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sil-te-plait-tue-moi · 3 months

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You're killin' me!

Quick summary: Phantom and Maverick have had their fair share of head-butting – competition, ego and feelings don't mix well, apparently. Finally, however, they seem to reach a peace after a day on the beach.

Word count: 3K (getting into writing these shorter fits woo!)

Warnings: Kind of angsty but also you make out so like is it really that bad; allusions to smut; lots of swear words; yeah, not much for this, it's pretty PG.

A/N: YAYYY, I'm back, sort of but also not really but also ENJOY THIS FIC. Yes, technically it is an extract from an unfinished chapter of the mav x reader Wattpad story I'm halfway through writing (yes, I have a wattpad, it's called nonoitsnina), and maybe (BIIIIG emphasis on MAYBE) I will do a second part where y'all actually fuck and stuff but for now just take this. If anyone's still slinking around the Top Gun stuff, that is. Also, Bee is your RIO here. Just to preface. And Phantom (YOUR CALL-SIGN) shortens to Tommy or Tom from time to time but like if you read the Wattpad book (YES I KNOW I SOUND LIKE A SCARY 14 YEAR OLD) it makes more sense. OKAY ENJOY COMMENTS ARE APPRECIATED HAVE A LOVELY JUBBLY DAY

***

Stupid smiles plastered bright across their faces, Bee and Goose are already dashing down the road, speed-walking like a couple of suburban mothers, one swathed in a beach towel and picnic blanket, the other lopsided with a half-empty cooler grasped in one hand.

I watch them go, brow furrowed, over my shoulder, slightly disconcerted.

“I guess they—” Mav pauses, then huffs, equally as confused, “—really wanted those ice-creams.”

Sure. That’s why they keep glancing back at us and giggling like idiots: ice-creams.

Maverick and I are strolling along the boardwalk back home – despite washing my feet at the tap, there’s still sand between my toes that tickles my skin with every step, but I could care less. He’d asked if I wanted us to take the bus—but I’d said no. Call me a loon (Bee certainly would), but, even after a full day of work—or play—nothing beats sitting outside in the quiet. Except sleep, I guess. But, when I can keep my eyes open, looking out a good view—and, boy, is this watercolour sunset some view—is perfect. After growing up in a city full of dust and cracks, I’ve embraced it: I’m gonna be one of those old ladies in a rocking chair on her porch, day and night, night and day.

Having just finished my own crêpe, I eat Maverick’s. When I ask him if he’s bothered by it, he tells me he’d bought them both for me in the first place.

Sweet. Y’know, I really thought I was a good judge of character. I had to be, to be fair, growing up, pursuing this career – you must always assume the worst until proven otherwise. That’s the safe way, and it’s served me well. Until it had me screaming and yelling at everyone. That’s not—right. It makes me absolutely nauseous.

So, all of these estimated traits, good and bad, have either been tossed or been filtered out.

It boils down to Maverick and his easy grin. He walks along the edge of the sidewalk, just looking at me with that goddamn easy grin. I’ve half a mind to slap him, just to give me a break from his attention. It makes me horribly self-conscious, forces a little thrill on me, like when you’re at the apex of a rollercoaster, just about to tip over. It feels like that, but it also feels like light streaming through a half-blinded window, so the warmth just collects there on the sill so that, when you touch it, you wish you could roll under it like a blanket. Of course, that warmth accumulates. I’m sweating. Like—a—pig.

Jesus, I want to scream into my hands with how good he looks. His dark hair is still slightly damp with seawater, stiff in some places and criminally soft in others. Every now and then, he’ll pull at the white button-up that sticks just a little to his chest, to the contours of his stomach, and fan the skin there. Jesus Christ. My hands are basically twitching to touch him there, to feel the heat of him beneath my palm, solid and beating gently with his heartbeat. I clasp my fingers very tightly around my fork, my crêpe slip, concentrating it all into one point.

I can’t tell if feeling like this is the best or the worst. Jesus, imagine if the other guys knew. They’d never shut up about it. Christ, they’d never take me seriously again. I don’t want to be the “girlfriend” – I want to be a formidable pilot. So many people just don’t think those two things can ever coexist.

