#top gun 1989

[swirlysmile]

Iceman spending an evening out with his s/o after a long week? :3 thank you!

you’re welcome, anon! hope this is what you had in mind. swear i’ll write something longer one of these days 🙏

my boy rio ronny makes a small appearance, so proud of him.

word count: 873

warnings: none

Night On The Town

Weeks in the Navy were always long. He didn’t get to spend much time with you. Iceman was either on base or asleep, regaining strength for the next day of perilous training. Luckily, he had the weekends open to spend time with you.

“Baby,” He’d say, “I’ve spent all week with my friends. I want to spend some time with you,” and sure, you could argue that training isn’t quality time with friends, but he was just so damn convincing when he smiled like that. 

So, when he got home he changed clothes, reassuring you that he took a shower on base. Not that it was hard to tell with his floppy, and wet, blond hair. 

Tom throws on his aviators, walking out of the bathroom with dry hair. It’s styled perfectly, as usual.

“Ready to spend a night out on the town?” He asks, throwing a piece of gum into his mouth. 

You respond by pecking him, and he takes your hand to lead you to the car.

He starts with a quaint little restaurant, a favorite for date nights. The first time he had brought you there, he claimed it had the best Italian-American food in town. It didn’t disappoint.

“This is your idea of a night on the town?” 

“Hey,” he says, hands up in defense. “I just had a tiring day at work.” 

You say nothing more, glancing down at your menu. Of course you know what you’re going to order. 

“I promise I have more planned.”

“I’m content with this if you’re too exhausted,” you say. Tom, being the cocky man he is, takes this as a challenge. 

You order your food and politely thank the waiter who brought it to you. Tom talks about his day, and it’s nice. You haven’t really gone on a date like this in so long- neither of your schedules permitting it. 

The Navy works him hard, and your job as a receptionist is demanding too. Maybe slightly less, but still tiring for the average citizen.  

“How was it?” 

“Great, as always.” 

Ice smiles, feeling accomplished.

He pays, adding in a generous tip before you leave. The air outside is chilly, enough for a coat, but not quite frosty. The leaves are turning yellow, as they always do in fall, swaying with the soft breeze. It’s gorgeous.  

“I’m so lucky to have you.” He says, tightening his grasp on your hand. You’re walking down the street to window shop a little. The yellow street lights are a little dim, and not preferable, yet somehow, he still looks good. 

You pass every shop imaginable. There’s the small dessert shop that’s proudly displaying its many pastries, and you’d be lying if you said they didn’t look delicious. The “fancy clothing” shop proudly bearing mannequins wearing only the finest of silks, and then there’s a thrift store housing all-too-happy minimum wage employees.

The corner store, however, is a nice jeweler. There’s a gorgeous necklace on display, the jewels shimmering in the fluorescent shop lighting. You do a double take, and Ice immediately notices your interest. 

“It’s a good looking necklace,” 

“It’s an expensive looking necklace.” You laugh, leading him away. 

Of course you spend more time browsing the selection of shops down the long street. You pop into the pastry shop, and even the fancy clothes shop, albeit to make fun of the clothing. 

You smile seeing the vendor on the other side of the road, booth filled to the brim with sunglasses.

“You’re such a dork,” Ice says lovingly, when you imitate him trying on said sunglasses. You end up buying them, and Ice laughs at you.

You even end up seeing Slider, Tom’s RIO, with his wife doing the same thing. Spending time together on the weekends.

“Told you my friends and I spend enough time together, look at him avoiding me.” 

“Ouch, Slider is your only friend?” you tease. “Pretty much.” Ice adds, no hesitation. 

He’s never been one to make friends, preferring to stick to his already set up clique. 

Ice walks you back up the street to your car.

“Bar sound good?” He asks, and you nod. A few stronger drinks never hurt, but the wine at dinner was nice. 

Tom is prepared to be designated driver, just wanting to spend time with you. You agree with little hesitation, and he pays for some drinks. 

It’s nice, getting to spend this quality time with your boyfriend. Just getting to be with him doing things you enjoy, and it doesn’t happen much. He savors the time he spends with you.

