#C-2 cockpit

[nocternalrandomness]

US Navy C-2A Greyhound COD aircraft cockpit

[princessmisery666]

The Full Seresin Service - Part 2 of 3

Series Summary: You and Jake have been dancing around each other for a while. The Dagger Squad set it up so that the dancing stops, but a case of miscommunication could ruin it all.

Summary: The rules are set, the deal is made, and the Full Seresin Service begins. Nothing could possibly go wrong. Right?  

Warnings/Genres/Troupes: Fluff, flirting, teasing, smut, miscommunication.

W/C: 5.2k

Characters: Unnamed female reader (you/she/her), Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin, Natasha ‘Phoenix’ Trace, Javy ‘Coyote’ Machado. 

Pairing: Hangman x Female Reader. Phoenix x Coyote.

Notes: Reader has a call sign. 

Beta(s): @deanwinchesterswitch - thanks for saving the smut section 😄 // all mistakes are mine. Special shoutout to @writercole

Graphics: made by me on Canva.

Master Lists: Series // Top Gun Maverick // Main

I do not give consent for this or any other of my works to be reposted/reworked or translated on to any other account or platform.

You take your bottle of wine and a glass to the room. Your credit card will not thank you, but you don't care right now. You need to drown your sordid thoughts of Jake dropping that fluffy white towel and showing you what’s beneath it.

While juggling the bottle, a glass, your phone, and book, you manage to slip the keycard in and elbow the door handle down, using your butt to open the door and shuffle into the room. 

“Oh crap,” Jake grumbles.

He grabs his T-shirt from the end of the bed, but it's too late. You’ve seen it all, and it doesn’t help that he cups himself, the fabric of the shirt perfectly shapes his cock. He has to be doing it on purpose.

“Sorry,” you say, but don't bother turning around now that he’s partly covered up.

“What are you doing back here?” It’s more of an accusation than a question. “I saw you in the bar.”

“I didn’t feel like reading after all,” you say, walking further into the room and placing the bottle on the nightstand. “What are you doing back here?”

“I lost concentration too,” he says, “came back to change, was gonna work up a sweat in the gym.”

“You brought gym gear?”

“Like you didn’t.”

Urgh. You hate that he knows that you did. You never planned to do a full workout. After all, you're on vacation, but you’d have done some light cardio at least.

You backtrack, annoyed at yourself that you're predictable or that he knows you're better than you like. “And I didn’t say I lost concentration. I’m not that easily swayed.”

He snorts a chuckle, “Could’ve fooled me.” His cocky smirk spreads wide. “You can’t keep your eyes on my face.”

Of course, your eyes betray you, drifting down to his crotch and back up again. “Well, that’s because I’m not blind, and I saw everything and can still see it ‘cause you're holding it like a…a…dick.” You realize your mistake and quickly try to correct it. “I don’t mean a dick like a cock. I mean, you’re a dick!”

Jake laughs, an actual stomach laugh, and you do not take to being laughed at lightly. You grab a pillow from the bed and launch it at him. Naturally, Jake, being Jake, catches it with one hand and replaces the tee with the pillow. 

“Better?” he asks smugly. “Now you can’t see it.”

“Whatever,” you sneer.

“That’s not a yes.”

“Jake,” you scold. “You promised you wouldn’t annoy me. And you’ve already annoyed me by letting Javy and Natasha set this whole thing up, so just stop, please.” 

“Wait? Set what up?”

“Don’t play dumb ‘cause I know you’re not.”

“Pretend I am.”

“The whole fuckin’ dagger squad set it up so we’d team up and win to send us here to…” Your arms flail around, searching for the word, but it doesn’t help, and you drop them, defeated. “I don’t even know what.”

Geez. You hate how flustered he makes you. When you are face to face and not in a cockpit, you always have to be careful about what you say. You're always conscious of how he can misconstrue something or turn it into innuendo. 

“Cosmo, I swear I didn’t know anything about that.” he pleads for you to believe him. “Coyote gave me the ice cream clue, but honestly, at the time, I thought he was playing me.”

“It doesn’t matter,” you say softly. “We’re here now, so can we just do what we said we’d do and stay out of each other’s way.”

“I will, I promise,” he states. “But I really need you to know I had no hand in setting this up. Us teaming up or winning, or you walking in here and seeing me naked ‘cause that’s disgusting, creep-level shit, and I swear it’s purely coincidence. Coyote texted me about you, and I needed an outlet, so I was going to work out, I swear.” 

“Fuck,” you huff, “Coyote and Phoenix strike again. She texted me, and I needed to stop thinking about it, so I came back here to drink away my…” 

“Feelings.”

“Thoughts.” You correct with an incredulous look. “I don’t have feelings for or about you, Hangman.”

“That’s bullshit,” he states. “You avoid being alone with me ‘cause you don’t trust yourself.”

Shit. He really does know you better than you thought. But you're saved by the bell, or rather the knock on the door. You walk to answer it and hear Jake moving around. You hope he’s dressing to go to the gym.

You take the ice bucket from the concierge and thank him before closing the door. So as not to get another peek at Jake, you keep your head down as you make your way back to the wine on the nightstand. You pour a glass and put the bottle in the ice. If Jake weren’t there, you’d probably swig from the bottle. You need to be done with the conversation and Jake.

“I’ll leave you alone,” he says sincerely. “If you answer me one thing.” 

You gulp half a glass of wine and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. “What?”

“Why are you resisting this?”

“Honestly,” you sigh, turning to face him. He’s pulled on a pair of boxer briefs but nothing else. It makes it slightly easier to talk to him. “I’m not a true member of the Dagger squad. You all have this deep bond I’ll never be a part of. I had to earn my place, and sometimes, I’m still an outsider.”

“That’s not true,” Jake argues. “You’re one of us. None of us ever think otherwise.”

“Maybe,” you shrug with a half smile. “But you have a reputation, Hangman. You’re not exactly the stable relationship kind of guy. A couple of weeks with someone is the most you can manage. I know if I gave in to you, you’d get a ‘atta boy’ and proud slaps on the back, but me, I’d lose the respect of our friends.”

“You mean the friends who set this up?” he asks. 

He has a point, and he knows it too. You're silent for too long, and he slowly makes his way around the bed to stand in front of you. “You want this as much as I do. We make a good team. Scrap that. We’re the best team in the air. I wanna know if that translates to the ground, too. There’s something between us that each of us is trying to ignore and clearly failing miserably.” 

You laugh lightly because he’s right. “There’s nothing but lust between us, Jake,” you counter. “We want what we can’t have, the low-hanging forbidden fruit.”

“Ouch,” he laughs. 

“Don’t pretend you're not an easy lay,” you jest. 

The dig of his promiscuity doesn’t deter him. He steps closer, his eyes soft and his tone sincere. “Give me a chance,” he suggests. “A weekend pass. We’ll keep it between you and me. We’ll eat the forbidden fruit, and it’ll be our secret.” he winks. “No one has to know.”

He’s right. Again. No one would need to know, and they’d have no way of finding out. Sure, Hangman could be a douche and tell them, but what proof would he have?

He’s already wearing you down, so there’s no need for the extra, “I promise I’ll make it the best weekend of your life. No-holds-barred. Full Jake Seresin service,” but it’s nice to know he’s committed.

“You know I’m seeing someone. Klay, remember him?” 

“Please, that fizzled out a week ago for you,” he jeers. “You’ve seen him a total of three times in the last five weeks. Two of those were drinks at the Hard Deck, and I gave you a ride home. If I know you as well as I think I do, you’ve got a text saved in your notes telling him you don’t want to see him again. You're just waiting for the right time.”

You really need to put some distance between your personal and professional life. 

“I have two conditions,” you say. 

He nods, smile already morphing to an air of smugness. “Anything.” 

“Whatever does or does not happen, we remain professional. It doesn’t affect our work.”

“Done.” 

“No one knows anything,” you say sternly. “They can guess and speculate, but nothing is ever confirmed.”

“Done.” he holds his hand out for you to shake, but you have other ideas. Stepping into his personal space, you deliver a gentle kiss to his lips. 

His reaction is immediate. It’s a flurry of caressing, groping, and clothing being removed. A hand cradles the back of your head, and the other finds purchase on your hip. The press of his flesh against yours is electric, and you shiver as his tongue sweeps over your bottom lip.

Jake moans as you open up to him, deepening the kiss. His hand slips to your ass cheek as he slowly shuffles you both toward the bed, pink lips now suckling on your neck. You laugh as you both tumble onto the mattress when he misjudges the distance. He’s quick to follow as you shuffle toward the headboard, his mouth latching onto a breast, and his tongue swirls over the taut nipple.

“F- fuck,” you whimper as you arch into him.

Sharp teeth gently graze the nub, and he mumbles, “You have beautiful tits,” as he shifts to suck the neglected nipple into the damp heat of his mouth. Jake’s hands rest on your hips as he knees closer between your legs. A hand replaces his mouth, kneading your breast as he sits up. “I’ve wanted you like this for a long time.”

“Well, now that you’ve got me, what’s your plan?” you snark, eyes mere slits as you stare up at his pretty face. The smirk you typically want to smack from his smug features is now inexplicably sexy as he pops a brow.

“Well, I was thinking maybe a little begging…”

The hard pinch to your pebbled bud contrasts with the soft brush of fingers up your thigh, and your walls clench as goosebumps race across your flesh.

“Maybe a little screaming.” Jake leans forward and presses a hand into the pillow next to your head as the other splays over your stomach, thumb lightly brushing your clit.

You tilt your hips, seeking friction, and he chuckles, shifting his hand up and away from where you need him. Refusing to give him what he wants so easily, you bite your lip to keep the plea locked away.

“Now, now, none of that. I want to hear you.” Jake nips at your bottom lip, pulling it from between your teeth. At the same time, he slips two fingers into your already slick heat, causing you to jerk and moan loudly. “There we go.”

Not wanting to give him the upper hand – you silently chuckle at the unintentional pun – you reach down and encircle his dick with a gentle squeeze.

The steady pump of his fingers falters as he growls, “Shit!” But he grasps your wrist to halt any movement on your part. “Nope. Not yet.”

“Jake,” you whine, dragging out his name. “That’s not fair.”

“I haven’t heard any begging yet.” The pressure of his grip increases, and he pulls his fingers from inside you, slowly licking each one clean as he stares you down.

You hate to admit how easily he got you worked up, but your body betrays you. You’re right on the precipice, and you want him to send you over the edge in the best way. Loosening your hold on his throbbing dick, you whimper, “Please…”

“What was that?” He releases your wrist, capturing your hand and entwining your fingers as he pushes them into the pillow above your head. “Do you need something?”

The smug smile is back, and you have reverted to wanting to slap it off his face, but instead, you give in and plead, “Please… please… I want you to make me come,” while plotting your revenge.

“That’s better.”

He squeezes your hand and swiftly pushes his fingers back inside you as his thumb circles your clit. 

Jake is as adept with his hands in the bedroom as he is in the cockpit of a fighter jet. Within moments, you’re screaming his name, your free hand gripping the back of his neck, your inner muscles contracting tightly around the fingers pressed against that sweet spot.

“Damn,” Jake groans, “that’s so hot. But we’re just getting started.”

Jake struts into the bathroom and presses himself to your back, resting his chin on your shoulder. He smiles at your reflection in the mirror while you set your toiletries out on the countertop. He lived up to his reputation, and after a few rounds of him making you come with his tongue, fingers, and cock you decide to shower to give you both some time to recover.

“You're getting all clean just for me to make you dirty again,” Jake smirks, kissing your shoulder and scrapping it away with his teeth.

“You can get me as dirty as you like,” you say, “but I need to shower.”

“Seems like a waste, but okay.” he shrugs and holds up the room service menu. “Do you want more wine or water?”

“Both,” you chuckle, “we’re gonna need to hydrate.”

“Copy that,” he says before smacking your ass and walking back into the room to put the order in.

You overindulge in the shower because the water pressure is impressive, and the waterfall showerhead is calming. You also need a minute, or ten, to get yourself in check. The sex is phenomenal, but Jake has surprised you. Shockingly, he’s respectful, attentive, and not as selfish as you expected. He constantly checked in to make sure you were okay, and that you liked what he was doing, and though he rarely needed it, he asked for direction. 

You recognize this is dangerous ground to be walking on, but it’s only a weekend, two nights of surrendering to your desires, and then it’s over. You can do this.  

There’s little point in dressing again. Jake is sure to have you naked and moaning again soon enough, so once you’ve showered, you opt for a t-shirt and clean underwear - you need to be somewhat presentable when room service arrives.

You're pulling the garment over your head as you leave the bathroom, but you freeze as soon as your head is free.

Jake is standing beside the prepared table, wearing nothing but a smile and a white towel slung over his arm. The dimmed lights and the candles dotted around the room create dancing shadows on the walls. The table is set for two - silver serving trays with large round lids hiding the delicious-smelling delights beneath them, and a bottle of wine is cooling in the ice bucket. A single rose in a slim vase adorns the center of the table, with a small gift-wrapped box set in front of it.

“Jake,” you gasp, unable to hide the shock.

His smile is full of charm and pride at the reaction. “I told you,” he says, walking closer, “full Seresin service.”

“I’m getting more naked butler vibes,” you jest, accepting his offered hand and letting him lead you to the table.

He laughs, pulling out your chair, “Same thing.” Quickly, he rushes around to his side, picking up the gift and handing it to you as he sits down. “I swear I picked this up before the whole setup and sex thing. It‘s meant as a thank you for letting me join you.”

Intrigue has you ripping off the fancy bow and paper with perhaps too much enthusiasm. It’s a bottle of your favorite perfume, thoughtful, expensive, and unexpected.

“You said it was your favorite back at the store,” Jake explains. 

“Thank you.”

It’s a lovely gesture, and though you don’t want to think about it, you can’t help but wonder how many women have been charmed by the Full Seresin Service. He clearly knows what you want, the romance of it all, but come Monday morning, this will all be a distant memory.

The following day is a blur of sex. Jake doesn’t hold back, and you each teach the other a thing or two. He takes a shower around four and has some kind of epiphany while seemingly enjoying the fancy shower because he exits with a wide grin and a burst of enthusiasm. 

“Do what you need to get ready for a fancy event,” he says.

“What?” you question, watching him pull on sweats. “I didn’t pack anything to wear to a fancy event, Jake.”

“Trust me,” he says, sitting on the chair and slipping his sneakers on. “Take a shower, do your make-up, leave the rest to me.”

“Where’re you going?” 

He grabs his wallet and phone, swipes the room key from the top of the dresser, and gives you a swift kiss. “Trust me,” he says again, leaning back to look at you. “I won’t be long, you’ve got an hour.”

He’s true to his word, and less than an hour later, he returns carrying three shopping bags and a proud smile. 

You’ve applied light make-up and styled your hair, “You look good.” Jake compliments. “Here,” he hands you the largest bag and one of the smaller ones. “Take them in the bathroom, but don’t come out until I tell you.”

