? How can you recall every laugh, every tear, every moment of support or encouragement in just a few minutes? How can you say a final goodbye to the person who was always there? 

Maverick opened his mouth again but the words refused to come out. They remained lodged in his throat, making it nearly impossible to breathe. He tried to swallow, but it just made it worse. Tears threatened to slip from his eyes and wondered what everyone else saw as they stared expectantly at him.

Scanning the crowd full of friends old and new, his eyes were drawn to one person in particular. He hadn’t consciously sought him out—he hadn’t even known where he would be standing—but when Maverick locked eyes with his godson, he paused.

For a moment, they held each other’s gaze, almost daring the other to make the first move. Bradley looked stoic and strong as he held his head high, but even despite their years of separation, Maverick knew him well enough to see the clenching of his jaw and the tightness in his shoulders. It seemed like he wasn’t the only one struggling to keep his composure. 

Then, so slightly that Maverick almost wondered if he imagined it, Bradley nodded his head. 

The gesture was so small, yet so meaningful, that Maverick’s knees almost gave out as a wave of relief and calm washed over him. The last time he and Bradley had talked was back on the base when Bradley finally confronted him about pulling his papers. Maverick had always known when that moment came, it would be painful but he never expected to hear Bradley say the things he said that night. If Warlock hadn’t interrupted with the news of Ice’s death, he could only imagine what else his godson would have thrown furiously in his face.

And yet, at this moment, when Maverick needed it more than he ever had before, Bradley gave him an olive branch. It might be small and it might be fueled by the loss of someone who meant the world to both of them, but it was a sign that there still might be hope for them after all.

Glancing down at the casket before him, a smile slowly spread across Maverick’s face. Even in death, Ice had found a way to help him one last time. They might have always disagreed about who was the better pilot even until the very end, but there was never a doubt about who the better wingman was.

Clearing his throat, Maverick opened his mouth and began to speak.

Taglist: @green-socks, @lorecraft, @heart-0n-fire, @mayhem24-7forever @the-untamed-soul, @inglourious-imagines, @airhogger, @piscesvancouverite, @straightforwardly, @bonnieelizabethparker, @srry-itshockeyszn, @flyinlove, @fandomhopped, @yjwnoot, @wanderdreamer, @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy, @callsign-phoenix, @shanimallina87, @forever-sleepy-sloth, @blue-aconite, @notroosterbradshaw, @dezthegeek, @blessupblessup, @cherrycola27, @phoenix1389, @nicangelinee, @smells-like-perfect-senses, @boringusername3, @petlaufeyson, @cycbaby, @topguncortez, @fantasticcopeaglepasta, @writercole, @onebigfangirlworld, @wkndwlff, @ravenmoore14, @roosterforme, @clancycucumber230, @mamachasesmayhem, @slightly-psycho-multifan, @kmc1989, @ohtobeleah, @deppresseddyslexic, @horneybeach1, @mandylove1000, @aczhang777

[scottishaccentsareawesome]

(Ice has just run out on his wedding to find Maverick)

Iceman:...There I was, standing there in the church, and for the first time in my whole life I realized I totally and utterly loved one person. And it wasn't the person standing next to me in the veil. It's the person standing opposite me now... in the rain.

Maverick: Is it still raining? I hadn't noticed.

[asummersarah]

“Anthony looks like if Pete Wentz was white” 😭

[amelia-mariee]

I know a lot happened in volume 3, but we're kind of ignoring Quill coming back to earth. He's living on earth for the first time in almost 40 years. You know how much he missed? At some point he probably visited or saw a picture of NYC and was like "hey I don't see the twin towers" and Jason Quill had to sit down his 40 year old grandson and teach him about 9/11.

[missathlete31]

Left Behind Chapter 3

Masterlist to find other chapters: Here

Chapter 2 is here

Chapter Summary- The Funeral for Lt. Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin

Warnings- obviously a lot of angst in this chapter. Although Jake is still alive, the team doesn’t know this and so this chapter is when they hold the funeral for their fallen friend and teammate

I hope I did the scene justice

The remains believed to be Lieutenant Jake “Hangman” Seresin arrived at the docks of Miramar in the middle of the night and during a torrential rain storm. The disembarkment was immediately halted and Admiral Simpson ordered a guarded watch on the casket until conditions improved. The crew of the carrier all opted to remain onboard as a show of respect, while the Dagger Squad remained at Top Gun waiting for the clouds to clear enough for their teammate to come home.

Javy Machado eventually reached his limit though, his need for his brother to be back on land and in the closest place to a home he ever had winning out as he begged Cyclone to reconsider. Javy also couldn’t bear the thought of Jake being alone in the bowels of a ship for even a second longer, Jake deserved better.

So at half past two in the morning, in the pouring rain Javy stood at attention, his arm raised unwavering in a salute as six men carried the casket bearing what was believed to be Hangman down across the docks. The other Daggers all joined Coyote, standing in line and with respect to their fallen comrade. Not one of them brushed the rain out of their faces; instead they used it to hide their own tears that fell just as quickly.

When the casket was parallel to their group, Javy took a step forward, walking out of his post to come closer to the flag-draped coffin. He reached a shaky hand out, clutching weakly at the sodden fabric and felt his sobs shudder through his body. He stood there for a long while, the progression waiting for his cue, not a sound across the area despite the horrid conditions.

Finally, Javy pulled back and nodded at the leader, who clicked his heels and started the march once more towards the hangars. Coyote stumbled backward, his body at a loss as his heart felt decimated in his chest. Before he could fall though, strong arms gripped him, Payback taking one side while Omaha grabbed the other, his Dagger Family supporting Javy from all sides as he crumbled into tears.

The funeral was set for two days after, in the same cemetery that Admiral Kazanksy had been laid to rest. Captain Mitchell had gone pale when Coyote informed his Commanding Officers of his decision for Jake to be buried close to North Island but the older man didn’t argue, just gripped his Lieutenant’s arm tightly as they talked over logistics.

