#making a platform fighter

[shawnthebro]

Better control over our characters in the air is always something we want! Let’s make it!

[weightywritings-adiposeart]

They gotta bring back Pokémon mystery dungeon or Pokepark or Pokken one of these days…

Missed when those funky pocket monster side games weren’t just like, mostly mobile oriented stuff

[hoshinorail]

Made some characters for Breakneck in Aseperite

Puft, the Youthful Yo-Yo

Spot, the Bamboo's Fury

Noir, the Midnight Butterfly

[minolikeswords]

What the Ancients would call you- Sfw headcanons <3 GN reader!

Including: Golden Cheese, White Lily, Pure Vanilla, Dark Cacao and Hollyberry

cw: none tbh, it’s very fluffy!! Reader is implied to be a fighter in PV��s! Brief mention of Black Raisin, Caramel Arrow, and Wildberry cookie, reader is implied to have shoulder length hair in golden cheese’s. Reader and Hollyberry are married <3 Hollyberry is referred to as Holly a couple times!

Mino’s notes: I absolutely adore DC cookie, him and golden cheese are my favourites <3

© minolikeswords do not translate, copy, or repost my work to other platforms.

Golden Cheese!

- Adores calling you “darling” in private or near close friends, but when addressing you formally, prefers using “my Grace.”

“I have to say, the gold suits you rather well, darling,” Golden Cheese mutters against the back of your neck, making you close your eyes and sigh as she moves your hair out of the way to fasten a rather intricate golden necklace. Her slender fingers working quickly to close the knot off as she smiles at your reaction.

You roll your eyes and lean into her touch, gazing up at her and grabbing her face in your hands as you kiss her cheek, “you spoil me, my Queen.” Her eyes twinkled in delight as she grabbed your palm and kissed the tips of your fingers.

“You’re worth it.”

White Lily!

- She is so shy when speaking about you. Usually refers to you as “love” or “sweetie.” Pure Vanilla teases her about it often which just gets her more flustered but you absolutely relish it.

You run your fingers through White Lily’s hair right after her shower. Drying it off gently as you now work to rebraid it, brushing into her white locks as she hums to herself.

“Is this alright? I know it’s a little different from what you usually do but it suits you,” You ask, grinning at her reflection in the mirror she’s holding.

She nods, hands touching the braid rather delicately, “thank you, my love. It looks wonderful.”

You place a kiss on the top of her head, making her flush as you pin the braid to the back, ensuring it doesn’t move around, “you deserve it.”

Pure Vanilla!

- His go to is definitely calling you “honey!” You’re always so sweet to him you remind him of it. Helping him out around the medical tent and making sure he’s doing okay. He loves being doted on and vice versa <3

“You really have a knack for getting into trouble, hm, honey?” Pure Vanilla cooed softly, his fingers brushing up against your waist as he carefully cleaned up the jam around your wound. You let out a quiet hiss and shivered, frowning to yourself.

“The cake hounds caught me by surprise. Black Raisin cookie scolded me enough for the both of you, yknow?” Pure Vanilla smiled at your grumbling, rubbing the side of your waist slowly as he leaned in and kissed you.

“Not scolding you, just concerned. You cannot stop a cookie from acting out in their nature, but you can make sure they’re doing it safely,” He flicked your forehead for emphasis as he pulled away from your lips, finishing bandaging up your injuries and beaming at your flushed faced.

Dark Cacao!

- I believe he’d often just refer to you by your name in professional or formal settings. But in private? He calls you “beloved.” It comes naturally to him, but he still uses it sparsely.

You drag your fingers across Dark Cacao’s cheeks, tracing his strong jaw with adoration as his eyebrows twitch in his sleep. Leaning in, you brush your lips against his, feeling his eyelashes flutter against your cheeks as he awakens.

“it’s far too early to be awake, my beloved,” His sleepy voice was gruff but soft, a tone he deserved for you only. You just nuzzle your nose against his, hands shaking around his neck and fingers curling into his long hair as he wraps an arm around you, violet eyes gazing at you.

“You have an audience with Caramel Arrow in an hour, my King. I think it’s best if you’re up soon,” You giggle, pulling away from the kiss and watching his eyebrows shoot up in surprise. The corners of his lips twitch in amusement, making your heart swell with adoration.

“I’m sure she will not mind if I spend a couple more minutes in your arms.”

Hollyberry Cookie!

- Definitely calls you by “Sugar” but is the most likely to have a nickname for you thats personal to you both! Like one that stems from an embarrassing memory or inside joke.

You roll your eyes and frown at Hollyberry as you help her up the steps to her room, her body pressed against you as you carefully bring her to her bed and lay her down. An immediate flush darkening your face as she grips your waist and pulls you into bed with her.

“You should see your face, sugar, from annoyed to so flustered,” she slurred, the sweet scent of berry juice hitting your nose and you just groaned.

“Not funny or amusing, Holly, I told you to lay off the berry juice this time!” You complained, leaning into her touch anyway as she nuzzled you, eliciting a laugh from Hollyberry, “seriously you can’t be drinking like this so often.”

Hollyberry buried her head into your neck as you rub her scalp affectionately, scowling and continuing on your tangent, “I worry about you, you know? Always so reckless and impulsive. Even Wildberry can’t seem to keep you grounded sometimes…” you trailed off, brows furrowing as you realized your wife had gone strangely quiet.

“Holly?”

An answer came in the form of a soft snore as she kept you pulled against her, making you roll your eyes and kiss her forehead as you get comfortable on top of her. You made a mental note to thank Wildberry tomorrow for bringing her home.

[scopeystfu]

was anyone else really paying attention to them fighting in the background when they watch episode 3!?? dude these two are sooo fuckin funny they fight like kids

-Vi tags her a bit on the face but it makes Jinx fully roll back and FALL OFF the platform

- edit: also a bit hard to see cause Caitlyn leg but after Vi tags her Vi tries to swing again harder but falls to the ground in front of the edge and Jinx pops right back up at that moment and tries to clip her but ALSO misses LOL

-Jinx climbs backs up and all air no leverage jumps onto Vi into this hug like "bitch you gonna have to catch me". Vi reacts like "wtf???"

-Jinx grabs onto her goggle for leverage and put her head back to start pumbling but Vi not letting that happen and grabs HER OWN face and pushes her head back like "naww, get off"

Even the shot after, Jinx does have fighting skill but fights like, sporadically, less precision sometimes and multiple times tried to almost grab Vi to hit multiple times in a row, also a little bit desperate but remember, she is angry in general too, sometimes that causes reckless-ness. But anyway I think Vi being the more skilled fighter and bigger it doesn't effect her so much.

But anyway, they is so funny and cute and such siblings.

[vexwerewolf]

If we talk about the aesthetics of technology in Lancer, we can divide each of the Big 4 along lines of form and function.

IPS-N: Pure Function

IPS-N cares only what a mech does. It doesn't need to look good or pretty doing it - it only needs to be able to do that thing well. It's notable that the Raleigh, arguably the most form-oriented of the IPS-N frames, is also considered to be the company's biggest commercial failure - they strayed from their core design principles and got punished for it.

Harrison Armory: Form Follows Function

Harrison Armory still leans pretty heavily towards the functionality side of things, but it isn't satisfied with doing a good job alone. Yes, the mechs have to perform well, but they also have to look good doing it. There's no practical application for the Sherman's sleeveless coat or the Tokugawa's dainty little tassels, but they don't hinder combat functionality and they make the mechs look dashing. In comparison to IPS-N's coarse, industrial, almost unfinished look, HA mechs look stern, austere and imposing. There's a smoothness to them that you just don't get on IPS-N frames.