He’s far too excited, but you don’t protest his instructions, intrigued by what the big surprise is. 

In the bathroom, you pull the garment out of the bag - a long, bronze, cowl-neck chiffon dress. It’s beautiful and undoubtedly expensive because he’s already removed the tags. There are strappy heels to match in the other bag.

You slip the dress on over your head, careful not to touch your hair, and it instantly makes you feel sexy. The fabric is soft, and the color looks good on you.

“Ready when you are,” Jake calls.

After putting the shoes on, you take a few extra moments to check your reflection, twisting left and right. It’s not the kind of dress you can wear underwear with, and you shuffle your panties off. Now, the gesture of the dress makes a little more sense. You assume there’s something in it for Jake, too.

Jake gasps as soon as you step out. “Wow.” his mouth remains in the O shape while you twirl for him. “Damn, you look… wow.” 

You look him up and down - black suit pants, formal shoes, his shirt and jacket are the same bronze color as your dress. He looks edible, but before the drool can escape your mouth, he’s in your space.

His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you in close to him. He nips your ear. “Maybe we forget the rest of the plan, and I’ll just fuck you in this dress instead.”

“I mean, that is the deal,” you laugh, scrapping your nails down the nape of his neck, “but I’m intrigued about the rest of the plan.”

“Come on,” he grins, taking your hand and leading you out of the room.

The room is filled with joy. Everyone is smiling and happy, people chatting and dancing, eating the canapes being served by the wait staff. Jake feels giddy. He has no other word for it and brushes it off as the atmosphere in the room, but he knows better. It’s you, or rather the two of you.

It feels right. Like the last puzzle piece falling into place after months of trying to figure out the complex picture.  

Jake senses you’re nervous, eyes darting around the room, sipping your drink too often. “Relax,” he says, placing a reassuring hand on the small of your back.

“How can I?” you ask, “we’re gate crashing a wedding.” 

“Act like you belong,” he advises, “We look like we belong. Stop worrying.” He catches a server as they pass, grabs two fresh glasses of champagne from the tray, and hands you one. “To the bride and groom.” 

“Whoever they are,” you toast.

Jake keeps his hand on the small of your back as you each watch the celebration for a while. It’s not only to assure you he’s there but also to make sure anyone looking, and he’s seen a few men looking, knows that you're with him.

“So, Jake,” you start, wistful and light as you turn your back to the room and focus on him. “Is this your end goal? Marriage? Kids? The whole nine yards?”

“Definitely,” he nods, “someday.”

You can’t hide your expression, even though you try by taking a delicate sip of your drink. 

He cocks his brow. “Why does that shock you?”

“It doesn’t, not really. You're a family guy. I’ve seen that on family days and heard you call your sister, but” you grimace around in an apologetic tone, “you don’t exactly pick the settling-down types.”

“Ha,” he laughs. “Okay, that’s fair.” He sobers a little, mind reeling at the list of exes he knows you're aware of to have made that conclusion.

“You tend to go for the jealous, insecure, toxic type,” you explain. “And that’s not to say you’re not as toxic sometimes, but there’s a pattern.”

He scoffs in offense. “Wait a second, when have I been the toxic one?”

“Laura.” You say without hesitation. “You let her believe you and me were screwing because you wanted to break up with her.”

“No, no, no,” Jake corrects, “you got that all wrong. I did break up with her and she assumed it was because of you. That’s not my fault.”

“Did you explicitly tell her we weren’t sleeping together?”

He shrugs, laughing around the rim of his glass. “No, ‘cause I was too busy trying to sleep with you.”

You shake your head, rolling your eyes. “And Nicole?”

“Okay, yeah, she was just a crazy person.”

“I know!” you remember. “She threw a bottle at me in the Hard Deck. If it weren't for Nat’s cat-like reflexes, I’d have a scar right now.”

“That was some kung-fu master shit she pulled. I think that’s what made Coyote fall for her.”

“Don’t change the subject, Lieutenant,” you say. “What about Kate? I had to pretend to be your pregnant wife to get her to leave you alone.”

“Point made, toxic, jealous, and insecure.” he agrees. “I guess I’m not ready to settle down yet, so I keep making bad decisions.”

“Well, what’s one more?” you wink. 

His heart skips, and he feels a little sick. You’re not a bad decision. In fact, you're probably the only good decision, women-wise, he’s made since he was a teenager. 

You're the take-back-home type of girl. The kind of woman he’d proudly introduce to his family. Though the predecessors who had the privilege didn’t work out, he feels if it were to end the same with you, you’d forever be the ex that his family continued to invite to family functions, and his mom would sigh and tell him he’d lost a good one every time she saw you.

“You are not jealous, insecure, or toxic, Cosmo,” Jake says. 

“Exactly,” you laugh. “So clearly not your type.”

He doesn’t correct you, even though you are absolutely wrong. “What about you?” Jake asks. “You want the whole nine yards?”

“I guess, with the right guy.” You finish your drink and put the empty glass on the table. “Okay, if we’re doing this,” you say, “let's do it right. Mr Seresin, may I have this dance?” 

He accepts your offered hand and leads you to the dance floor. A few people give you odd looks, trying to place who you are, but it’s easily ignored.

Jake’s raging boner after one and a half slow songs and perhaps too much winding and grinding for a public place is not so easily ignored. “Let’s get out of here,” you whisper, and he gladly takes you back to the room.

The sex after the wedding was mind-blowing. Jake doesn’t know how, but every time, it gets better. He feels the butterflies in his stomach every time you touch him, casual touches, a brush of his hand, a lazy sleep-hazed kiss. 

It’s Sunday afternoon, the last night, and Jake knows without a doubt that he’s not ready to let this go. It’s not just about the sex, which is fucking - excuse the pun - amazing, but it’s the intimacy of it all too.

You're different. In the confines of the hotel room, you're freer, shameless, and adventurous, revealing secrets that only make him want you more. The pillow talk is deep and meaningful and, at other times, fun and light. Both make him want to talk to you as much as fuck you. 

He lies on the bed, watching you pack your suitcase. The items you won’t need in the morning. “Urgh,” you groan, “I hate packing.” 

“Me too.”

“I wish I was that last-minute kinda person,” you say, folding a clean t-shirt and placing it neatly in the suitcase. You haven’t had much use for the clothes you packed. 

Jake cocks his brow at you in the mirror, “You are wasting precious fuckin’ time.”

“I know,” you say with an apologetic grimace. “The weekend pass expires at midnight. But I can’t not do this.”

He laughs lightly, shuffling off the bed, and saunters over, slipping his arms around your waist while you organize your things. “Worth the price of admission?”

“Absolutely.” You smirk at his reflection in the mirror. “Ten out of ten. Would highly recommend.”

“Repeat customer?” he asks, sucking in a breath and holding it while he waits for your answer. He can laugh it off as a joke if the reply is negative, but he hopes it’s positive.

“I’ll leave the money on the dresser,” you squirm out of his embrace, turning to kiss his lips quickly. “Gigolo Jake.”

“I’ve been called worse,” he admits, delivering a harder kiss to your cheek. “I’m gonna take a shower.”  

The shower is running, but he’s not under the spray. Instead, he’s naked, sitting on the cold closed toilet lid, texting Coyote.

He’s breaking the rules. He knows he is, but he needs to talk it through with someone because what he’s feeling is new and confusing.

<Hangman: I need you to promise me this stays between us. Not even Phoenix can know. 

>Coyote: What’d you do now bro?

<Hangman: Promise me. 

>Coyote: Promise.

<Hangman: I slept with her. 

>Coyote: So?

<Hangman: Repeatedly.

>Coyote: I’m confused. Was it bad or something?

<Hangman: No. It was…

He struggles to find the word, and his cock twitches while his memory replays the last twenty-four hours.

<Hangman: Phenomenal. I wanna do it again and again and again.

>Coyote: 🤣🤣🤣. Sorry to tell you but that’s what happens when you like someone Jake. You go back for more.

<Hangman: Not me. 

>Coyote: Except now you feelin’ some type of way and you’re freaking out.

<Hangman: YES! What the hell man?! It was supposed to be a one-and-done!

>Coyote: Man, I'm the wrong person to ask. I never meant for Nat and me to be a thing but now I can’t imagine not being with her.

<Hangman: Not helping. 

>Coyote: Sorry bro. It is what it is now. Embrace it. 

<Hangman: Embrace it how?

>Coyote: You could start by telling her you actually like her. Do some of that Seresin Speciality romance stuff. 

<Hangman: She has a tattoo low on her hip, a fighter jet in the night sky. I swear there’s a H in the stars. I can’t stop looking at it. It’s like it’s meant to be.  

>Coyote: Wow, you sound like you’re way below the hard deck.

He’s not wrong. Jake’s flying below a level that isn’t safe, and he can either pull the ejection handle or do some pilot shit and finish the mission. 

>Coyote: Phoenix says she’s all for grand gestures and actions speaking louder than words.

<Hangman: 🙄way to keep a promise.

>Coyote: She can read too dude. Sorry.

<Hangman: I forgot you have your text size big enough to read from the moon. 

>Phoenix: 🤣 He does! Now quit stalling. Go tell Cosmo you like her. 

<Hangman: I might have an idea or two for a grand gesture. Thanks for the tip. 

>Coyote: Hey I’m not straining my eyes and having to wear glasses and not being able to fly. 

It probably would have been easier to start a group chat.

Jake decides not to reply. He’s wasting water. Setting his phone on the countertop, he steps into the shower.

He’s not ready to say goodbye to the weekend and go back to reality, and grand gestures should happen somewhere nice and memorable. He needs to set things in motion. 

“Cosmo,” he calls out. 

“Yeah,” you yell back. 

He doesn’t want to scream it at you, so he asks, “Come here, will ya?” while he lathers his hair with shampoo.

He sticks his head out of the shower as you enter the bathroom. You chuckle, smiling as you swipe soap suds off his brow before they trickle into his eye. It’s a sweet and delicate touch, but it sends his heart racing.

He clears his throat. “You’re not scheduled to work till Friday, right?” he asks, though it’s unnecessary because he’s always aware of your schedule.

“Yeah,” you sigh. The reminder brings a touch of reality to the room. 

He feels a wave of nerves but ignores them, hearing Coyote’s voice in his head, ‘Embrace it.’ “How about we stay a couple more nights? I’ll upgrade you to the Premium Seresin Package.”

You chuckle and look a little sheepish when you reply. “Um….yeah, okay. But the same rules apply.”

“Yeah, obviously. I wouldn’t want…”

His phone chiming interrupts, and simultaneously, you both look at the message preview. 

>Coyote: Go chase that flying jet and make her see stars…

“Really?!” you scoff. “Couldn’t even make it back to base before you go shooting your mouth off! What happened to ‘no one has to know’?”

“Cosmo, wait,” he calls as you leave, slamming the door. As quickly as he can, he rinses the shampoo from his hair. “Shit!” There is no towel hanging up, and he has no choice but to exit naked and dripping wet.

You shove your feet into your sneakers, carry-on slung over your shoulder, suitcase zipped and ready to go. “I can’t believe I fell for your bullshit!”

“It wasn’t bullshit,” Jake says, grabbing your wrist to try and get you to slow down. 

“Don’t touch me.” You snatch your arm away. “I can’t believe I trusted you, Hangman. I should’ve known you’d hang me out to dry, too!” You sneer, and the disgust in your expression breaks him a little.

He ignores the jab of hurt that stabs through him, trying again. “Cosmo, I swear it’s not what you think.”

You grab your suitcase handle and march toward the door, but Jake is closer, and he steps in your path. 

He pleads, “Please let me explain.”

“Move.” 

He doesn’t, and instead of asking again, you shove into his shoulder and drag your suitcase behind you. The wheels hit his toes. “Fuck!” he yells, hopping around on one leg, clutching his injured foot before falling onto the bed. “Don’t leave, please, Cosmo.”

But it’s too late. You're out the door and gone.

Part 3 - Didn't Know Then What I Know Now

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[uniquexusposts]

Below Deck | C. Leclerc (2)

Summary: Y/n and Charles had broken up a few weeks ago. Y/n thought it was a good idea to enter the yachting world to get over the break up, but suddenly he shows up at the last charter of the season. How will they cope with it? Words: 2008 Read the story that was based off the one shot here Part 1

"Do you watch F1?" It was Max who asked it.

Luca, Otis and Y/n were standing in the lounge. They were having a conversation with the guests, well, Max, Charles, Carlos and Pierre did. They just got back from the beach picnic. Y/n hated that these people were polite, curious and just... Why can't they leave me alone? Luca stirred Y/n into the conversation, and she couldn't just leave.

"Yes, I do! Well, not so much now I work all the time, but where I can, I follow it," Luca said.

Luca was such a sweetheart. He always looked angry, but that was just his facial structure. And he looked so intimidating because of his muscles, but he was a real sweetheart.

"I'm more of a NASCAR guy, I'm sorry," Otis mentioned awkwardly.

Otis was the guy who was probably the most responsible. He never had drama, never. But when there was drama, he was always there. He sometimes had funny comebacks. Together with Y/n, they were drama free.

"And Y/n says she doesn't watch F1," Luca said and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. "But I think she secretly does."

Y/n played along with him. "Secretly, I'm a big fan," she smirked. "But don't tell anyone."

"See, I knew it," Luca laughed.

The guests laughed along, trying to not make it awkward. Y/n had to bite her lip to try not to burst into laughter because it was so fake and uncomfortable. She knew almost everything about F1.

"The next race is..?" Luca asked.

"France and right after that, Budapest. The last races before the break," Pierre responded.

"Very cool. I can catch up with it right after we finish this job," Luca happily said. "The last race I saw was with the accident, Imola, I believe." He let go of Y/n. "Dear Lord, that looked horrible."

Y/n pressed her jaws on each other, and her face straightened. She quickly remembered she had guests - who were still her friends - in front of her, so she relaxed all the muscles in her face. Get out of here.

"It looked more horrible than it actually was," Charles replied. "Which was explained later on."

This was a sneer, and Y/n knew it. She looked impressed and nodded. "Of course it did," she mumbled.

Pierre and Carlos looked at Y/n and then at Charles; if looks could kill... They looked at each other and sent each other a look. A look that told: it's bad.

"May I ask how it was for you? I really can't imagine how it must be to be in that car. It really looked so bad. What a small touch can cause..."

Italy, Imola, Sunday. Everything started fine that afternoon until a gearbox of a driver stopped working. Red flag. All the cars went to the pits. Very unfortunate for the driver who had his race finished way too early.

On the other hand, Charles could make an advantage with the restart since the official start went like shit. The car was removed from the track, and everyone was ready for a standing restart. So it began again.

Until Charles Leclerc got a small touch of someone.

Charles shoved over the track at many kilometres per hour. His car flipped upside down. His car hit the barrier with 40G. His car crashed and shattered completely. It took the people over 30 minutes to get him out of the car. It took Ferrari another 90 minutes before a statement was released.