After a few drinks, you’re much looser than you had expected to be. You’re sure that if this had been Vegas, and not Virginia, Elvis would have officiated the wedding by now. 

Ice practically pulls you away from the bar and out the door. He’s hoping you won’t remember his detour, and lucky for him by the time you get there, you’re out cold, thanks to the alcohol. 

He wouldn’t say that was his plan, but it was. 

You wake up a little confused, but in your bed with a note next to you, and that damned necklace, and your heart melts.

Thought you might like this.

See you later,

Tom

[mikefaistenthusiast]

so. uhm

i know that top gun is propaganda

but its working

[laracrofted]

he's so tall and handsome as hell... and pretty please do not repost

[heatwavering]

okay if it was the 80s-90s and i was in Miramar working for the navy and I somehow stumbled across hot and single Tom Iceman Kazansky only to figure out he’s (a) gay and (b) taken by pete maverick mitchell of all people, i would go feral. i would die and have to be revived and then start my john wick revenge arc.

like this man is taken. by another man. he’s getting dog walked by pete maverick mitchell. the same guy who flies his plane like a looney tunes character and refuses to die. bad pickup line artist, 5’7, cowboy boot wearing, scrunkly little pete maverick mitchell put a ring on it. i’d bite the person closest to me and start a Free Iceman movement the moment i heard the news.

[rabbit-ina-trenchcoat]

[katewritesss]

And did you think I didn't you? There were flashing lights

At least I had the decency to keep my nights out of sight

Only rumours 'bout my hips and thighs and whispered sighs

Oh Lord, I think about jumping off of very tall somethings

Just to see you come running and say the one thing I've been wanting

But no!

Baby, was it over then? And is it over now?

[blueeyeddarkknight]

This puppy look of his should be illegal. No one can resist it. I'd do anything for him.

"He is so creative like nobody I've ever known and how brave he was to do it (the documentary) in the way that he did it. He's an artist. He can be a brat too but you forgive him. You forgive him everything. Even when I was angry, it was still a joy. If he called, it wouldn't matter where I was, I would go." _Cher (about Val)

Bonus (kissy smoldering face)

[luluwquidprocrow]

oh if you knew what it meant to me

albert & diane

gen

2,128 words

It’s the wrong side of midnight, and he’d planned to leave the airport, stand in the parking lot for as long as it took to smoke out the memory of Leland Palmer’s scalp from his brain, and then get a cab. But he’s dead with exhaustion after the flight (and everything else) and Diane Evans and her fucking car are the best things he’s ever seen in his life.

my fic for @tildytwo for @countdowntotwinpeaks' wonderfulxstrange 2024 exchange!! albert coming home after the end of the palmer case.

title from daydreaming by dark dark dark

He sees Diane in the parking lot, smoking under a streetlight by her blinding red Mustang. She’d told him once it was vintage, and he said that vintage wasn’t going to help her out a bit if the car didn’t crumple when some beige sedan asshole t-boned her out on the highway. No airbags at all. He’s unsure about the seatbelts. The trunk is barely going to fit his suitcases, he knows, alongside the hideously pink tool kit he’s sure is still in there. It’s the wrong side of midnight, and he’d planned to leave the airport, stand in the parking lot for as long as it took to smoke out the memory of Leland Palmer’s scalp from his brain, and then get a cab. But he’s dead with exhaustion after the flight (and everything else) and Diane Evans and her fucking car are the best things he’s ever seen in his life.

Diane startles when he gets close, her cigarette smoldering between her fingers. “You look terrible,” she says, as if it’s a revelation.

“I didn’t ask for the opinion of the local peanut gallery,” Albert says. 

“You’re getting it anyway,” Diane says. “Sure you weren’t the one that took three bullets to the chest, Albert?”

“Oh, very funny, madam secretary.” Does he really look that bad, he wonders. He feels that bad, like he’s dragging himself six steps behind where his body really is. Three trips in two weeks to the Mayberry R.F.D. death trap in Washington state will do that to you. Or at least it should. Dale Cooper and all his charms aside, Albert had no plans to stay for a placatory funeral in a town that was getting a track record. 