SSC: Function Follows Form

SSC is where we start to plunge into aesthetics-forward mech design. The Death's Head isn't six-legged because it's a sniper - the Death's Head is a sniper because it's six-legged. SSC came up with a mech design and asked: "what would this do best?" A six-legged chassis provided a more stable firing platform for precision weaponry, so that was what it did. Shapes and appearances are invented, and then a use case is discovered for them.

HORUS: Pure Form

It might seem weird to classify HORUS as "pure form" when their mechs largely don't have a consistent visual identity outside of the examples in the book. However, if we look a little deeper at the definition of "form," the explanation becomes clear: in some ways, HORUS is in the business of making statements, not mechs.

For anyone who's actually played a HORUS mech in Lancer, you may have noticed how awkward they are to actually pilot. Their statlines are, on paper, often very poorly suited to the sort of work they have to do. The Gorgon is built to attract attention and draw fire but has no armor. The Manticore is meant to be a front-line fighter but is quite slow. The Minotaur is meant to be a tech platform but has a low sensor range. The Pegasus' one functional trait doesn't apply to any of the weapons in its equipment package!

This is because HORUS mechs are designed purely as a testament to a certain discipline of technology. I remember expressing irritation with a friend's NeoGeo-for-X-Box emulator once, that you couldn't reconfigure the controller mapping so that it was easier to play with the X-Box controller. He remarked that it was meant as a historical preservation tool that perfectly duplicated the functionality of the NeoGeo, and that the only reason you could even play games using it at all is because that was a function of NeoGeo arcade cabinets.

That's how HORUS mechs are - their usability as chassis is broadly a side-effect.

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

I am so glad about your booktube post. Their entitled, condescending and frankly bigoted behavior is something I am frustrated but utterly powerless about.

I am particularly crept out by just how many of them use social justice language to both justify their hatred for everything and everybody out of the norm and make it harder to spot.

The most blatant and most disturbing example I saw for this is someone named crowcaller. If you don't look at the bigger picture and don't know these books it seems like she criticizes sexist, ableist and queerphobic tropes in obscure bad YA books from 2000-2010. Very necessary work, and without context her criticism seem reasonable and rooted in real life problems.

Then she did that with books I had actually read. And oh by did she not just interpret it in the most bad faith possible and completely ignored the Zeitgeist and conventions and history of the genre, she also just. Did not pick up anything but the most obvious plot beats, character motivations and messages, and then got condescending about the book being too shallow and openly cheered on the downfall of this series.

She also constantly presents herself as this fighter for minorities rights, especially disabled peoples rights, but then I caught her talking about a mental health issue she never had and has no experience with as if she 100% knew how this works and how this needs to be portrayed. I know this issue, and what she claims is only something a small part of the community feels. However, it is what aligns with neurotypicals automatic horror about this, so these opinions are the only ones that spread.

After that, everything fell into place. How she writes "I've seen it all" about tumblr, quirkily saying how good she knows this site without being one of *those* tumblr users. How she made her entire career out of mocking books targeted at girls. How she doesn't acknowledge the things that are progressive about these books at all. How she never outright says how teen girls are so silly and stupid and inferior for liking these books, and how [insert ableist slur] people who hyperfixate on uncool things like these are, but it resonates in every video she does.

I am queer and autistic too, and as I was still too naive to spot it, I was so glad that someone like me for once managed to create a platform and be heard. Turns out she could only do that, because unlike me and most other queer autistic people, she is confident to the point of not being able to see just how unqualified she is, and even more, she only says exactly what neurotypicals (and the more assimilated queer autistic people) want to hear.

And I get it, it feels good to think you are superior to those pathetic boy obsessed girls. Which probably makes this such an effective tactic.

I hate how platforms only ever push people like this. And I hate that people like this are able to shape the publics opinion when they have the least skills for that.

I hate how they get away with hiding their loathing behind feminism, or anti-ableism, or queer advocacy while mocking everybody in these groups who doesn't manage to conform.

Now, crowcaller is far from the only Booktuber who uses these tactics. But it struck me particularly much because she as an queer autistic person really should know better than behaving like this. Peak Pick-Me. And also... using your minority identities and progressive beliefs to hide your bigotry behind is just so gross.

And I hate just how little people seem to pick that up.

I'm gonna be real dude I think my nitpicks of various videos and whatever you've got going on specifically with this crowcaller person are like. maybe totally different issues.

I'd also like to point out that re: your first sentence, referring to the entirety of booktube as "entitled, condescending and frankly bigoted" as if every person posting about books on youtube is sone sort of hive mind is exactly the kind of unsubstantiated overgeneralization that I have been dogging on various booktubers for making. I am by no means trying to expose all of booktube as corrupt or innately bad, namely because that's impossible to do for hundreds if not thousands of unaffiliated creatives with wholly different styles and interests.

[brucewaynehater101]

I raise you really tall tim drake. (This mostly comes from being tired of the uwufication/twinkfication/babyfication that some fans give tim. Kinda hate that)

Tim is currently 17yo. At 18 he is tired of his so called family, Dick only cares about damian, jason always bickers around him. Bruce is bad at parenting as always... so he leaves gotham city.

At 18 he starts getting growth spurts. (Males stop around 23 or so) and Tim is half thrilled half mad because he now is stumbling. Also it hurts like hell. He goes to a doctor approved by the jl, because getting tall so suddenly and at that age can mean something bad is going on inside. Then he goes to magic users. But nothing gives bad results. So he is just getting taller and his clothes no longer fit him neither his custome. And he cannot get another inmediately because he keeps growing. So he is benched by his friends for like half a year and Tim is mad. He stops at 6'5 when he hits 21 (up to you how taller are bruce and jason) and finds himself as the tallest in his family. He has to train everything again as his body is no longer the same.

Just Tim getting tall as a treat.

(I agree about the uwu-ing of Tim Drake not being my flavor of fic. It's why I avoid a *lot* of the "Tim Drake Joins the Batfamily Early" tag. There are some very good Kid Tim Drake fics, but there's also a tendency to uwu him in that tag. I don't mind Tim being pathetic as long as he's also badass :( He can be both, y'all!!!)

Anyways!!!! Tall Tim Drake!

I do love him being a short king, but him being tall is a rare treat ^^

To add onto this AU, the batfam try to drag him back to Gotham after 3-4 years. To be nice to Tim, we'll say he's had to chance to grow more accustomed to his body and is a formidable fighter (no more of the awkward stumbling he struggled with while adjusting).

Let's say Jason is 6'3", Bruce is 6'1", and Dick is 6'0". Damian has grown in those three years. Since the age gap between Tim and Damian fluctuates, let's say Damian is 15 at 5'11". Damian was looking forward to lording his height over Tim (not in a mean way. More like teasing).

Tim goes back to Gotham for some world-ending event or whatnot, and it's the first time they Bats have seen him in years. They're expecting a slightly more mature looking 5'6" 21 years old [And also, poor fucking Tim. Nearly a foot of height in 3 years?? Ow].

What do they actually end up seeing?

Since Tim is there for hero work, they meet him in his vigilante getup.

Tim learned from Bruce that intimidation works wonders on Batman's foes. Tim learned from Dick that there are multiple ways to intimidate someone.

So, doesn't bulk up. He doesn't add fake muscles or thick armor. He studies fashion design and the subtle ways it can influence people's perception. He's naturally 6'5" and a lithe guy. He makes those intrinic qualities work *for* him rather than against him.

He wears 4 inch platform boots and tricks the eyes (with his fashion design) to make him look even slender.

Suffice to say, Tim shows up to meet with the bats and appears as a tall fucking cryptid.

Tim rolling up to the Bats all like:

[leyavo]

Nikolai’s Weapons!Assistant x Gaz

“Devushka, the girl with no name,” Nikolai introduces you like that to everyone, because you refuse to give anyone your name, even him.

You were a freedom fighter when Nik first met you. A girl with a mask, but he liked your attention to detail and knowledge on the weapons you collected/stole from bad people.