"When you get into a F1 car, you're packed. The impact was gigantic, and I saw my life playing in front of my eyes, but it really looked worse from the outside than from what I saw in the cockpit. Thank god for every regulation and the modern cars," Charles summarised.

"My goodness, it still sounds horrible. I'm glad you got out safely," Luca mentioned, relieved. "I feel like, when it goes wrong, it goes good wrong. Just like with Zhou at Silverstone last year."

"That one was pretty ugly as well," Max agreed.

"I still think the crash of Grojean is the worst in years," Y/n stirred. "I saw it happening, and I thought: nope, we're not doing this again. When he got out of the car, I've never felt so relieved," she said.

Pierre nodded. "He got so lucky. I've seen the reconstruction video, and I heard his story; it was so... I don't have words for it."

"F1 is an ugly sport," Y/n blurted.

"It depends," Charles shot back.

"It is an ugly sport," Y/n sneered.

"Felix for Y/n," the radio went off.

Thank you so much. Y/n grabbed the transceiver from her skirt and held it to her mouth. "Go ahead," she said.

"Can you make two mojitos for Kelly and Rebecca, and bring them to the front deck?"

"I'm on it," she said. "If you will excuse me," Y/n smiled and walked away without waiting for a response.

The smile on her face dropped straight away, and her eyebrows lowered. She was so done with everything, and she wanted to go home so badly. Then she remembered that she didn't have a home, so she had to return to her dad. Y/n was close to having a breakdown but had to keep it together. She arrived at the bar and made two mojito's as requested. Y/n brought them to the two girls and walked to the laundry room to fold and steam some clothes.

She walked with the folded clothes to the bedrooms of the guests. She knocked on every door, making sure no one was in there. In two of the bedrooms, it was that case. Y/n knocked on the last door and opened it without hesitation as she expected it to be empty.

"Oh, excusez-moi," Y/n said when she saw someone in the room of Pierre and Charles. She stepped outside and closed the door behind her. It could be Pierre, she hoped not for Charles.

"No, it's fine."

It was Charles.

"I have your clothes," Y/n mentioned. "Or Pierre's," she mumbled, trying to not give him attention.

The door opened from the inside. "Thank you," he said. "You can put it in the closet."

A sigh left her mouth. For some reason, she didn't accept it. Now it really felt like he was using her. Well, he paid for this service, but it just felt so weird to Y/n.

"Sure, perfect," she said and entered his room again. It was deadly silence, awkward silence, in the room. Y/n placed the clothes in the closet.

"Why did you say that?" Charles suddenly asked.

"Said what?" Y/n was glad that no one from the crew on this boat spoke French. She could hold a conversation without them knowing what they were talking about. Now she had to control the tone of her voice.

"That F1 is an ugly sport."

"Because it is."

"That is not fair to say."

"Why? It's my opinion." Y/n stepped to the door, ready to leave the room.

"It is not fair, Y/n," he repeated.

She closed the door behind her and stepped toward him. "You know what is not fair? The time that you have let me wait after your accident in Imola. Do you remember how long it took me to discover that you were alive? Two fucking hours," Y/n whisper-yelled.

"I still do not understand why this is why you broke up with me," Charles replied in the same tone.

"For me, it is."

"Why? Tell me why, Y/n. Or is that even too much to ask?"

Her face straightened. "I'm not doing this here. Find someone else to mock on, Charles." She stepped towards the door again.

"Explain it to me! I had asked my team multiple times to contact my family when I was at the medical centre; how many times do I have to tell you that?"

"It is so fucking ridiculous that I had to wait for two hours. I had no idea if you were alive, if you were dead. Nothing. Those two hours were almost the two longest hours of my fucking life. Perhaps you were dead, I don't know," she replied and shrugged. "It's the fact that I had to read it in a statement on social media, I didn't get that message from you personally. Even if it was two hours later, it would have been much better than a social media statement on Twitter."

"Why are you still blaming me for it? I have asked-"

"You don't get the point, do you?"

"Then explain it to me, Y/n. I have been guessing for weeks, and I still don't know what went wrong." Charles scanned Y/n's face, and he noticed the change in her eyes. A glossy layer washed over her eyes, and they became bloodshot. Her shoulders hung low, and she looked down. Charles straightened his face and looked down as well. "I am sorry, Y/n," he whispered.

She was shaking her head, and she took a short breath. Soft sniffs filled the room. "I am sorry."

"Mon amour..." Charles stepped towards her and wrapped his arms around her. He pressed a kiss on her forehead and stroked her back. He closed his eyes when she snuggled her face against his shoulder. His heart broke again.

"My mum," Y/n began and pulled back. "She...erm..."

Charles knew her mother passed away nine years ago. He had no idea what she had to do with this.

"...passed away in a car accident," she softly said. "One night, she didn't come home from work and..." She took a deep breath. "She caused an accident because she was drunk, five other people passed away, and four people got injured."

"Jesus Christ," he whispered. "I'm so sorry, I didn't know that." Everything started to make sense now.

"We only found out a day later because the police failed to contact us."

All the strings got connected together. Accident and no communication.

"So when you crashed and when I didn't get any updates, I panicked. And when I read the statement, I got so angry because... I'm sorry. I probably overreacted," Y/n mumbled and dried her eyes. "But I didn't want this to happen again, and I...the same rollercoaster began. I should have talked to you."

Charles retook her in his arms. It was her trauma, and she panicked. Of course, she would get angry. "You never told me this..."

"It's not really a positive thing to talk about, is it?" She closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around his waist. "My dad asked us not to talk about it with anyone because, you know, we're the family with the alcoholic mother who killed five people."

"Is that why you moved to France?"

"Yup..." She took a deep breath and looked at him. "I'm sorry, I should have reacted differently. It was not your fault. I was just really scared that something bad happened with you, and I compared this situation with my situation."

"But why did you run away, baby?" He whispered and stroked a piece of hair behind her ear.

"I was scared." When Y/n blinked, tears rolled down her cheek. "It's a stupid reason, but I was scared. And then I got an offer to work on this yacht... I am so sorry, Charles. Working in this environment makes you forget everything around you, but I collapsed when I saw you again. Mentally and physically." One thing she loved about Charles was that he gave her time to speak; he never pushed her to talk. "And I fucked it up, I know. I am sorry."

Charles showed a small smile. "You should have told me..." He kissed her forehead again.

"I know, I'm sorry." Y/n looked at him; of course, she wanted to redo the moment, but she couldn't turn back the time. "I know it was not your fault, I know I hurt you, I..."

It was silence between the two again.

Y/n was deciding whether this was a moment where they would fix it or not. Of course, she hoped he could forgive her, but she hurt them by hiding her own problems.

"How many more days until you are done?" Charles suddenly asked.

"Two."

"Two?"

Y/n nodded. "You're the last charter."

He gently pushed her head in his direction, making him look her in the eyes again. "Do you want to come home then?"

Her face softened, and new tears came into her eyes. "Really?"

"Yes, really," he smiled. "Only if you want."

"Yes, please, I'd love to."

They looked at each other, and they pressed their lips to each other.

Taglist: @itsjustkhaos@crashingwavesofeuphoria@maryvibess @softi92

[autotopic]

1938 Mercedes-Benz W154

In September 1936, the AIACR (Association Internationale des Automobile Clubs Reconnus), the governing body of motor racing, set the new Grand Prix regulations effective from 1938. Key stipulations included a maximum engine displacement of three liters for supercharged engines and 4.5 liters for naturally aspirated engines, with a minimum car weight ranging from 400 to 850 kilograms, depending on engine size.

By the end of the 1937 season, Mercedes-Benz engineers were already hard at work developing the new W154, exploring various ideas, including a naturally aspirated engine with a W24 configuration, a rear-mounted engine, direct fuel injection, and fully streamlined bodies. Ultimately, due to heat management considerations, they opted for an in-house developed 60-degree V12 engine designed by Albert Heess. This engine mirrored the displacement characteristics of the 1924 supercharged two-liter M 2 L 8 engine, with each of its 12 cylinders displacing 250 cc. Using glycol as a coolant allowed temperatures to reach up to 125°C. The engine featured four overhead camshafts operating 48 valves via forked rocker arms, with three cylinders combined under welded coolant jackets, and non-removable heads. It had a high-capacity lubrication system, circulating 100 liters of oil per minute, and initially utilized two single-stage superchargers, later replaced by a more efficient two-stage supercharger in 1939.

The first prototype engine ran on the test bench in January 1938, and by February 7, it had achieved a nearly trouble-free test run, producing 427 hp (314 kW) at 8,000 rpm. During the first half of the season, drivers such as Caracciola, Lang, von Brauchitsch, and Seaman had access to 430 hp (316 kW), which later increased to over 468 hp (344 kW). At the Reims circuit, Hermann Lang's W154 was equipped with the most powerful version, delivering 474 hp (349 kW) and reaching 283 km/h (176 mph) on the straights. Notably, the W154 was the first Mercedes-Benz racing car to feature a five-speed gearbox.

Max Wagner, tasked with designing the suspension, had an easier job than his counterparts working on the engine. He retained much of the advanced chassis architecture from the previous year's W125 but enhanced the torsional rigidity of the frame by 30 percent. The V12 engine was mounted low and at an angle, with the carburetor air intakes extending through the expanded radiator grille.

The driver sat to the right of the propeller shaft, and the W154's sleek body sat close to the ground, lower than the tops of its tires. This design gave the car a dynamic appearance and a low center of gravity. Both Manfred von Brauchitsch and Richard Seaman, whose technical insights were highly valued by Chief Engineer Rudolf Uhlenhaut, praised the car's excellent handling.

The W154 became the most successful Silver Arrow of its era. Rudolf Caracciola secured the 1938 European Championship title (as the World Championship did not yet exist), and the W154 won three of the four Grand Prix races that counted towards the championship.

To ensure proper weight distribution, a saddle tank was installed above the driver's legs. In 1939, the addition of a two-stage supercharger boosted the V12 engine, now named the M163, to 483 hp (355 kW) at 7,800 rpm. Despite the AIACR's efforts to curb the speed of Grand Prix cars, the new three-liter formula cars matched the lap times of the 1937 750-kg formula cars, demonstrating that their attempt was largely unsuccessful. Over the winter of 1938-39, the W154 saw several refinements, including a higher cowl line around the cockpit for improved driver safety and a small, streamlined instrument panel mounted to the saddle tank. As per Uhlenhaut’s philosophy, only essential information was displayed, centered around a large tachometer flanked by water and oil temperature gauges, ensuring the driver wasn't overwhelmed by unnecessary data.

[nick-chinchill]

MOUTHWASHING TIMELINE

Hey Folks! I'm officially on this ride down and, last time I played, I made notes to put together a timeline to help out with people's analysises and theory-crafting :D I've done my best to keep it mostly factual without inserting my own opinions on what might have happened at that point in the game while putting in details that I think are important or noteworthy for the narrative. The 'Chapter' numbers refers to when we see this occur in the game, and the "bizzaro" episodes are listed at the bottom. Naturally, there's spoilers. Hopefully this can be useful to someone out there c:

//BEFORE THE CRASH

7 DAYS (Chapter 2) - The Psyche Evaluations are underway. Anya signs off Curly and gives him a note from Swansea. Curly agrees to do Jimmy's on her behalf. - Curly goes to Utility to see what's up. Daisuke accidently set off the emergency foam and they need his authority to get the axe to free him. He gives it to Swansea, then leaves with Jimmy to do his psyche eval. - The steps to the cockpit extend. Curly wades through red liquid, as scaffolding rises around him and WARNING signs appear. A yellow sun rises, exploding. Curly walks to the cockpit door. - Curly does Jimmy's pysche eval. They have a talk 'off record' about their positions; Jimmy climbing up the ladder while Curly worries about staying 'safe' with his current position. - News arrives from Corporate. Jimmy leaves, and Curly reads the note. 6 DAYS (Chapter 5) - The Birthday Party! Curly is surprised by the crew and prepares the cake. As they sit to eat, he reveals the news - they won't have jobs once they arrive. Anya frets that she has no savings and Jimmy reacts nastily towards Curly, accusing him of abandoning the crew. Curly cuts the cake.

2 DAYS (Chapter 10) - The Night-time screen scene with Anya. She and Curly discuss the night-time screen, and Anya mentions the dead pixel. Curly says he focuses on the bigger picture. Anya questions how long it'll be til they arrive at Earth (8 months-ish) and why there's no locks on the bedroom doors. Curly says; for [SAFETY].

1 DAY (Chapter 14) - The Cockpit talk. Anya's hidden the gun but assures Curly she won't hurt herself. Curly mentions she didn't get checks on her mental health and he should have checked on her. - Anya reveals she's pregnant. Curly promises to talk to Jimmy.

0 DAYS (Chapter 16) - The Day of the Crash. Anya reveals she told Jimmy she's pregnant, and doesn't want him around. Curly rushes to talk to Jimmy. - Curly tries to assure Jimmy they can fix this. Jimmy talks about how this will reflect on them when they get back. He talks about how this could all be remembered as a 'tragedy', and claims he will take care of it. Throughout this chat, the words [TAKE CARE OF IT. KILLS NINETY NINE PERCENT] flash. - Alarms blare. Curly rushes to the cockpit as the ship crashes. THE CRASH (Prologue) - Jimmy crashes the ship. When he leaves, the corridors loop. Polle suddenly appears, mutating each time with the cries of a baby.

//AFTER THE CRASH

2 MONTHS (Chapter 1) - The crew decide to break into the cargo hold. Anya asks Jimmy to give Curly his meds, unable to take the sounds Curly makes. Jimmy does so (it sounds physical). He then gets the Code Scanner and enters the cargo. ---------- (Chapter 4) - The cargo is full of mouthwash. Anya mentions the sugar making it useless as a disinfectant. Swansea starts drinking it.

3 MONTHS (Chapter 6) - Jimmy awakens late one night. Daisuke is still sleeping as Curly moans in pain. Swansea and Anya are talking in the cockpit - Anya was crying. Jimmy leaves to give Curly his meds, lamenting to Curly that he 'knows what the others are thinking'. This time it sounds violent and Curly sobs afterwards.

4 MONTHS (Chapter 8) - Daisuke is drunk on the floor, in despair and talks about his mother. Polle has been destroyed in the lounge. Anya considers drinking the mouthwash, but says it won't 'fix anything'. She mentions there's medicine in a cabinet they can reach if the foam is cleared. Swansea is grooving and, when approached for the axe, breaks the sunset screen. Jimmy retrieves the meds and shouts at Anya about being told to do things. After he approaches Curly, talking at him about the pressures of being captain. He gives him his meds. It doesn't sound violent, but Curly still sobs after.

5 MONTHS (Chapter 11) - Anya locks herself in the med bay with Curly. Daisuke is worried and alerts Jimmy. Anya says she'll do 'what [Jimmy] said she should have done'. Swansea is drunk outside Utility and won't let them enter, claiming it's full of the emergency foam ---------- (Chapter 13) - Jimmy decides to drug Swansea with a spiked cocktail. He uses the last of the disinfectant for it. - Upon entering Utility, it's not very foamy at all and there's one working cyropod. Jimmy assumes Swansea was saving it for himself and pressures Daisuke to climb into the unsafe vent. - Daisuke ultimately agrees and is critically injured, but makes it into the med bay.