Not that I want to be a girlfriend. I couldn’t say that word out loud without feeling wrong. I’m a lot of things, but I don’t know if I could be that.

A bike passes with an urgent ring of its bell, and Maverick twists his body in towards mine, hand hovering over my back, to push me out of the way from it.

I go blank, scrambling to remember where we were in the conversation, mouth dry.

“So, you’re telling me,” I begin, grinning, “going into Return of the Jedi, you hoped that Luke and Leia would end up together?”

Mav sighs and rolls his eyes, tearing off a little of what remains of the crêpe. ‘Well, at the time, I didn’t know they we’re fuckin’ siblings—”

“Maverick, that is incest.”

“Come on!” he laughs, and it’s the best sound in the world. “Goose thought so, too! Luke’s the main guy, so, like, it’s not not logical to think he’d get the main girl, right—?”

“But it’s Han Solo!” I exclaim, throwing my head back with a snort. He smiles down at me, eyes warm, in a way that I’m probably misinterpreting and will replay over and over in my head when I’m trying to sleep in bed tonight. “I thought you’d be a Han Solo kind of guy.”

“What, I remind you of him?” He tosses his head back and smoulders. I fake a gag.

“Well, he’s just—he’s just—” I trail off into laughter. “He’s really—I can’t explain it! If you ask any girl, she’ll know what I mean. Han Solo is so—” I giggle again, remembering how stunned and attracted to him I was when I first watched A New Hope in the theatre. “He’s just a lot of things.”

“Oh, yeah?—like what?”

Gosh, I can feel myself burning up – does he have to lower his voice like that? Does he have to try and catch my eye? God, it’s almost easier to hate him, to be honest – at least then I wouldn’t be acting like such a puddle.

“Like, charming and daring and, um—and clever, and—I don’t know. It’s just the way he speaks or something.”

He hums, hands in his pockets, his dad’s jacket draped over his forearm – I don’t think I’ve seen him go anywhere without that leather jacket. “And you like those things?” he pushes.

I bark out a laugh. “C’mon, Maverick, everyone like those things.” True enough – I could be blind and still fall in love with Han Solo and his smooth-talking. “And why Luke? Even if they weren’t siblings, why him? He had zero chemistry with—”

“Because he’s the chosen one!”

“—yeah, well, he—”

“He’s cool! Luke is objectively cool. He’s a pilot, he’s a Jedi, he’s a leader, he’s—”

“What-ever!” I exclaim, scrunching up my nose at him, and we giggle into quiet. “I’m not saying I didn’t like him as a character – I think he’s an amazing character. I just wouldn’t fuck ‘im.” I cackle at the absurdity of it all.

We continue walking.

Maybe all of this will fade in a couple hours. Maybe it’s the magic of Top Gun, this beach, this dusk that settles in fast around us, the lights that illuminate the darkening boardwalk. It’ll all be over in a couple more weeks, anyway. Bee ‘n’ I’ll go back to the carrier and be on with things, and Maverick will do whatever it is that he does. I know Goose says we should make plans to meet after school’s out, but who really has the time to spare? So, thank God Mav didn’t ride in on his motorcycle, ‘cause, if he’d insisted I hop on and wrap my arms around him and rest my head on his shoulder and la-la-la, I’d be in great danger of sleeping with him.

“D’you wanna head straight back?”

I look up at him. “Hmm?”

Jesus, he needs to tone down his looks or something – it’s disarming, a hazard, really. Those green eyes are givin’ me some mean butterflies, alright. Nowadays, I’ll see him fresh out of the sky, hair spiky and dishevelled with sweat – he doesn’t wear helmet hair as well as others, that’s for certain – and I’ll have to bury my face in my locker. I’ll see him absentmindedly chewing on his dog-tags, and it’ll have me air-headed for the rest of a lecture. I can’t classify it as a distraction, but it’s—certainly not intended. My head isn’t screwed on so tight, and I can’t keep tipping up in the cockpit – I know my ambition to win and these thoughts about Maverick have no correlation, but, good God, maybe if I could just focus more in classes—

“There’s—” he starts, then swallows. “We could go to the pier. Not really a view anymore, but we could see some lights. Boats, maybe.”