Due to the high priority mission that Hangman had been shot down attempting, the higher ups in the Navy had all been informed and were stated to attend. Admiral Simpson informed Coyote that even the Secretary of the Navy had confirmed his attendance for the event. Unfortunately the man was a family friend of John Seresin, Jake’s father, who had made quite a name for himself in Washington Politics as an oil lobbyist. The Naval Secretary had of course offered his condolences to the entire Seresin family when he stated his intention of going leading to John and his wife Corrine to find out the details of their son’s untimely demise. Despite the fact that they had all but disowned their son when he chose to enlist as a means to get out of the cold and abusive house they created, the Seresins were going to the funeral. As the old adage went, never let a good tragedy go to waste, and John Seresin knew that the death of his son could be the perfect stepping stone for his own aspirations of political office. The Texas Governor primary was only a few short months away.

Javy might have punched a wall in Admiral Simpson’s office when he found out Jake’s parents were coming.

Which was followed by Maverick punching a different wall when Javy explained the horrible abuse Jake suffered by their hands growing up.

Admirals Simpson and Bates were also upset, though they managed to keep their fists from going through anymore drywall. However if a few privates and administrators happened to hear Beau screaming in insubordination to Admiral Cain about sitting the Seresins in the front row, they all managed to keep it to themselves. Besides, Cyclone lost that battle before he even tried.

Javy wanted to be mad, wanted to scream and shout and cry and punch until the wound that had developed in his heart by the loss of his best friend stopped aching so desperately. He wanted Jake’s parents as far away from the funeral as humanly possible but yet he also wanted them right there, right in front so they could see the man their son was. The heroic and strong soldier, the ace pilot, the unbelievable friend; the man they should have loved and been proud of but instead they sneered at and tried to destroy.

The funeral was still by his design, despite the added attendees, and all Coyote really wanted was to speak on his friend’s behalf. Just like on the carrier that day when he fought over the debrief, Javy wanted to fight for the fallen pilot now, to show everyone the true Jake Seresin, the one that so very few people got the privilege to really see.

Cyclone of course agreed and so on the day of Hangman’s funeral, as the warm California sun hung high in the crisp blue sky, Javy stood in his dress whites and went to the podium. He was a horrible public speaker in school but at this moment his hands didn’t shake. He strode up there with purpose and with as much composure as someone in this sort of situation could manage. Javy squared himself as he set his papers in order, taking a glance at the crowd watching him. It was a good group, not the level that Admiral Kazanksy had gotten of course but it was still heartwarming to see the people who had come out. Every Dagger was there, and every Vigilante too, all the Cos standing tall and proud and even a surprising number of civilians. Penny Benjamin was there to pay her respects, her daughter at her side, each with weighty looks of grief for the loss. Javy’s own family came out in droves; the years of Jake attending all holidays with the Machados making them feel the loss as profoundly as Javy himself. Corrine and John sat in the front row, next to the Secretary of the Navy, the two parents wearing sunglasses to hide the fact that they had yet to shed even the slightest tear. Their son’s portrait hung right in front of them, Jake looking like the All-American hero that he was and yet neither could even bother to spare a second glance.

Javy didn’t let it deter him, instead he used it to fuel his speech even more.

“All of you here have come to pay your respect to Jake Seresin, but I’m sorry to say, I’m not sure if you all really knew Jake Seresin.” He looked up, expecting some looks from his words, a small feeling of vindication coming to him when he saw John Seresin squirm just the tiniest bit. “There were many faces to Jake, many different shows, all of them a part of him, but none the whole story. There was Hangman, the pilot, the best of the best, that’s the one most of you saw, the one he let the world see the most.” Javy huffed out a breath, “Hangman was Jake’s mask, the stone cold, heartless aviator that could swoop in and get the job done without breaking a sweat. Somehow that version of Jake became known for leaving his wingman behind. ‘Hangman leaving everyone hangin’” Coyote looked over to Phoenix, could see the young woman’s lip trembling with silent sobs, “I would ask Jake if it bothered him, that his call-sign was so purely insulting but he would always shake his head. ‘Let them say what they want Coyote’ he would tell me, ‘I’ll prove it to them in the end.’” Coyote sniffed back a sob, tears welling a bit in his eyes as he turned to the portrait of his best friend, “you showed ‘em man” he told the picture of Jake’s graduation photo, his green eyes wide, his hair perfectly coiffed and his smile just on the cusp of staying professional without looking too much like the cocky smirk he preferred. “Hangman was meant to be in the sky” Javy informed the group of people before him, “he was meant to be a pilot and he knew it. I wish that I could be as sure at anything as Jake was that the Navy was where he belonged. He excelled at it, in a way that was just unheard of. His skills were the best I’ve ever seen,” Coyote closed his eyes and pictured the times he got to fly with Jake in training, before the suicide mission and the pressure, when it was just Jake and Javy doing what they loved, “he devoured everything he could on planes and flying and the math and science of it all. He studied constantly, not just manuals but the mission logs of the men he admired most” Javy’s eyes roamed to Maverick. Pete was watching stoically, a twitch in his jaw betraying his emotions, though he stood straight and at attention. “Jake served his country faithfully, bravely, and heroically for over twelve years. He had countless deployments, endured things that would have broken lesser men and women but yet he never faltered.” Coyote sighed, “Jake took a life during one of his assignments, the first confirmed air to air kill in three decades. The Navy celebrated him, his team celebrated him, Hangman celebrated himself but Jake, the Jake he was afraid to let you all see” Javy shook his head, “he hated himself for it.” He looked over to the Dagger and Vigilante teams, all faced forward in respect but Coyote could tell they were all listening. “Jake was human, surprisingly so under all that cocky personality, and it killed him to take that life no matter what the circumstances.” He huffed weakly, “he’d kill me for telling you all this too but he cried all night that night after it happened, called me halfway through and I could barely understand him.” Javy motioned to his mother, Dorinda who was sobbing into Javy’s father handkerchief, “He even called my mother just to have that maternal figure to beg forgiveness from” there was a visible shudder from Corrine Seresin. “But Jake never needed to ask for forgiveness, not from us. He needed it from himself for the nightmares that plagued him for years after, that still plagued him, all the way until the end.”

Javy took a step back for a moment, flipping the page and taking a breather, his eyes avoiding the flag covered coffin and still staying on his best friend’s photo; the way he would always remember Jake, not a scorched body in a wooden box. Javy closed his eyes and tried to stay composed as his heart lurched thinking of Jake’s final moments. But he couldn’t lose it, not now, he still had more to say.