Were they giving that girl a funeral too. Or were they only having one for the father of the year. Albert scrapes around in his brain for her name—she deserves that much. Madeline. What about Madeline Ferguson, her blood still stuck on Albert’s hands. His fingers flex around the handle of one of his suitcases. Coop had said she was from out of town. Did her parents come back for her? Or was she getting buried there too, in the same yawning grave Coop was staying behind in? The thought burrows inside his stomach, another knot of background concern adding to the rest of them. In a few years, if not already, he’ll have a nice shiny ulcer to show for all the nonsense the bureau’s put him through. Fuck, he is too tired for this.

Diane takes advantage of his dazed stupor and gets his suitcases away from him. Albert was right, the toolbox is still in the trunk and still pink; his suitcases barely fit but Diane works the same feat of magic she does on everything else and gets the trunk to close before pushing him into the passenger seat. Miracle of miracles, it does have seatbelts. 

He twists the radio dial back and forth until Diane gets in and smacks his hand away. She puts on a top 40s station, because her compassion is obviously limited, and reverses neatly out of the parking lot and navigates through the maze of airport traffic onto the highway. Albert keeps an eye out for sedans as a matter of principle. They’re the sort of car that creeps up on you this time of night, even with Philadelphia still alive around them, pricks of light burning like match heads. 

“Oh!” Diane twists an arm behind her around to the backseat, digging for something with a reckless abandon that has the Mustang veering sharply over the road. 

“Jesus, Diane, the road—”

“Keep your shirt on, Rosenfield,” Diane laughs. She shoves a thermos into Albert’s chest and then gets both hands back on the wheel. “There. I brought you coffee.”

“At what cost,” Albert mutters, but he unscrews the cup and the lid. The fact of the matter is that Diane makes coffee to die for, and he could use the warmth. 

“You’re welcome.”

Then she’s silent for a whole verse and chorus of twangy guitars as someone sings about standing, and Albert knows it’s coming. He downs a gulp of coffee like a shot and his jaw starts to tighten up.

“He didn’t come with you,” Diane says. 

“What gave it away,” Albert asks, “the lack of chipper humming in the overall ambience or the fact that I got your coffee?”

“I did make it for you, dipshit,” Diane insists. “I listen in on Gordon’s calls, I knew he wasn’t coming, and I thought you could use it. I just—” She takes a quick drag of the cigarette still tucked between her fingers. When she exhales, the smoke chases itself in circles. “—it didn’t sound good, why you went there again. And I thought, maybe he might’ve come back with you anyway.” 

“No such luck,” Albert says. “He wanted to stay for the funeral.”

The corner of Diane’s mouth pinches in. She doesn’t say it, but both of them are thinking it. They’re intimately acquainted with Coop’s—Albert has spent a long time trying to figure out how to put it. He takes another drink. It’s not sentimentality, per se. Attachment isn’t quite right either, although it wouldn’t be wrong. It’s a show of commitment, of a deep-seated determination that sits somewhere in Coop’s marrow. An unending desire to be the one that helps. 

Albert can’t begrudge him the idea, not all the way. You were supposed to feel something, otherwise you were in the wrong line of work if you did this without it being able to knock the breath out of you on occasion. But Albert has a different idea of what it means to respect a case and the people involved. And it hasn’t almost gotten Albert killed. Punched, sure, but like he said, he can take a punch and he’ll take one again if it means he can try and do his goddamn job like he’s supposed to. 

He wants to say, well, Coop will be back soon enough. Funerals don’t take forever. Coop has never known where to draw the line but even he has to admit one exists, even in a town like Twin Peaks. But fuck, Albert had encouraged him. Just catch this beast before he takes another bite. And Harry had asked later—Where’s Bob now? 

Albert lets his head hit back against the seat, the taste of the coffee sour in his mouth, the ache of a migraine starting behind his eyes. Blue roses never sat easy, but this—he’s been awake too long as it is. 

“He’s impossible, isn’t he,” Diane says quietly. 

“That’s one of the words for it, I guess,” Albert says. 

The two of them share a glance—Diane makes it blessedly quick and puts her eyes back on the road where they belong. Yeah, they both know about that, too. They have their own attachments. They wouldn’t be in this car if they didn’t. 