It’s not till he runs into you a third time does he offer you a job. That and you’re trying to steal from one of his clients. Yelling about freedom and how Nik’s stifling a whole city by giving weapons away.

“You know freedom? Never constant Devushka,” he says, shaking his head and hooking his finger under your chin. “Ahhh, you’re stubborn. Perhaps not learnt your lesson?” Only something you’ll learn the longer you live in this world.

“And what you’re going to teach me?” You snarl, tearing away from his hold.

Nik scoffs, “no.” He circles you where you stand, leaning down to whisper in your ear. “Better, you could fly with me Devushka.”

The mask is gone, freedom coming and going in exchange of flying. Stealing weapons and collecting some of your own - a particular set of throwing daggers. Nik can find you in the evenings throwing knives at the platform of the hangar.

You’re the one unloading the weapons and picking them apart, scraping the identification number off so they can be resold. Your fingernails never clean enough, no matter how much you scrub them. Oil and rust beneath them that you bite them down short, but the dirt still stains the top of your nails and cuticles.

Nikolai gifting you a dainty gold necklace with his initial pendant (got a tracker in it which you don’t realise).

Making bullets and testing them in the wilds behind the hangar, it’s out in the middle of nowhere so no one can hear the rounds of bullets firing. You’re not allowed to touch the grenade launchers though after the last accident.

The mask is still tucked beneath your mattress, worn only when you step on to the helicopter or a plane. And of course you love your missions with a certain sergeant or Gaz which he prefers to be called.

Gaz the only smooth one that got you to tell him your name. You did threaten to slit his throat if he told anyone. “Don’t threaten me with a good time now.” You wanted to both strangle and kiss him. He whispers your name in your ear as he fucks you, promising that everything’s just between the two of you. You two against the world.

Maybe flying is freedom.

Kyle finds your oily fingerprints on his gear as he sits on the helicopter ride back to base. A few swipes of the grime on his jawline or just beneath his collar. The scent of gunpowder and grit under his nails reminding him of you. Sometimes he procrastinates, the shower running for an hour before he steps under the harsh spray of water, not wanting to erase your touch. A pile of his dirty clothes in one corner still holding your mark.

His tattered cap hangs from your bedpost, a piece of him so you know he’ll return. You wear it whenever you’re testing the weapons under the scorching sun, finger tracing the flag on the front. Hoping he’s thinking of you as much as you think of him.

[Masterlist]

[ikeuocean]

crush/boyfriend headcanons ꕥ kwon jae-sung

synopsis : kwon makes a lovely boyfriend despite his cold demeanor towards everyone.

genre : fluff, mild angst

warning(s) : creepy men implied

𝜗𝜚 kwon jae-sung who absolutely hates sweets. he prefers spicy foods all the way but he can’t help but devour the homemade chocolates you gift him every year for valentine’s day.

𝜗𝜚 kwon jae-sung who sucks at baking. white day falls a month after valentine’s day so he decides that the only gift suitable for such occasion was homemade pastries. only one problem though, kwon can’t follow recipes to save his life. so after a few attempts he calls you for help, turning it into a fun baking date.

𝜗𝜚 kwon jae-sung who insists on walking you home every night after practice. he knows your a good fighter better than most of the guys on the team but it helps ease his mind that he’s there to protect you from the evil of the world. he needs to know that your safe because he can’t imagine what he would do if you ever got hurt.

𝜗𝜚 kwon jae-sung who says words of endearment in korean. although kwon is a confident guy he can’t help but feel shy when it comes to telling you how he truly feels.

𝜗𝜚 kwon jae-sung who can’t communicate. at the beginning of the relationship kwon hated being vulnerable, especially with you. he can’t seem to tell you about the things that bother him. which leads him to ignoring you. after a much needed confrontation conversation on your part, he decides to open up about his worries.

𝜗𝜚 kwon jae-sung who struggles with affection. as much as he loves you, it still feels very foreign to him to receive verbal affection. sure he’s had his fair share of admirers but with you it’s different. he’s still not used to the compliments that dig into the very core of his being.

𝜗𝜚 kwon jae-sung who thinks social media is stupid. he claims he doesn’t care for it because he’s such a busy guy. like who needs social media anyways? he does. his feed is filled with pictures of the two of you, making it abundantly clear to everyone that he has the most amazing girlfriend ever.

𝜗𝜚 kwon jae-sung who loves to match. at first he thought it was embarrassing. why would a tough guy like him want to have a matching pink sanrio keychains with his girlfriend? but it started to grow on him after seeing how cute you looked while asking him. who is he to deny his lovely girlfriend?

© icbgwy all rights reserved. do not repost, modify, steal, plagiarize, or translate my works on any platforms

[shawnthebro]

Upgrading our Stage & Level Select is equally as important as our Character Select!

[doyoulikethissong-poll]

Foo Fighters - The Pretender 2007

Foo Fighters is an American rockband formed in Seattle in 1994, founded initially as a one-man project by former Nirvana drummer Dave Grohl. Foo Fighters have won 15 Grammy Awards, including Best Rock Album five times, making them among the most successful rock acts in Grammy history. In 2021, the band was announced as recipients of the first-ever "Global Icon" award at the 2021 MTV Video Music Awards. They were inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 2021, their first year of eligibility.

"The Pretender" was the first single from their sixth album Echoes, Silence, Patience & Grace (2007). It is one of their most successful songs; peaking at number 37 on the US Billboard Hot 100 (making it their third top-40 single), only "Learn to Fly" and "Best of You" beat its position on the Billboard Hot 100.

"The Pretender" was a 2008 Grammy Award nominee for Best Rock Song and Record of the Year, and won the Grammy for Best Hard Rock Performance. The music video was nominated for a 2008 MTV Video Music Award for Best Rock Video, but lost to Linkin Park's "Shadow of the Day".

As of January 2024, the song has over 562 million views on YouTube, making it the band's most-viewed video on the platform.

"The Pretender" received a total of 76% yes votes! Dave Grohl has previously featured in the polls as a drummer on "No One Knows" at #87, as well as Nirvana's cover of "The Man Who Sold the World" at #118.

[zeropro]

Skywarp: Origins Chapter 3

https://archiveofourown.org/works/63945331/chapters/164529697

The trilogy is complete! ^o^ Thank you all so much for reading! Full chapter under the cut:

Chapter 3

Thundercracker repeated the mantra.

Don’t think, just do it.

Skywarp had given him that piece of advice the day of the senate massacre. While Megatron and Starscream lead the attack on the ground, he and Skywarp were tasked with chasing down an escaping airship full of Cybertron’s affluent elite. 

According to Starscream, the senators may have been the ones passing the corrupt laws, but they themselves were still slaves to the bottom line. The wealthy were just as culpable in the crime of governance.

But they weren't soldiers, or fighters. Most of them didn't even have weapons at the time. 

He couldn't stop thinking about their faces. 

Their ugly, pathetic, terrified faces as they begged helplessly for their lives, cowering in their luxury airship, clutching at jewelry that cost more than he’d ever made in a whole stellar cycle.

The Decepticons killed them all.

Thundercracker told himself it was due justice. That they were on the right side of history. That there had been no other way.

His hands still shook sometimes.

Skywarp didn't seem to spend any amount of his processor thinking about the morality of war. In fact, he didn't seem to dwell on much of anything. It was probably why he was so happy all the time. Thundercracker almost envied that. Life would be so much simpler if he could just turn his processor off and follow orders. 

Starscream was at least a smarter mech than he was when it came to politics. Starscream had a lot of experience with it and spent a lot of time with the Decepticon high command. The smaller seeker had a way of pulling him out of his helm and reminding him of the bigger picture. It helped to know why the Decepticons were doing the things they were doing, it just didn't make doing it any easier.