“Jake was not perfect” Coyote offered, “although if he was next to me he would probably have already grabbed the microphone to inform you that ‘yes in fact, he is perfect, in all things in fact’” Javy felt a little renewed at the wet chuckles from some of his teammates, “but Jake Seresin was stubborn, like a damn donkey. You couldn’t make him do anything he didn’t want to, believe me, 12 years of trying to get the guy to let me win one round of darts is the biggest proof of that.” The laughs sounded again, “And he was hardheaded; his three concussions alone can tell you. He pushed constantly, and not always in the right ways but it was for good reasons, I can assure you.” He looked up in the sky, “Jake wanted the best out of everyone around him because he believed that was the only way he himself could get better. He pushed you all” Javy looked to Jake’s former teammates, “and I know he pushed your buttons. I know there were times you wanted to punch him in his perfect teeth, some of you even did” he winked at Rooster, Phoenix, Omaha and Fritz, the latter two giving watery yet knowing nods back at him. “Hell I even punched him too one time when he mocked my landing after a long day. But you know what he did after? He got some ice for his blackening eye and then brought over the chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream that he told me I couldn’t touch even though it was both of our favorites and he let me eat the whole thing. He never apologized for what he said,” Javy shook his head, “Hangman was not good at that, but he showed me that it wasn’t coming from a place of malice, just the need to make us all better. And that next day before we took off, he mentioned a few things he wanted to work on in his own landings, things he wanted to clean up-“ Coyote smiled to the group, “they were the things I needed to work on. Jake made it so we worked on it together.” The man at the podium scoffed fondly, “still felt good to get that punch in though, and seeing him with a black eye for a week did make me feel better, even if he got more attention from women when we went out because of it.”

As a few more laughs died away, Coyote looked down. There was one page left of his speech, the hardest page and Javy just closed his eyes for a moment and channeled his best friend’s strength. “I can’t say a lot about the mission that took Jake Seresin from this world. It was classified but let me assure you that what Jake and the rest of the team accomplished that day was nothing short of miraculous and we all should thank them for what they were able to achieved. Jake was shot down protecting a teammate” Javy’s eyes were still on his paper but he could hear the sudden sob of Rooster from a few feet away. Coyote knew if he looked up he wouldn’t be able to continue so he kept his head down and soldiered on. “He took a missile that would have killed a friend and it resulted in his own death.” The tears were falling now from the man’s face but he didn’t wipe them, “it hurts losing Jake like that” he told the crowd, “but it’s not surprising because it is exactly the way that Jake would have wanted to go.” Javy nodded to himself, willing his voice to stay steady, “for someone that was so cocky, and seemingly so full of himself, Jake had very little self-worth. I know that in his final moments he believed his life was not worth as much as his friends.” Coyote sobbed into his hand, which had started to tremble slightly as his emotions got the better of him. He dropped his head, cursing himself for failing to get through his whole speech when he felt a hand on his back. “You can do this” Captain Mitchell whispered softly, rubbing his hand comfortingly across the man’s spine, “you can.”

Javy shook his head, still not looking up, “no-“

“Yes,” Maverick insisted, surprisingly strong despite his own voice cracking slightly, “do it for Jake. Do it for your wingman.”

Coyote scrunched up his eyes and dipped his head a bit lower, thinking of his best friend; of all the times Jake was there for him, on early morning workouts pushing Javy to go a little bit further, up in the sky when he got Coyote to go just a bit faster, when he stayed with Javy and the rest of the Machados’ after the loss of Javy’s oldest sister, holding his best friend as he sobbed and being the strength that Javy couldn’t muster at the moment. Jake pushed him out of his comfort zone time and time again and it was only fitting that he would still manage it now, at his own damn funeral. Sighing out a long breath, Javy raised his head again, and powered on. “Jake was better than he thought he was, he deserved so much better. But even despite all that he still defied every expectation. I have never been more proud of him, my brother, than in his final moments. I want to end my speech today with some words from Jake himself“ Javy’s voice hitched as he unfolded an additional tinier piece of paper as carefully as possible, the writing a neat script that Maverick could see belonged to the deceased pilot. Javy cleared his throat, “the night before the mission Jake wrote letters for all of you.” He looked over to his teammates, “I apologize that it took me so long to be strong enough to go through his things to find them but I will give them to you after, so that you can hold a piece of him with you all as well.” Javy looked back down, “my letter, it-“ he sniffed, “it’s exactly how I would imagine Jake’s goodbye letter would be. I won’t read you all of it but there are some parting words I think you all need to hear to remember the real Jake Seresin by” he lifted the paper, afraid that if he kept it laying on the podium his tears might wet and ruin his best friend’s handwriting. “He said, ’I hope that if the worst has happened to me” Coyote began emotionally, “’that at least the rest of the team is okay. I’m sorry Javy, but I told you if the team leader spot is mine, I’m making sure they all get home, no matter what the cost. I hope you can forgive me-‘” the man started to sob again, Maverick griping his arm now to steady him. “’But they have more to give than this, more to give this world. You have to tell them to be the best of the best, goddamn it’” Javy wiped at his eyes, “’the tip of the sword, the pride of the Navy. Flying with them has been the biggest privilege of my life. I’m a better pilot, a better man, because of each and every one of them.’” Coyote looked to the Daggers, all of them openly crying, clutching each other in support as they listened to their fallen comrade’s words. “’I hope my final moments made them proud, that I made up for all the moments I failed them or let them down. I hope I made you proud too Javy, and your family. I could never thank you all enough for saving me all those years ago and showing me that family goes far beyond blood.’” The Machado contingent cried out louder, the entire distinguished Naval funeral collapsing into an emotional display of grief but Javy didn’t care. Jake deserved to see how much he was loved and Javy knew somewhere, wherever he was, Jake could see it. “Jake ended his letter asking for only one thing” the man told his audience, “he said, ‘If it’s not too much Javy, I wish that you and the others can think of me sometimes, just a couple of times as the years go on, so I’m not completely forgotten from this world. I didn’t do much but I hope I made a difference enough to you all that when you think of me it will be fondly. Please don’t remember me as Hangman but just as Jake. I might not have been a big part of all your lives but you meant the world to me’.” Javy lowered the paper carefully, and sobbed out a breath, “I will think of Jake everyday” he told the crowd, “and I hope you will too. And not Hangman like he said, but the real Jake Seresin, the man who loved his team and loved his country. The best man I ever knew.”

