#this is a two parter

[sp0o0kylights]

Eddie was all about desecrating corpses. 

Particularly, the huge ones--and nothing was larger than the burnt out husk of Starcourt. 

Yellow caution tape, muddied and ripped from its time in the weather still decorated parts of the doors. 

The place used to be crawling with security, but that had eased off now, the job returning to a local outfit rather than the smooth and swift guards who previously haunted the joint in pairs. 

It was easy as two days spent camped out in his van, watching the main entrance and a few side doors. In no time at all, Eddie had schedules memorized, points of entry selected and even three possible escape routes should things get dicey.

He didn't expect them to. 

Not when he’d already rolled his checks and came up with a number that, were this an actual D&D game, would make him a happy man. 

It was always a point of contention between him and his Pa. This perception. The natural ability he had that good ‘ol dad just didn’t seem to possess. 

The one that made him patient long enough to get a feel for a gig. 

To know instinctively how hard a job might be, and how to go about doing it safely. 

(Eddie personally doesn't believe much of it is talent. Thinks it is in fact, forcibly learned, due to the nature of his upbringing. 

Grandma and Grandpa Munson, bless their dead, departed souls, had at least given something of a shit. Tried to keep family things family and work things work, even when said work was illegal as it gets. 

They understood things like appearance and public reputation. 

How that kept the pigs off your back and food on your table.)

His Pa had never cared for any of that. 

Eddie didn’t grow up with family meals, or even food in the house let alone on the table. He grew up watchful, forced to learn or take a hit meant for an adult in the process. To weigh the risks against the benefits, and how to charm the pants off an unsuspecting target while doing so. 

It was how he’d escaped his own prison sentence when his Pa finally got eyes too big for his abilities.

Eddi had gotten lucky in that situation. 

Or rather--he’d gotten Wayne. 

Wayne, who gave up his own room, his own bed, for his nephew. Had bought him his sweetheart on his sixteenth birthday and a van on his eighteenth. Both things were used, and a little battered around the edges, and Eddie had almost thrown up the day he accidentally found out Wayne had used his life savings for the damn car, but they were above and beyond anything he had any right too. 

Eddie would be damned without him. 

But he knows his uncle needs help. 

Can't pay for himself and Eddie. Never really could, and so has been giving his nephew literally everything he has in an effort to make up for it until Eddie could help pay his way. 

Not that a singular soul would trust a teenage Munson with such a precious thing as a part time job, and so Eddie had turned to the familiar. 

The mall fire, and the resulting flood of federal agents had really put a damper on his income the past few months. Drugs were risky, and getting riskier with them sniffing about, and things were getting tight again in a way they hadn’t in a long, long time. 

(All it had taken was finding the hidden stack of bills. 

Big ol’ words stamped in red topped every one. Bold letters screaming ‘Overdue’ and ‘Payment Missed’ and ‘Late Fees.’ 

One single letter had panicked Eddie more than any other, the one that clearly said Wayne had been talking to the payday loan place down the street, and he’d be damned if his shortcomings made his Uncle willingly walk into a debt pit so few climbed out of.) 

Growing up like he had, Eddie was trusted in certain circles. Had access to places many didn't as his sole inheritance, because he was known.

 Someone who didn't rat, who could be trusted with given tasks. Who kept to the criminal code, and was good about not backstabbing you if caught.

He’d hit up a few old connections, dropped some hints. Put out “feelers” as one might say. 

Got a nibble and soon enough, Eddie was back in business, getting called up and offered a few small tasks for decent dough. 

Sometimes it was fetching information. 

Sometimes it was ferrying an item.

Today, it was a retrieval.

There was something someone wanted in the ruins of Starcourt--and they were offering an insane amount of money to get it.  

The plans hadn't made sense, not at first. The instructions Eddie had been given sounded outlandish, if not outright total bunk. 

Like the existence of a multi level basement under Starcourt? How the hell had no one caught that being built? 

Or that the security systems down there could possibly still be turned on? After four months? 

Who was even paying for it? 

Eddie had heard stupider things though, and the pay for this little jaunt was good. Too good to pass up. 

"They want a local in case something happens and the rescue squad comes running in. That way, it's just a little trespassing fun. The town deviant getting his kicks in the big scary mall, and not what they think it is." His connection had told him, meeting with Eddie in a Mcdonalds the town over. 

The place had a play palace, big enough to host a number of screaming rugrats. It made for a great cover as they pretended to be just two men in overalls, getting burgers on their lunch. 

Not a soul could hear a sound over the kids screaming, and if a blueprint sat between them then, well, if it looks like a maintenance worker, and it talks like a maintenance worker…

People never did look twice.

"And what else exactly would they think this is?" Eddie asked, munching on the food he got for free as part of even entertaining the offer. 

"A retrieval, Double D." 

Eddie hated that nickname.

"Some rich kid bit it in the fire, and his parents are paying out top dollar to get a few of his things, seein’ as the feds wouldn’t let anybody back in after they condemned the place." The guy, whose name was Mickey said. 

He idly traced a finger along the lines of the blueprint, the path he was wanting Eddie to take. 

(The path Eddie would later ignore, on grounds that it was going to get him caught.) 

 “Specifically a signet ring and car keys.”