“Yeah,” I reply, excitement jolting through my body.

“Yeah?” I nod. He smiles. “Okay.”

When he asks me if I’m cold, he readjusts his jacket on his arm, like he’s already made his mind up to lend it to me. Of course, I shake my head – I’d probably end up stinking up the damn thing with how much I seem to be sweatin’.

We take our time to the end of the pier. When we reach the railing, we step up onto the bar and lean out to look down at the softly lapping water.

“You—erm—”

I turn to look at him, and the stutter of his words stops abruptly, his eyes wide. He looks at me dumbly, like I’m one of the seven fuckin’ wonders. Now, I’ve seen Maverick drunk, stupid, and downright embarrassing himself—just think of the time she lost that fuckin’ lovin’ feeling—but, even when he doesn’t know something, he always keeps face. He always has something to say. Now?—now, here, he looks hopeless.

“You—”

“I what, Mitchell?” I grin, shoving my hair behind my ear in light of the strong breeze that suddenly billows in from across the sea. “Watching the ships, right?” There they are: little dots on the horizon.

He flushes, snapping his attention away. “Right.”

I know what’s coming – I pick up on all of it: the fidgeting of his hands, the downcast dart of his eyes, the way he bites down on the inside of his cheek. Though it kinda perks me up to begin with, I just end up wilting again at the reminder of a certain instructor who I am evidently not.

Still, it’s nice to hear him say: “It’s just—” I tilt my head towards him, “—I think you’ve got great eyes. Great everything really. I dunno. I think—you’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”

I snort. “That 4% really got to you, hey, Mav?”

He doesn’t laugh, just pauses, takes a second to think about what he’s going to say. “I—don’t know—how to say it.”

My heart drops—in the bad way. “What?"

“That I think about you—a lot.”

Oh, Christ. I let out a deep sigh, and, immediately, his face drops like a stone. “Oh, don’t do that, Maverick.”

“Do what?” he protests through a weak smile.

I recoil just a little bit: he’s a flirt, yes, but I didn’t take him for a dirtbag. “Do what?” my ass. He knows what. Blonde-hair-and-bright-eyes, who’s what. Think of how smart she is, how accomplished she is, how beautiful she is, how level and respected she is – all of these things and a man can still write Charlie of as not that big a deal? That’s fuckin’ low.

“You’re being mean,” I tell him firmly, trying to force down the disgust that pushes under my tongue and the embarrassment that burns over my cheeks.

Maybe Carole and Goose really weren’t exaggerating. Maybe he has got eight women all lined up for him, just waiting for him to call.

His hand makes to touch my shoulder but doesn’t end up making contact – it just hovers, unsure. Either way, I wasn’t going to let it happen. Either way, I find myself scurrying back, away.

Mav has the audacity to look confused. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to—”

“So, what?” I snap, hopping down from the railing and scowling unabashedly at him once more. “I’m one of those girls you string along?”

He laughs – only, it’s not cute anymore; it’s fucking annoying. “No—!”

The wind blows strongly, warm, still, but with the promise of a storm. I have to raise my voice in order to get myself across, I tell myself: “What?—you wanna challenge yourself, or something? Me and Charlie—?”

This?—this seems to piss him off. Mav’s expression crumples into indigence as he protests strongly again, “No—!"

“But—”

“Phantom,” he presses desperately, eyes pleading for me to listen – I’ve seen that expression on him before; every time I’ve ignored it, I’ve ended up regretting it, yelling myself silly over a misunderstanding. So, I pause. I listen. The urgent haze fades away within the span of three deep breaths.

“I wanted Charlie’s advice on how to speak to you. I was nervous—am nervous—and I don’t want to say the wrong thing. She’s very—to-the-point. And Goose and Bee fluff like their lives depend on it.”

Nice one. Nice going, Tommy: do what you do best and throw a fuckin’ rage, why don’t you?

“I thought you didn’t like me—” I say to him dumbly, “—after what I said to you.”

We don’t talk about that argument in the locker rom. We don’t talk about the one after volleyball either, or the one in the air. It’s no excuse – that Viper is breathing down my neck, that I know Skipper expects highly of me – to act like a dick to all the competitors that block my way to that damn trophy. I need to climb this hill.