Javy left the podium with the help of Maverick, earning a hug from the man before being completely enveloped by his mother, father and abuela. When he finally got past his own family, Javy stood back with the Daggers, Halo reaching to clutch his hand and Bob, squeezing his bicep warmly on the other side. He felt pats on his back from some of the others but Javy kept his head straight watching as the flag folding ceremony took place as taps played out across the cemetery.

It was a somber experience, and he shed more than a few tears but there was no embarrassment, not there when so many of the bravest and most professional people Javy knew were just as emotional. Admiral Simpson even wiped his eyes discreetly a few times, while Admiral Bates was more open with his. Maverick left the tears to rundown his face with no shame, his grief palpable to all those in attendance.

After the flag was folded properly and the Corpsman moved to hand it to Javy, Jake’s mother started to cry, “My baby” she whimpered loudly, startling the solemn procession, “my baby boy.” Corrine shifted over to Lieutenant Machado with narrowed eyes, “you’re taking my baby’s flag” she accused, “he was my son, I should get it.”

Perhaps because he had Jake’s dog tags around his neck, or that somehow the coffin still didn’t seem real to him but Javy just inclined his head gently, motioning for the flag to continue down the line to Jake’s parents. He felt hands around him, it seemed both Admiral Simpson and Maverick were ready to stop this and bring the flag back to Javy as Jake’s wishes dictated but Coyote just waved them off. He was too tired all of a sudden and somehow he knew that Jake wouldn’t have minded, after all even he could never fully hate his mother and father.

As Mrs. Seresin clutched her flag and her husband held on to her, Javy did his final duty for his friend. He walked up to the coffin and stood at attention for a moment before removing the wings on his chest. He placed them gently on the wood before he raised a fist and smashed them into the casket, to be with Jake forever. Javy knew he was meant to walk away then, to get back to his spot in line but he took one last moment, one last touch to the wooden box holding his friend. Something in his heart ached the minute he made contact but it wasn’t grief, it was different, something he couldn’t explain. He had spent the whole funeral avoiding looking at the coffin because he didn’t think he was strong enough but now he thought it might be something different. It all just didn’t seem real.

Javy was startled out of his stupor as the flyover began, moving back to his spot in line with the others as the missing man formation flew over their heads. Javy’s eyes couldn’t stop staring at the lone plane that flew off the other way, the significance not lost as he questioned whether Jake was indeed fallen or just a missing man.

[compacflt]

While I was reading your slider oneshot for the third time (sooooo good btw, i cant say enough how much i love your writing), I kept thinking about Ice and Sliders conversation about Carole-[“Me and Carole?” Ice said, thinking it over. He smiled his bitter, bashful smile— “Yeah, we might’ve worked out, once. I won’t get into the details. We tried it out. But I don’t think the timing was right.”]-What is Ice referencing here?? Is he referring to when Carole kissed him? Or did I miss something (entirely possible tbh)? I really felt like Mav when I read that scene ["What do Admiral Kazansky and Carole Bradshaw get up to when he doesn’t know about it?"]

The parallel of Mav being [redacted] with Goose and Carole liking/loving/pining for Ice. Wow! So deliciously complex. What an interesting little love square they have going on. Bradley and his four parents.

But man...Carole really is such a tragic figure in both canon and your fic. But I really really love the depth of emotion that you give her in the glimpses that we get. Her relationships with both Mav and Ice are so interesting and layered. They just feel very real. I really really loved the gimpse of her point of view you gave us in the Dad!Ice fic (the half empty box of cigarettes!! I still think about that)

this is such a sweet ask. thank you. yes he was referring to her kissing him (not really “trying it out,” to be fair, but he’s also trying to “prove” to slider that he’s still interested in women, so he’s using even the most tangential of evidence and holding it up like “see? See? not gonna give you all the details but Trust Me bro we tried it out😎”)

& also here’s from my notes in my printed-out copy of my fics from last OCTOBER (whoa). Referring to the scene in the hospital when Carole gives ice & maverick the instructions to pull Bradley’s USNA app & suggests she & ice have discussed it previously (they haven’t).

Carole is pretty much the only person who is around both Ice & mav enough to know the truth of who they are. (Slider also recognizes this— “ice let Carole Bradshaw see his happiness but not slider… :( que cruel”. And the whole “she is literally the only camera capturing icemav’s happiness on film for the historical record” section of slider

.) And Carole therefore is the only person to whom ice quite literally cannot deny that he & maverick are together, because she… has eyes. And is their best friend. and they’re raising her kid with her. So that sets her up as like a confessional character, in that ice HAS to be truthful with her in a way he isn’t with anyone else, including… his literal boyfriend maverick. so it’s a pretty easy leap for Maverick to be like, It’s a given that ice does not honestly want to be with me, a man -> but he is honest about his feelings with Carole, a woman who has expressed interest in him, behind my back (“what do admiral Kazansky & Carole Bradshaw get up to when he doesn’t know about it?”) -> Omg they’re having a heterosexual emotional affair. Which, like, they totally might be? which is why i keep going back to the *possibility* that they might have worked out once, had it not been for the simultaneous timing of ice falling in love with maverick, since ice is also Bradley’s no. 1 dad figure in my story. Which slider points out.

From a heterosexual family planning perspective, ice & Carole together just kinda makes sense. In a way that everyone in the story recognizes, for better or worse.

[chrrywvea]

creds to @epiimetheux !!!

i kept coming back to this beautiful artwork and i got inspired by it so here you go...