The world was constantly changing, and normalcy was nowhere to be found. Thundercracker did his best to cope. Half the time he could cling to Starscream’s reassuring words, and the other half he spent repeating Skywarp’s mantra.

In this way, Thundercracker was determined to survive the war.

Expelling another vent of air to calm his nerves, Thundercracker refocused on the ceremony in front of him. Megatron’s speech had just concluded, and the room was shaking with cheers as the Seekers applauded their newly appointed Air Commander. A rare smile ghosted across Thundercracker’s faceplates. He was proud of his friend. Starscream had worked hard to earn this position, with Thundercracker content to watch him climb the ranks from a safe distance. When it came to war, to politics, to leadership, Thundercracker preferred to hover on the sidelines.

That was all about to change.

“Now, Air Commander Starscream, name your Command Trine,” Megatron bid. 

A hush fell over the room; every Seeker looked up expectantly. The trine was a military formation: three Seekers always flew better than one. It was a matter of tactics, but for warbuilds, especially first-generation Seekers, there was a deeper, almost cultural significance to the position. Even Thundercracker, who lived most of his function as a civilian, understood it. Trine meant trust. Trine meant safety. To be trined was to be committed to flying together, fighting together, and quite often, dying together. 

Starscream gave an assured smile as he held his hand out ceremoniously. 

“I name Skywarp.”

There was murmured approval, and a few Seekers nodded knowingly. The black and purple teleporter was an obvious and expected choice. He had an exceptionally powerful outlier ability and had been a part of Megatron’s inner circle since before the bombing of Vos. Skywarp squealed as he pranced onto the platform to stand by Starscream’s side. Thundercracker took another steadying vent.

“And Thundercracker.”

The difference in response was palpable. A few optics turned on him as a wave of whispers rose from the ranks; baffled surprise, confusion, and dissatisfaction laced the air. Thundercracker hated being the center of so much scrutiny; despite having prepared himself all night, it still made him want to flee the room.

Starscream watched all this, completely at ease among the Decepticon High Command, hand extended with the most confident smile on his face. If Thundercracker accepted this position, he’d be up there too, no longer able to hide away in the background. Every optic would be on him, judging him, expecting things of him. 

Don't think, don't think, just do it. Forcefully, he relaxed his wings and held his head high as he moved through the crowd. 

A red and black Polyhexian seeker with flames detailing his wings stepped forward to block his path. “Thrust,” Thundercracker acknowledged flatly, planting his peds in proper military form. 

The other seeker puffed out his chest. “Stay right where you are, Thundercracker. I’m challenging you for your position in the Command Trine!” 

This too had been expected. Flying as the Air Commander’s wing mate was a coveted position. Skywarp was an obvious choice, but Thundercracker was a nobody. No one knew who he was or what he could do, and many would see themselves better suited to the role. 

Thundercracker suppressed a grin. If there was one thing he was happy to do, it was proving his superior skill in the air.

This wasn’t about skill, however; it was about establishing control. It was about proving to the Seekers that the Air Commander’s trine was not to be messed with in their own right. If Thundercracker accepted one challenge, his position would be forever open to more. Thundercracker rumbled his engine low and threatening and drew himself to his full height. Starscream chose him for this role and trusted him to protect his wing both in the air and on the ground. Thundercracker would honor that trust.

“Are you questioning your Air Commander’s judgment?” he said, cold and calm. Thrust seemed to visibly whither, optics widening as he took a step back. 

“N-no, of course not. It’s just…” He regained some of his earlier bravado with a flare of his wings, “Everyone here knows you’re a coward.”

Thundercracker didn't flinch at the insult. He let it hang in the air until several mechs started shifting uncomfortably. Slowly, methodically, he turned as if to walk away. The moment he saw the corner of Thrust’s mouth twitch upward in a smirk, he made his move.

Thundercracker had spent a lot more time than most Seekers training in hand to hand. His priority had always been to subdue and disarm rather than deactivate, and that was hard to do when shooting from the air. Before anyone knew what happened, Thrust was laid flat on his back, wings pinned to the ground by Thundercracker’s peds, both shoulder cannons torn brutally off. Thundercracker aimed Thrust’s own weapons at him for a moment before tossing them aside and addressing the rest of the Seekers.

“I was not aware challenges were being acknowledged today. If our leader sanctions it,” and here he turned towards the platform to extend a respectful hand towards Megatron, “I will be happy to oblige.”

The Decepticon leader smiled approvingly. “That will not be necessary, Thundercracker. I trust in my Air Commander’s selection.”

And that was the final word.

Thundercracker met no further opposition on his way to the front, and the ceremony was concluded shortly after. And then came the drinks. Decepticons loved to party. Normally, during such celebrations, Thundercracker would tuck himself away in a corner somewhere, where he could comfortably watch the festivities without getting involved. That was significantly harder to do when he was one-third of the reason for the celebration in the first place. Starscream worked the crowd as he usually did, greeting every mech by name and somehow juggling three conversations at once at any given point in time. It was all Thundercracker could do to just stay close, letting Starscream redirect all attention off of him.

Thundercracker felt ready to keel over by the end of it all.

It had been Skywarp that finally provided the excuse he needed to leave the gathering. The small Seeker had downed an extra five drinks too many, and having made out with half the Seekers in the room, he was now draped across Thundercracker’s back, completely crashed out. 

“Well, that's one way to keep Skywarp out of trouble!” Starscream laughed, before waving his new trinemates off to the barracks. Thundercracker was grateful for the dismissal, even if it meant he had to now drag a semi-unconscious Skywarp the entire way there.

It wasn't as easy as it looked. Unlike Starscream, whom Thundercracker could carry easily, Skywarp was surprisingly dense for his size. Thundercracker found himself needing to take more than a few pauses just to let his cooling fans work for a klick.

Skywarp giggled unprompted.

“At least one of us is having a good time,” Thundercracker grumbled. Hiking his overcharged passenger higher on his back, he continued making his way through the compound.

“M’sorry fer callin’ you a sap…”

Thundercracker nearly stumbled. It had been so soft. Had Skywarp not been right by his audio receptors, he wouldn't have even heard it. When it seemed like his only response was going to be a prolonged silence, Skywarp tightened his hold around his neck and whined louder, “I said I’m sorryyyyyuuh!”

Thundercracker choked. “Okay! okay! I heard you! It’s fine… Don’t worry about it.”

“Mmm…” Skywarp rubbed his helm against Thundercracker’s affectionately. “You were real cool today, Thunders. You really showed them. Heh heh.”

Thundercracker rolled his optics. “You’re drunk, Skywarp. Go to sleep.”

“No, YOU go to sleep! See how you like it. Treat me like I’m dumb. I’m no dumb!”

“No one said you were dumb, Skywarp.”

“Wuh! Why not?” Skywarp gasped, utterly offended. “Don’t they know? They don’t know!?”

Skywarp wasn't going to remember any of this once sober, Thundercracker realized. There was no real point in continuing the conversation.

“What do they not know?” he asked, despite himself.

Skywarp started giggling again.

“You’re alright, Thundercrackers. Cracker jackers. Thun da dun dun, why your designation so long? I’mma just call you TC. Can I call you TC? That's way easier!”

Thundercracker didn't know if he liked the new nickname.

“Try harder not to die out there, TC.”

Thundercracker paused midstep, fans whirling. Skywarp looked around for a moment, decided they had not reached the berths yet, and rested his chin back down against Thundercracker’s shoulder.

“Y’know, Mmmegatron told me that once… He said, ‘Skywarp, try harder not to die out there? Cuz… cuz… y’know? There are mechs who like you, or something.’ Heh, isn't that funny?” 

Thundercracker gave him an incredulous look. “Funny how?”

Skywarp hummed, and then patted him on the helm. “It’s okay, it’s not your fault.”

“W-what’s not my fault?”

“Oh, get over yourself. You’re not special!”