And here Maverick is, thinking about me—a lot.

“Your opinion matters to me more than you’d think,” he admits with a snarky, little snort. “You’re—” he trails off; the gale dies down. “You’re just—I don’t know how to put it. I’m—not great at the serious-talking stuff.”

“Embarrassed?” I tease. God, I know I am.

He grins. “A little bit.”

We make our way back to the dorms, talking. He tells me he’s liked me ever since this one lecture at the beginning of Top Gun—after the induction, after the bar, after the first exercise—when he’d said something dumb in response to Charlie’s criticism. According to him: “You turned back and looked at me and—and you just smiled. God, I dunno – I just couldn’t look away from you. Even—even after you, y’know, y’turned back around, I—I was just staring at the back of your head, hoping you’d do it again. That you’d look at me again, smile at me again.”

I don’t even remember that day.

He walks me to the door of my dorm, where the windows are all dark and the blinds all flat shut.

No way to make it up to him. No time, either. Should’ve kissed him right then and there at the bar that first night when he came over to the jukebox. Bee saw it in my face – I know that now. I should’ve let him win that bet with himself.

I might be about to do him that favour now, I guess. All flushed, all pretty, all nervous—he gets nervous?—Maverick is so close to me that the heat of his body radiates onto mine, far too dangerous for my liking. This is not what I intended. This is so far off my plan of how this program was gonna go.

But his nose is brushing mine, and his hands are so warm and gentle as they press over my arms.

“Can—?”

I nod softly. “Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

The kiss, when it comes, is this soft, tentative sink into a brittle release. The gentle press of his nose into my warm cheek elicits a quiet sigh from the both of us – the break from silence must render me into this here embarrassing mess, melting like the ice-cream we shared earlier in the hot sun, because Mav gets that shit-eating grin on his face like he’s watching me lose to him at volleyball all over again. Whatever – he’s the one that probably had to take a cold shower over how I looked.

I cup my hand over the back of his neck, drawing him closer still to me.

Maverick kisses like he’s paying attention to every single detail of it – his eyes are slanted just slightly open, watching my face, and one of his hands rests kindly over my neck, his fingers pressing just a little into the pulse point which I’m sure is racing like a damn horse by now.

Of course, he’s beautiful at this. Just my fuckin’ luck. Technically, yes, it is prohibited to have sexual relations on work premises. Even a man and a woman behind a locked door is assumed to be inappropriate – I’ve heard that one too many a time by the air boss back on the carrier. I’m far from a goody-two-shoes, but rules are rules for a reason. So, of course, it’s just my luck that I meet an unfairly handsome pilot with pretty eyes and entirely too destabilising a kiss. He trails his nose down along my jaw before burying it there in my neck; I hold him tight to me, fingers curling around the thick muscle of his shoulders.

When we kiss again, it’s different: searing, crushing, slow, breathless. The chorus of crickets and cicadas and other night-things is drowned out by the roaring of blood in my ears and the soft noise that slips past Mav’s lips as he pauses for breath, to pant hotly over my cheek.

“You’re gonna have to help me out here, stud,” I mumble helplessly against him, to which he nods fiercely, reaching out blind for the door-knob and guiding me stumbling into my room.

Bee isn’t here – upon the side table, there’s a little, folded note that reads in chicken-scratch handwriting: Staying with Goose for the night. Have fun!

#pete mitchell x reader #pete maverick mitchell x reader #pete mitchell #top gun #top gun maverick #goose bradshaw #tom cruise x reader #im back on my bullshit #i feel the need for speed #i need him in me

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bradshawsbaby · 2 years

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“Danger Zone” came on the radio while I was driving and I swear it got my blood pumping like nothing else.