“Car keys?” Eddie had asked, mostly in a bid for more information. Mickey was the kind of guy you could breadcrumb into giving more information than he intended to, if one played their cards right.

And Eddie was a damn good poker player. 

“Yup. Goes to a BMW--which they want you to drive to a safe place. Parents think he lost it somewhere around,” Mickey’s finger stopped, before tapping the blueprint twice. “Here.”

Something had niggled in the back of Eddie’s head. The first whispers of recognition, of a fact that he knew something about this--something he couldn’t yet recall. 

He wasn’t stupid enough to ignore it. 

“Who's the kid?” He’d asked. 

Mostly because he was curious, partially because it was a way to ease in the real questions he wanted to ask.

Like what a rich kid was doing four levels down in Starcourt the night of the fire. 

“Does it matter?” Mickey said, but dug into his pockets anyway. Retrieved a little 2 by 3 wallet photo, done in the traditional High School Picture Day style. 

He’d tossed it on the table, and Eddie didn’t react. 

Kept his face perfectly blank, even as his stomach contracted and his breath caught in his chest. 

Carefully pulled the picture to him, to make a show of examining it. 

“Don’t know him.” He lied after a moment, fighting to get his breathing back under control before Mickey figured out what was up. 

“Told you it didn’t matter. What matters is that you get the shit. And hey, while you’re down there…” 

Mickey talked a bit more, and idly, Eddie listened. He knew this little B&E was going to have more components than just retrieving a few things. Had long figured out that this entire front of retrieving “some rich kids keys” was just that--a front. 

Word on the street was that Starcourt was hiding something--something a lot of very powerful people were getting increasingly interested in. He’d rolled his eyes when he caught wind of the first little rumblings, the rumors and whispers that the thing was shrouded in Government secrets and conspiracies, but hadn’t been able to ignore the shit that had come after. 

Likely, the people who had hired him and Mickey understood they had to act now, before someone else did, to see if anything worthwhile was actually down there. 

The real question is why the hell they were using Steve Harrington’s death to do it--when Eddie knew for a fact that Steve Harrington was alive. 

Or alive as anyone could be, at two am at a Shell gas station. 

“Alright.” Eddie said finally, pulling the blueprint towards himself before rolling it up, making sure to casually roll up Harrington’s picture with it. “You got me interested. Half up front and I’m in.”

Mickey grinned at him. “Knew you would be, kid.” 

One hand shake and a hefty envelope later, and Eddie found himself on the way to Starcourt on his very first stakeout. 

It was that first initial look that confirmed it--Harrington’s prized BMW was in fact, still sitting in the parking lot.

Abandoned by rich assholes who absolutely could have paid to have it towed.

Which led to a domino effect of stakeouts, late nights and confrontations, up to and including his present position, counting down the minutes before he could break into Starcourt.

“Ready?” He murmured, and one could be forgiven for thinking he was talking to himself given how quietly he said it.

They would be wrong. 

“Yeah.” The not-so-dead rich kid drawled from the passenger seat.

Eddie tossed a grin at Harrington, who rolled his eyes and ran a hand through his hair. 

“Come on, Stevie.” He purred. “Let’s go find out who impersonated your parents, and why they want that ring you supposedly own so badly.” 

“Honestly dude I just want my car back.” 

“That too.” 

Part Two

[startrekfangirl2233-writes]

Don't You Forget About Me

Part One

Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Jake 'Hangman' Seresin

Description: Sometimes the most unlikely encounters with people have an immeasurable effect on your life. For Bradley Bradshaw, life at 22 right after graduating from college is far different than he ever thought it would be. It kind of seems like his whole life hasn't gone according to plan. No parents, no support system, just one man and his dad's old Bronco against the world. A chance meeting with a blond-haired teenage menace in Texas may just change everything, shaping his future in a way he never would have expected. Disclaimer: This is a Hangster story -> What you see is what you get, folks. Slight mention of homophobic/ lgbtq+ phobic family members. Word Count: 3624 Author's Note: Hiya! I wrote this fic for @roosterforme's Top Gun Rocktober Event based on the song Don't You Forget About Me by the Simple Minds. Everything about it just screamed Hangster when I listened to it again. As anybody who knows me or has read my works can surmise... I can be quite long-winded so what was supposed to be a quick blurb turned into a short two-part series. I hope you all love this fic! (Also I'm self conscious about this one because I do not write in first person. It's surprisingly hard so I'd love any feedback if you've got it!)

It's dark and smoky and loud in here and I can't believe that I let Jessica and David drag me to this party. They've long since disappeared into the crush and left me on the under-stuffed chintz armchair in some frat house’s living room. It doesn't help that I haven't been to Texas in years and I feel even more like I’m out of my depths because of it. My mom grew up here, and most of her family is still here. But she's not. In the years since I graduated from high school, I've turned hundreds of times, looking for her sweet smile, searching for her to take solace in. But she's not exactly on this mortal plane anymore. Neither of my parents are. And the closest thing I've ever had to a dad fucked off after destroying my dreams.

It fills me with an unreasonable rage every time I think about it. I know Virginia, I've lived in Virginia for years, putting myself through school in Charlottesville while working single-mindedly to get into the US Navy. I’m so close to flight school that I can taste it. I just need to get through Officer Candidate School in Rhode Island now that I’ve graduated. One final summer of building my savings by working odd jobs and I’d be free. Or so I thought.