8 HOURS UNTIL JUDGEMENT (Chapter 12) - Daisuke is critically injured. Swansea says they need disinfectant (it's been used) and goes to search the med bay. There's a smear effect where Curly is, and the sunset screen is now a WARNING logo. - Upon approaching the cargo, Jimmy sees Daisuke's grave. Upon scanning it, it reveals a path of blood, leading into a maze. A monstrous horse that can only be seen with the scanner hunts Jimmy. - Jimmy retrieves a bottle of mouthwash from the cargo [TAKE CARE OF IT. RESPONSIBILITY] and uses it on Daisuke's wounds. Daisuke screams.

6 HOURS UNTIL JUDGEMENT (Chapter 15) - Daisuke is still in immense pain. Swansea takes the axe and gives him a calming speech, before mercy killing him. - Jimmy blows up at Swansea, claiming he could have fixed this and accusing Swansea of holding onto the last cyropod for himself. - Swansea rebutes him, revealing he's talked to Anya who told him 'all sorts of things'. - Jimmy goes to med bay where Anyas corpse is now visible and retrieves the gun. Curly laughs when he gets hold of it. Swansea charges at Jimmy with the axe. ---------- (Chapter 9) - Jimmy secures the cockpit door with rope and a metal pipe. Swansea breaks the glass to get in to kill Jimmy.

1 HOUR UNTIL JUDGEMENT (Chapter 17) - Jimmy hosts his own birthday party with the corpses of the crew. They clap and call for a speech. He brings Curly and lays him on the table, giving a speech about how he forgives him. He takes the knife and cuts into Curly's leg. Curly screams.

0 HOURS UNTIL JUDGEMENT (Chapter 21) - Jimmy lifts Curly from the table. There's nothing around them but the table and the door. He carries him to Utility. - Jimmy places Curly in the cyropod. He claims they've fixed it... he fixed it. - Jimmy shoots himself. - The cyropod begins to freeze as credits roll.

//TAKE RESPONSIBILITY

SECTION 1 (Chapter 3) - Let's watch Television! There's a lot on - pro capitalism cartoons, space footage, a show about atoms, footage of a meat plant, a skeleton dancing, static, and an ad for Dragonbreath X Mouthwash... SECTION 2 (Chapter 7) - Cake with Curly! Jimmy and Curly sit and talk, before Curly encourages Jimmy to cut the cake. Jimmy leaves and finds an axe in the cockpit, wedged in the captains chair. When he returns, Curly is laid on the table. He swings the axe at him. SECTION 3 (Chapter 18) - Enter the Vents. Daisuke turns and leaves - approaching him snaps the vents into red lighting and leaves a hibiscus flower on the floor. - Progressing reveals a sign saying 'No Turning Back Now'. As Jimmy backs away, he crosses a small pile of hibiscus flowers, a gameboy, a pair of pink dumbells and a pile of arms. Another vent has a note saying 'Responsibility'. - Jimmy enters the hallways, but they rotate into a fall. He falls towards an eye-like hole, lined with hibiscus', into a pit full of Polle posters. He falls further, into a room with an open vent in a wall covered in axes. - The vent is full of foam, exposed wires and metal bars. Another hibiscus flower is hidden on the path. He falls through once more - He lands in front of Swansea, tied to a chair. Jimmy finds the gun on the floor and picks it up, pointing it at Swansea and firing. - They're now in a cemetary. If Jimmy is killed by Swansea, he revives in a tomb with Daisuke's picture framed with hibiscus flowers. Jimmy ultimately shoots Swansea. - They face each other - Swansea on the chair, Jimmy before him. Swansea gives Jimmy a speech about his life - the best days of his life were his days as an alcoholic. Jimmy claims he can still fix things, before lifting the gun to shoot him.

SECTION 4 (Chapter 19) - Swansea is dead. - The corridor out of Utility elongates into an endless spiral. Curly watches from under the floor, then as hundreds of eyes on the walls. - The corridor becomes flesh. Jimmy exits out of Curly's mouth and approaches Curly on an operating table, in front of a television. The television plays a cartoon about a party with a cake. It stops - the word FEAST appears. - Jimmy takes a piece of Curly's leg and feeds it to him. Curly won't swallow until the images on the screen align, requiring the gears on his body to be turned. Finally, Curly swallows. - HELP ME appears on the screen. - Jimmy walks through space to approach Curly, who sits on fire. They talk; Jimmy breaks down and apologises to Curly.

SECTION 5 (Chapter 20) - In the vents, a flesh mass awaits. Using an ultrasound machine, Jimmy inspects it. He ultimately gets the image of a baby on the screen. - The mass opens it's eyes and opens it's mouth - a horse creature emerges, crying like a baby. - The mouthwashing slogans repeat, amidst [I HOPE THIS HURTS]. - In the vents, the creature rushes through, seeking out Jimmy and crying. - Jimmy walks through a corridor full of the crew's employee IDs. They cover the floor, the walls, the air. It leads to a stair case, with bottles of mouthwash falling down. - At the top, Polle waits. Jimmy speaks with Polle, who proceeds to tell him why he sucks. - Jimmy insists that he and Curly can still both be heroes, that things can still be fixed and made right. Polle asks why, if that's true, why is he "still so concerned with him".

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

1953 Works Jaguar C-Type

1953 Works Jaguar C-Type (XK120C) recently sold for $13.2 million. The C-Type was a favorite of Sir Sterling Moss and had proven itself over and over again by winning such grand events as Le Mans in 1951 when it beat the second place winner by an astounding 77 miles. That made it the first British car to win the race in nearly 20 years. They won again in 1953 in a 1, 2, 4 victory.

(The Heritage C-type pictured above is an exact replica, except that the cockpit was stretched two inches to make the car more drivable—purely practical. The body and chassis were taken off a factory C-Type many years ago before they skyrocketed in value, so both the structure chassis and body are authentic to the period.)

[margoteve]

The Normandy Album 2

Parentage

Pairing: Shakarian

Rating: eh PG?

Summary: Joker tries to prank Garrus with tactical use of Grunt.

Enjoy! The chapter is also on AO3. Inspired by an art of @thatwildwolfart

"Hey, Grunt!"

"Yeah?" Grunt looked up from his meal and squinted at the approaching human. The pilot. Joker. It wasn't often the brittle human would leave his station in the cockpit. "What is it?" The young krogan noted the lack of EDI, the AI in her robotic body often served as asistance to the man.

Joker carefully sat down by the mess table. "You know how Shepard is kind of like your dad?"

Grunt frowned. "Shepard is my Battlemaster, not my father."

"Yeaah but like she takes you out like shooting and gifted you that new shotgun and didn't she bail you from C-Sec, again, last time we were on Citadel? That's kinda like prime dad behaviour," Joker argued his case.

"Where are you getting with this human?" Grunt tilted his head, smelling some sort of trick.

"Nowhere, really, just food for thought," Joker said. "It just makes you think how she you, and Garrus make for a very disfunctional family. So I was you know, trying to organize the dynamics."

"Heh," Grunt grinned. "Don't worry, you too are in my krant. Despite your squishiness."

"Right, thanks Grunt. Anywhoo!" Joker slowly stood up. "I should go, the Normandy won't fly itself."

"It is flying itself, though," Grunt noted but Joker waved his hand and limped away to the elevator.

Grunt returned to his meal but his mind was slowly churring the conversation. Then he paused, looked in the direction of Joker. "Heheheh."

"Team Reunion Friday" was the best idea that Kasumi and Tali came up with. The old squadmate crew of Shepard all together for a night of drinks and shenaningans in Shepard's apartment post-war. Everyone was in high spirits. Shepard was sitting at the top of the table, in her wheelchair raising a toast. "To Normandy!"

"Here, here!" Everyone responded.

Just as they were downing the drink Grunt turned to Commander. "Shepard."

"Grunt?"

"You have been the closest a tank bred could have to a father," he said with a grin.

"Aww, thank you Grunt."

"Does this make Vakarian my mother?"

The bomb was dropped, most guests started to choke on their drinks, some stared, Joker grinned like it was Christmas.

"Well..." Shepard looked at Garrus.

"Now, hold on Shepard-" the turian started.

Among the sputtering a loud laughter boomed among the crew, much to the embarrassement of one Garrus Vakarian. Grunt grinned. Later when the jokes and jabs at Shepard's boyfriend ceased Grunt stopped by Joker.

"You owe me a bottle of ryncol."

"I'll make it two, buddy," Joker replied grinning at the recording. It would strike him gold on the extranet.

"Good, hehehe."

[is-the-battlemech-cool-or-not]

Atlas Gewitter AS7-K3-Tb2

Gewitter was the custom command 'Mech of Lieutenant General Theodora Marten-Steiner, notable for her role in the early formation of the Third Star League SLDF, Operation TOUCHDOWN, Operation WINDFALL, and the later Lyran War of Reclamation. Famous in her eventual role as commander of the hyper-elite Royal Guards RCT, the Lieutenant General also served as the second commanding officer of the Royal Black Watch regiment, after its second re-founding in 3151.

Gewitter is built on the Atlas chassis, though a great deal of modification has made it truly one-of-a-kind. The original platform upon which the venerable ‘Mech was built was the Atlas AS7-K3, notable for its inclusion of jump jets. They remained a hallmark of Gewitter, carrying through to the final model, introduced on the battlefields of Helios in October 3153, much to the horror of the Word of Blake forces at the Battle of Fort Bayeux.

Gewitter is, at first glance, a fairly standard Atlas mech, originally of Defiance Industries manufacture. However, after two major refits, very little remains of the original K3 as it entered service in 3134.

The first refit was conducted by the MechTechs of Skobel Mechworks at their Yakima Proving Grounds on Terra. There, for a time, Gewitter sat opposite Test Unit Sierra Five - the original Mackie and the first ever BattleMech - while the Atlas was fully rebuilt. The refit focused on integrating mixed Inner Sphere and Clan technology along with additional command gear, armor, and sensors; steps were also taken to shave weight from the original design. This further enhanced its pilot’s dynamic, fluid style with greater maneuverability. An extra additional step added late in the refit process, as ordered by Commanding General Melissa Hazen herself, saw Gewitter's right hand fitted with a half-ton, 24-karat engagement ring, complete with the largest natural diamonds ever cut in human history - the inside band of which was etched in micro-font with the entire Jade Falcon Remembrance. This ring remained upon Gewitter's right arm, even after the wedding of Hazen and Marten-Steiner in the aftermath of Operation TOUCHDOWN.

The second refit, performed on the battlefields of Helios by Star Captain (later Khan) Xerxes Truscott of Clan Star Adder, focused primarily on the integration of two newly designed, powerful, and devastating weapons: the Clan-spec Light Gauss Rifle and the Pile Bunker.

After this second and final refit, Gewitter was equipped as follows:

Atlas 'Gewitter' AS7-K3-Tb2

Mass: 100 tons Chassis: Skobel 100-Lite Variable Composite Biped Power Plant: Defiance Clan-Grade 400 XL Cruising Speed: 43.2 kph Maximum Speed: 64.8 kph Jump Jets: Standard Jump Capacity: 90 meters Armor: Duralex Ferro-Fibrous w/ CASE II Armament: 1 Light Gauss Rifle 1 Streak SRM 4 2 ER Large Laser 1 Pile Bunker Manufacturer: Defiance Industries (original)/Skobel MechWorks (refit #1)/Fursona's Fusiliers (refit #2) Primary Factory: Defiance Manufacturing Annex - Kwangjong-Ni (original)/Yakima Proving Grounds, Terra (refit 1)/Argo Mechbay (refit #2) Communication System: Clan-enhanced Irian E.A.R. w/ Nova CEWS & Studebaker-T19 Battle Computer Targeting & Tracking System: Clan-enhanced Army Corporation Type 29K w/ Advanced Targeting Computer (w/ VRT) Introduction Year: 3153 Tech Rating/Availability: F/X-X-X-X Cost: 34,853,333 C-bills

Type: Atlas 'Gewitter' Technology Base: Mixed (Unofficial) Tonnage: 100 Battle Value: 2,729

Equipment Mass Internal Structure Composite 5 Engine 400 XL 26.5 Walking MP: 4 Running MP: 6 Jumping MP: 3 Double Heat Sink 10 [20] 0 Gyro 4 Small Cockpit (Armored) 3 Armor Factor (Ferro) 297 15.5 Internal Armor Structure Value Head 3 9 Center Torso 31 47 Center Torso (rear) 5 R/L Torso 21 32 R/L Torso (rear) 10 R/L Arm 17 34 R/L Leg 21 42

Right Arm Actuators: Shoulder, Upper Arm, Lower Arm, Hand Left Arm Actuators: Shoulder, Upper Arm, Lower Arm, Hand

Weapons and Ammo Location Critical Heat Tonnage Triple Strength Myomer RT/LT/RA/LA/RL/LL 1/per - 0.0 Jump Jet CT 1 - 2.0 Jump Jet RT 1 - 2.0 CASE II (Clan) RT 1 - 0.5 Light Gauss Rifle Ammo (32) RT 2 - 2.0 Streak SRM 4 Ammo (25) RT 1 - 1.0 Pile Bunker Ammo (5) RT 1 - 1.0 Pile Bunker Ammo (2) RT 1 - 0.5 Targeting Computer LA 4 - 4.0 ER Large Laser (Clan) LA 1 12 4.0 Engagement Ring* LA - - 0.5 Jump Jet LT 1 - 2.0 CASE II LT 1 - 0.5 Streak SRM 4 (Clan) LT 1 3 2.0 Light Gauss Rifle (Clan)** LT 4 1 11.0 Armored Cowl (Armored) HD 1 - 1.5 Nova Combined Electronic Warfare System HD 1 - 1.5 ER Large Laser (Clan) RA 1 12 4.0 Pile Bunker (Clan)*** RA 6 - 6.0 * = gives a -1/-1 morale bonus to pilot and gunnery skills - if (and only if) Theodora Marten-Steiner is piloting. ** = Heat 1, Dmg 12, Min.Rng 2, Short.Rng 1-7, Med.Rng: 8-16, Long.Rng: 17-24, Tons: 11, Crit.Slots: 4, Ammo/Ton: 16 *** = A Pile Bunker inflicts one point of damage for every five tons the 'Mech weighs. When punching with a Pile Bunker, the user can choose to fire the pile, expending one shot of ammunition (5 ammo per ton) and generating 5 heat, scoring a critical on the location hit with a -2 modifier. In addition, if armor remains after an attack where the Pile Bunker has been fired, roll for a second critical hit with a -2 modifier. For each critical dealt, also deal one point of internal damage to that location.