#danger zone #kenny loggins #top gun #top gun: maverick #I feel the need for speed #which is probably not good while I’m driving

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schumaclerc · 2 years

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Sir Lewis Hamilton on Being Knighted by King Charles, Begging to Be in Top Gun & Formula 1 Racing

#lewis hamilton #f1 #f1edit #*#lewis #I FEEL THE NEED FOR SPEED

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gunskins · 2 years

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Most of us will never know the feeling of breaking the sound barrier, but the next best thing is making lead fly downrange at speeds in excess of Mach 2! - https://bit.ly/mag-skin-subscription

#gunskins #mag skin of the month #ar15 #ar 15 #ar-15 #maverick #top gun #need for speed #i feel the need for speed #mag skin #mag wrap

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egophiliac · 2 months

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(almost) four years in, and I finally had time to draw something for the anniversary! woo! 🎉🎉🎉

#art #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland spoilers #because i need to talk for a minute about how the plot of the anniversary story so far is literally just #crowley jumpscares us in our living room to demand we make him lunch and yuu is just like 'i need to start locking the door'#oh twst you always know just how to get me #the qol updates though! CONVERTING SINGLE KEYS INTO 10-SETS YES THANK YOU OH MY GOD #SKIP LESSON TICKETS!!!!#3X BATTLE SPEED!!!!!!!!!!!!#SAVE TEAM BUILDS AND SUPPORT CARDS FINALLY AHHHHH #oh and some other stuff too but look i NEEDED these things #also master chef grim! he's so precious!#though he's not going to get a little sporty uniform after all?#grim canonically flies in the nude i guess #no it's okay chef grim is ADORABLE #if you zoom in on his card you can see little smoodges from his inexpert cake decoration 😭#which on the one hand is cute but on the other hand i'd been convinced he'd just slapped some frosting and candles on an actual can of tuna #anyway happy (a few days until the) fourth anniversary everybody!#i've been here since the beginning (preregistered during the dorm reveals babyyyy) and it REALLY doesn't feel like it's been four years #you know what they say: time flies when you're watching anime characters have emotional problems

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drawnfamiliarfaces · 7 months

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Heroes of Millennium (HoM) AU

Act 1: What was left behind. - Part 1 (page 1-5) -here- -> Part 2

#heroes of millennium au #hom au #danny phantom #dp #jake long #american dragon jake long #adjl #YEEEEEE BABEY WE GETTING DROPPED RIGHT THE FREACK IN!! NO LONG INTROS JUST STRAIGHT UP MEAT HERE BABIES #CAN YOU TELL IM EXCITED EVEN IF I STIL YET TO ACTUALLY DRAW PART 2??? only rough sketch draft still but fuk it #i have 40 pages of rough comic im allowed to be excited of having that much??? never drew comics for shit before #i feel a need to apologize for my jake's dragon 'redesign' but i actually like it so i wont lol #i would apologize for falsely saying i would post it yesterday haha i overestimated my speed and typography took much longer than i hoped..#still prolonged 48 hours is better than not posting at all ;D #if you are confused and have questions dont worry its by design (sorta) lol. everything will be answered wit time...long time

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royalarchivist · 2 months

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I say this in the kindest way possible, but I think this style of prose is more appropriate for a personal account rather than an update account. I have no idea who's being talked about half the time. 🥲

[ Tumblr meme via @mikaikaika ]

#QSMP #Philza #Edited #Phil #Let me know if this needs an additional tag #I don't think this necessitates a discourse or neg tag or whatever because I'm being silly but I'm happy to add one if folks need it #I won't post this one on Twitter I don't think because I genuinely don't want to hurt anyone's feelings #but. I feel very strongly about this. It's not helpful #I say this as a fan and as a professional writer (who also worked in the Marketing and Communications field for far too long)#The prose is nice! It's very whimsical and they're having fun! But I don't think it's appropriate for an updates account #I recently turned off notifications for QsmpEN and I'm considering muting them because half the updates just aren't helpful to me #I want to be able to speed read through the update thread I don't want to spend an additional 30 seconds trying to decipher who's who #I don't like posting complaints so I tried to make it a funny complaint #because I do think feedback is good! And I know I'm not the only one who feels this way #but at the same time: these update writers ARE volunteers #(As a side note -- I personally think anyone running a large social media account should be paid)#(I did that for a few years and it was hell. I can't imagine doing that and NOT getting paid for it)#But anyways #They're all volunteers so I don't actually wanna go all pitchforks and torches on them (which I wouldn't do anyways even if they WERE paid)#I'm just venting my frustrations in what is (hopefully) a funny way #but you're welcome to disagree! That's ok too #Portfolio