Then, I received a notice telling me my apartment building needed to be tented for termites. My lease was only valid until I left for OCS, anyway. I debated living out of my dad's car, now mine, until I had to be in Rhode Island. That’s when I received a letter from Stephanie Williams, my mom’s cousin, inviting me to spend the summer in Texas. Driving to Texas is far from convenient, but I haven't spent any time around my family, no matter how distant they may be, in so long. And, I’m kind of homesick - homesick for the sense of camaraderie, of walking into the house after baseball practice or school and hearing anyone in the house besides myself.

Jessica and David, Stephanie’s kids, are as nice as their mom. They both attend the University of Texas, but it still feels like there is a distance between us. They can't understand the drive burning in me about the Navy, how I need to do well at OCS, how I need to become an aviator, how I need to be better than anyone else. Aunt Steph doesn't really get it either if the way she practically pushed me out the door when Jess and David mentioned the party is any indication.

It doesn't help that I'm only a week from reporting to OCS, either. I know it’s not flight school, not yet, but I know I need to study more than I need to be in this stupid little ramshackle frat house on Greek Row. The beer’s watered down and warm, tasting like piss in my mouth. Normally, I’d be right in the center of the makeshift dance floor grinding up against the scantily clad girls in sight, most of them wearing bikinis, but not tonight. 

I just want to go home again, but that’s not possible. It hasn't been for years. I leave the mostly full beer behind and search for Jess and David. There are hundreds of drunk kids in the house, and it doesn’t matter at all that I’m taller than most of them, not when people are dancing on the tables and licking alcohol off of each other. I feel like I’m suffocating. The entire house stinks of cigarette smoke, alcohol, and sweat. It takes fifteen minutes to look for either of them in the basement. When I’m halfway up the stairs, I’m tempted to leave them here and drive by in the morning to get them. But Aunt Steph would hate that.

The first floor is even worse than the basement. There may not be anybody dancing on the tables, but there is far more clothing being thrown about. It looks like there’s a drunken orgy happening in the living room on the floor. The carpet isn’t all that clean, to begin with, and add bodily fluids to it, and I nearly hurl on the spot. 

If this is what I’ve missed out on in the traditional college experience, well, I don’t want it, not at all. Thankfully, I don’t have to see either of my cousins naked and that eliminates the kitchen and living area entirely. All I have left are the bedrooms above. Just walking up the stairs, I can hear the creaking of bedsprings and lusty moans. It sounds like a contagious disease waiting to happen, and I don’t make it past the top step.

That’s it. I can’t search for Jess or David anymore and I fight my way to the front door while trying to ignore the tits that seem to get shoved into my face every few steps. As I open the door, a body slams right into me. It’s a kid, gangly and blond, knobby shoulders protruding sharply through the fabric of the worn t-shirt he’s wearing.

“Watch where you’re going, asshole!” I can’t help the chuckle pouring out of my mouth. I’ve got at least 8 inches in height on him and I could easily break him into two if I wanted to. He must be ninety pounds soaking wet and his indignation is about as intimidating as an angry chihuahua. But I’m not looking for a fight, so I just move out of the way. Something about his angry green eyes and how they glow in the fresh night air is oddly captivating. I’m honestly not expecting to see him again, but just as I reach the Bronco and open the door, I see the same person get bodily chucked out of the house.

He’s shouting expletives into the night air, and when his anger runs out, he hunches his shoulders and stomps in my direction. Of course, a snarl rips out of his mouth the moment he sees me.

“What, asshole? Haven’t you seen someone get kicked out of a party by a bunch of dicks before?” 

“I have, kid. But I wanted to know if you were okay. Your knuckles look rough.” It’s true. His knuckles are bloody and bruised like he’s been punching something hard with no control. Those are going to sting like a bitch in the morning.

He snorts and must see something unassuming in my face because he uncrosses his arms and says, “I’m not a kid, I'm seventeen.” He’s a little young to be running around the UT campus and getting thrown out of parties, but I have the feeling if I say anything, he’ll probably just jump down my throat again. “I’m Jake.”

���Bradley.” I grin back. “Get in.”

“I don’t know how to tell you this, but I don’t get into cars with strangers.” He’s quick-witted, that’s for sure.

“No.” If my eyes roll as I look at Jake, that’s just between him and me. He must feel like shit if he hasn’t called me out for it yet. “I have a first aid kit in the glove box. I wanted to look at your knuckles before they scab over.” Jake looks shocked. I can almost see the gears grinding in his head as he thinks my words over.

“Move over.” I have to hide my grin until he’s safely in the passenger seat. I don’t know why it feels like such a victory, having this stranger accept my help. I leave the door open and lean in. He smells coffee and spice with an undertone of musk, sitting in my passenger seat with his eyes looking far too green in the low light.

“You don’t go to UT, do you?” Instead of responding, I just pop open the glove compartment and tug out the med kit.

“So what is this, Bradley?” He sounds disgruntled. “No answers without you taking care of my hands?”