Features the following design quirks: Battle Computer, Battle Fists, Combat Computer, Cowl, Distracting, Easy to Pilot, Extended Torso Twist, Fine Manipulators, Illegal Design (Custom Weapons+Custom Equipment), Improved Communications, Improved Sensors, Multi-Trac, Nimble Jumper, Reinforced Legs, Variable Range Targeting

[usafphantom2]

America’s Mach 3+ fighter, Bill Sweetman investigates

Hush KitFebruary 23, 2017

August 2, 2024

HOLY KEDLOCK by Bill Sweetman

If speed and range are your goals for an interceptor, you can’t beat the Lockheed YF-12. It’s hard to beat as a confusing story either. Technology demonstrator? Stalking horse for something quite different? Opportunistic effort to save a program in trouble? Possibly, all of the above.

North American’s F-108 Rapier Mach 3 interceptor was cancelled in September 1959. The F-108 was only eight months past mock-up review, following an on-again, off-again initial development. But the Rapier’s ASG-18 radar and GAR-9 missile combo, developed by Hughes, had started earlier than the F-108 itself and enjoyed more consistent support, and was not canceled along with the aircraft.

A few months later, in January 1960, the CIA awarded Lockheed a contract to build 12 A-12s. They would be purely photo birds, with a single pilot and one camera bay, and the goal was to operate them out of Area 51, thereby evading the British and German anoraks who had rumbled the U-2.

On May 1, 1960, Frank Powers’ U-2 was shot down near Sverdlovsk. No parades or hot hors d’oeuvres for him. Eisenhower approved a cover story that Khrushchev shot to smaller pieces than the airplane. The furious President banned any further overflights.

This left OXCART without a mission, barely six months into an expensive program, without a mission, and competing for money with the politically favored CORONA. Skunk Works boss Kelly Johnson proposed armed versions of the OXCART to the Air Force. It was risky because Air Force Chief of Staff Curtis LeMay was mounting a stalwart defense the XB-70 Valkyrie, but the interceptor version did not threaten the bomber. A contract was issued in October 1960 under which three A-12s would be completed as AF-12 interceptors with the F-108’s Hughes radar and missile system.

The AF-12, codenamed KEDLOCK, would feature some important differences from the CIA jets. Heavier and carrying more fuel, it would have a second cockpit replacing the camera bay, the massive ASG-18 radar in the nose, and four large weapon bays built into all-metal chines. (On the A-12, the chines were purely there to reduce the radar cross-section and were partly made of plastic material.) The GAR-9 was a 900-pound chonky boi and could carry either a high-explosive or blast-fragmentation warhead, with a range at launch up to 100 nm.

KEDLOCK benefited from the A-12 OXCART, which ran a year earlier and wrestled with the many basic problems of titanium use and propulsion development, and from the early start on ASG-18 and GAR-9. Wind tunnel tests showed that the huge ogival radome loused up the directional stability, so KEDLOCK acquired strakes under each engine nacelle and a large folding ventral fin.

Launching a weapon from a bay at Mach 3.2 was a challenge. Johnson’s deputy, Ben Rich, later said that the initial GAR-9 ejection system resulted in the missile passing between the front and rear cockpits, which would have been bad.

Flown in August 1963, the interceptor required little further work. Six out of seven missile shots were successful, the final shot from Mach 3.2 and 74,000 feet hitting a low-flying QB-47 drone—the first look-down, shoot-down interception and a trailblazer for the Navy’s AWG-9 and AIM-54 Phoenix programs.

KEDLOCK did a lot of the heavy lifting for the next version of the Blackbird, a reconnaissance-strike aircraft. First called RS-12, the project ran about a year behind KEDLOCK and emerged as the SR-71, with weapon bays converted to accommodate cameras and SIGINT gear.

The AF-12 had one more mission: deception. During 1963, as the pace of testing increased, observers started to notice the fast-moving A-12s and AF-12s, and the usual CIA/USAF tactic of confusing their reports with UFO sightings wore thin. Also, the project was far larger than the U-2 and involved more people and subcontractors, and many people in industry began to connect the dots. Bob Hotz’s staff at Aviation Week went to the Air Force with the news. Hotz would hold the story but not if anyone else got near it.

McNamara decided that the interceptor could be unveiled without compromising the A-12, and his view prevailed over the CIA’s caution. On February 24, 1964, two side-view photos were released of what was falsely described as the Lockheed A-11, and Johnson announced that a number of A-11s were being tested at Edwards Air Force Base. To keep the facts consistent with the President’s statement, two AF-12s were rushed from Area 51 to Edwards and quickly rolled into a hangar, where the heat from their airframes set the sprinklers off.

Had there been anything for it to shoot down, the YF-12 (as it was retrospectively designated, sometime before August 1964) might have been the ultimate interceptor. But the Soviet intercontinental strike force, even into the 1980s, amounted to a small and dwindling number of early Tu-95s, which Air Defense Command’s F-106s could cope with, and the YF-12s lived out their days as NASA test assets.

@Hushkit.net

[rosepetalkitty]

okok so. mechworld is a stupid name. so im brainstorming better ones. ideas ive had so far:

steel ashes - sounds neat, kinda generic

flames of emblask — references the emblask coalition, which is the faction ive written about the most (the ones who use the b-series dnl mechs that have the whole pilot/handler thing going on), kinda meh ngl but not horrible

an actual name, like averon or smth — ehhhh. feels kinda weird. fits fantasy worlds better than scifi

hybrid of 2 and 3? actual world being named "averon" and the worldbuilding project being "flames of averon" or smth? kinda low-key like this idea but it needs some more polishing to work.

also in related news ive decided (given an idea from a friend) to name the non-canon story that i've been posting thats set in this world "seat of consciousness" because

a) the story deals a lot with consciousness, states of mind, etc.

b) the "seat of consciousness" phrasing parallels the seat in the mech cockpit where the pilot is sitting when their consciousness is dampened

and c) the term "seat of consciousness" is a scientific term describing the idea of narrowing down the "source" of consciousness to one part of the brain, and the reality that it's not that simple, which is why the cyberware a pilot needs is so complicated.

future chapters of the story will be tagged #soc and #seat of consciousness

[swagmagussupreme]

@whiterose-fans-blog White Rose Event, Day 2: Gundam/Mecha

(I, uh... got carried away with this one. Whoops. Hope this doesn't awaken anything in me [the thing is awake and thrashing {the thing is thinking robots/cyborgs/androids are hot}])

Warnings for body horror, I think. To be safe.

Word count: 5253

Ruby clambered into the mech with much less pomp and coolness than she did anything, but that did little to tame the roaring pound of her blood in her ears. She was magnified, electrified, extremely-freaking-happy-ified. Her nerves were frayed and exposed, the air in her lungs was aflame, and all for one incredible reason:

Today, she would have all her blood replaced with super-drugs and shove a finger-thick metal node into her spine. In other words, she would be a Pilot.

Her mech, a Lancer-class Haema built for speed and offense, was a thing of beauty, and she was beginning to have genuine worries about the trickle of attraction she felt towards its fast edges, its angular shoulders, and the furious triangular wedge of its head. The red upper coating of its paint looked supple and deep, aggressive, while the under-coat of silver shone beneath the arms and over the lower back's delicious curve like moonlight. And when it powered on, when the sharp eyes flashed white and the head split open like a dying spider in reverse, Ruby may have moaned.

So she toppled into the cockpit like a lovestruck fool, the snug fit of her bloodbag suddenly feeling stuffy as she reclined in the full-body seat. She tugged at the suit’s dark collar, which achieved nothing.

“You in?” came her sister’s voice over the interior speakers.

“Y-yeah!” Ruby stuttered in return, overcome with joy. When she realized her informality, she retried, “Uh, I mean, yes sir. Captain Yang. Sir.”

The woman in the speaker snorted. “Just S-L, Rubes. I'm not a Captain yet.”

“Oh, uh… right. Yeah. Sorry.”

“Nervous?”

This time, Ruby was the one to snort. “It's my first time in my Haema. What do you think?”

“Fair enough,” Yang commented, taking an audibly deep breath. “Alrighty, no time to waste, DLR’s gonna drop soon and we’ll be right in the fuck of it. You ready?”

Jitters awoke in Ruby’s stomach. She hadn't even noticed the carrier entering Divine Light Redistribution. Maybe that was why she was nervous. Probably. Yeah. She could almost believe that. “Psh, of course I'm ready.”

Her sister barked a harsh laugh over comms. “Sure,” she said, a worrying hint of rue in her tone. “Sure you are.”

Yang continued in a clinical tone: “This is C-Squad, ready to jack in.”

Another voice, so cold and professional Ruby wasn't sure it was even human, responded: “Affirmative, C-Squad approved to jack.”

Two thick cables dropped from the metal ceiling of the cockpit, dangling off to the side of Ruby’s chair— the neural jack and the transfusion cable— just begging to be installed. She obliged. Two mechanical arms rose from the chair to hold the sides of her head as Ruby slammed the neural jack into the nape of her neck, right through the port of her bloodbag. She bit her lip expectantly.

From the jack, four needles slammed deep into her neck, breaking through the limits of pain that Ruby had known, but that wasn't the main event— these were just sensory dampeners, poking deep to zap her nerves into a state that wouldn't have her dying of shock when the main interface node came in. Her neck tingled, numbing, heralding the node with blunt pressure. Ruby sucked in a breath.

The pressure disappeared as the node backed away, rearing up to slam its almost-blunt tip through her skin, through her muscles almost into the vertebrae. The thing in her neck felt huge, like someone had javelined her with a stick of rebar, but that wasn't even the worst to come. Shackles slammed around her wrists and ankles. She felt the node twist inside her, opening its cap. Blood leaked from her tortured lower lip.

Despite the immense anguish, even with the dampeners, Ruby had managed to keep her noise down to squeaks and heavy breathing, but the final step broke her silence. Uncountable nano-filaments wormed through flesh and bone, hungrily burrowing towards every nerve along her cervical vertrbrae. The invasion of her was maddening not only in its sheer pain— if not for the bloodbag covering her fingers, she would've clawed her fingernails off on the armrests— but also because of the growing sense of agonizing relief she felt. With each nerve interfaced, she became closer to the machine, which only made the pain of her meat seem more alien as every second passed, every shred of anguish a reminder that she was not at her prime. Even as her throat tore itself ragged with wailing, the corners of her lips tugged upwards. Soon, very soon, she would become one with the Haema.

All at once, the agony collapsed into nothing, and she knew it was done. Ruby had unified with the mech, her pain receptors were cut off completely, and even the memory of that suffering was vanishing into dust. Her shackles receded into the seat. Ruby sighed. Now, for the best part.

With practiced ease and a complete lack of worry, Ruby took the transfusion cable and slipped it into the port at the side of her neck. Tubes with razor-sharp tips slipped into her skin with ease, slotting directly into her carotid artery and jugular vein. There was no pain, but the process wasn't a mystery to the studied Pilot. Through the arterial tube came vitae, the saplike blood replacement compound brimming with nanomachines, vasodilators, anticoagulants, and synthesized cells with oxygen carrying capacity at least threefold superior to hemoglobin. The viscous liquid would surge through her, bulging her arteries against her skin, dilating them so much that the tiny vessels in her eyes would leak thick crimson tears. Every inferior blood cell would either be forced up her jugular to get sucked into the Haema or recycled by the vitae until the only thing circulating through Ruby was manmade super-juice. In short, it would make her into a hero.

Which was great because Ruby was born to be a hero, just like her mom was. The proof was literally in her genes— bloodcaller genes— she was made for vitae, and vitae was made for her. She was an offshoot of humanity born from that sanguine primordial soup, and she could utilize the blessed compound in ways no baseliner could. She was tapped into the vitae-amber heart of her Haema, her Haema was tapped into her own lifeblood, and the two of them could dance like figure skaters.

Ruby folded the control sticks forward into her armrests as soon as they popped up. She didn't need them; the mech knew what she wanted.

“Ruby? You good?”

The sound didn't come through a loudspeaker this time, it came directly into her ears as if Yang was physically with her. Her brain was jacked directly into their comms. “Never been better,” she breathed, feeling her voice in her own throat and the Haema’s. “You?”

Yang took a deep breath, sounding much less pleases than her sister. “Yeah. I'm good. Let's fuck this up.” After a pause, she added, “C-Squad, jacked in and ready to go."

“Confirmed, readings all-clear.” The voice pitched up, slightly impressed. “Phenomenal compatibility, Red.”

“Gracias,” Ruby said casually, stepping off the platform and feeling like she'd been reborn anew. She marveled at her hands, the red upper coat of her knuckles, the silver coat of her palms. “Holy crap.”

“Cut the chatter,” Yang chided, her own golden Haema stepping to Ruby’s side. Her movements were so… bulky. Mechanical. Joystick-controlled. Ruby couldn't help but pity her human sister.

“Uh, sorry,” Ruby apologized, willing her words through the chassis comms rather than the radio comms. “Keep forgetting this whole talking thing is a ‘we’ and not a ‘me’ now.”

Yang's eye-roll was audible. “Keep rubbin’ that in, why don'tcha.”

A mechanical voice wailed over the hangar: “EXITING DIVINE LIGHT REDISTRIBUTION, ENGAGING COMPELLED SPEED, COMMENCE IN T-MINUS TWENTY SECONDS;

“BLESSED BE YE FAITHFUL;

“HIS KINGDOM COME;

“HIS WILL BE DONE;

“KNOW HIS LOVE AND KNOW HIS FAITH, AND BE SHELTERED BY ALL THINGS;

“AVE DOMINUS;

“GODSPEED.”

“Ah-men!” Ruby cheered, pumping the giant metal fist of her Haema excitedly.

“Ay-men,” Yang said more plaintively, her own mech perfectly still, awaiting the hangar’s opening. Ruby came to her side.

“Uh, sis?” she asked. “You okay?”

Yang’s Haema twitched its arm a little, the Pilot within probably jolting against her controls. “Y-yeah. Yeah, I'm okay. Just…”

“POWER ASTERN, WAFTING COMPELLER DRIVES, ANCHOR WELL IN T-MINUS TEN SECONDS.

“INCOMING INCOMING INCOMING.”

A dull thump rattled the vessel, making Ruby stumble on her new, much taller legs. Yang righted her with a hand, perfectly still. Her chassis crackled with her voice.

“Ruby, we'll be okay.”

Ruby looked at her sister's Haema. It was boxier than her own, Bulwark-class, rigid and cubic with giant proportions that made Ruby's look like a ballerina, but she knew that Yang could probably pilot that thing better than she could, even as a bloodcaller. Such was dictated by Yang's experience, which she had in spades over her sister. In an attempt to reassure her, Ruby took the staff of her weapon from her back and held it in a stern, at-ready stance. “Of course we will,” Ruby decided. “You're the best there is, and I'm right behind ya.”

Yang snorted.

“ANCHOR WELL ESTABLISHED. HANGAR DOORS OPENING.”

“I'm alright,” Yang said humbly. “But you'll be the best. Just… don't try too hard, okay?”

Ruby blinked, which she felt in her Haema despite it not having eyelids, which was weird. “What?”

