#Handler

[skullman2033]

Mecha pilot who responds to the attempts at establishing a toxic psychosexual relationship by their handler by efficiently and without any fanfare fragging them the second they get the chance.

They’re up to six now. The kill tally on the mech is exclusively reserved for handlers who decided they wanna get freaky

[aerequets]

those spies are just too darn clever...

[thefaelightforge]

The Mech pilot sits, muscles tight, eyes dilated, waiting inside of the hanger just trembling. A small whimper escaping their lips, a near silent beg for permission to launch. They are at the mission site, all they need is permission. The Handler just enjoys the view of the trembling pilot who's Mech is twitching with every slight micro muscular signal of its pilot. "Authorized, Good hunting." Is all it takes for the hanger bay to fill with heat as the Pilot takes off.

[morgantheblue]

Some Mechposting Dynamics that Aren't "Sub Pilot/Dom Handler..."

Half-Feral Domme Pilot/Submissive Mech Repair Crewmember

Bed breaking hate-sex between rival pilots.

Psychosexual Relationship between a Pilot and their Mech's AI

Tender mutual unspoken understanding between Handlers and Pilots, both being the only people to truly know what the other is going through.

Dom Pilot/Sub Handler "You sent me into an ambush, I'm gonna fucking break you." (Bonus points for Bratty Handler)

Sub Pilot/Dom Implant Surgeon.

Feel free to add your own!

(And to be clear, nothing wrong with Sub Pilot/Dom Handler stuff, just thinking about other dymanics I'd find fun to write.)

[pikinanouart]

The prescription says: Just let him have this, come on.

[feuersturm97]

I am down with this drawing

[ladyzogs]

cant stop thinking about a hobbyist handler forum where they share combat stim recipes and get in arguments over what conditioning method works best

[dummy-dot-exe]

by fumio936@fumio9361

[whumppromptoftheday]

living weapon who is terrified of handler. nobody understands why until they see handler in action

[scribbled-dream]

Mechposting? Nah. Armorposting. Wearing a suit of form-fitting power armor, functional, utilitarian, perfect for a singular object of precise destruction. Utterly modular, the suit is a second skin. They come home, drenched in blood, not heightened on stims, but simply the mad rush of close combat, atomizing enemies with a rush down of missile swarms.

A handler cracks the suit open, pulling the soldier from their exo-armor—and simply listens. They don’t have the same luxury of mech pilots being on stims. They cannot, for the mech is a twenty-feet tall machine for mass killing, while the exo-armor is personal. intimate. They lead the infantry, they do grav-jumps from hovertanks, they go where mechs cannot, idolized knights of steel and fiber in their shells—they must see all, hear all, and in the end they are relegated to the same space as the mech pilot—clinging to their handler, begging for a light kiss on the cheek, a written excuse to spend the day clinging together in a too-small cot, pictures and gifts dangling off the inside of the suit’s padding.

Mechanized cavalry. Mechanized knights. They are different, and at once, the same. Killing machines focused to a fine point—but one is the interpersonal violence of stims, held gently in a metal casket high above the smoke and plasma, and one is personal, fighting with bare hands in cramped tunnels and ruins.

[aerequets]

thank you @ideksams for the magma board 😚 happy Valentine's Day

[octobertomarch]

You better not lie

First time drawing Sylvia Sherwood!! Reference from here

[multiversetravelingjournalist]

While it's called "the language" it is more four different languages in one dress. This is because the witches, the dolls, the handlers, and the mech pilots each have a different way of speaking the language that was taught to them when their role became apparent.

The Doll register used tiny vowels and clinking consonants. Its grammar as modular and segmented as their bodies. They have three different honorifics for the members of each of the other roles.

The Witches Register has words that change sounds every time they are spoken. Its grammar just as morphable. It is the only register to have terms for the things that the other roles are not aware of. That the other roles should never be aware of. It is also the register that has so many unique endearments for her precious dolls.

The Pilot Register uses large vowels and clanging consonants. It is precise and subordinate to her handler. Able to name the exact locations of her handler's enemies and every piece of her own mech which varies from pilot to pilot to handler.

The Handler Register is rigid in both words' sounds and the order they come in. Every particle has its place in every utterance that the Handler may deign to speak to her pilot. It commands first and does everything else second.

Despite the wild differences in register, they remain registers. They are all the same language spoken differently by different roles.

[kaneidae]

[ladyzogs]

an ace mech pilot is captured and put into a small cell where everything is controlled. there is no daylight in the cell, no way to tell how much time had passed. she doesn't take long to notice they're putting something in her food. she gets a visit from a group of masked armed guards followed by a tall unmasked woman in black military dress and a long dark trench coat, a dark captain's hat shrouding her eyes in shadow. the woman in black calls herself Handler. she speaks to the prisoner in soothing tones. the prisoner spits on the woman. none of the guards make a move. the woman leaves. some indeterminate time later, the woman returns and takes the prisoner to another room connected to her cell with a chair covered in bindings in the middle. as the guards point their weapons at the prisoner, the woman binds the prisoner with gentle hands. the woman pulls out a pocket watch and holds it to the prisoner's ear as she speaks lies into the other. the prisoner tries to count each tick of the watch but the woman keeps breaking her focus. the prisoner tries to resist, but pain explodes across her veins from an electric shock. after some amount of time had passed, the woman closes the watch and returns it to her coat, then escorts the prisoner back to her cell. this cycle repeats again and again. the woman twists everything about the prisoner, from her past accomplishments to her family history and even her name. the prisoner receives a shock whenever she tries to answer back. the watch ticks incessantly in her ear. she learns not to talk back. they're still putting something in her food. there's less and less guards each time until the prisoner and the woman are alone. the woman calls herself Handler. this is the only name the prisoner has for her. Handler keeps calling the prisoner Hound. Hound gets shocked whenever she tries to tell Handler her real name. After one session, Hound is lying in bed, sobbing and shaking for what feels like hours. Handler walks into the cell alone. Hound does not make a move. she knows she'll get shocked whenever she tries to fight back. Handler kneels next to the Hounds cot and begins running her fingers through Hounds hair. Hound freezes for a moment before her sobbing takes over once again. Handler speaks softly and sweetly, not like she does during the sessions. Handler stays until Hound has no tears left, stroking her hair all the while. Handler kisses Hound on the cheek and leaves. the cycle continues. Hound is confused and delirious. her food begins to taste sweet. it begins to remind her of the Handler's perfume. she knows they're doing something to her but she's already accepted she's powerless to stop it. session after session, shock after shock. she hears the ticking of the watch as she falls asleep. until, during one session, Handler closes the watch abruptly and unfasteneds Hounds restraints. Hound steps out of the chair. "what's your name, Hound?", Handler asks. Hound tries to answer but the name gets caught in her throat. "what is your name, Hound?", Handler asks again. Hound tries again to speak, but she feels like she's choking. she can see the vague outline of her name in her mind, but it feels so far away. "what is your name, Hound?", Handler asks a third time. Hound begins crying. she can't tell Handler her name. Handler is going to shock her again and again because she can't remember her name. Handler steps back. "heel", she commands. Hound tentatively steps forward, still sobbing. "sit", Handler commands. Hound stands for a moment, her foggy mind trying to process what Handler is saying. "sit, Hound", Handler commands again. without looking away, Hound slowly lowers herself to her knees. she's not crying anymore. "good hound", Handler coos. euphoria washes over Hound's mind. Handler smiles. "let's give you a new name for being such a good hound"