I just hold my hand out until he puts his into mine. It’s a long-fingered hand, thin and bony. No well-fed eighteen-year-old boy has hands that look like this. Hands that look like they’ve been working every day of their life. I want to know why Jake’s got such a big chip on his shoulder and why someone so young has hands that look so worn.

“I’m really alright, you know?” I’m as gentle as I can be, patting at scraped knuckles with an isopropyl alcohol soaked cotton ball. Jake may talk a big game, but he’s wincing with each word. 

“Who’d you punch to fuck up your knuckles so badly?” 

“My asshole ex-boyfriend. He was cheating on me with one of his teammates. And I just found out today.” Jake’s voice chokes on a sob, and I can’t help the twinge of sympathy that goes through me at his words. Maybe I’m too quiet, because there’s a sharp tug on my sleeve.

“D’you have a problem with that?” Jake’s glaring at me, and it takes me longer than it usually would for me to figure out why.

“About the fact that you had a boyfriend?” He nods, the movement jerky and sharp. “Why would I care about that? You love who you love, that’s it.”

He looks blown away by my immediate acceptance of who he is. But Jake seems uncomfortable at the same time, uncomfortable enough that he changes the subject. “You never answered me earlier. You don’t go to school at UT.”

“No, I don’t.” I collect the trash into a small ball and put the kit away again. It feels weird to stand out in the night and talk when I have a perfectly good driver’s seat right on the other side of the car. I can already see a hundred questions on the tip of Jake’s tongue, so I hold one hand up and point to the trash bin nearby. I can feel every bit of his gaze on my back as I lope to the can and back, opting this time to get into the driver’s seat. Of course, no sooner am I buckled in, Jake’s looking right at me.

“Why are you here, then? Why were you at that party tonight?” I can hear the naked curiosity in his tone.

“I’m staying with some of my mom’s family over the summer. A couple of my relatives go to UT for school and invited me to the party. I just graduated from college and I’m joining the Navy in a week.” It sounds so real as I say the words. They sound equally real, it looks like, to Jake.

“Why the Navy?" I haven't felt like I'm the focus of another person in a long time. I feel flayed open, horribly, uncomfortably, seen.

My voice is quiet, a little rough, a little raw as I say, "My dad was in the Navy."

"What did he do?" I blink a little, not expecting this question so soon. Normally people want to know why my dad was in the Navy, in the past tense. They want to know what happened to him. They never want to know what he did or anything else about him.

"He was a Naval Aviator, a Radar Intercept Officer, to be specific." It makes me smile, like always, remembering my dad.

"What does a Radar Intercept Whatsit do?" Jake's nearly open-mouthed in the passenger seat, body turned my way in a jumble of limbs that looks nearly too cramped to be comfortable, beat up sneakers on the floor and wholly fascinated by every word pouring out of my mouth. That's unique too. I've never felt this rush, this instant connection before with anybody. 

"A Radar Intercept Officer," I repeat, earning myself an eye roll, "is the person sitting behind the pilot. They're responsible for enabling communications with ships and other jets, navigating and monitoring the radar. Pilots fly the plane, but RIOs do everything else." 

"Sounds boring." I have to chuckle at that, because when he's not angrily grumbling, Jake's actually handsome. And that's not a realization I ever wanted to have about a seventeen-year-old I just met. Forget the place, there's the matter of how this is all the wrong time, too. I can't afford any distractions, not even cute little twinks with more attitude than sense. I'm joining the military for fuck's sake. Don't Ask, Don't Tell is still very strongly enforced and Jake seems like the type to bulldoze his way on base one day just for the hell of it. Better stick to talking about flying, that's all. And that’s if we manage to stay in touch until he’s actually legal, too.

"Do you want to become a RIO too?" His voice is hesitant as he sounds out the acronym.

"Nah, I've always wanted to become a pilot. Actually fly the planes, y'know?" I swear I can see literal fighter jets flying around Jake's head, he's so enraptured by the idea.

"Is it hard?" 

I have to shrug at that, because maybe I just have flying in my blood. "Not any harder than learning how to drive or ride a bike - at least that's what it was like for me."

I can see Jake think of a few hundred more questions, but stop him with one of my own. "What’s a seventeen year old doing at a UT frat party?" 

 His nose crinkles, "Who said I’m not a student at UT?"

"Nobody. But something about you tells me that you aren’t a UT Student, even though seventeen-year-olds join universities as freshmen all the time." I’m almost afraid to see that look on his face. But instead, Jake seems to be feeling the same awe that I was earlier - horribly, uncomfortably, seen.

“Nah. I work at one of the coffee shops on campus.” No wonder he smells like cinnamon and coffee.

"But you don't want to, do you?"

His nod is sheepishly affirmative. "My uncle says I should get out of the house and do something with myself over the summer. If he had his way, when I graduate in a year I’ll be doing the same thing. But I want to do something exciting, not farm work or work in a factory or hell, even be a barista anymore. I think the Navy might be just the thing."

I have to grin at his enthusiasm. But a part of me can’t help wondering if the reason why Jake is so interested in escaping Austin is because of something else. But I’m not quite sure how to broach the topic. It’s silent and still in the car for a little bit. Jake looks like he’s thinking of what to say, and I’m struck by the halo the streetlight we’re under makes around his hair. He’s pretty, indescribably so, even with a purplish bruise rising on his cheekbone. His long lashes shine golden against the freckles dotting his cheekbones. I reach for the polaroid I always keep in the car and snap a couple of quick pictures. I hand one to Jake, but just as he’s about to ask me why I did that, I see red and blue lights in the rear view mirror and hear sirens blaring our way.