Diane drums her fingers on the steering wheel. “Are you hungry?”

“I had lunch.” Or something like it, probably a million years ago. He had the least offensive donut he could find in Harry’s office, which was an overly glazed monstrosity. It stuck on the way down. 

“Uh-huh,” Diane says. Her tone is not encouraging. “And?”

“And nothing. I had lunch, Diane, I’m fine.” 

“And, that was what, at noon? We’re getting something.”

“Diane—”

“You keep it up and I’ll get you a kids meal, Albert.”

“Excuse me, I am not a—”

“With a small french fry. With a fucking juice box.” 

“Fine!” he shouts, which definitely sounds like a fucking child. Diane grins in satisfaction, and she keeps it on her face all the way off the highway exit and to the nearest blindingly bright drive thru, cheerfully ordering two hamburgers from an acne-faced kid in the window who’s chewing gum loud enough to break the sound barrier of Albert’s patience. 

“Would you like fries with that?” the kid asks. 

Diane hesitates, drawing out the moment and Albert’s absolute last nerve until she says, “Yeah.” 

Albert manages to pull his wallet out when Diane gets her own, but she gives him such a look like she’s going to ram it down his throat if he even so much as opens his mouth to offer to pay. It rankles him, but then Diane’s flinging the bag of food at him and driving around to park facing the road. There’s a balancing act between the thermos and the hamburgers and the fries and Diane’s ginger ale and her cigarette, but they manage. Albert unwraps his hamburger, exchanges the onions for the saddest lone pickle slice from Diane’s, and sinks his teeth into the whole thing. It really is the greasiest thing in the world. He hates how good it tastes right now. 

The radio crackles with static, only bursts of some recent subpar Chicago song coming through. Cars shoot by, one another another with the lights starting to blur. Albert rubs his eyes and says it. “I feel like I left him there.” 

Diane picks at her french fries. “I don’t think either of us could’ve dragged him away,” she concedes. “Not if he didn’t want to leave.” 

“He’s got all the self-preservation skills of a deer in headlights,” Albert says. “And he’s not even going to notice if he gets hit. Next thing I know he’ll put down roots there.”

Diane shifts in her seat. 

Motherfucker. “Don’t tell me,” Albert says. “Don’t do it, Diane. I’m asking nicely.” 

“Too late. He wanted to know about his real estate opportunities in his pension,” Diane says. Then—“I told him it was misfiled and I couldn’t find it. I thought, even Dale couldn’t be serious about that. But—” 

Albert’s free hand curls in on itself against his knee. Son of a bitch, it stings. He should’ve stayed and sat through the most pointless funeral so he could pull the hooks out of Coop himself and take him home. He should’ve punched Harry back. He should’ve looked him in the eyes until he saw what Coop saw in there. He should’ve finished Laura Palmer’s autopsy. He should’ve taken them all back with him when he had the chance. 

He wonders what his own pension options are. Albert is by no means going to walk right after Coop into his hell du jour, but he’s got enough sense to know where it is and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t stay close enough to drag Coop back the next time. 

“You think he’d do it too,” Diane says, her voice low. She turns and faces him, and Albert can see the lights in the parking lot hit on the circles under her eyes. Her cigarette has burned out now. They’re the only ones left in the world for a second, two people waiting to see who loses it first.

So they make a choice, between the two of them. Next time. 

He has to get his head back on straight. Albert clears his throat a few times, unclenches his fist. “I think Dale Bartholomew Cooper is going to give me a goddamn coronary,” he says. “Unless this burger does first,” he continues, taking another bite. 

“Bartholomew?” Diane repeats, raising an eyebrow. “You’re not serious.”

“Oh, I am. As serious as the coronary.” 

“Bartholomew,” she says it again. “Oh, it’s so terrible I kind of love it.”

“You’ve been his secretary for how long and you didn’t know that?” 

Suddenly, a smile breaks over her face. She starts giggling. “Did you know—did you know he didn’t know my fucking last name until last year?” 