Thundercracker had lost the thread of conversation, if there ever was one to begin with, so he started plodding on again in silence.

Just as he thought Skywarp might have drifted into recharge, the black jet started sniffling.

“Are…are you crying right now?”

“You’re mad at me.”

“What? no! I… No, I’m not.”

Skywarp hid his face in Thundercracker’s neck and mumbled, ”I didn't mean it. You can be a little bit special.”

“...Thanks.”

“But only a little bit.”

Thundercracker almost laughed. “How generous of you, Skywarp.”

“Redwing was special.”

Thundercracker glanced sideways at Skywarp’s face. “Who’s Redwing?”

“Dead,” Skywarp shrugged dismissively, as if it were the most natural thing to say. “I liked a lot of the guys back then. I liked Redwing too. Redwing was cool. I remember thinking he was cool, anyway. Redwing died laughing, y’know. I remember thinking, that's how I wanna go.”

Thundercracker stared at the floor; he was so tired. “Please don’t say stuff like that.”

“What’s the big deal? Seekers don’t live that long anyway!”

“Don’t be stupid. We live as long as anybody else.”

”Oh yeah, I forgot, heh. I guess all the guys back then just really sucked at it. I guess that means I’m actually really good at it! Ahahahaha!”

Skywarp felt heavy on his back. What was he supposed to say to that? He supposed it didn’t really matter, as much as Skywarp would remember it. Even so, he didn’t feel right not saying anything at all.

“I’m…sorry you’ve lost so many friends.”

“It’s okay,” Skywarp said, and then kissed the side of his helm. “I forgive you.”

Thundercracker really did laugh this time, shaking his head. “I'm starting to see why Starscream likes you so much.”

Skywarp giggled. “Starscream likes me? That means… that means … Add Megatron, and that makes…” He struggled for a moment, “Two whole guys who like me!” 

Thundercracker chuckled. “Make that three.”

Not to be outdone, Skywarp threw his arms up and shouted, “Four! Five! Six!”

The room where all the Seekers stayed was dark and empty when Thundercracker finally reached it. Not knowing which of the many identical berths Skywarp usually recharged on, and not wanting to upset anyone else, Thundercracker dropped the teleporter sideways on his own slab and then lay down next to him, both their legs hanging off the side. 

After a moment of silence, Skywarp hummed thoughtfully.

“I bet those bots we rescued had guys who liked them, huh?”

“Yeah,” Thundercracker smiled, “I bet they did.”

[brookediamonds]

I can’t thinking about this but please a Axel Kovacevié x shy!reader? Shy!reader is a member of iron dragons. Axel and shy!reader are dating and she’s best friends with Tory and she’s the older sister of Miguel Diaz but their mother gave her up for adoption as a newborn baby to give shy!reader her best chance but unknowingly for everyone, Sensei Wolf adopted and raise shy!reader as his own little princess until years later the miyagi-do, including Daniel, Johnny and Miguel finally found his older sister at Barcelona, Sensei wolf lets her keep her last name Diaz. At the last tournament, shy!reader won the sakai takai and sensei wolf has always been proud her since he adopted her as a newborn baby. The miyagi-do/Cobra Kai especially Miguel and his family can’t help but feel happy for shy!reader. Unknowingly for Sensei wolf, if he retires as a sensei, shy!reader will make iron dragons a better dojo, less harsh you know. Bonus: Miguel and his family wants to meet and get to know shy!reader but it’s pretty obvious shy!reader isn’t really interested meeting and getting to know them.

you found me | Axel Kovačević x Fem! Reader

Summary: Things take a turn at your tournament when you run into someone new, someone you surely hadn't anticipated ever meeting. The current men in your life can't help but be protective when this situation arises.

Word Count: 2.4k Warnings: None, fluff, some angst, shy!reader

gif is not mine

Miguel is the first to notice you when you're fighting on the platform alongside your boys' captain Axel Kovačević.

The Iron Dragons took their place on the platform, standing tall, composed. Among them, you stood beside Axel, body relaxed but eyes sharp, waiting for the fight to begin.

From the Miyagi-Do section, Miguel stood alongside with his team and sensei Lawrence waiting for the next match to take place.

Johnny clapped a hand on his shoulder, nodding toward the platform. "Check it out, next team up."

Miguel turned, expecting just another fight. until his eyes landed on you.

He straightened unconsciously, brows knitting together as he watched you step forward with Axel.

There was something about your stance, the way you carried yourself. The way your hands flexed just before the fight started, your weight balanced perfectly on the balls of your feet.

The ref signaled the match to begin.

It was instant. You and Axel launched into action, a perfect balance of aggression and control.

Every move was sharp, every counter calculated. When one opponent lunged at you, you dodged at the last second, twisting effortlessly to sweep their legs.

Another fighter came at Axel, but you were already there, striking hard before they could land a blow on him.

It was seamless. Precise. Efficient.

Miguel leaned forward, eyes narrowing. Why did it look so familiar? Why did you look so familiar?

"Something wrong, kid?" Johnny’s voice pulled him from his thoughts.

Miguel didn’t answer right away. He was too busy watching you land a brutal spinning kick, sending your opponent crashing to the mat. below the deck.

The match was over. The Iron Dragons had won.

He swallowed hard.

"I don’t know," he murmured. "Their captain, she fights like—"

He hesitated. The thought felt ridiculous. But the way you moved, the way your strikes were fast and powerful yet controlled…

It reminded him of himself.

Johnny raised a brow, following Miguel’s gaze toward you as the Iron Dragons exited the platform. "You look like you’ve seen a ghost."

Miguel didn’t respond. Because deep down, something told him that this wasn’t just a coincidence.

But then they announce your names.

"Another win for Axel Kovačević and Y/n Diaz from the Iron Dragons!"

Miguel froze.

Diaz.

Johnny’s head snapped toward the platform. Miguel felt his pulse in his throat, his mind racing.

The name, your face, the way you fought, it all crashed into him at once. Everything clicked.

Johnny exhaled sharply, realization washing over him, too. He remembers Carmen revealing how she had given up her first born for adoption because she was scared for her life and afraid she wouldn't be able to provide.

"Holy shit…" Johnny breathes out.

Miguel couldn’t breathe. He didn’t know how, but he knew.

You weren’t just another fighter.

You were his sister.

─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─

The adrenaline from your match had finally started to fade, leaving you with nothing but the steady hum of exhaustion and the distant echoes of the crowd.

The arena was still alive with energy, but you preferred the quiet, something about the solitude of heading toward the locker room alone was grounding.

You kept your head down, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear as you weaved through the competitors.

The Iron Dragons were still reviewing strategies with Sensei Wolf, and you figured you had a few minutes to breathe before heading back.

But as you neared the hallway leading to the locker rooms, a voice called out behind you.

"Hey! Wait!"

You stopped instinctively, turning slightly to see a boy with dark curly hair, jogging up to you.

He looked… familiar. You weren’t sure why, but something about his face made your stomach twist in a way you couldn’t place.

"Uh, hi," he said, slightly out of breath, as if he had debated approaching you until the last second.

His brown eyes were warm, searching, but you didn’t understand why he was looking at you like that.

You hesitated, shifting uncomfortably.

"Hi…" you said quietly, your voice barely above a murmur. He rubbed the back of his neck.

"I, um, my name’s Miguel," he paused, eyes flickering over your face, like he was waiting for a reaction. When you didn’t give one, he added, "Miguel Diaz."

Your stomach dropped.

Diaz.

Your breath hitched as the realization crept in, slowly, like a puzzle coming together piece by piece. The name.

The way he looked at you. The way his face, his nose, his cheekbones, looked just a little too much like your own.

It clicked. Your dad had explained your backstory to you a few years back when the kids at school started pointing your differences from your father's appearance.

Being adopted was no secret to you, but it didn't mean you wanted to be reminded of it.