“Shit! C’mon, Bradley! Drive the car!” It takes me a few seconds to process what he’s saying but when I do, I put the car in drive and drive sedately down the street. 

“What the fuck, Brad!” I haven’t heard anyone call me Brad in years. That’s what my mom called me, what Mav did too. “Drive a little bit faster, why don’t you?! You keep driving like a fucking turtle and the cops will catch us in no time flat!”

“I’m driving at the speed limit.” I chuckle at the way Jake grumbles under his breath. “The police won’t pull us over if we’re doing everything right. You probably don’t want them calling your folks to tell them you were at a party, underage where alcohol was being served and an orgy was happening on the living room floor, now do you?”

We’re thankfully able to leave the scene without any trouble, and I let Jake direct me through the late night Austin streets. It’s quiet, and in the half-light I can’t help noticing how incredibly small and delicate Jake is at this moment. He has me pull over a few blocks away.

“Do you make a habit of running from the cops?” He laughs at that, a genuine belly aching infectious cackle bursting out of his mouth.

“No, I don’t.” Something dark glows over his eyes just as easily as the laugh. “My uncle wouldn’t have been happy at all if he had gotten that call.”

I really don’t know what to say to that, so I just wait.

“My mom always says that she doesn’t know who my dad was, and well, I don’t know if you know much about conservative Texans, but that was a no-go for most of my family. She’s out of state, working in a library in North Carolina, I think? And I’m with my aunt and uncle until I turn 18.”   

“I’m sure the minute that happens, I’m going to get kicked out. They didn’t approve of me just because I was born out of wedlock. They hated me even more when they found out I wasn’t exactly only into girls. My mom doesn’t know how bad it is for me here. And I’m not going to tell her either. I just don't know what to do.” He sniffles, sitting in the passenger seat, cheeks pinking in the glow of the streetlights. “I don’t really know why I’m telling you this either. But it feels like the universe wanted us to meet tonight. It feels like I can trust you.”

I’m struck dumb by those words and the butterflies swarming in my stomach. I’m flattered by his trust. It has me spilling all of my biggest secrets. I tell him more about my dad, about mom, about Mav. I tell him about my biggest victories and darkest regrets. We talk for hours, taking turns baring our souls until the sky turns gray at the edges. It's the small hours of the morning, that small section of the twilight zone where everything feels extra still. My throat is scratchy and my eyes are dry. Jake’s not much better.

The sleepy drawl in his voice makes shivers trail up and down my spine and it’s still so foreign feeling like this for someone I’ve just met. It’s a little terrifying, too. Far too soon, we’re pulling up in front of the party house. 

"I should get going." A part of me wants to stop him, offer to give him a ride, anything to stay in his presence just a bit longer. But the more rational part, the one chanting US Navy and Top Gun is screaming just as vehemently no.

"Do you need a ride?" My voice is nearly too loud for this time of night.

"Nah, Bradley. I live right around the corner." Jake gives me a two-fingered salute and begins to walk away, his shoulders bowed and looking incredibly small. It's a surprise when he stops, turns back around and jogs back to the car. He flings the door open, and I'm surprised to see the two spots of pink high up on his cheeks.

"Can we stay in touch? I'd love to pick your brain about the Navy, sometime?"

I'm nodding before my common sense can speak, ignoring the insidious little voice that says, "No you won't ever see him again. You're joining the Navy."

I hand Jake a pen and a scrap of paper I found in my pockets. What I get back is his first name and a phone number. "This is my landline. See you around, Bradley?"

My reply is too quiet as I roll the syllables of his name over my tongue. By the time Jessica and David have staggered their way out to the car, I'm sure Jake was just a figment of my imagination. Two weeks later, when it's my first turn with the phones on base, I call that number. I get a message telling me that the phone number I'm calling has been disconnected. I never get rid of that note though. It's almost like something's screaming at me to remember Jake. Maybe one day I'll find him again. And who knows? Maybe he's a lot closer than I think he is.

Nine Years Later

It’s been a long road getting to Top Gun. Walking through the halls it feels like everything I’ve worked and struggled for has finally paid off. I’m a pilot, I’m talented, if I do say so myself, and there is nothing I want to do more than finally put the Bradshaw name on that trophy. Walking into the classroom that first morning, I feel like this is the start of something great. Until the first hop later that week. There’s a blond in class with an ego that cashes checks for money he doesn’t have. But he has the skill to back up his words.

“Rooster, Rooster, Rooster. Are you ever going to get off your perch?” Hangman. Even his callsign fills me with rage. I’ve never met a more annoying person in my life. But there is something about him which seems familiar. Why does Hangman of all people seem so familiar? It’s a puzzle I can’t devote any time to solving. Not when I have to knock a blond idiot down a few pegs. I wonder what the Jake I met all those years ago would think about Hangman. I hope he’s doing well, wherever he is.