It startles a laugh out of Albert. It’s the sort of unbelievable thing that becomes believable, with Coop. They keep laughing to the end of the hamburgers. It’s a damn novelty to still be able to do it. Maybe there’s enough hope left for the three of them yet. Next time, by the piercing guitar coming through the radio, Diane dumping the rest of her fries into Albert’s container, Albert drinking Coop’s coffee, Coop’s tapes waiting in Albert’s suitcases in the trunk. 

“Thanks,” Albert says. 

Diane grins again. “Yeah, I thought you knew how to say it. Let’s get you home before you self-destruct from the strain of it.” 

Albert rolls his eyes. It’s a while yet to his place, and even longer back to Diane’s after. “You want me to drive?” he asks. It’s a pointless offer, since it’s her car and she came to get him, and it’s the Mustang, but he feels obligated. 

But Diane laughs. “Shut up, Rosenfield. You can get me back later.” 

Albert doesn’t think so. He lets her drive the rest of the way home, watching for sedans. None come close.

[hobbit-historian]

Rooster x reader

I participated in the lovely @laracrofted ‘s writing challenge based on songs from 1989 Taylor’s version.

This is “All You Had to Do Was Stay”

Warnings: HEAVY on the angst. Mentions of broken hearts and a brutal accident at the end of I don’t go into specifics though.

Rooster.

That man, that name, infuriated her. She couldn’t believe that he was there, standing on that stage, getting that patch, wearing a smile on his face.

The days ago, that same face had been snarling as he yelled at her, again, for her flying techniques. She was reckless, he said. Dangerous, he said.

She had rolled her eyes and scoffed, telling him that she would be standing up there getting the patch right next to him because she flew better.

She thought faster.

Moved faster.

Now, here she was, watching in the crowd as he got a patch and not her.

She blinked back the tears, refusing to let anyone see just how much that hurt. She sat in her dress whites, replaying the whole of her Top Gun experience, trying to figure out where things went wrong, where she failed.

Because he was up there, and she was sitting in a chair in the audience.

The memories slapped her in the face - when she found out that she had qualified for the program, when she had her first lesson, when she got into it for the first time with Rooster, and when the instructor had come to talk to her to tell her that she had been disqualified for her behavior.

Rooster had the never to act surprised that she wasn’t going to be graduating with the rest of them.

He had muttered under his breath, a smug smile on his face.

So she sat, throat burning, as she watched him get handed the patch.

That stupid, stupid patch. And what she wouldn’t do to be right up there next to him.

Something in her heart cracked.

She stood abruptly, neck heating at the stares coming from the crowd around her.

She hurried, steps quickening as the tears burned her eyes. Loading into her car, she sped away from the ceremony, not caring that she was crying on her dress whites.

*******************************************************

Rooster watched her leave.

His mind immediately shot back to the night before, when she wouldn’t even look at him and couldn’t stand the sound of his name.

He cursed himself and his stupidity.

He had been so blinded by his history, so taken aback by her reckless flying, that he had missed the one thing that had mattered most. He loved her.

But all he could do was yell at her when she risked her life, berate her for acting out of turn, and keep her at an arms length.

He was absolutely terrified of his heart.

But watching her walk away, burning with embarrassment from not being up on stage with the rest of the graduates, it broke that already fragile heart.

Shattered into so many pieces that Rooster was afraid he may never fix it.

And like a fool, he had been smiling - smiling - when she had been told she couldn’t graduate.

Truthfully, they had been arguing so much during the program that most people called them rivals. Some elevated that to enemies. No one thought twice about the smile.

They would’ve if they had heard what he had said under his breath.

“She should be, she’s the best pilot out of all of us.”

So as he watched her walk away, he yearned to cry out, to run down and catch her before she left, to let her know how he really felt. But the patch was in his hand and he had already been told that he needed to report to his CO after the ceremony to get his next orders.

So he stayed.

Right where he was.

He remembered the tears his mom had shed after his dad died. He remembered the stream of condolences and casseroles that everyone seemed to have on hand. How Carole had wanted him to follow his dreams, but my God, anything but flying. Anything at all.

So he stayed.

No need to wrap someone up in his less-than-lucky life. No need to get his heart involved.

But as Rooster watched her completely fade from view, he knew - his heart was already involved.