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carnivalcarriondiscarded · 8 months

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lighting & color practice with the Fluffy Fruits <3

#apologies if this is low quality! i scribbled them Small!#they make me insaaaaane Insaaaaane~#me @ howdy: why is your waist so small? so that other men can hold it???#the answer is Yes #listen listen okay LISTEN-#yknow whenever i draw laughingstock #it feels like im just knocking two barbies together. full speed. little pieces of plastic are flying everywhere #AND ITS SO FUN <3 #they are in looooooove in love in love #yk in my mind theyre That Couple that never leaves the honeymoon phase #they delight in each other's company too much....#In. My. Mind.#laughingstock #scribble salad #howdy x barnaby #barnaby x howdy #GAHHHHHH RAH RAH RAH THESE FUCKIN SILLY LITTLE PUPPETS THAT WILL NEVER BE CANON #AGH AGH AGH #you see getting into wh is good for me bc its bringing me down several pegs #i Needed to get obsessed with a rarepair.#i got too greedy w/ pairings like timkon and sasunaru and aziracrow and nandermo etc etc #which all have at the very least Lots Of Subtext and Basis and Creations To Enjoy #this is good for me. im in my corner having a good somewhat solitary time #me and the like. two other laughingstock artists are parallel playing thankyew <3 #anyway laughingstock makes for a Good Warmup #scribble a few of these and im ready to work on Big Stuff! comms and the like!#they provide such a service to me emotionally and artistically <3 #they make the 'tism go Waaahhhhhh!!!!

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kazanskys-mitchell · 5 months

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ngl this sign would work on me

#i feel the need for speed every time i drive #the random tg shit i find on pinterest astounds me #top gun

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moeblob · 7 days

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Hello, can i have a modern sylvain pls??? PS: i love how you draw scrimblos

Finally another Wheel Spin and thankfully modern equals I get to draw someone with fish somewhere on their outfit. (Overlay layer my friend how I missed you)

#fe three houses #sylvain jose gautier #also shout out to literally everyone yesterday who backed me up and supported me on making sure i wasnt in pain #regardless of how others told me to take pain meds cause hoo boy #i do feel better today without the pressure of being a disappointment by taking care of pain as need be #esp since im making sure to not overuse it - like im still obeying the times in between the doses and not doing more than allowed #and so yeehaw managed to speed run sylvain aka it took 25 minutes and i know this bc i set a timer for 30mins #just to make sure i didnt overdo it from aiming to please too hard while still recovering #truly wheel rng and desktop timers my beloved #they really help me lmao................. i .... need the motivation to start too so setting a timer makes me have to start #instead of putting it off and off by scrolling here or staring at a blank canvas pondering nothing

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sil-te-plait-tue-moi · 2 years

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Time moves slowly.

Quick summary: You and Maverick spend some time together in bed before a busy day.

Warnings: Tooth-rotting fluff; swearing because I can’t survive without the word “fuck”; written in first-person (I dunno if that’s off-putting); mentions of smut (you're welcome).

Word count: 1K

A/N: Here’s a fluffy, little one shot for young Maverick because I just watched Amélie for the first time, Beabadoobee’s album just dropped, and I’m really getting into the summertime sadness feel. This is entirely self-indulgent, and I will be returning to this when I feel sad and lonely.

***

My heart swells dangerously at his touch. Soft, gentle, familiar, heartbreakingly similar to the warmth and caress of the lazy sunlight that filters through the blinds we forgot to close properly the night before. His arm curls just that bit closer around my waist, and we shift together in the pale sheets – I rifle my fingers tenderly in his hair, twiddling the ends between their tips, and press my nose to his scalp; he buries his face into the crook of my arm, groaning softly.

“It’s eight,” I mumble against him. He hums dismissively. “Gotta go to work,” I say. Another brush-off, and Mav curls further into my chest. The weight of him is too comfortable to even think about getting up, but him and I both know he’s in enough trouble with the CO as is. If he skips today’s penalty (helping out in introduction with some of the boots), he’ll probably be relocated. If there’s one thing Maverick’s good at, it’s getting on people’s nerves. That sort of cancels out the amazing pilot thing he’s got going on.