"Oh." The word barely left your lips, barely made a sound. You blinked, unsure of what to say, unsure if you should say anything at all.

Miguel gave a small, nervous laugh, like he wasn’t sure what reaction he was expecting.

"Yeah. I, uh— I think we’re…" He trailed off, shifting awkwardly. "I think we’re siblings."

You swallowed hard, gripping the water bottle in your hands. Your heart was racing, but your voice stayed small. "…Okay."

Miguel seemed caught off guard by your lack of response, his expression flickering between cautious hope and uncertainty. "I—look, I know this is probably a lot, but I just—"

"Is there a problem?"

A new voice cut through the air, sharper, more certain. It was your boyfriend, Axel.

Your shoulders relaxed slightly as you turned, watching as he strode toward you, his eyes locked onto Miguel like he was already assessing him as a threat.

Miguel blinked, taking a step back instinctively.

"Uh, no. No problem," he said quickly, glancing between you and Axel, realization dawning on his face. He wasn’t just your teammate.

He was protective.

Axel barely spared Miguel a glance before his gaze dropped to you.

"Sensei is looking for you," he said simply, his tone softer than before, just for you.

You nodded wordlessly, already shifting your weight like you were ready to leave.

Miguel saw the way Axel stood close, the way you gravitated toward him without hesitation. And he got the hint. He exhaled, taking a step back.

"I, um, I won’t keep you." He hesitated, eyes meeting yours again, searching for something. But you didn’t have anything to give.

So he just nodded. "It was nice meeting you."

You lowered your gaze slightly, your voice quiet. "…You too."

And with that, you turned, walking toward the locker room with Axel beside you. Miguel stayed behind, watching as you disappeared down the hallway, a weight settling in his chest.

He had finally met his sister.

And you had barely said a word.

─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─

The rhythmic sound of fists hitting the heavy bag echoed through the dimly lit hotel gym, filling the otherwise empty space with steady thuds.

You focused on the motion, jab, cross, hook, your knuckles stinging faintly through the wraps.

Normally, the routine was grounding. The repetition, the control. But tonight, your mind was somewhere else.

And your dad noticed.

Sensei Wolf stood a few feet away, arms crossed as he observed. He was always quiet when he watched, letting you work through whatever was on your mind before stepping in.

But after a few more sluggish punches, he finally spoke.

"You’re distracted."

You froze mid-movement, blinking as you dropped your hands slightly. His voice wasn’t scolding, just… knowing. Like he had already figured you out before you had even said a word.

You exhaled, lowering your fists completely. "…Sorry."

He shook his head. "You don’t have to apologize." A pause. Then, softer, "Sit."

You hesitated before obeying, sinking onto one of the benches lining the wall. Your dad joined you, his presence steady beside you, a silent reassurance.

For a moment, you just sat there, staring down at the wraps around your fingers. You weren’t sure how to bring it up. But you didn’t have to.

"What’s on your mind, Xiǎolóng (little dragon)?" His voice was gentle, his usual sharp edge softened just for you.

You swallowed, fidgeting slightly. "I, um, ran into someone today."

His head tilted slightly, waiting.

You inhaled deeply, gripping the fabric of your tank top. "Miguel Diaz." You glanced at him briefly before lowering your gaze again.

"My—my brother. I mean—" You exhaled, correcting yourself. "My biological brother."

Something unreadable flickered in your father’s eyes, but he stayed quiet, letting you speak.

"He introduced himself to me. And he was… nice." You shrug. "Really nice."

Your father nodded once, still watching you carefully. "And how do you feel about that?"

You exhaled sharply.

"I don’t know." Your voice was barely above a whisper. "I just… I don’t know if I want to know him. Or them."

Your dad stayed silent for a moment, as if weighing his words before he spoke. Then, he shifted slightly, turning toward you fully.

"You don’t owe anyone anything," he said, voice firm but kind. "Not your past, not your blood."

His gaze softened. "You are my daughter. Not by chance, not by obligation—but because I chose you."

Your breath caught slightly. His hand rested on your shoulder, grounding.

"Whatever you decide, it is your choice. And I will stand by you." His lips quirked into something almost like a smile. "I would burn the world to the ground before I let anyone make you feel otherwise."

The lump in your throat grew. You ducked your head slightly, blinking rapidly, hands curling in your lap.

"I know," you whispered. And you did. You always had. Your father had always put your first in his life.

It had always just been the two of you growing up, and that was always enough.

Silence settled between you for a moment, warm and familiar. Then, your father exhaled, patting your shoulder lightly before standing.

"Enough of this," he said, his usual edge returning. "If you’re going to be distracted, at least make it productive. Five more rounds."

You blinked up at him before a small smile tugged at your lips. "Yes, Sensei."

"That’s my girl," he the corner of his lips twitches up.

And just like that, the weight on your chest felt a little lighter.

─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─

The roar of the crowd was deafening.

You stood at the center of the red mat, chest rising and falling heavily as the weight of the moment settled over you. Sweat clung to your skin, adrenaline still pumping through your veins, but none of it mattered.

Because you had done it. You won.

Axel stood beside you, carrying the same large trophy that you held. But when Mr. Braun’s voice echoed through the speakers, the finality of it hit.

"And the winners of the Sekai Taikai—Axel Kovačević and Y/N Diaz of The Iron Dragons!"

The entire arena erupted in cheers.

Your teammates swarmed you and Axel, fists pumping in the air as they cheered.

Sensei Wolf stood among them, his expression unreadable for only a moment before the corners of his lips twitched into something subtle, something proud.

Axel let out a breath before turning to you, his eyes shining with something deeper than just victory. His hand found yours, squeezing once before he lifted both your arms into the air, embracing the win in full.

Four-time world champions.

Your heart pounded as golden confetti rained down, the announcers still speaking, but their words drowned under the rush of it all.

Then, before you could even process it, a familiar presence stepped in front of you. Your dad.

You barely had time to react before his hands came to rest firmly on your shoulders, pulling you back to reality.

His dark eyes held yours, and for once, they weren’t as sharp, weren’t assessing. Instead, they were filled with something softer. Something rare.

"You’ve come far, my Xiǎolóng," he murmured, voice steady but thick with emotion. "From the moment I first held you, I knew you were meant for greatness."

He exhaled, fingers tightening ever so slightly. "And today, you proved it to the world."

Your throat tightened, your usual shyness keeping you from finding the words. But he didn’t need them. He never did.

Instead, you simply nodded, blinking the tears away as your hands curled into his sleeves, gripping the familiar fabric.

His lips quirked slightly before he pulled you into a rare embrace, his grip strong, unwavering.

"I am proud to be your father."

You squeezed your eyes shut for a second, the warmth of his words settling deep into your chest. You didn't need anything else. This was your family. This was enough.

From a few feet away, Miguel watched.

He had seen it all, the way your Sensei, your father, looked at you, spoke to you. He saw the way you had found a home, a life, something you didn’t seem to want to replace.

And as much as the ache settled in his chest, he couldn’t be upset. Because you were happy and you had won.

And even if you didn’t want to know him, even if you never spoke to him again, he was still your brother. He was still proud of you.

A soft smile found his lips as he clapped along with the crowd, quietly celebrating you in the only way he could.

You watched as the confetti blew through the air, a soft smile tugging at your lips a you embrace your moment with your dojo.

Then, a familiar presence stepped beside you. Your boyfriend.

"You did it," Axel murmured, his voice softer than usual.

You glanced up at him, finding his dark blue eyes already on you.

"We did it," you corrected quietly.

His lips twitched, but then his expression shifted into something more sincere.

Without warning, he reached out, brushing a stray piece of confetti from your hair before tucking it behind your ear.

You stilled, warmth creeping up your neck.

Then, in a rare moment of open affection, he leaned down, just enough so only you could hear him.