The hangar doors shot open in a blink. Yang shoved her out with one hand, and Ruby tumbled weightless into hell.

The battle was already well underway. They were just reinforcements meant to turn the tide. The carrier they'd taken was barely within the outer area of the battle, but it was already alight with long-range sabot fire and dazzling anti-countermeasure lasers, so Ruby got a dramatic view of her sister thrusting out of the open hangar amid a dramatic backdrop spectrum of lights and explosions. Her big golden box of a Haema flew straight towards the battle’s distant center, producing a pair of tower shields that she covered her front with.

“Fall in, Red,” Yang commanded sternly over the comms, her voice a crackle as the signal fought through the background radiation of nebular space. “P-formation.”

Ruby shook her head and willed her giant mechanical body to thrust, her vitae-enhanced senses drinking every minute detail of the battle. When she blinked, she felt thick crimson crawling down her cheeks, and when she breathed, she felt like she could drink the world.

Falling behind the cover of her sister's giant shields, she observed what she could.

The battle was mostly gun-against-gun, no boarding vessels or ramming ships visible amid the chaos, with the Divine Hierarchy's ships clustered like a star in the center, a ball of purifying fire and plasma that lashed out against the surrounding seculars and belligerents. The fleet of God's enemies was numerous, consisting of smaller vessels concentrating fire like flies on honey, with larger vessels fanning out along the outskirts and firing from range, proudly displaying their cowardice. Ruby snarled and shouldered her weapon, a custom-made lance that she'd been designing her whole life in anticipation of this.

“Easy, rookie,” Yang admonished. “Engagement path coming to you… now.”

Bright green dots lit up a track leading in towards the center of the conflict, then out.

“Huh? What is this, hit and run?” Ruby complained. “Come on, let me get in there!”

“Red!” Yang snapped, making her sister jump. “This is not a game, and this is not school! You will stay on my ass and shoot what I tell you to shoot! Got that?”

A surge of defiance welled up between Ruby’s teeth, red and sweet and hot, but she bit down until it subsided. “Yes, sir.”

Yang flashed her mech's glowing green eyes at Ruby for just a second before turning forward again. “Now, if you'd actually wait, you'd learn that we're just dipping in to silence a particularly loud gunboat, then we'll be dashing out to start hunting some of the command carriers. No good dogfighting in the center, anyways, too much flak.”

Ruby felt her face and the Haema’s face go warm. “Oh.”

“Now get that stupid thing pointing forward, we’ll be lining up soon, and I wanna see what it can do.”

“Right!” the rookie Pilot agreed, instantly cheering up. She whipped the staff of her weapon around and shifted her thumb along its side, releasing bipods that she hooked along the front of Yang's shields. With her other hand, she slotted a sabot the size of her Haema's middle and index fingers into the giant gun's receiver, feeding the maw of her monstrous Crescent Rose as she slammed the bolt forward. She felt the barrel start to hum in her hands— in her Haema's hands, which felt exactly like her own— and mentally requested a targeting solution. Seeing a digital alignment with her barrel and an alignment to the target, she matched the two lines. The gunboat, so far away and roaring with so many cannons, looked like prey, and Ruby slavered for it.

“Ready,” she managed to say, holding herself back despite the scarlet lust in her veins.

“Fire when—”

Ruby felt the round blast in her metal hands, jolting her back against Yang's shields, the explosive primer kickstarting the sabot through the railgun’s coils and slingshotting it out the barrel so fast that the first impact with the gunboat's aft shields turned the tip into plasma— which was perfectly according to plan. The front half of the sabot vaporized a bright blue, tearing a hole through the shield that ferried the round’s second, denser half straight into the hull. The projectile tore through the gunboat like a meteorite through paper, blasting out an exit wound that had the small vessel looking like a big metal flower. Its guns sputtered out one last breath before the whole ship started to blankly list, dead.

Ruby’s cheeks hurt from her grin, and she'd smiled hard enough to split the bites she'd made just before the interface node. Vitae bubbled to the wounds, sweet and viscous, congealing over them like amber. “Did you see that?” she asked, feeling her voice a little frantic. “Now we veer out, right? To the big ship?”

Yang’s voice came out like a worried stare. “Yes. Just… keep following my lead.”

Ruby, despite herself, giggled as Yang turned them both tangentially along the main sphere of combat, skirting the worst of it and blasting towards the outer limits. The carrier, a fat, juicy obelisk of a ship, came into sight quickly, looking like a ripe fruit produced just for her. Ruby slid another rectangular primer into its slot, then racked a new sabot. She wouldn't need a targeting solution for this. “Ready."

Yang, surprisingly, took a while. She said nothing while Ruby dithered impatiently, feeling her gun’s hum, her finger itching on the trigger. They came closer, kept coming closer, and Ruby had to hunker down behind her sister’s shields as they came within range of the carrier’s guns.

“Yang! Yang!”

The golden Haema beneath her jolted. “Fire!”

Ruby breathed a sigh even before she pulled the trigger. The primer exploded, the round flew free, and she could track the sabot’s blistering line towards the carrier’s center, where it'd rip through the shields and tumble through whatever mass of important stuff lay vulnerable beneath the shell of its hull. Then the whole thing would explode hotly, and Ruby could bask in the satisfaction of heroism, knowing she saved her faithful brethren and damned the seculars.

Only, the sabot never struck the hull, never ripped at the big carrier’s juicy insides, because something— some-frigging-how— deflected it. A bright shape, either white or blue, stood between her and her prey.

Then Ruby was tumbling, because Yang had been completely ripped out from under her, thrust out as a spiraling mass of yellow and violet— another Haema, Ruby realized, wrestling with her sister and somehow holding its own!

Her control thrusters blasted, Ruby splayed her arms and legs wide, and she flourished her staff into both hands. Charging after her sister, the lance shunted out a long blade from its tip. The Lancer became its namesake, spear held straight and true as the vitae in Ruby's system coursed with a lust for combat.

Her charge was arrested by a blur of blinding white. Another Haema stood before her, a blue-limned buckler on its right forearm and a long white sword in its left hand. It was smooth and articulated, formed like a porcelain suit of ancient plate armor, complete with resplendent blue pauldrons that supported a bright cyan cape. Its eyes were a baleful, clashing red, locked perfectly onto Ruby’s— in and out of the Haema.

She felt something. Some… tugging. A pull at her heart and her veins and her brain. A familiar feeling.

Ruby stared into those glowing scarlet eyes and felt a hunger. A clawing need. A lust and a desperation that Ruby had never seen in anyone else before.

Another bloodcaller.

“Achtung, Bauer!” rocketed a voice from that knightly Haema, haughty and high-pitched. “You stand in ze presence of Schnee! In your thick skull, realize zat resistance is futile! Your God has abandoned you!”

Of course, the first time she'd ever met another bloodcaller, they were crazy. “What?”

“Zis is your last chance! Drop ze lance!”

Ruby blinked, the gears in her skull going ka-klunk and slipping into rapid motion, slapping her with realization: she would fight a fellow bloodcaller. And on her first day!

Ruby lowered the tip of her spear in a move that she hoped looked honorable and flared her stabilizers. “Nope,” she said through a voracious grin. “Let's go.”

Her ears crackled loudly, a voice— her sister's voice— wailing through: “N-no! Ruby! Don—”

Static cut Yang's transmission down to nothing. She felt a rise of protectiveness within her, an urge to bolt past this weirdo and grab her sister, but a single movement from the Haema before her choked everything dry. It dipped low at the waist, spread its arms, and bowed.

Sense left Ruby. Rationality fled completely. All she had was lust.

Space shortened to nothing before her, the Schnee (whatever that meant) getting closer as Ruby blasted fully towards it, spear extended, thrusting outwards decisively for the center of mass. The knightly mech parried her stupendously, buckler arcing up and batting the lance away with ease, with force, nearly throwing it out of Ruby’s giant silver palms before she redoubled her grip and blasted past the Haema. She cut her thrusters and rolled, her body barreling around until the spear’s point was once again level with her opponent, at which point the long blade shifted dorsally, presenting the gun-barrel once more as Ruby slapped in a primer and shoved a sabot home. She pulled the trigger.

The porcelain-looking Haema knocked her sabot away with a shower of plasma and shrapnel, the force of the round throwing its arm back and turning it slightly before some kind of control thrusters kicked in, or another stabilizer that Ruby couldn't see. Without hesitation, she set her spear’s point forward again and charged, screaming towards the bloodcaller, lance out. This time, with their buckler still away, the Haema clashed its sword— a rapier with some kind of fancy, colorful hilt— directly against her spear, locking the point against their crossguard and sending them both flying with Ruby’s momentum.

“Utterly lacking!” the porcelain knight cried. “You are artless, you are overly quick, you make no grace of your movements!”

The buckler came around and smashed into Ruby’s head, separating her from the bloodcaller and making everything spin. She fanned out her thrusters for control, but she moved too late— the knight was behind her, her sensors were screaming, she could feel the thrust that was about to penetrate her spine— she would die. The blade would penetrate her chassis and vent her cockpit into the cold aether. Ruby would flop into space, helmetless, the heavy vitae in her body pulsing and pushing until she went unconscious, and it all ripped out of her veins at once. Ruby Rose, on her first mission, her divine christening, would die.

Ruby blew all the thrusters on her right side and pulsed up with her feet, forcing the rapier to slide into the hip of her Haema instead of the lethal center. Her huge mechanical body held the blade like a sheath, and she flipped her staff to—

“Hold still, you idiot!” the knight cried, its hand coming around to grab Ruby by the face— her Haema’s face. “There!”

“I've got you!” Ruby cried first.

“N— no, you have not!” the bloodcaller protested. “You are facing ze other vay! I have you by ze face!”

Ruby let her smirk drip into her voice. “You didn't notice? Look behind you.”

There was a shuffle, metal-on-metal as the knight’s body moved against Ruby’s, which felt confusingly like flesh-on-flesh. She felt the Haema, the bloodcaller within, jump in surprise as they caught sight of Ruby’s spear— with the long blade of its head flipped like a scythe’s— hugging the crook of their porcelain neck. “Huh,” they said, which sounded like a real person right next to Ruby’s real ear. “Aren't you something.”

“Now let me go, or you'll die first.”

The other bloodcaller snorted, their voice tight but humored. “Nein. I vill not.”

“And why not, huh?”

The fingers around Ruby’s face, their steel feeling like real flesh, warmed to burning. “Because I have still gotten you.”

Burning, something which Ruby couldn't feel. Pain, impossible when the Haema had her nerves cut dead, but it all surged right to her brain nonetheless. She felt the sword in her hip— the real sword in her real hip, lodged in flesh and bone and gushing blood— and she screamed. She wailed, thrashed, swinging her scythe like it would relieve the feeling that could never be felt, the impossibility that had become reality. She had lived her whole life knowing that the Haema’s pain could never be hers, but now her reality was sundered. She arched her spine— the Haema’s spine, her spine, the bodies were the same, the agony was the same, they were both howling.

The sword exited her bones and metal in a white flash of anguish, and Ruby found herself being jerked backward by a hand. She felt her ears coming alive with sound, hot and loud.

“Ruby!” Yang called from a mile away. “Ruby, are you— they got you! Oh god, Ruby, Ruby respond!”

Ruby gurgled, unable to find her voice. She felt her Haema moving, limp.

“You're alive! Thank God, they got you. Okay. Just… stay there, okay? Everything—”

Static cut her out again. Ruby gurgled again.

“Vhy are you making zat noise?” the bloodcaller asked, dragging her limp Haema by the neck. “You should not be avake.”

Vitae surged in her, a well of defiance rising in her gut, but nowhere else. “I… I'll kill you,” she promised. “I'll… do it.”

Ruby’s head lolled back, her eyes boring up at the other bloodcaller. It stared back. Ruby could feel their eyes— her eyes, she was certain— clashing against her own. The hand around her neck was real. The body carrying her was blood and meat and skin. The bloodcaller dragged her all the way to the carrier she'd failed to destroy. She chucked her into a hangar, one similar in all the important ways to the one she'd just left. Ruby’s metal body sighed limply against the floor.

Porcelain feet entered her vision, their shape like sabatons, and Ruby’s brain was convinced that they'd be warm to the touch. There was a sound. Then another sound, then more sounds. Then a hissing, a clanking, a sliding. Ruby’s split perception differentiated, one pair of her eyes seeing the world open into white light before her, the other pair staring listlessy at the big metal feet. She wasn't sure which was real.

There was a person inside her. The person, the bloodcaller, the girl like her, not a knight but a stretched-out thing of white that her red-tinted vision struggled to comprehend. Ruby’s eyes failed to focus, and any attempts to move her body only made the wrong limbs move, the ones that were on the outside. A voice slipped into Ruby’s ears, real, with a tongue and lips and air, but no less real than that knight’s voice had been.

“Vait, vat in ze fuck?” the white thing tugged at her umbilical cord— her transfusion cable. “Mein Gott, zis is so much vitae. How are you alive?”

Ruby blinked, pushing out saplike red tears. Speaking felt unfamiliar, like it was in the wrong throat— everything felt unfamiliar. Scrambling, panicking sensors felt just like her sense of smell and taste. She couldn't differentiate.

“Vat? Vat are you saying?”

The bright white head bent towards Ruby. She tried to force air over her throat, remembering manually what a voice was supposed to be. “Blood… crall… brall… brac… ler…”

The white thing shook its head. “Have you a concussion? I did not give you one.”

Ruby groaned, testing her vocal chords. “Blood… blood… call… er.”

White made no sign of acknowledgement and instead gripped Ruby's umbilical cord fully. “Let us get some normal blood in you, oder?”

Ruby tried to thrash. Her body didn't comply. Something was covering her vision, obscuring her view of the white thing, something caked thickly over her whole face— hair, thick and dark, crystallized to her skin by dried vitae. She was bleary. She was angry. Nobody would take her vitae away.

This point was carried across through weak movements of her arms and tiny, wordless burbles, which white-thing either didn't understand or didn't respect. Ruby vacillated, stuck between flopping in her chair or trying to flop out of it, but White did another series of indecipherable things with her hands, causing the worst thing ever to happen to Ruby:

All her vitae raced up her veins, dilating and burning her vessels as the thick stuff moved faster than it should, scraping Ruby’s insides and blasting up, leaking from her eyes as it bulged up her neck. At the same time, feeble blood flooded her carotid, piping traitorously from her own Haema, hot and cold and thin. It felt like all her parts were filling with tepid water. Her mind slowed to a crawl, her vision sharpened and dulled simultaneously, and her pain doubled.

White held her down. “Stop your thrashing!” it demanded, its accent turning ‘thrashing’ into ‘trashing’. “Vhy are you going crazy!”

Ruby kept thrashing. She couldn't not be thrashing until the white smear fumbled at the back of her neck, grabbed something it should not grav, and yanked.