(disclaimer: i haven't completed a fic in forever, let alone published one, so i'm very anxious about this, i apologise if it's a mess •~•♡ love you guys)

----------

tom watches from the side as his husband steps forward to his coffin. pete's head is bowed, but he can see the trembling of his lips and the coiled muscles in his jaw.

oh my love.

what i'd give to embrace you one more time.

he knew he couldn't reach his husband anymore. his time had passed.

that didn't keep tom from standing next to pete's side. keeping watch. protecting his wingman, as they'd promised to each other years ago on that fateful day.

when repressed feelings and pretentious rivalry finally made way for the unconditional love thay had never wavered once.

partnership that had lasted 33 years.

tom watched as pete took the wings off his uniform, laying them onto the smooth oak.

the gun salutes were no more than background noise, tom's sole focus lying on the man in front of him.

the moment he saw pete punching the wings into the coffin he felt an incredible warmth spread through his chest.

such a feeling had been limited to very few moments in his life.

in the cockpit of his plane, soaring above the clouds with ron at his back and pete right by his side.

the return from the layton mission.

aching and sweaty and all kinds of shaken up but alive, thriving on adrenaline and pent up energy.

they had only seen each other then.

not iceman and maverick, but tom and pete, right there on the deck, what ron had later jokingly called their "confession".

their wedding. finally being allowed to slip a ring onto pete's finger while surrounded by all their loved ones. to call him his husband for everyone to see and hear without having to fear anymore. forever and always - the ending of both of their vows.

when their son had come back to them.

pete, bradley and himself crying with relief in their kitchen as they embraced for the first time in years. pete almost losing it as bradley started called him 'dad' again, and tom almost following suit when 'pops' returned back to daily use.

in that hospital bed, when he'd kissed his husband for the last time. he had wiped the tears on pete's cheeks with trembling hands, mapping that gorgeous face he knew better than the back of his own hand.

hushed i love you's in the quiet of the room, both signed and said out loud as they held each other.

the last words he felt pressed against his forehead being 'forever and always', before he slipped away into neverland.

tom looked over his shoulder just as pete stepped back from the coffin.

the wings on his back were strikingly white. glossy and strong feathers fluttered softly in the wind, and tom couldn't help the smile that spread on his face.

i will protect you, my heart.

my wingman.

my everything.

carefully he guided his wings around pete's sides. shielding him for just a moment. providing the endless support he couldn't give in person anymore.

pete looked up towards the sky, just like the rest of the crowd, watching as the missing man formation flew by.

everyone watched the sky, but tom couldn't tear his eyes away from his husband. how the dusking sun reflected in those tender green eyes. the curve of his nose, and the sweet lips he'd kissed so very often, now being worried at between pearly teeth.

i love you, forever and always.

as if he heard him, pete echoed his words.

"forever and always, sweetheart."

[coachbeards]

once more begging for s3 of the bear to feature a flashback scene/episode to mikey's funeral. carmy not being there, natalie having to juggle her grief, donna, and richie.

richie admitting during his apology to her that he shoved himself in places he didn't belong, and while she held contempt for richie during 2x06.......it wasn't as much as throughout the canon timeline. i think something must've happened at the funeral, and natalie and richie butted heads....a lot.

[topgunruinedme]

When they closed their eyes (and prayed you would change)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death

Fandom: Top Gun (Movies)

Relationships: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw & Pete "Maverick" Mitchell, Past Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw/Jake "Hangman" Seresin - Relationship, Solomon "Warlock" Bates & Beau "Cyclone" Simpson

Characters: Beau "Cyclone" Simpson, Pete "Maverick" Mitchell, Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw

Additional Tags: Referred previous relationship, Previous Hangster, Ex Hangster, Grieving, Past Relationship(s), "Dagger" Training Detachment (Top Gun), Movie: Top Gun Maverick (2022), Protective Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, Hurt Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, Pete "Maverick" Mitchell Acting as Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw's Parental Figure, Pete "Maverick" Mitchell Needs A Hug, Beau "Cyclone" Simpson is a Softie, Protective Beau "Cyclone" Simpson, Beau "Cyclone" Simpson Needs A Hug, Parental Beau "Cyclone" Simpson, POV Beau "Cyclone" Simpson, Guilt, Medical Inaccuracies, Survivor Guilt, Dissection, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Major Character Injury, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Wakes & Funerals, Hurt No Comfort, Whump

Language:English

Series: ← Previous Work Part 8 of (Jon Hamm) Beau “Cyclone” Simpson fics

Words: 4,462

Summery: Beau’s reaction to the outcome to the Uranium mission.

Receiving one final nod from the head doctor confirming that they no longer needed him for anything else, feeling more like a lieutenant being dismissed from a Commanding Officers office after being chewed out he turned to leave only to feel something under his shoe grind, and his stomach dropped as the risk of hurling skyrocketed. He closed his eyes briefly trying to find the will before he lowered himself down, one hand clutching around the chilled metal of a nearby hospital cot the other gently dislodging the object as he rocked back onto his heel, eyes darting towards the sticky metal as his palm clutched around the familiar shape. The unmistakable shape. There innocently hanging from his fingers by its mattered slick chain were Bradshaw’s dog tags. The chain was caked in blood, drowned in mud and slowly drying dirt and who knows what other substances had been smeared into it during transport obscuring the name. He didn’t need to be able to read it to know who it had once belonged too.

Losing a wingman didn’t get any easier.

They like to pretend it does, that its common, and that it’s just another part of the job. He was sure that numerus aviators his age, retired, climbing the brass ladder, or still flying, had heard their Commanding Officer start the tangent ‘If you fly long enough, it’s bound to happen,’ once or twice in their career. But that’s just the thing, it happens, but no matter how many times it happens; how many times they got shot at, burned in, no matter what you tried. It didn’t get easier.  

Because you can’t stop it.

They were pilots, worse, Navy Aviators. Their entire lives were dangerous, from dawn to dusk, 365 days a year.

But losing a Wingman, it was different. That was someone on your wing 24/7, who was so close they were practically an extension to your own body. That’s why it hurts so much. Its why his own chest had cracked open when he had burnt in, breaking his back firmly dragging him out of the sky’s only to open his eyes to find his wingman, his best friend by his bedside, wings already self-clipped with a broad smile as Solomon scolded him for thinking he could climb the ladder before him as if it was a challenge.

It was different.

But losing an Aviator…much less one under your command. It took that crack and wedged priers into the wound and tugged, like standing in a swarming room as they performed open heart surgery, knocking around in your chest and your pretended you didn’t know about it.

It was different. He didn’t know how, but it just was. Maybe it was the fact he didn’t have them flying on his wing, he didn’t know them in the sky’s, he didn’t trust them with his life. Maybe it was because they were young, so much more then him, that they arrogant, just he was, and maybe just maybe, he was wating for the fire in the sky when they finally burnt in.

But it didn’t stop them. The nightmares that frequented him in the twilight hours. Draining terror filled dream space that was no longer filled with him sitting in the cockpit of his jet just sitting on their wing watching them get shot down with a gut wrenching feeling deep down that he could have saved them. Now it was much worse, hanging up his wings his dreams drag him to his one place of sanctuary, the control room, only now instead of being on their wing watching knowing he couldn’t do anything, he was now listening to his pilots, as life's they put in his hands for safety, crumble before them.