"I knew you would."

He tilts your chin up to look at him, before softly brushing his lips against yours. Your chest tightened, heartbeat stuttering in a way that had nothing to do with adrenaline anymore.

As he pulled back, you ached to say something back, but the words tangled in your throat. Instead, you did what felt right.

You reached out, fingers curling around his wrist before pulling him into a hug.

Axel stiffened slightly, always caught off guard by affection, but then, slowly, he melted into it, his arms wrapping securely around you.

For the first time this past week, the noise, the crowd, the weight of everything faded.

And it was just the two of you.

─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─

part two

Masterlist

Taglist: @ggrgcribg

(a/n: i wasn't too sure how the reader and Tory were supposed to be besties so i apologize on not being able to incorporate that part but this was actually kind of sweet, can sensei wolf be this soft all the time? i loved shy reader too, changes things up. glad i was able to get this out, i'll be out of town till Sunday so i won't have my laptop, i don't think i'll do much writing till i get back. anyway, like, comment, reblog love y'all, hope you're enjoying your spring break! ❤️)

[osakanone]

Crew attire cosplay?

Lately I've been thinking a lot about "what would separate mecha crew equipment from that of a tank crew, or a fighter crew": A lot of military surplus stuff is already really close to what we're going for, and I realized "Motorcycle boots look a lot more like mech pilot stuff than military boots do", which got me thinking what other odd equivalences exist.

The one which really surprised me was how famous mecha live action SF Gunhed used a wetsuit as a stand-in for "generic scifi bodysuit", and that it worked weirdly well, actually?

"Why not latex?"

Latex rips too easily in contact with straps and hard elements, overheats far, far too easily despite having the looks. Thin neoprene works. really well.

So I kept exploring.

One thing I did seriously debate is other than rappelling equipment, would a pilot need something like a rigid knee-brace for hard landings to protect the ACL when they disembark from the robot which is common with high impact parachute equipment.

Some varieties also include counter-weighted springs which make it harder for you to close your knee, but make lifting heavy things on your back and climb much much easier during the ascent phase.

That led me towards Deck Crew helmets, which meet the hood requirement, and of all things, chin wraps which are really unobstructive and you can eat and drink while wearing one pretty comfortably (I say this as someone currently stuck wearing one)

So what we're looking at here is the HGU-24 and HGU-25, often worn by deck crews because it gets along just fine with the famous MCU-2/P AKA "Millenium" mask famous with drone communities as they're designed to be worn together.

Its literally the exact same mask with a minor paint adjustment.

"What's the difference between a drone and a pilot?" "One wears AXENT and latex, the other wears HGU-25 and neoprene." "Anything else?" "Drones have less sex and do as they're told"

Its got the bash-plates you want for an ejector-seat, but it also has the padded foam you want for an impact element, and if it latches properly and the jaw mechanism is well made enough, you could probably include a hans mechanism attached to the jacket which locks into a socket in the pilot's seat to stop a pilot from breaking their neck in a collision.

What do you guys think?

Any suggestions? What I'm really curious about is what you think pilots would remove, customize or alter for practical or decorative purposes.

This is basically the result of roughly a year of casual research into pilot attire, outfits and looks.

The helm and the hood seem to be where the most manual cosplay stitching and 3D printing work is likely going to be required, with the wrap and helmhood.

Addendum:

I've not gone into waste management systems (UCL/FCL human-factors engineering stuff with internal and external recovery systems), since I'm looking at this mainly as an attainable costume or ensemble.

Edit:

I am learning some of you use aquatic mecha and find this unsatisfactory.

And you won't shut up about how the coolant mass flow rate lets you do really wild shit with your weapons my "land-loving" platform even can't dream of

While I am jealous by your sheer tonnage and the output of your reactors, I've got you covered.

Behold: Immersion suits.

They also make surprisingly good sleeping bags, even if you're on water.

They're literally designed to keep you alive if you're forced to abandon an oil platform, and are known to include a radio and even rations and a water filter.

[cowboyschumi]

DIRTY DIANA

Summary: Sebastian is famously known for naming his cars after women’s names. The meaning behind this year’s choice, D.D, still intrigues people.

Author's Note: First Seb fic of many coming (he's my man). The idea in my mind was way cooler than what turned out. English is not my first language sorry for any typos etc. Enjoy the reading, interactions, and suggestions are much appreciated. <33

Warnings: Suggestive, Female reader named Diana, cheating.

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COWBOYSCHUMI | 2025 All rights reserved. Do not copy, translate, or upload on other platforms.

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The morning after could be the best or the worst, depending on who you ended up in bed with. Sebastian had been trapped with the same partner for a long time—and no, not exactly his girlfriend. Guilt was ever-present, but pleasure was the dominant feeling. He hated himself to his guts for this, yet his loneliness was the only excuse he could cling to.

But that wasn’t the real reason.

This woman rocked his world in the most unspeakable ways, making him do things he never thought himself capable of—at the top of that list: cheating.

Both of them were detached from each other, perhaps. Just a flesh-and-blood thing, no love involved. Maybe that was what upset him the most. The coldness of it all, knowing he wasn’t the only one who slept with her. A sharp sword to his ego.

Sebastian didn’t know yet what kept him coming back to her. His suspicion was the lust they carried and how they behaved like a couple in bed, making love with such passion. Maybe it reminded him of the person he truly loved—the one who was far away, the one he was cheating on.

The sun was already hitting through the hotel's curtains, making it impossible not to wake up from the bright lighting. They had slept hugging each other, legs intertwined, very romantic. He didn’t like waking her up, so he took his time admiring her features first, noticing how delicate she looked while sleeping peacefully. His fingertips danced up and down her sides, watching how glowy her bare skin seemed under the sunlight.

Slow and careful, he left the bed with the intention of getting ready for his long practice day.

"No morning kiss?" A sleepy female voice suddenly interrupted. Her tone was usually honeyed, the sweetest to the ear. But in the morning, it always turned huskier, irresistible.

Her waking up took him by surprise. He poked his head out of his gray Red Bull shirt with a smile, golden curls still messy.

"Morning, sleepyhead."

What she demanded, he gave her. Sebastian was pathetically under her spell, easy to manipulate like clay. With Diana, there was no such thing as a brief kiss or a soft peck, everything had to be overwhelming and intense. Her hands pulled him back, almost dragging him into bed with the way she took his lips so fiercely. Sebastian felt so alive and wanted by her side, like a teenage boy experiencing things for the first time.

Then, just as suddenly, she let go of him, as if she’d had enough and grown tired of him. He stared down at her, confused by her sudden shift in mood.

"She texted at midnight, sounded a bit worried," Diana said out of nowhere, as if his girlfriend was no big deal. "You left your keys at home, she said." With a casual motion, she grabbed his phone from the nightstand and tossed it to him gently.

There it was, remorse hitting again.

"You didn’t reply, right?" Now Sebastian was the one sounding worried.

Diana laughed. She knew her place as the side piece and had no intention of interfering in his romantic life. Her profile always remained low, no matter what. On the contrary, she wanted nothing but the best for him. To her, other women weren’t competition, they were equals. Fighting over a man had never been an option.

"I might be a nasty dog, but not in that way." She admitted with a sly smile, biting her lip as she stared at him while getting changed. She wasn't an active fighter because she knew she could seduce and have any man with just a snap of her fingers, including Vettel.

And it was no news she had her way with multiple drivers. Diana was like a myth—everyone knew her, but no one dared to speak her name out loud. She possessed an unexplained power. Surprisingly, she wasn't a wag wannabe; she just liked hanging around, enjoying the attention, and having a good time—leaving them wanting more. Still, even though she was everywhere, she was never seen in the paddock or at the GPs. Her name was a popular topic, but her face was unknown.