He moans distastefully into me. I snort.

“Just five more minutes,” is his reply. And because he’s so comfortable, because our new mattress is so much better, softer, than the old one, I allow it.

Sometimes, I think we’re a little too young for how old this relationship feels. Old in a good way. You know that sensation? Like a group of friends that you’ve known for ten years, or a place that you always used to sit when you were younger, when you had time, and are revisiting as you come back to your hometown to visit your parents. Maverick feels like that. When I was back in high school, I planned my future out meticulously. I had my career in the Navy all figured out, my education, how I would function. I planned that I would only have time for a serious relationship in my late thirties. Guess that changed when I met Mav at Top Gun. I bend my neck down, cup a hand behind his neck, and press a feathery kiss against his forehead. He smiles.

“Okay,” he whispers, lifting himself up on his forearms to quickly kiss my mouth. “You’ve convinced me.” I have my ways. “You’re so pretty.” Where’d that come from? Smooth, earnest, the warmth of his bare skin on mine is drowsy, only makes my eyelids all the heavier, but I wrap my arm around his back and inhale the smell of him as I meet his kiss with a grin.

Tired, I relax again and fall back against the pillow. Mav cups a warm hand around my neck, lifting me slightly, and gathers all my hair up to fan out over my head instead, like he knows I like. “Want me to close the windows?” he asks, recognising the slight chill of the bedroom. I nod my head, wriggling over onto my side, and he brushes a few kisses over my stomach, my sternum, before heaving himself up to his feet, letting out a languid groan as he scoops his clothes up off the floor. I watch him as he ambles on over to the window that overlooks the cul de sac behind us, fringed with flowers and trees that now, in the summer, are all green and flourishing. He ducks his head down and exclaims that he can see that ginger cat, the one that’s always so friendly with us, chasing a bird, and pulls on his underwear and his shirt. I press my nose into my hand, hiding a smile.

He closes the window, moving over to the other to do the same. “What d’you want for breakfast? Eggs?” I’ve been going through a fixation with scrambled eggs for the past two weeks. I hum my approval.

“Just make sure you’re not late today,” I tell him. “Commander Belfort really doesn’t like you.”

“Yeah, I know, but Commander Belfort’s also sort of a huge asshole, so—” he clicks his tongue, “—what can I do?”

I narrow my eyes at him, frowning. “Um, don’t piss him off on purpose?”

People are always love-or-hate with Mav. The reason his arrogance is tolerated is because of his talent – no-one can deny that Pete Mitchell is a great pilot; anyone who thinks otherwise is just plain wrong. But if he’s going to keep his position as a TOPGUN instructor, he’s going to have to wise up. After the skirmish around the Enterprise, we firmly decided together to choose the assignments that we really wanted, not to just use them to stay close to one another: I chose to attend a test pilot school in Maryland, with the goal of being assigned to an air test and evaluation squadron after graduation; and Maverick chose to become an instructor. Sometimes, the distance is inconvenient, but, when we moved in together, just knowing that there was—is—a place that’s ours is comforting.

If Maverick fucks up with Belfort, I know we’d get through it, but I think we’d both rather not. This works for us. Every now and then, I get to drive down the coast, leave behind that stuffy, little dormitory, and come home to him and this small house and this particular bed. I don’t want to give that up just because Mav has an attitude. He knows this.

So, just as he’s walking out the door, he throws me a wink and says, “I’ll try, honey.” From out in the hall, I hear him call back, “Love you, baby!”

“Love you, too!” I reply, smiling.

Jesus Christ, that boy’ll be the end of me.