Those days were the hardest, the ones that he struggled to tell life from fantasy, watching a plane crash into the tarmac in one moment then clear skies in another. Those days weighed him down for hours after waking with the screams of his aviators, their cries of fear, an echo of their training coms, haunted by the feeling that he was the one who put them there. Who clutched their hands and lead them to their deaths. 

It was harder when they were people he knew. People he had seen walk into his halls young faces filled with anxiety and excitement only to leave hardened by life, confident in their abilities even if their confidence was backed with an enormous ego and cocky grins. They were good, serious enough about the missions that he didn’t need to rebuke them, yet. It was different when it was people that he had trained, that he had selected for the mission out of hundreds of other files. Watching them openly struggle to complete the training course, the bad blood, the bird strike, the g-lock. It was dangerous, too dangerous. Yet he pushed them, he still sent them to their deaths knowing he would be standing before 6 coffins that next week because he had watched them fail the simulation time, and time again. Witnessing them all slowly break down over time as they were forced to face the fact the realisation that they were being sent on a suicide mission, the mark of death finally searing into their skin digging its crawls in and refusing to let go. And despite the poorly hidden terror, the trembling palms, and flattering voices on the coms as another sim failed. He still sent them. 

There was no pretending, no brushing it aside. They all knew. He could see the way Sol’s jaw ticked in worry, and how every so often the staff would send him a worried uneasy look the longer he let the pause drag on before finally denying a rescue bird. He could feel it, the heated glare Mitchell sent him, he had no doubt the man had wanted to truly burn him, fists clutched by his side, already prepared for a fight, teeth grinding, in his last resort for control. Because that's what it really was. Suicide. There was no point denying it. He gave them the tools, the means, and now they were dying for their country. But they will still be dead, and very well by his hand. 

They weren’t ready, but they were they’re only line of defence. 

Somehow 6 graves didn't seem all that important in the grand mass of casualties that could occur if they failed. 

Only, when those jets left the tarmac for the last time it wasn’t 6 graves he was digging. It was only one. One foolish boy. 

Dagger Two. Bradley Bradshaw. A lonely kid with too much anger, a warm sun who would gravitate towards people and became the light of the room, only to be smothered by the raging flames that stung anyone who got too close. A kid who had the potential to be a great pilot, if only he wasn't afraid of his own shadow. He was too cautious, too hesitant, too angry. And in the end, it cost him everything. 

And he had lost it all over one man. Jake Seresin. A man that Bradshaw didn’t even like, a man the older had been ribbing since the first moment he had met them at the graduation gala. He was observed the faux rivalry, and the teasing grins turn hostile over the years as their friendship became frail, and those teasing comments became biting and tension built, their failed communication butting between them until they finally exploded. He knew, he could see it, the hesitant tense tight nod to each other over the tarmac as they climbed into their respective jets. He knew what they really wanted to say. Stay safe, come home, I love you. 

Too hesitant. Too rash. 

In the end, it was too late. The kid may have looked like he just walked out of a 80’s commercial with his loud shirts, crappy clique facial hair and taste in music, but by god that kid loved. He loved everyone. He knew that from the report of the man's first hop in Top Gun, the man who sacrificed himself in the very first training hop just because he was trying to save his wingman. The man who unlike others didn’t hold his life on a pedestal, instead he left it low and allowed people to use it as a stepping stool.

A man who struggled to see worth in his own life. And briefly he wondered if Mitchell had a hand in that. 

They were children. All of them. And he had sent them to their deaths. He had sent one to their death. 

The only son of the esteemed reckless Captain who stood beside him, anger fading as he became frighteningly pale as he swayed, his body shaking with light tremors as his hands clenched around the mission control board hunched over in an attempt to take in a breath as his panicked short rasping breaths became audible. His eyes pinned to the raider that was entirely too empty as if begging for the light to reappear, for Roosters Estat to magically activate. His knuckles were white and the man's chest was moving entirely too fast, but the older man didn't seem to hear Hondo trying to talk to him in a low voice, or register Solomon who stood beside him stock still back straight and chin high as a perfect picture of a Commanding Officer, but his face betrayed him, it radiated his sorrow as he rested a silent hand on the grieving man’s shoulder. 

The silent comfort did nothing to compare to the gut-wrenching sob that was ripped from the grieving father’s lips as his son was shot down, or shot the wails as the title KIA was stamped onto his file. It didn’t stop a father who had already lost so much listening to his son sacrifice himself for a man that according to everyone, Bradshaw hated. 

Lieutenant Jake Seresin, Hangman. The same man whose cry of agony ripped through their radios his grief so plainly clear, the devastating longing as he called out for Bradshaw, for Bradley, his wingman. 

“Did anyone see a parachute?” Seresin demanded “Did anyone see him?”

“He's gone Hangman” Floyd said quietly down the coms. 

“No! We have to go back, he could still be-”

“Return to base. Now Hangman god dammit, we are not losing anyone else today” he croaked out swallowing thickly praying no one else picked up on how his voice had cracked issuing the order. If anyone had no one mentioned it. A small mercy. Especially after having to face the fact he called off any rescue attempts on a fallen soldier, the same soldier whose family stood beside him listening to him sentence his son to death, again.

What will you tell them when you're dead? What will you tell their families?

There was nothing he could say, not without cutting out his own warm intestines and wrapping them around his neck first. A noose that pulled too tightly with each breath he took on borrowed time stolen from someone far too young. 

Calling them back to base had been one of the hardest things he had ever done and yet, it had also been the easiest. Calling them away from Bradshaw, condemning him to death had been the hardest thing he had ever had to condone, yet making the choice to save 5 other lives in the process had been a no brainer. In fact, hearing that all 3 jets had landed on the tarmac in okay condition had caused him to release a guilty breath of relief. 

To have to stand next to a man's world who had just lost all steering and crashed into a fiery end was not, watching Trace drop from her jet and rush over to their sonic leader and throw herself into his arms sobbing hysterically has been pain inducing. 

Yet somehow, he doubted his pain came anywhere close to what Mitchell was feeling watching everyone return home safely. 

Everyone except his son.

Search and rescue took hours. It took hours too long.