*******************************************************

She was crying so hard that she could barely see the road. She saw the stop sign, but the tractor trailer didn’t. It plowed right into her.

Later, the trucker would say that he wasn’t drunk, and that he would pay all of the hospital bills, pay off all of the surgeries needed to correct her broken body.

But the doctors said that she would never fly again, and that was all that mattered.

She should have stayed.

[jaidens]

- Requests -

╚══ ❀•°❀°•❀ ══╝

You have made it to [ daniellarussoo ] ’s request and master list page! Browse wisely ♡

helloooo there! you can call me jaiden ! i am in my late teens! i write for predominantly 80s and 90s movies and television! i have been writing for four years, since 2019. I also write for modern tv shows and movies, so you can request most stuff and if I haven't seen it or watched it, I'm always open to watching things!

1980 movies I write for! :

The Breakfast Club [circa. 1985]

Karate Kid (1-2-3) [circa. 1984-86-89]

The Outsiders [circa. 1983]

Top Gun [circa. 1986]

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

modern movies I write for!

The Spiderman Movie Franchise [circa. 2002 - 2023]

Top Gun : Maverick [circa. 2022]

jake seresin :

( You Made A Rebel Of A Careless Man's Careful Daughter Jake Seresin ) A small imagine about Daddy Mitchell not loving his daughter dating Hangman.

bradley bradshaw :

as of right now i do have not many ideas for modern movie / tv shows, I am entirely comfortable with requesting certain things you might want!

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

modern tv shows !

criminal minds [ crica. 2005-2020 ]

spencer reid : ( Ladies And Gentlemen, Will You Please Stand? With Every Guitar String Scar On My Hand Take This Magnetic Force Of A Man To Be My Lover )

aaron hotchner : ( I Could See You In Your Suit And Your Necktie – Pass Me A Note Saying, "Meet me tonight" )

MASTER LIST [ CIRCA. JUNE 21 ‘23 ]

SPIDERMAN FRANCHISE :: 🕸️ ::

miguel o’ hara | spiderman 2099 :

( Daddy's Smart and You're the Prettiest Lady in the World ) A small imagine about Miguel O’Hara and your baby girl Mila and your home morning life.

( Only Bought This Dress (So You Could Take It Off) ) Imagine a dress you bought just for Miguel.

-

hobie brown | spiderpunk :

( But I can see us lost in the memory ) A imagine about Hobie losing you after a freak accident across spider verses. Until he finds you again.

miles morales | miles morales :

( Stop, You're Losing me ) A short imagine about losing everything you had with Miles.

peter parker | spiderman :

tobey maguire

blank . . . try again later.

andrew garfield

blank . . . try again later.

tom holland

blank . . . try again later.

1980 movie masterlist

The Breakfast Club :: 🍳 ::

blank . . . try again later.

-

The Karate Kid :: 🥋 ::

Daniel Larusso :

( Hopelessly Devoted (To You) ) A small imagine of you patching Daniel after a fight.

( And You've Got A Smile That Can Light Up This Whole Town ) A small imagine about: you, Daniel, and under some bleachers after practice.

other characters are :

blank . . . try again later.

-

The Outsiders :: 📞 ::

johnny cade :

( You Drew Stars Around My Scars (Now I'm Bleeding) ) A small imagine about Johnny caring for your wounds and it turns out to be a confession of feelings.

dallas winston :

( You got that Long Hair, Slicked Back, White T-Shirt ) A small imagine about making out with your boyfriend, Dallas Winston.

headcannons :

( I'm Standing There On A Balcony In Summer Air ) A list of headcannons for the outsiders boys

modern tv shows master list

The Walking Dead :: 🧟‍♀️ ::

rick grimes :

( We Might Just Get Away With It The Altar Is My Hips ) Smut with Rick Grimes.

daryl dixon :

blank . . . try again later.

glenn rhee :

blank . . . try again later.

carl grimes :

one rule about [ carl ] is you can only request fluff or platonic writing.

blank . . . try again later.