#maverick x reader #pete mitchell x reader #pete maverick mitchell x reader #pete maverick mitchell #top gun #top gun: maverick #i feel the need for speed #young maverick #this man is so fine it hurts #you can’t tell me he wouldn’t be a huge sap when in a serious relationship #or maybe I’m self projecting #hmm

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skrunksthatwunk · 9 days

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sorry just watched all of lacey's games (thru rabbit hole at time of writing) and i wanna talk about laceys diner can we talk about lacey's diner? we're talking about it now

tl;dr lacey's games is about the presentation and consumption of girls.

cw suicide, csa, incest, cannibalism. if you've seen the series, you know. i only speak of them vaguely here though

in lacey's diner her livelihood depends on how well people like her food, how it looks, how it tastes, how quickly she gets it to them on time. if any of these things falter, they reject her and reinforce her desperation (trauma around failure and acceptance + threat of extreme poverty via the restaurant closing).

eating her food is accepting her, choosing to be with her in some way. lacey gets eaten in the prior episode so her stalker can be with her forever, out of an obsession with her (/her body) that leads him to destroy her to better possess and consume her (like her uncle). she can't be late serving them herself, because that's not good presentation—her inability to get food out on time is a reflection of her flaws, and a cause to reject her. she must be available for others, punctual. she can't put the wrong ingredients in—elements of herself, her life—she must exclude them entirely from the part they eat, the part she gives away. she keeps the part that is filled with the disgusting, ugly, painful things in her life, about her.

and when she gets fed up and feeds those raw, authentic parts of herself to them (out of spite, tired of trying her best to no avail, to give them a taste of their own medicine), she is punished, not allowed to serve anyone again bc it's too gross and dangerous. she is punished for lashing out, for not keeping it all bottled up, and in her helplessness, resigns herself to death.

as seen in rabbit hole, jay was too boyish to be consumed happily by the audience (the mothers in the emails), so she was killed off and effectively haunts lacey. if she is not presentable enough, she too will be destroyed and discarded. if she is too presentable, she will be consumed too completely. she has no control, no say (as we know from lacey's wardrobe), no agency outside of pretending she's in a sparkly dreamy world. and jay—who said she would rather die than wear makeup—is forced by lacey to wear makeup in death. she's fixing her by making her conform to the same gender standards she's strangled by, saying that if she was less boyish she wouldn't have died. again, femininity and conformity (and thus being pleasant to others, presenting oneself to be admired and consumed) is safe to lacey, something she must perform to survive. yet, of course, lacey is hurt immensely for her being a girl, for her being a woman, and for her trauma resulting from those events.

all her talk of being ugly when she's grieving, of almost crying in front of him (her uncle iirc), of needing to be pretty even for the people who abuse and hurt her... and how she wished the world was ugly and grotesque when jay died because that was how it felt, but it was just sunny and oblivious. she was the one standing out for being upset, and the world was pretending and consumable and she couldn't anymore. she had to scrape herself together though because what else is there? when her job and stability and life is at stake, how can she afford to be traumatized? to not pretend, even when she's alone? augh. ough. look i just like lacey. i want her to be ok

i don't know that lacey herself is supposed to have a linear, consistent story. i kind of think she's an avatar for like,, girlhood suffering and trauma, and the traumatized people who come from that (hence her dying in multiple ways and coming back). perhaps as rocio's way of warning or comforting girls who went through similar things to her, or to vent her own issues because the thought of making something that's such a farce, such a forced, gussied up version of what it's like to be a girl, bothers her. the audience comes to the website to consume lacey at her best, at her most presentable, and are instead met with the harsh reality of cockroaches and used condoms. and yet, the audience of lacey games the video series consumes her too, only they are seeking out her trauma, trying to invade her mind and pick it apart. we're all consuming what we want, whatever we find appetizing, of lacey. and for rocio, you get the sense that she is also a tool, a way for rocio to express her inner distress. in that, lacey is put through all this unfortunate shit by rocio to make her more presentable and consumable to her. we are all using lacey, we all see her and eat her and destroy her. and she comes back to us and her cage because the pain's comforting in its familiarity.

in short, aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa. 👍

#this is not conclusive and it's not edited so it's just me like. shitting out my thoughts full speed #but i hope you guys get it bc like. my mind is scrambled over this rn #lacey games #laceys games #anyway as someone whose mental whatevers lead me to not be able to do stuff i need to do like. constantly #laceys diner hits different. in a small way #and the whole series also hits in like. a gender way (<- im a girl but also im not a girl. + lesbian so. 👍)#like lacey feels transgendah to me in a way. might just be ny particular brain poison though

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