The only small mercy he could offer the Captain was sending out a ship wide notice that only required staff were to be on deck, preventing anyone beside the ground staff from witnessing the Halo land, from witnessing the way Mitchell shattered as they wheeled a black body bag out on a stretcher, to witness the way the man’s hand twitched as if to reach out for the boy, as if his touch alone would solve whatever ailment plagued the kid. The sight of the black bag caused a mass to form in his throat, his chest wrenching open ever so slightly more as his pradictions were confirmed. But if he had thought the idea of the kid dying had hurt, it was nothing compared to how he silently closed the door to the medical bay in the Captain’s face, baring him dorm the medical examination. From the horrifying post modem report as they all but caved open his chest and cracked it open with a wrench.

Bradshaw had been killed by extensive blood loss. Which in itself wasn't typically unusual, ejections were just as dangerous as flying the jet. Anything could go wrong at any moment, and you have nothing to protect you as you quite literally fall from the sky. Only he bled out, slowly and painfully. Not from his initial ejection, not from burning in, or succumbing to the cold climate. But from an unfortunate and ill-timed run in with an attack helicopter that had decided to finish the job that the SAM’s had failed. 

Bradshaw had been shot to death. He had been alive when he went down. 

And he had called them off. 

He had killed Bradley Bradshaw.

Maverick's Son.

His aviator.

Staring down at the man before him he couldn’t help but feel sick. There was specks of dried blood in the kids moustache, and he felt an odd parental urge to reach down and fix it for him much like his own mother had for his father, and his grandmother had for his grandfather, much to his annoyance. His skin itched with the urge to lick his thumb and brush it across the man’s face to rub away the blood like an insignificant speck of dirt.

As if he had the right to touch him.

It was him. Bradshaw. Part of him had hoped when they set the bag down on the cold morgue table that it would be a stranger’s face staring up at him in a familiar uniform. He had hoped…but the kid hadn’t managed to escape the clutched of death. So he laid there naked, chest cut up in three different directions barely held together by stapples, face filled with tension, brows furrowed, lips pursed as if squeezing his eyes shut in fear of facing his death. rigor motus, the doctor had explained, the tension of muscles freezing after death, he would relax in time as the muscles burned away. He wasn’t sure if it made him feel better or worse.

 He didn’t have the heart to let Mitchell in here, not after he was the reason his kid was on the slab. He couldn’t bear the idea of making the man identify his own kid, ruining his last memory of the lively man. Taking over was the least he could do. Mitchell had just lost his wingman, had just put one of the most important person in his life into the ground and now he was about to burry another, he didn’t deserve to have his image of Bradshaw tarnished like this, no matter how messy of a relationship they had.

Swallowing down the bile as he silently signed his name on the bottom of the document confirming his witness to the identification as he tried to ignore the nurse who gave the boy a shed of decency as they wheeled him over to the freezers placing a white sheet over the body. Receiving one final nod from the head doctor confirming that they no longer needed him for anything else, feeling more like a lieutenant being dismissed from a Commanding Officers office after being chewed out he turned to leave only to feel something under his shoe grind on something, and his stomach dropped as the risk of hurling skyrocketed. He closed his eyes briefly trying to find the will before he lowered himself down one hand clutching around the chilled metal of a nearby hospital cot the other gently dislodging the object as he rocked back onto his heel, eyes darting towards the sticky metal as his palm clutched around the familiar shape. The unmistakable shape. There innocently hanging from his fingers by its mattered slick chain were Bradshaw’s dog tags.

The chain was caked in blood, drowned in mud and slowly drying dirt and who knows what other substances had been smeared into it during transport obscuring the name. He didn’t need to be able to read it to know who it had once belonged too.

He swallowed thickly standing, stepping back to compensate for the way his head buzzed with dizziness, tongue frozen glued to his lower jaw bile coating the inside surfaces as he gently folded the tags into his palm before clenching them feeling the pin prick of the name as the indented mental pressed into his skin. Searing its victims name into its murders skin.

He didn’t remember the walk back ot his quarters. But he remembered the red lines across his skin from where he had clutched too tightly in fear they would disappear if he didn’t clutch them. He remembered thinking about debriefing and how he’d have the brass on his arse for a report, before immediately dismissing the idea. There would be a time and place for debrief, it just wasn’t now. He would let them have some time to grief and get over the initial shock of the mission and allow them to suffer their individual adrenaline crashes and dinful hospital stays before he bothered them. he remembered the slightly pause in his stride as he stepped out into the hall into the communal ward, the fuzzy faces of the daggers all exhausted and waiting their turns to be check on, their voices wobbling in his ears unobtainable in his own silent panic, no doubt asking about the very man whose figure, cold, still, and dead, that haunted the corner of his vision.

He didn’t see any of it, his own jaw clenched so hard it made his head throb. His shoulders wound so tight that one touch might send him into hysteria as his eyes filled with tears. 

He didn’t remember the stumbled walk back to his quarters, he didn’t remember how he got from the hallway to his sink. Fingers trembling as they wrapped around the still wet chain. He didn’t remember if he had locked the door or not, but he remembered reminding himself to be careful as he ran the tags under the water with shaky hands. Turning them over as he cleaned them with a gentle stroke of his thumb revealing the name beneath it as he attempted to repent, to remove the sin that cling so tightly to the kid’s innocence.

His sin.

He deserved better. Bradley deserved so much better.

The water turned red, and the colour of his sin settled at the bottom of the sink staining stark against the cracked white porcelain for all to see. Red dripped down his wrist and travelled down his arm into his elbow drenching the front of his uniform due to how close he stood hunching over the sink as he worked. 

He had to get this right. He had to fix it. He had to do something. 

The funeral was the worst he had ever attended. Not because no one came. If fact it was one of the biggest, he had seen in all his years, Bradshaw was truly loved. And worst of all, he wasn’t entirely sure the man had realised how much. A man who walked thorough life alone with the occasional Phoenix by his side willing to walk him through the darkness failing to reach out to the welcoming hands as if he was blind to them, as if he was all alone in the world.

He had been to many funerals, families, friends, comrades, it was part of the trade. Almost second nature. But he had never been to a silent funeral. Pure silence. No one other then the officiant spoke. Not a sob, not a cry or a sniffle. Nothing. As if the sound of shifting itself would rob Bradshaw the small amount of peace he had found in that stuffy box as they lowered it into the ground Mitchell standing blankly at the edge, golden wings imprinted into his palm, taps still ringing in his ears as dirt dropped from his palm onto his sons grave.