Unfortunately, that seemed to work because the violent cleaving of Ruby's existence snapped everything into perfect human clarity. Her body became singular, unbalanced and nauseous, but the physical pain disappeared. It was replaced by mental pain, anguish of memory, the haunting of that impossible pain reeking deep in Ruby's bones. Her brain felt like a sinkhole— brought so high then wrenched so low— vacant and filling only with the upending memory of having her real hip getting pierced by a real sword.

It was worse than the actual pain. Somehow. Now she was sober, no high to ride from the vitae, no adrenaline, no nothing but her thoughts and the recollection of the rapier and her bones, free to be remembered in excruciating detail from all angles. A fundamental fact of her life had been shattered. Painfully.

Ruby's hearing cleared before her vision did.

“Okay, okay, you are okay? Ja?”

Ruby opened her eyes, only to realize they were already open. They took a little longer to calibrate.

When the image in front of her, still obscured by plastered black hair, finally came to clarity, Ruby scowled.

The smear of white, the bloodcaller who'd done this to her, was a girl. Probably. Her hair was long and white, hanging in an asymmetrical ribbon of a ponytail. Her features were pale, powder or snow, and pinched somewhat close to… frustration? Concern? With her bright, colorless brows drawn so tight, Ruby couldn't tell. Her lips were a pursed bow, pinker than lips should be, chin and nose downright cherubic to match.

Cute. The face was cute. Even if it was riven with sharp, surgical lines. A vertical seam split her nose from tip to bridge, vanishing somewhere under her hairline. Forked lines cupped the orbits of her eyes, dipping down her cheeks like tears, cresting over her jaw and continuing until they disappeared beneath her collar. More angular lines ringed each ear. Her face looked like it could just… open.

Ruby gulped. Without vitae, she felt weak. No indignant heat rose in her chest. She didn't spit ‘you secular waste!’ in her face. Her cheeks warmed. Her head lolled a little.

“Oh, you are not okay. You… how did you… nichts. Macht nichts.” She shook her head and looked out of the gaping cockpit of Ruby's Haema. “I vill be back mit Wasser— water. You need it. Er… stay put. Egal.”

Ruby watched her leave, and she wasn't sure how much time had passed before the bloodcaller came back. It felt like a blink, but Ruby felt tender, vulnerable loneliness like she'd been gone forever. She felt pathetic. She was pathetic. She should be throttling this lady, killing her, but she just sat there slumped, feeling (and probably looking) like a wounded animal. The girl, the bloodcaller, knelt before her. Ruby realized she was on her side. She didn't remember falling out of the seat.

The girl tilted Ruby’s chin up, holding a water bottle like it was a gun.

A voice rumbled up Ruby’s shredded throat— her own, probably. “Wher… sher…”

“Hm? Ja? Still avake?”

“Nnnn… naamm-uh. Nayum.” Ruby worked her jaw, getting feeling back in her mouth. “Name. Your name.”

“Schnee,” Schnee said. “Like I said.”

Ruby turned her nose up petulantly. “Nuh-uh. That's not a name.”

“Oh really? Then vhy don't you tell me your—”

“Ruby,” Ruby answered stupidly, giving intel away to the enemy like the concussed idiot she was.

“Zat is just as believable as mine."

“I'm a bloodcaller. So’re you.”

Schnee stared at her. Ruby stared back. “Weiss,” Weiss said eventually. “And I'm not… that.”

Ruby tried the name on her tongue. “Vice?”

The girl cringed. “Just…” she sighed with a lifetime of defeat. “Weiss. Mit einem ‘W’. Wuh.”

“Vuh?” Ruby tried, concussed. “Vuh-ice?"

“Nein. Weiss. Ooouuh-ice.”

“Ooouuh-ice.”

“Weiss.”

“Vice.”

“Double-u."

“Uu-ice?”

Weiss (Uu-ice, apparently) dragged a hand laboriously over her face. Ruby noticed surgical marks on that, too. “Ja. Sure. Uu-ice. Close enough.” She grabbed Ruby's jaw and tilted her face up towards the water bottle. “Now say ‘aaah’.”

Ruby (still concussed, still an idiot) obeyed, opening her mouth wide and even going ‘aaah’ for her mortal enemy, ready to accept her anomalous fluids. Weiss squeezed the bottle. Water blasted over Ruby’s face, which felt amazing, soaking her as the other bloodcaller focused the stream towards Ruby's dumb idiot waiting mouth. The water was heaven on her tongue, washing all the sweetness of vitae away.

The girl— the bloodcaller— Weiss— pulled the bottle back and, with undue care, brushed Ruby’s now-wet, un-crystallized hair out of her face. She stared, brows raising. Her eyes were impossibly blue.

“Scheiße,” she mumbled. “You are pretty.”

[karriethemechtech]

Sabretooth SB2-RT

Mass: 100 tons Chassis: Earthwerks AS IV Power Plant: Vlar 300 Cruising Speed: 32.4 kph Maximum Speed: 64.8 kph Jump Jets: None Jump Capacity: 0 meters Armor: Hellespont Lite Armament: 2 ER PPC 5 Medium Pulse Laser Manufacturer: Majesty Metals and Manufacturing Primary Factory: Unknown Communication System: Tek BattleCom Targeting & Tracking System: Tek Tru-Trak Introduction Year: 3146 Tech Rating/Availability: F/X-X-X-D Cost: 16,031,000 C-bills

Overview Proposed as part of Project: BIG CAT for the Magistracy of Canopus, the Sabretooth was designed by Majesty Metals and Manufacturing in 3146 as a hardy, brutally effective brawler.

Capabilities The Sabretooth was the most troubled of the three BIG CAT designs; early drafts were unfocused and confused messes; months of prototyping went into fitting all of the necessary components onto the frame. To accomodate the bulk of all of the components, Endo Steel was escewed in favor of more traditional materials. The 'Mech is armed with two Clan-spec ERPPCs for long range, mysteriously supplied in the same way as the Yaguara's large lasers. For closer ranges, the machine mounts five medium pulse lasers, all across the top half of the 'Mech, as well as two massive claws. These giant blades are capable of decapitating a mech in a single swipe, making the Sabretooth a terrifying force up close.

Deployment The Sabretooth is used among the Magistracy Armed Forces in much the same manner as an Atlas--find a target, approach, and make that target cease to exist, while shrugging off as much fire as possible. Indeed, the Assault 'Mech's snarling visage is starting to develop a reputation all its own.

Type: Sabretooth Technology Base: Mixed (Standard) Tonnage: 100 Battle Value: 2,547

Equipment Mass Internal Structure 10 Engine 300 Fusion 19 Walking MP: 3 Running MP: 5(6) Jumping MP: 0 Double Heat Sink 18 [36] 8 Gyro 3 Cockpit 3 Armor Factor (Light Ferro) 307 18.5 Internal Armor Structure Value Head 3 9 Center Torso 31 47 Center Torso (rear) 15 R/L Torso 21 32 R/L Torso (rear) 10 R/L Arm 17 34 R/L Leg 21 42

Right Arm Actuators: Shoulder, Upper Arm, Lower Arm Left Arm Actuators: Shoulder, Upper Arm, Lower Arm

Weapons and Ammo Location Critical Heat Tonnage Supercharger CT 1 - 2.0 Medium Pulse Laser RT 1 4 2.0 3 Double Heat Sink RT 9 - 3.0 ER PPC RT 2 15 6.0 Claw LA 7 - 7.0 Medium Pulse Laser LA 1 4 2.0 Medium Pulse Laser LT 1 4 2.0 3 Double Heat Sink LT 9 - 3.0 ER PPC LT 2 15 6.0 Medium Pulse Laser HD 1 4 2.0 Claw RA 7 - 7.0 Medium Pulse Laser RA 1 4 2.0

Features the following design quirks: Distracting, Stable

And here's the final of the three Project: BIG CAT designs! This one has...wow, that's a lot of armor. A LOT of armor. And can swipe your head off in one punch if you're not careful! Yikes. I'm glad I'm on the same side as these things.

[boinkingbattlemechs]

AS7-K3b2 "Gewitter"

Gewitter was the custom command 'Mech of Lieutenant General Theodora Marten-Steiner, notable for her role in the early formation of the Third Star League SLDF, Operation TOUCHDOWN, Operation WINDFALL, and the later Lyran War of Reclamation. Famous in her eventual role as commander of the hyper-elite Royal Guards RCT, the Lieutenant General also served as the second commanding officer of the Royal Black Watch regiment, after its second re-founding in 3151.

Gewitter is built on the Atlas chassis, though a great deal of modification has made it truly one-of-a-kind. The original platform upon which the venerable ‘Mech was built was the Atlas AS7-K3, notable for its inclusion of jump jets. They remained a hallmark of Gewitter, carrying through to the final model, introduced on the battlefields of Helios in October 3153, much to the horror of the Word of Blake forces at the Battle of Fort Bayeux.

Gewitter is, at first glance, a fairly standard Atlas mech, originally of Defiance Industries manufacture. However, after two major refits, very little remains of the original K3 as it entered service in 3134.

The first refit was conducted by the MechTechs of Skobel Mechworks at their Yakima Proving Grounds on Terra. There, for a time, Gewitter sat opposite Test Unit Sierra Five - the original Mackie and the first ever BattleMech - while the Atlas was fully rebuilt. The refit focused on integrating mixed Inner Sphere and Clan technology along with additional command gear, armor, and sensors; steps were also taken to shave weight from the original design. This further enhanced its pilot’s dynamic, fluid style with greater maneuverability. An extra additional step added late in the refit process, as ordered by Commanding General Melissa Hazen herself, saw Gewitter's right hand fitted with a half-ton, 24-karat engagement ring, complete with the largest natural diamonds ever cut in human history - the inside band of which was etched in micro-font with the entire Jade Falcon Remembrance. This ring remained upon Gewitter's right arm, even after the wedding of Hazen and Marten-Steiner in the aftermath of Operation TOUCHDOWN.

The second refit, performed on the battlefields of Helios by Star Captain (later Khan) Xerxes Truscott of Clan Star Adder, focused primarily on the integration of two newly designed, powerful, and devastating weapons: the Clan-spec Light Gauss Rifle and the Pile Bunker.

After this second and final refit, Gewitter was equipped as follows:

Atlas 'Gewitter' AS7-K3-Tb2

Mass: 100 tons

Chassis: Skobel 100-Lite Variable Composite Biped

Power Plant: Defiance Clan-Grade 400 XL

Cruising Speed: 43.2 kph

Maximum Speed: 64.8 kph

Jump Jets: Standard

Jump Capacity: 90 meters

Armor: Duralex Ferro-Fibrous w/ CASE II

Armament:

1 Light Gauss Rifle (C)

1 Streak SRM 4 (C)

2 ER Large Laser (C)

1 Pile Bunker (C)

Manufacturer: Defiance Industries (original)/Skobel MechWorks (refit #1)/Fursona's Fusiliers (refit #2)

Primary Factory: Defiance Manufacturing Annex - Kwangjong-Ni (original)/Yakima Proving Grounds, Terra (refit #1)/Argo Mechbay (refit #2)

Communication System: Clan-enhanced Irian E.A.R. w/ Nova CEWS & Studebaker-T19 Battle Computer

Targeting & Tracking System: Clan-enhanced Army Corporation Type 29K w/ Advanced Targeting Computer (w/ VRT)

Introduction Year: 3153

Tech Rating/Availability: F/X-X-X-X

Cost: 34,853,333 C-bills

Type: Atlas 'Gewitter'

Technology Base: Mixed (Unofficial)

Tonnage: 100

Battle Value: 2,729

Equipment Mass

Internal Structure Composite 5

Engine 400 XL 26.5

Walking MP: 4

Running MP: 6

Jumping MP: 3

Double Heat Sink 10 [20] 0

Gyro 4

Small Cockpit (Armored) 3

Armor Factor (Ferro) 297 15.5

Internal Armor

Structure Value

Head 3 9

Center Torso 31 47

Center Torso (rear) 5

R/L Torso 21 32

R/L Torso (rear) 10

R/L Arm 17 34

R/L Leg 21 42

Right Arm Actuators: Shoulder, Upper Arm, Lower Arm, Hand

Left Arm Actuators: Shoulder, Upper Arm, Lower Arm, Hand

Weapons

and Ammo Location Critical Heat Tonnage

Triple Strength Myomer RT/LT/RA/LA/RL/LL 1/per - 0.0

Jump Jet CT 1 - 2.0

Jump Jet RT 1 - 2.0

CASE II (Clan) RT 1 - 0.5

Light Gauss Rifle Ammo (32) RT 2 - 2.0

Streak SRM 4 Ammo (25) RT 1 - 1.0

Pile Bunker Ammo (5) RT 1 - 1.0

Pile Bunker Ammo (2) RT 1 - 0.5

Targeting Computer LA 4 - 4.0

ER Large Laser (Clan) LA 1 12 4.0

Jump Jet LT 1 - 2.0

CASE II LT 1 - 0.5

Streak SRM 4 (Clan) LT 1 3 2.0

Light Gauss Rifle (Clan)* LT 4 1 11.0

Armored Cowl (Armored) HD 1 - 1.5

Nova Combined Electronic Warfare System HD 1 - 1.5

ER Large Laser (Clan) RA 1 12 4.0

Pile Bunker (Clan)** RA 6 - 6.0

Engagement Ring*** RA - - 0.5

* = Heat 1, Dmg 12, Min.Rng 2, Short.Rng 1-7, Med.Rng: 8-16, Long.Rng: 17-24, Tons: 11, Crit.Slots: 4, Ammo/Ton: 16

** = A Pile Bunker inflicts one point of damage for every five tons the 'Mech weighs. When punching with a Pile Bunker, the user can choose to fire the pile, expending one shot of ammunition (5 ammo per ton) and generating 5 heat, scoring a critical on the location hit with a -2 modifier. In addition, if armor remains after an attack where the Pile Bunker has been fired, roll for a second critical hit with a -2 modifier. For each critical dealt, also deal one point of internal damage to that location.

*** = gives a -1/-1 morale bonus to pilot and gunnery skills - if (and only if) Theodora Marten-Steiner is piloting.

Features the following design quirks: Battle Computer, Battle Fists (LA), Battle Fists (RA), Combat Computer, Cowl, Distracting, Easy to Pilot, Extended Torso Twist, Fine Manipulators, Illegal Design (Custom Weapons+Custom Equipment), Improved Communications, Improved Sensors, Multi-Trac, Nimble Jumper, Reinforced Legs, Variable Range Targeting

(Our second Fanon Friday 'Mech! Again designed by yours truly for @baldy-wan-kenobi's character Theodora, part of the Operation Touchdown AU RP project. No art on this one, but hopefully there may be some soon!)

[skeefee-sky]

'Unplugged; round 2."

@thunder-tober Day prompt: 13 - Whiplash Characters: Virgil Tracy, Scott Tracy, (Thunderbird Two) Word count: 815

Earth&Sky whump? Earth&Sky whump-! >w< This one’s also outside of my ‘under 600-word limit for thundertober’ so, buckle up c: (anddd I’m maybe considering writing it into something longer <w<) Minor warning for a lil’ blood. An unexplained incident leaves Thunderbird Two downed in the middle of the ocean. With minor injuries, Virgil and Scott need to find a way to get her online, and call for help.