Taglist:

@chaoticassidy @kmc1989 @shanimallina87 @mayhemmanaged @desert-fern @cassiemitchell @dakotakazansky @roosterforme @cherrycola27 @thedroneranger @mak-32 @beyondthesefourwalls @sarahsmi13s @horseshoegirl

I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN HERE OR ON AO3 BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN HERE OR AO3, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.

[crosswire]

rip jesus you would have loved trans day of visibility

[pucciverse]

time loop fans when the loop slightly changes

[theshitpostcalligrapher]

i am going to fucking choke i'm watching the new defunctland,

it's about the history of animatronics and the way that kevin read this quote has me dying like

THIS

THING

COULD

KILL

YOU

IF ROBO-LINCOLN MALFUNCTIONED YOU COULD BE NAUGHT BUT D U S T

~Marc Davis

[jojaxcola]

blue eggs

[ jojamart mockumentary #16 ]

[ prev || next ]

[egophiliac]

back at it again with the extremely self-indulgent diafams! I am being emotionally supported by overly-cutesy interactions between anime characters right now, don't judge me.

(also continuing with my headcanons that 1) mustache Bauru, and 2) he'll be hugely tsundere about it but you can, ultimately, convince him to do just about anything via careful application of Sebek.)

[justarandombrit]

I don't know

[llutik]

eggshells

[katebeckets]

Special Agent Fox "I do not gaze at Scully" Mulder ⤷ [8/13] ✧ Season Eight

[valtsv]

bought a shirt with a scorpion on it but only realised after i received it in the mail that the scorpion print is on the back, making me the frog 🤦

[startrekfangirl2233-writes]

Don't You Forget About Me

Part Two

Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw

Description: Jake's had to live with a lot of incredibly annoying people over his life. But of all of them, he's never been as frustrated by anyone the way he has been frustrated by one Bradley Bradshaw. Rooster may be a textbook perfect pilot but he hesitates too much. Tell someone they'll never get anywhere once and get your head bitten off? Sure. But at the same time, Jake can't help remembering the one person who had inspired him to dream of the sky. That Bradley, wherever he is, had better be proud. Because Jake is. This Bradley, no matter how sexy and alluring with his damned pornstache and effortlessly tousled curls had better watch out. His callsign is Hangman for one particular reason, after all. Everything comes to a head after the Uranium Mission. Maybe Jake's Bradley from Texas is closer than he thinks? Disclaimer: This is a Hangster story -> What you see is what you get, folks. Slight mention of homophobic/ lgbtq+ phobic family members. Word Count: 2755 Author's Note: Hiya! I wrote this fic for @roosterforme's Top Gun Rocktober Event based on the song Don't You Forget About Me by the Simple Minds. Here's part two. I hope you all like it! Part two happens after the Uranium Mission and is in Jake's POV.

It's been a long road, getting to where I am right now. Years of sweat and blood and tears. Years of ignoring my uncle's insistent demands for money, years of sporadic contact with Mom. But I don't regret one bit of the pain or sorrow of the past decade. I can't imagine what my life would have been like if I hadn't met Bradley at the party all those years ago. Hell, I probably would've been working on some ranch in Texas, still under my uncle's thumbs and miserable to boot.

I can still remember the smile on his face and how gentle he'd been with me. I mean, don't tell Phoenix or anything, but I haven't always looked this good. There was a time when I weighed about ninety pounds soaking wet. I was gangly limbed - all the grace of a newborn colt with none of the dexterity. The only thing I knew I wanted for the future was to stay with my boyfriend. That went over well, didn't it? Especially considering how monumentally that relationship crashed and burned.

It's weird, attributing so many of the biggest accomplishments in my life to one person, especially someone that I knew for only a night over a decade ago.  His words, his opinions, I remember them like I’m still sitting in the passenger seat of his car. But I barely remember his face or what he was wearing. The attraction? That I still remember. I remember that all too well, one could say. I’ve never felt like that with another man before him. Even the fact that he’d called me ‘kid’ hadn’t seemed to matter, not when my hand was in his and when I was transfixed by the heat in his whiskeyed gaze. It’s no wonder that whiskey is one of my favorite drinks, not when each sip makes me remember his eyes.

There’s only been one other person in the past twelve years that has made me feel the same way that Bradley did. Even his first name is the same, and his eyes. But he’s never once looked at me like he remembers me. So he can’t be the boy who changed my life. Then there’s the fact that until not too long ago, I couldn’t stand him either. Him and I, we’ve always been like oil and water. Bradshaw was the responsible person. The guy COs loved to fawn over because he flew by the book without ever deviating from it. I’m the renegade, the maverick - the guy you send in to get shit done no matter what. He was the asshole who everybody liked and who wouldn’t get off of the perch his namesakes loved to sit on. 

But even I can admit that things have changed over the past few weeks. I’m a part of a team, for one. Not just a lone ranger doing their own thing. I’m actually a part of this squadron. Standing in the Hard Deck after what has to be the hardest mission of my whole career, I feel better than I ever have. Let me make it clear. I was the auxiliary on the mission. A part of me is still not over that fact. I understand it now, but call it my ego or my need to succeed or whatever you want, it still stings. Maverick saw my performance up in the air, he saw how I flew and he still found me lacking.