She didn’t show a hint of wanting to get out of bed, being a morning person was never part of her routine. Her figure was the living image of Venus, impossible to ignore. He couldn’t help but stare, frozen in place while clipping his belt. Mesmerized wasn’t enough to describe how he felt or how fast his heart pounded just from looking at her. They spoke through their gazes, filled with longing and need. Their imaginations raced, already picturing themselves back in bed together. They had a hold on each other, a silent pull, not wanting to let go.

Diana made things hard for Sebastian, too many mixed signals and emotions that he either couldn't read or was too slow to catch. Sometimes, women were a mysterious territory for him. Why did they say yes when they really meant no? Were all these indirects really necessary? He chose to remain clueless for his own health and safety.

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Today was practice day, which meant not much racing and a lot of press—an awful day, according to him. Sometimes, Seb wished Di would beg him more instead of the other way around. Simple things, like asking him to stay five more minutes in bed or having breakfast together. He would ditch any PR event or interview just to spend even more time with her. She was a nasty dog, and he was a simple hound dog; at some point, they matched perfectly.

For his luck, first dates didn't involve many cameras: it was always Lewis, Jenson, Michael, and Fernando. Malaysia had a sweet turnout, including now Mark, Nico, and him. Today, he wanted to remain quiet and silent, containing any jokes and banter. He had already been warned about not pushing Webber's buttons too much. Oh, how he enjoyed seeing the old man about to explode, it was just so fun to watch.

"No tricks under that sleeve today, kid?" Mark's eyebrows were furrowed. Even he found it surprising, this chill attitude, almost like he sensed something was wrong. He scanned him while drinking from his water, realizing that seeing Sebastian in this indefinite state might actually be an advantage for him.

"Just thinking. Don’t relax too much. Pull those pants all the way up because I’ll have my way with you on track." There was typical Vettel again. Webber just laughed it off, they always pushed each other's limits, testing boundaries and seeing who would break first.

"Am I interrupting something?" Nico joined joyfully, always seeming to have a good day, brightest smile and thumbs-up.

The afternoon progressed as expected—race talk, regulations, and the usual stupid questions about nonexistent rivalries. Until, of course, the typical non-sports-related question came up, meant to stir things up a bit.

"This question is for Sebastian." A female interviewer stood up, her voice shaky, as if she doubted herself or what she was about to say. "Kate was the last name you gave your car. What's this year's name?"

"I don't know. You want me to name it after you?"

The laughter was unanimous. The interviewer turned red as a tomato. Flustering female reporters was such a Vettel thing to do, she should've seen it coming. Being flirted by him was almost an honor.

"I mean, the season is just starting, haven't thought about a name yet." It was the truth. But what was also true was that he had been unfocused the entire press conference, thinking about Diana, barely paying attention to his surroundings. His mind was somewhere else—racing through her curves, tasting her lips, gripping her bare skin as they held each other. There was no doubt about this year's car name. "Maybe... Dirty Diana?"

The comical demeanor lingered in the room, but not all the drivers laughed. That could only mean one thing—more than one of them had already been with her. The thought made Sebastian shiver, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

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The day ended in the most exhausting way, not just because of the long routine, but because he couldn’t stop thinking about her.

Seb wasn’t the type to party during race weekends; he preferred celebrations in a more relaxed setting, away from cars and pressure. That’s why he headed straight back to his hotel room, dragging his feet, head down, the embodiment of exhaustion.

"Schieße," he cursed under his breath, pinching the bridge of his nose, nearly having a heart attack. His hand clutched his chest as he tried to steady himself.

"Is that a bad or a good thing?" Diana asked, confused, peeking out from behind the bouquet of flowers she held in her hands. "Yellow, they're the closest color to gold... You know, golden boy." She emphasized the last words with a teasing smile.

"You really didn't have to." He didn't reach for the flowers; his hands needed something to do, or it would be too obvious how shaky they were. No one had ever given him flowers before. Was it silly to feel a little excited about it?

Sebastian expected to head straight home after the race, back to what really mattered, his girlfriend. His clothes weren’t thrown everywhere, thankfully, so packing up wasn’t a difficult task.

As he turned to face the bed, there she was—already lying down with the biggest smile, flowers still in hand.

"Don't even bother staying. I'm sleeping early," He said, politely shutting down any second intentions she might have.

"At least let me order some food to the room. I'll pay." Diana insisted, but he avoided looking into her eyes—if he did, he knew he’d fall for it. Instead, he extended his hand, helping her to get out of his bed.

"You're no fun, Vettel." In the blink of an eye, her arms were around his neck, pulling him close. She really had a spell on him because his hands didn’t hesitate to hold her waist firmly.

"You know why I don't want you to spend the night here, Di." His voice carried a hint of shame, it felt so wrong but yet so right.

"You really think I knock on your door just for that?" Her tone was teasingly sly as she slipped from his grip, gracefully making her way to the room's phone.

Diana wasted her time with Sebastian—spent so much of it, in fact, that she could hardly be considered a vixen. Mornings were spent reading in bed while he trained, afternoons were quiet, sometimes even filled with watching free practices if she was in the mood, and nights? They talked about their day, if they weren’t too busy devouring each other.

The truth was, he had it all wrong. Diana genuinely enjoyed his company, maybe even liked him, just a little. She was starstruck. But Sebastian was too blinded by her reputation to see it.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." The Red Bull driver murmured against her perfumed nape, his lips brushing against her skin as he planted subtle kisses along the side of her neck. Meanwhile, she remained focused on the phone, ordering their food.

————————————————————————

Amazingly, the food was incredibly good—especially considering it came from a hotel kitchen. They barely spoke, too busy stuffing their mouths with pasta.

"So..." Seb’s lips were stained with sauce, a complete mess. The young lady shook her head with a smile and quickly wiped the corners of his mouth with a napkin. Her gaze softened. He was a kid trapped in an adult’s body, and she loved it.

"When did you realize you were attracted to… all this?" He gestured around himself in a slow, exaggerated circle, as if his body were some kind model-like sculpted masterpiece. His self-confidence was ridiculous. She couldn’t help but chuckle.

"You're certainly hot, I won’t lie to you." Diana began, determined to make her point. "Remember that driver's meeting last year? When you started rambling about how bad the chassis was? So passionate and full of knowledge, but at the same time completely unserious." She smirked, leaning in slightly. "That’s when I realized, you’re just a big kid who happens to drive incredibly fast."

"Is that so?" His classic cocky smile was crystal clear, ego boosted and skyrocketing.

"I won't compliment you or open up ever again," she huffed, but before she could say another word, his lips crashed onto hers. They needed each other like air. That torturous tension lingering between them could only be relieved through contact.

The only sound filling the four walls was their shallow breathing, broken only by muffled whimpers. They satisfied each other's desires like two perfectly fitted puzzle pieces, connecting seamlessly. Diana craved his hands roaming her body with devotion, while Sebastian longed for her lips to explore him like something sacred.

Her hands gripped his clothed hips, pulling him closer, while her legs locked around his waist, keeping him exactly where she wanted. The heat between them demanded more than just friction, but everything had its pace. His mouth was occupied with her neck, tasting every inch, getting drunk on her scent, and leaving marks, claiming her as his own. Deep down, they really didn't belong to each other, but right then, they forgot that.

His mouth trailed slowly down to her clavicles, while one of his hands instinctively enveloped her breast, kneading relentlessly. The sensation made her back arch off the mattress involuntarily. She hated when he played dirty, so she grabbed a fistful of his blonde strands, tugging just hard enough to force his sight upward. "I thought we weren’t doing this today," she murmured, her voice laced with slightly irritation, though her lustful eyes told another story.

"Bad news for you, I guess." His blue doe eyes looked up at her playfully, a teasing grin at his lips. He had no intention of stopping—not until they were completely done with each other, pleading for mercy. "I think I'll stay a few more days here, I need my lucky charm by my side."