💙💚TB ~~~ TB ~~~ TB ~~~ TB ~~~ TB ~~~ TB ~~~ TB ~~~ TB 💚💙

He felt heavy. It wasn’t what he was normally used to, especially flying Thunderbird One. Something felt off…

As Scott slowly came to his senses, blue eyes groggily scanned the cockpit. Wait… He wasn’t in Thunderbird One. He was in Thunderbird Two… and he wasn’t alone! In a panic, he made to get up, but was abruptly stopped by a sharp pain in his neck, and the seatbelt still fastened around his middle. Hands slightly shook as he undid it, and he quickly got to his feet. The first things he noticed was something red flashing from multiple points in the corners of his vision, a dull ringing in his ears… and his younger brother slumped over the controls of his ship. Scott tried not to move too quickly to get to him; his neck pain shooting tingles down his spine with every step.

“Virg…? Virgil? Wake up,” he urged, shaking his brother’s shoulder with little force. “Virgil, can you hear me?”

A few beats of silence, but soon he got a muffled mumble in response, and that black head of hair moved as little brother came back to him. Scott let out a relieved sigh.

“Good. Are you-…? You’re bleeding.”

“Mhn?” With one hand, Virgil held himself off the flight yoke as he rubbed his other against his face, smearing blood across his cheek. The dark red was barely visible against the back of his glove when he checked. “Must’ve, knocked myself out…”

At least he was wearing his seatbelt… Scott straightened up and looked around them as best he could. The horizon was all wrong. Everything was blue…

Everything was blue.

“We’re down… We’re on the water…!” he observed, looking back at his brother in concern. “Virgil, why are we on the water?”

It had taken a moment for the heavy lifter to notice their surroundings too. He sat himself up and loosened his seatbelt, reaching over to tap at his ship’s equipment. She’d been awfully quiet since they’d come around…

“Did, Two say anything?”

“Dunno. I only woke up a few minutes before you. Haven’t heard her.”

“Thunderbird Two?” Virgil called; brown eyes scanning around him as he waited for some form of response. He then leant over to check the controls again. “All systems offline… Nothing’s responding. I think… I think Thunderbird Two’s been immobilised… Scott, we’re stuck.”

The first responder had been in the middle of massaging the pain in his neck when his brother addressed him, moving his hand to rest on his shoulder.

“Try backups?” he inquired.

“I did; nothing. Usually Two would have them up by now. Whatever’s shut her down, must have been really powerful.”

It would have been to trigger out her source of sentience… The heavy lifter had dealt with a situation like this before – the EMF power surge over London with those Luddite fellows. But, it wouldn’t have been possible to pull something like that off here; they were over the middle of the ocean, away from any sources of land. Virgil hummed into the back of his hand… and was promptly reminded of the blood dripping from his nose.

“Let’s, maybe focus on something we have control over first. Surely you didn’t wake up unscathed,” he commented, looking his older brother over as he got up, as if he’d missed something. “All okay?”

“FAB,” Scott confirmed, almost a little too quickly, but he hoped Virgil hadn’t picked up on it. He obviously hadn’t seen him soothing the strain in his neck earlier, and he felt he didn’t need to worry him about it just yet. As Virgil wandered to locate a first-aid kit, he scoffed softly.

“So, you weren’t just massaging the nape of your neck for no reason then?”

“… Fine. Guess I should probably put a pack on it.”

Virgil grabbed two packs, and a roll of cloth to clean himself up with. With the both of them taken care of, the brothers then returned to their seats, both slightly tense as the Thunderbird creaked around them.

“I was wondering when we were going to start sinking…” Scott dreaded, nursing the ice to the back of his neck. Virgil half-ignored him, trying all he could to get anything from his ship. He sat back momentarily to get a call out to Thunderbird Five, or even Tracy Island, but whatever had knocked out his Thunderbird, had knocked out their gear too. He couldn’t even bring up a schematic to see if his ship had taken damage. He almost slumped back in defeat, but was quick to be on his feet again, heading for the back door of the cockpit. That could work-!

“Virg?”

“Stay,” he commanded to his older brother, who shot him an eye roll, and disappeared through the door. Now he just had to locate them, and hope someone was close enough to see the call for help. . ~~~ TBC...? ~~~

[thrawns-babygirl]

could i request “crosshair walking in on the middle of reader getting off” please? also fem!reader if possible if not no worries❤️

One of my favorite smut tropes anon <3 I'm kinda on the fence with how i feel about this one but I hope you enjoy! As always Likes and Reblogs keep me going.

Rating: E Warnings: Mutual Masturbation, Oral (F!Receiving), Unprotected PiV, creampie Word Count: 1531

Masterlist

You finally got some alone time. Finally, after rotation after rotation you were alone in the Marauder while the Batch went out on a supply run. You know for a fact it was not necessary for each and every member to go, but after being cooped up together for maker knows how long tensions were running high and some time outdoors was exactly what the Batch needed.

You checked the readouts in the cockpit that Tech had asked you to keep and eye on, you counted the rations and sent the numbers over to Echo and Hunter, you even washed a set of everyone’s blacks so they had clean clothes to return to and now you were finally free to relax.

Walking over to your bunk, you start to wonder… what do you actually want to do? It’s been so long since you’ve had some alone time you’re at a bit of a loss for how you want to spend said time.

Gazing around the bunk room you take in each member’s small personal space. Tech’s equations and scribbles on the wall next to his bunk, Wrecker’s unmade bed, Hunter’s trademark bandana is loosely shoved under his pillow and Crosshair’s bunk is perfectly made. You get along well with almost the whole batch, and working with them has been a breath of fresh air compared to the stuffy rules and regulations you were used to in your old Venator. The only member that you had a somewhat… tumultuous relationship with was Crosshair.

There was a lot of silence when you first joined, followed by a lot of scathing remarks, followed by playfully teasing remarks, that all cumulated in somewhat flirtatious banter between the two of you. You can’t really say it’s unwelcome banter either, out of the entire Batch, Crosshair is 100% your ‘type’. Witty, snarky, smart, competent and very very handsome.

Your thoughts continue to wander as you gaze over at his bunk, after working with the batch for what almost 100 standard rotations now? You still have never seen what he looks like under his blacks. The other’s have had no issue leaving the refresher in nothing but a towel, or the one unfortunate time Wrecker forgot there was a woman on board and walked out stark naked, but Crosshair? You’ve never even seen his arms let alone his chest or legs, regardless of how much you’d like to.

You look at the chrono and realise no one should be back for at least the next 2 standard hours, more than enough time to let your thoughts run a little wild while you make the most of your ‘alone time’.

You remove the bottoms of your civvies and hop onto your bunk. Closing your eyes, you let your thoughts travel to the stoic sniper and his long fingers, wondering what it would feel like if he was the one rubbing circles over your clit instead of you, how his hands would feel wrapped around your waist as he pounded you into the mattress, what his voice would sound like as he whispered filthy things into your ear.

You slip one finger then a second inside your entrance as your other hand continues rubbing small tight circles on your clit. Small whimpers and moans of his name leave your lips, your minds eye conjuring up lewd scenarios of Crosshair on his knees before you, face buried between your legs telling you how sweet you taste telling you how-

“Am I interrupting something doll?” your eyes open and standing before you with the most self-satisfied smirk you have ever seen is the object of your desires. You close your legs and scramble to get under your blanket.

“C-Cross… I-” you stutter trying to get your breathing under control.

“Oh no, don’t stop on my account, the way you were saying my name was much prettier before” he makes his way over to the bunk directly across from yours. Taking a seat he removes his codpiece and the lower parts of his armour before pulling down his blacks enough to reveal his half hard cock.

He sits there, stroking himself lazily his eyes locked with yours as you slowly remove the blanket covering your lower half. Turning to face him you realise that if he didn’t want you this wouldn’t be happening, so you throw caution to the wind and sit on the bed fully facing him, legs spread putting yourself on display for the man in front of you.

Crosshair lets out a low whistle as he watches you play with your clit with one hand, your other hand reaching up under your shirt to fondle your breasts as you let out a low moan. The hand around his length speeds up as he lets out low grunts and groans, eyes trailing down your body to where your hand was working your own arousal.

“What were you thinking about Mesh’la?” he asks bringing his eyes back up to yours.

“You” you answer simply as you speed up the tight circles on your clit, throwing your head back and letting out another moan.

“I know that princess, I want you to be more specific, what about me?” he stands up off the bunk and walks towards you, still pumping himself as he approaches you.

“Your mouth… and Ah- your cock” you move the hand down from beneath your shirt and bring one finger to your opening before slipping inside your slick walls.

“Kark doll, what about them?” he’s so close to you now, you can see the precum beginning to leak out of the tip of his hard length, hear his stuttering breaths as he watches you.

“I was thinking about you… eating me out… before bending me over and fucking me… making me scream your name” you close your eyes and before you can continue a loud moan erupts from your chest as Crosshair moves your hands away from you, gets to his knees and licks a long stripe up your entrance before circling your clit and letting out a low groan.

“You taste… so sweet Mesh’la…” he mumbles against your heat as he wraps his lips around your sensitive nub and sucks. You threat your fingers through his short hair and pull him closer to you as he continues lapping at your slick entrance. You had already worked yourself up so much that it doesn’t take long for the clone’s talented tongue to rip a powerful orgasm from your body. He doesn’t let up, his mouth working you through your peak until you have to pull him away from your oversensitive body.

“On the bed doll” he grunts as he removes the bottom half of his blacks. You get on all fours as he slides into the bunk behind you, ducking his head so he doesn’t smack it on the bunk above yours. He stays behind you for a moment, simply admiring the mess he had made of you, your slick glistening in the light of the Marauder.

He grabs your hip with one hand, and uses the other to line himself up with your entrance. He rubs his length along your folds a few times before slowly inching himself inside you, letting out a sinful groan at the feeling of your tight heat engulfing him. He doesn’t give you any time to adjust before he starts quickly thrusting into you, settling both of his hands on your hips in a bruising grip.

“Kriff Mesh’la you’re so karking tight- I’m not gonna last long” he pants out at you, the bunk beneath you creaking slightly at his furious pace. You’re reduced to a whimpering mess beneath him, head falling onto your pillow as you moan and whine. This was better than you could have possibly imagined, the head of his cock was reaching that spot inside you that made you cry out, the sounds muffled by your pillows.

He reaches a hand around to tease your already oversensitive clit. The friction on your bundle of nerves combined with the way his length was pounding in and out of you was enough to send you over the edge again your muscles spasming and clenching around him as an almost pornographic moan of his name was ripped from your lungs.

“W-where” he asks as his pace begins to faulter.

“Inside… its safe” he lets out a groan and thrust one, two, three more times before he releases inside of you, cock throbbing as he spurts ropes of hot cum inside your walls.

You’re both quiet for a moment, panting before he slowly pulls out of you, moving to sit on the edge of your bed. You can feel his spend leaking down your thighs as he does before your tired limbs give out and you lay flat on your bunk. He chuckles, placing a toothpick in his mouth.

“Well, I just came back to have a shower before the others came back and used all the hot water… wanna join?” he looks over at you, eyebrow raised.

“Sure” you give him a tired smile, watching as he begins to shed the top half of his armour as he walks towards the refresher.

@where-is-my-mind-tho

@starborncyare

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

Kate narrating a documentary about bee-keeping and honeymaking? Earthshot giving us a 6 episode documentary series about their winners narrated by Cate Blanchett or a 2-hour special about Cape Town and South Africa (and every Earthshot city) by David Attenborough or a local expert? A 30-minute travel program about Cornwall by the Duchy of Cornwall? 3-minute YouTube videos about their charities and patronages produced by the people who work there or who benefit from services posted ahead of their visits? William narrating a documentary about his homeless initiative in Cornwall? A summer exhibition in KP’s display hall of Kate’s dresses or a Kate-curated show of the Royal Collection or loans from her patronages?

Yes, yes, and yes!!!! William and Catherine really are the first gen of royals to belong wholly to the social media generation. They should use it’s global reach much more expansively and more expertly. 

For Catherine: yes to beekeeping lol! Show the children - during small, limited vignettes - helping her. Further though, she has a degree in Art History. The BRF/RCT has a priceless art collection, most of it largely unseen/unknown by the greater public. Pair these two gems together in some (“fun yet informative”) documentaries…even a series. Same for the BRF photo collection. The BRF has been photographed by iconic photographers…Cecil Beaton, Richard Avedon (D/Dss of Windsor lol), Annie Leibowitz, Mario Testino (those stunning Diana photos). Sure, some of it’s been done before, but let the people see these treasures again in an updated modern media presentation - interspersed/“edited” :) with pertinent film footage and interviews - and hosted by Catherine.

And not just the BRF art/photography treasures, but ditto for their fashion (an entire series in itself!), jewelry/tiaras (what exactly IS inside the Royal Vault, anyway, hiding unseen?), castles/palaces/homes (let’s see inside Balmoral, Sandringham, Kensington, Adelaide Cottage (limited access), Frogmore House - but minus Frog Cott…we already know what Soho House design looks like, although Frog Cott cemetery might be informative…), priceless antique furniture, properties/gardens, horse stables and animals, even their vehicles (rare carriages, automobiles, boats, aircraft)! How about a documentary on the Royal Ballet, hosted by Catherine and Charlotte, w footage included of Granny Diana at the RB? Each of these categories could easily fill an episode, presented by C. The catch, of course, would be to present all of this “to the people” in a way that doesn’t scream “let y'all eat cake!” but rather “this is yours, be proud of its beauty and history, which also is yours” ala Jackie Kennedy at the White House.

And separately from the above “fine arts” themes, yes, let’s also see much more in-depth coverage - by William and Catherine - of their charities and the bts work/progress involved, especially as related to Early Years research and work!

For William: yes to a documentary tour and inside look at the Duchy of Cornwall (that is much larger than just Cornwall lol)! William could pilot the helicopter - filmed up-close-and-personal inside the cockpit - as he takes us on the tour, with on-the-ground coverage as well, of course. And YES to expanded coverage of Earthshot and the ongoing progress of its winners (and nominees). Show the people what innovations Earthshot is catalyzing. This also has the built in advantage of appealing to youth, diversity/CW, and cutting edge climate change concerns….ie, the future. BTW tie in Earthshot with the Duchy of Cornwall and show us how the Duchy is incorporating climate change initiatives…organic farming, wind power, sustainability, re-planting, etc.

All of this could be widely and easily disseminated to a large, young, global audience both on social media/KP youtube and via media networks (ITV, BBC, etc.). Get busy, William and Catherine! Make your impending future reign a glorious one, a British Renaissance! (From an American fan with British ancestry)

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My hope is for Kate to include the kids in one of her promo videos for her Christmas carol service. I’d love to see them decorating a tree together or baking holiday cookies while they’re still young and small(ish).