But I was the man everyone could count on. The guy who made sure everyone came home. But why is the true hero of the mission, the man who made the one-in-a-million shot, sans laser sight, during the mission, nowhere to be seen?  Phoenix is doing shots with Bob. Payback and Fanboy are poorly serenading some unsuspecting girls on the other end of the bar to the song pouring out of the jukebox. But where is Rooster?

There must be something wrong because he hasn’t unplugged the jukebox even once and led the bar into an easy rendition of some Jerry Lee Lewis throwback from a century ago. I haven’t spent a single night at the Hard Deck out with him where he hasn’t rounded the night out with a surprisingly tuneful albeit drunken rendition. Between me and whoever else hears my mental dialogue, it should be illegal for someone to sound that good while drunk. The bar is packed, but well, you’d think finding a six-foot-tall man would be far easier than you think. But even as I order two beers from Jimmy at the bar, I don’t see Rooster Bradshaw anywhere. At least that is, until I’m in the corner of the bar near the pool tables.

He’s sitting on the deck out back, looking out over the placid ocean. It’s honestly a relief to escape the hoppy stale air and the insistent crowd the minute I open the doors. If I have to tell the story of my dashing rescue mission, complete with “Good afternoon, ladies and gentleman, this is your savior speaking.”, I might just scream. My throat is sore and I wish that the news of my derring do’s hadn’t passed around base the moment the carrier docked. 

But all of my thoughts fly out of my mind the minute I see his face. He looks good, it wasn’t exactly a secret that first night back in San Diego that I thought that. I’ve always thought he looked way too good to be true. But tonight, even I can admit that Bradley Bradshaw has looked better. There are dark bruises rising up across his chest, his arm is in a sling and as a whole he looks like he’d be better suited to curling up in bed than sitting out on the beach outside of a bar. Should he even be drinking with the potent meds I’m sure the doctors gave him? I’m kind of afraid to ask, so instead I sit down near him and hand him one of the beers. I rub the condensation away on my jeans and truly, I don’t know what to say.

A part of me knows that I should ask if he’s okay, but instead I ask, quietly, my voice barely audible over the rushing ocean tide, “Why did you do it?”

“Do what, Bagman?” He’s slurring his words, exhaustion evident in every pore. When he picked up a bruise on his cheek, I have no idea.

“Why did you go back?” I don’t know why of all the questions I have for Bradley Bradshaw after over a decade competing with him, it was this one that I chose to ask.

He looks confused for far too long before he rasps out, “I had to. Mav’s the only family I have left.”

His earnest, easy acceptance and love for our Captain leaks from every word. The look on his face, too, is unspeakably familiar. I can’t help wondering if maybe I have met Bradley Bradshaw before. But when? How? I don’t think we’ve actually talked to each other, not once since the day we met. It’s been friction, just glorious dizzying friction since that day. He pushes me to be better, even when he’s acting like I’m not worth the space I inhabit.

Tonight, though, Bradley Bradshaw makes me feel different. It’s probably just the exhaustion on his face as he sips lacklusterly on the beer in his hands. But I feel younger and older all at once. In the glint of the moon, his eyes flash golden.

“Why’d you do it, Jake?” I wasn’t expecting that question. Not at all. 

“I…” If he notices how my throat works as I try to string my disparate thoughts together, he doesn’t call any attention to it. I feel transfixed under the liquid amber of his gaze. “I had to.”

“Mav said we all had to come home. All of us meant you and him too. I’ve lost a wingman already. I’m not ready to lose anymore.”

I busy myself shredding the sodden label of the beer in my hands. It’s mostly full still, my mouth too dry and throat too tight to swallow any of the liquid. My head’s spinning too, caught in his gaze.

“Huh…” His chuckle makes my cheeks warm. “I didn’t think you had it in you.”

“I didn’t either.” For several moments, it’s quiet outside. Then someone props the back door open and I can hear some of the music pouring out of the jukebox. 

Don't you try and pretend

It's my feeling we'll win in the end

I won't harm you or touch your defenses

Vanity and security, ah

Don't you forget about me

“Why’d you join the Navy, Hangman?” My eyes open at the unexpected question. I guess they’d closed when I listened to the song on the juke.

“I figure I might as well ask.” He shrugs, just the one shoulder, gesturing with his bottle to get me to spit the words on the tip of my tongue out.

“I met someone going to Officer Candidate School when I was seventeen in Austin. He was different … nice. I’ve never been called a kid more affectionately. He told me about the Navy, and well, there was nothing better waiting for me. So I joined up right after I graduated.” Nostalgia colors my tone as I think back to how different I was back then. “I think this song was playing on the radio actually.”

What I don’t expect to hear is laughter. Pained, overloud, sudden, jarring laughter. I turn my head and like I expected, it’s coming from Bradley Bradshaw. It rankles a little having someone laugh at something I’ve never told anyone else.

“What?!” If I sound like I’m snarling, well I’m sure it’s my prerogative.

“God you always were a little shit, huh?” The naked fondness is more than a little surprising. 

“What do you mean?” I’m pouting and grumbling, I know. My beer’s sitting on the decking and I have no idea where I should look. If I look into his smug face, I’m going to say something I know I’ll regret. 

“You ran into me that night, if I remember correctly. Called me an asshole and everything." This can't be happening. There is no way this is happening. My Bradley, the kind, supportive one, can't be Chicken Bradshaw. That's not possible. Please don't tell me I've spent the better part of a decade trying to antagonize the one person who convinced me that there was something better for me than being my uncle's whipping boy.