[giveamadeuschohisownmovie]

(Based on that one scene from “Shaun of the Dead”)

[swirlysmile]

warnings- slight misogny, bad military knowledge, bad plane knowledge

word count: 695

this is a short one but i wanted to put something out. another enemies to lovers sort of story!!

Stubborn

“The, uh, plaque for the alternates is down in the ladies room.” 

Goose starts sarcastically laughing, loudly, and you manage to roll your eyes at Ice. He’s grinning from his spot next to Slider.

“I hope that didn’t offend you, [callsign].” He says, making sure to point you out because you’re the only female pilot in the room. 

“Ice, you’re such a dickhead.”

“Takes one to know one, sweetheart.”

You’re up in the air, Ice as your wingman, and despite the grudge he holds with you he’s being surprisingly cooperative. He’s flying like he usually does, no mistakes. 

The way he flies is enough to wear Jester down, though. Luckily for you, that’s what you need.

When you miss your shot though, you’re expecting a lot of shouting.

Ice looks pissed. He walks up to you, flight gear jingling during every long stride up to you. 

“I love seeing your hard work.” He says, smiling with a mean glint in his eye. 

“Great. I’m not really in the mood for this Ice.”

“Too bad it’s not paying off.” 

You flip him off and start walking away, and Slider is just glancing in your direction, confused because he managed to miss the conversation.

You’re sitting in the makeshift classroom they have, listening to a civilian banter with Maverick. Almost as if there’s a little history, but you pay no attention to it. There’s a bigger problem.

Ice.

He isn’t paying any attention to you, and that must mean that he’s making fun of you somehow. 

It’s making you paranoid. Every thought? Ice. Especially when he’s in the air. Hoping, praying he would(n’t) crash. Wishing him un(safety) in the air.

Everytime Charlie speaks, you can’t help but think ‘Ice is saying some douchey thing in his head’.

He’s flying with Maverick and Goose today, and you can almost guarantee it’s not going to end well. If Ice is anything, he’s safe in the air. Opposite of Maverick, who flies without a care in the world. Almost like he wants to die, but really he’s just instinctive.  

They’re openly communicating, or, as well as two insanely cocky men can. They do exceptionally well. 

Ice wears Jester down, and Maverick is able to go in for the kill.

Something you couldn’t do, which means Ice is probably going to rub it in your face, and he doesn’t like Mitchell at the best of times.

When you’re told you’re going up in the air with him, again, you want to cry. 

He doesn’t even let you go for a shot this time, you’re just bait. Slider doesn’t help either, while you frantically fly trying to avoid being targeted.

“6 o’clock, [callsign]” Sundown calls from behind you. 

Ice and Slider? Silent. You aren’t even sure they have your back anymore, which wouldn’t be like Ice, but you don’t trust him.

You manage to do some of that cool pilot shit, pulling up and ending up directly behind Jester.

“Watch out, I got this.” Ice calls, right before he does an extremely risky move. One that could have killed you if it went wrong, and you just gasp in shock.

Ice flies safely, he prides himself on flying safely, and yet he just did the opposite to stop you from getting the kill.

Jester has tone, and you’re safe, but enraged. 

“What the hell was that, Kazansky?” 

He shrugs in response, attempting to continue walking.

“No, no. Don’t walk away.” you scoff. “I know you aren’t fond of me, Kazansky. I had that shot, without it being dangerous. You almost just killed me and Sundown for what? To prove a point? I have never met a more stubborn person than you.”

“Just wanted to make sure we got points this time [callsign].” he says bitterly.

“I have never wanted to simultaneously slap and kiss someone so much.” 

He looks like a deer in headlights, eyes wide, head turned and tilted, before he regains his composure and grabs your face.

The initial shock of what you had said had worn off at this point, and he was so glad you said what he was thinking, because damn you’re a good kisser.

[mikefaistenthusiast]

someone give me a “callsign” im begging

im too stupid to think of my own

[compacflt]

wip wednesday: the going is slow but the going is going

[underaverage-overachiever]

I need more top gun fans to watch Always.

[blueeyeddarkknight]

Val crying in movies part 2 🥺

Warning ⚠️ : this one contains torture signs

Does this one count as crying?🤔🧊

Bonus: fake crying edition 😂