Returning the boy where he truly belonged, between his mother and father.

There was no cheerfulness that Bradshaw always managed to prompt by being nearby, there was no one to be slowly dragged out of their shell at the sheer ridiculousness of the older man, and there was no soft music for the man to serenade as he sung the house down his voice reverberating off the walls.

This wasn’t a funeral; it was a tomb.

He watched as Solomon, a man stronger than himself, stand up and approach the podium to softly conclude the service. A man who knew Mitchell so much better, who was more empathetic than he could ever make himself, hand him the flag that represented his son’s life. He watched silently waiting until Mitchell was able to step away from the swarm of condolences, the smaller man visually shaky on his legs before Kerner swooped into his side gently taking his weight without blinking.

It was now or never.

He stood form his seat, the grounds mostly cleared out now as people began to congregate towards their cars to drive to the Hard Deck for the wake, forcing himself to take a step towards the man and swallow his own anxiety and flaring guilt, he knew the moment Kerner clocked him, hand twitching on Mitchel’s shoulder ever so slightly in warning, incoming. Neven and Wolf never standing far, the guard dogs watching him carefully while pretending to be interested in the conversation they were holding.

He watched Mitchell tense his tired gaze drag to him, shoulder slumping in defeat.  “Admiral Simpson” Mitchell sounded dull. Empty. 

His lips parted then closed, then again. What the hell was he meant to say to a man who just buried his son far too early? What was he meant to say to the man after killing his son? 

They're dead! What do you tell their family! 

What excuse is worth their child’s life?

He pressed his lisp together firmly swallowing, instead his hand slipped into his pocket collecting the precious cargo where he had been running his finger pad over most of the service. He hesitated slightly before extended the handout towards the man. Mitchell adjusted his grip slightly freeing one hand clinging the flag to his chest, his eyes were red, puffy, and bloodshot as he held out his hand palm up. Making it very clear this was a very frail olive branch of trust.

His breath hitched slightly as he twisted his wrist, fingers brushing the man’s freezing skin and finally let the tags fall, before letting his hand fall back to his side as Michell stared at them like he’d never seen them before, then as if they were the stars themselves. A nebula, a supernova promising life beyond the universe. Like a man behind a yoke who was just told that they would be flying into enemy land with no wingman, no flairs, no ammo, with no parachute.

A death sentence.

He cleared his throat rasping as the emotions threatened to choke him. His own words trying to crush him under the weight of his father’s gaze. His voice shook slightly “They- they got left behind in medical while they were working on him- they were covered in blood and…” he wavered trailing off silently, begging the man to understand why he withheld them from him for so long.

I already took your son; I couldn’t bare giving you last part of him covered dripping with the same red that drenched my own hands.

“Thank you” Mitchell rasped tightly, hand curling around the tags hand coming up to clench them to his chest joining the flag, Mitchell flattered slightly “Thank you. For seeing him…”

“Of course,”. The boy’s face was going to haunt him from the rest of his life. But he didn’t regret it. Not when he had ripped him away from the world too soon. No number of apologies would ever be enough. No matter what he did would ever make up for that, for stealing him from Mithcell. 

“I don’t think I would have been able to handle seeing him like that” Mitchell whispered admitting it with a pained look eyes flickering over to the coffins and the photo beside it. The man’s haunting smile mocked back at them. Playful and alive. 

“You shouldn’t have had to”. 

No parent should ever have to bury their child before them.

“Take some time”. He knew he hesitated too long when Mitchell’s tired eyes tracked his, waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the moment he dreaded so much finally happen, at his sons funeral to all places. He wasn’t that cruel.

Aren’t you? His mind mocked.

“Take some time…you have until the end of the month then I expect you back in my office for debrief Captain” he watched the man’s brows furrow and the Admiral’s hand on the man’s shoulder squeeze, grounding him as Mitchell wavered swaying to the man’s side, all but collapsing like a puppet with no strings, “That is if you still want the position” 

“Position?” Mitchell croaked weakly.

“As a teacher. There are still 11 daggers, and I would like them to stay that way. I can’t guarantee you will be flying missions anymore, but I can waver flight hops. At least for a few years until the Brass manage to kick you to the curb”.

“You want me to come back?” Mitchell sounded distraught, destroyed.

“If you’re willing. You don’t have many years left in you Mitchell, but I think a few years teaching the best of the best what you know, then it’s well worth it. Even if it does mean I’m going to have to get used to those flybys of yours haunted the base”.

“Thank you” Kerner rumbled when it became apparently Mitchell was lost, unsure how to answer, the man frowned slightly there was a slight hint of gratitude, but the man held it behind tightly locked gates. “It’s a very generous gesture considering what I’ve heard your opinion on Mitchell has been in the last few weeks”. 

It’s the least I could do, he could suffer for a few years. He deserved it. It would stunt his career taking on the role of Mitchell’s protector he knew that. He could care less. 

It’s what Bradshaw would have wanted.

To have a chance to fix things between him and his dad, to be able to teach side by side and hear them laugh in the hallways or yells as they lecture the pilots after a risky hip. To see the man hang over his godfather with that goofy smile clad in those stupid loud shirts singing out his heart. 

Where he should be.

Instead, he settled on “It's what Iceman would have wanted”.

[cosmicquill]

Me, in denial, connecting things on a corkboard: The fake-out deaths in the first half of the season, the uptick in fantasy elements (bird Buttons, Ed coming back to life), the gravy boat, the parallels with Lucius this season and how the last season ended with his fake-out death: This Is How We Can Still Win

[snickerdoodlles]

I have a thought that's spinning my brain like a top except I have NO IDEA how to express it oh man oh man oh mannnn

[dodounchained]

I’m pretty sure something went wrong during the training but I’m not hating this :x

[misspoetree]

Happy anniversary to the episode that included such highlights as

two guys having the worst breakup imaginable without ever really dating

not very comforting comfort food

prophetic visions

a funeral for a living man (ignoring the actual dead man)

the struggle of being emotionless and emotional at the same time

back alley betrayals

a walking and breathing punching bag

the unexpected dangers of smoking

guys working at a major bank getting the show of their lives

a home-wrecking bike

and many more!