"I definitely did not." 

"You were about ninety pounds soaking wet. Sure, you look different, but that particular rage in your eyes? I've only ever seen it on one other person." He licks his lips, but while I should be focusing on what he's saying, I can't help noticing how chapped they are and how incredibly soft they look.

I'm frozen, paralyzed. Until a hand nudges my own. I'm not sure why I do it, but I put my hand in Rooster's. His hands feel the same as they did all that time ago. Big, just a little bigger than my own, the long fingers calloused but gentle and warm as they clasp mine.

"I know I'm probably not who you thought you wanted to thank." Is that self-deprecation in Rooster Bradshaw's tone? No way. He just saved the entire world as we know it.

"Who says, Roo?" It's gratifying to see the pink on the apples of his cheeks. This close it feels like there are whole galaxies in his eyes and I feel this sudden sense of deja vu.

In Austin, all those years ago, as we were talking high above the city in Bradley's vintage Bronco, all I wanted to do was sink into his lap and kiss him until all he knew was me. I thought I'd outgrown that particular fascination with the stars in his eyes and the scars trailing down the side of his face. Obviously not. 

A lot has changed in the decade between that night and this one. I'm still incredibly handsome, obviously, but muscular and fit, no longer emaciated and malnourished. Bradley's even broader and stronger than he was before - beefy is the only term I can use. And DADT, that one governing guideline for all non-heterosexual people in the military is dust in the wind.

But more than what I want, which is to croon 'Roo' into his ear as he rails me until I can't feel anything below my waist, I have to consider whether he wants me, too. It wouldn't be the first time that I'm too much for somebody. It probably won't be the last time either. 

"Hangman? Jake? JAKE!" I blink, sure I'm blushing because I think I just zoned out looking at his lips.

"You okay?" 

I nod, smiling just a little. He's close, incredibly, impossibly close to me.

"Jake. Tell me if I'm reading this wrong, but I really want to kiss you." His raspy voice sends shivers down my spine.

But I know he's not feeling his best, so I take control. His hair feels like silk at my fingertips as I peck his lips, once, twice, and finally a third time. It feels way too good, how even those simple kisses make me feel giddy in a way I've never felt before.

I cradle his face gently in between my palms, levering my body onto his lap until I'm straddling his waist.

"You look good, Bradshaw." His chuckle makes me smile, something real. Something soft and new.

"I am good, Seresin. Too good to be true." I kiss him again, relishing in the prickle of his mustache against my lips and cheeks. This new angle also lets me look, really look at Roo. There are dark smudges under his eyes, bruise-like in their intensity.

"Roo," My voice is gentle as I pepper kisses against his jaw. "How long has it been since you've slept, baby?"

His nose wrinkles. "I haven't really slept since before we left."

"Let me take you home, then, sweetheart?" His eyes darken at my words, but I stop him with a soft chuckle. "Not to do that. Though I do want to. You look as exhausted as I feel. I just want to see you sleep, darlin'. Okay?"

His nod is a little dazed, but he doesn't argue when I grab the beer bottles and slip back in to drop them off back at the bar. I get accosted on my way back out to Roo by the one person who would be perceptive enough to notice the two of us out there.

"Hey, Hangman." I blink, more than a little surprised at the surprisingly strong arm barring my way.

"What can I do for you, Bobby Boy?" 

He pushes his glasses up and says in a serious tone, "The two of you are good together. Take care of him, yeah?"

Now I really must've entered the twilight zone. I've got everything I've ever wanted and the one person who probably should disapprove of everything I do just told me to take care of Roo. But I can't help the giddy grin on my face. Rooster's still right where I left him, watching the few sparse clouds sail past the moon.

"Take me home, Seresin." I don't think I could stop smiling if I tried. He's said my last name so many times, in so many ways, but it's never been so fondly.

"You got it, Bradshaw." His hand is warm and secure in mine as I get him into the passenger seat of my pickup.

By the time I pull into my parking spot on base, Roo's nearly half-asleep. Sleep's tugging at me too, but I manage to keep it at bay until I have him in a pair of my flannel pajama pants, curled up comfortably under the sheets of my bed.

I lie down and face him, tracing each dip and strong line of his face with my eyes as I finally start to fall asleep after the mission.

"Hey, Jake?" I hum lightly, too tired to say anything more.

"Don't you forget about me, okay?"

"I'll be calling your name, Roo. I couldn't forget you if I tried." It's true. I never would've expected one of the worst nights of my life to lead to the one person who has always known what I needed. Now it's my turn to make sure he has what he needs.

Taglist:

@chaoticassidy @kmc1989 @shanimallina87 @mayhemmanaged @desert-fern @cassiemitchell @dakotakazansky @roosterforme @cherrycola27 @thedroneranger @mak-32 @beyondthesefourwalls @sarahsmi13s @horseshoegirl

I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN HERE OR ON AO3 BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN HERE OR AO3, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.

[xxplastic-cubexx]

graph

bonus:

[pucciverse]

time loop fans when the loop changes slightly

[azaleastobloom]

Ain’t that the way it always goes

[lonelyzarquon]