#mechpilot

[ofashandcog]

Pilot and handler this, pilot and enemy pilot that

Where's the love for pilot and mech ai on deep cover, long haul mission forming a connection that is far too deep and neither will ever be the same once they come back to civilization. They can't be apart for more than a few hours without a physical pain coming over them. Have you ever seen a mech get the shakes? It's not pretty. Just let the pilot be entombed in the machine's chassis, she'll feel better. Replace her cockpit with an amniotic tank. Let her body atrophy and wither from lack of use. She needs not legs to walk nor eyes to see. She need only be- I think I let this one get away from me

[osakanone]

When I think of mech pilots...

This is what I think of

When any of you talk, and you get into that good shit

This is who I see in my mind

Rhea Ripley

Who do you see when we talk about this stuff?

Who gives you the pilot energy vibe?

I want her inside me. I want her in my cockpit.

FEHEHEEED ME SEYMOUR

[ashinbloom]

Mechvore 1

Your head is pounding as you blink awake, the distant sound of artillery shell explosions and gunfire slowly filtering in. You squint and hold your head as your vision slowly comes into focus. Where are you? What happened? You were on a transport with your squad, you think, en route to rendezvous with the Mech division.

Shouting.

Panic.

Explosion?

Was the transport attacked? You decide you can hash it out later when you get to safety. You were expecting another hour on the transport so you weren’t geared out, but your pistol… You pat your hip and sigh. You left your pistol in your bunk.

You try your radio, but get no response. Only static. Your legs still work, as far as you can tell, so you decide to hoof it until you can get a read on the situation. Maybe reach higher ground and get a signal. So you start walking.

You’re still a ways off from the fighting, but that’s your safest bet. Ironic, you think, that running into gunfire and explosions is the safe option, but you push those thoughts aside. The forest, or maybe it could be considered a jungle, is quiet but that doesn’t mean it’s desolate. You march on for some time, wary of every twig or feather flutter you hear over the sounds of war, until you hear an unsettling but familiar sound. Your blood runs cold as you spin around, trying to pinpoint where it’s coming from. It could be anywhere, the way it’s echoing around you, but the sound is unmistakable.

A Mech.

You had been enamored with the Mech division when you joined up with the Corps. They were the best of the best behind the helms of giant, cutting edge, bipedal war machines that served as paragons of everything the Corps stood for. You were so excited when you passed the exams, when you were deemed to have a compatible personality profile, when you watched the live fire demonstrations. You were going to be a Mech Pilot and you were so ready.

Until you learned what being a Mech Pilot means.

The mechanical tromping gets closer and closer still, and you scramble in what you think is the opposite direction and hunker down on the other side of an embankment. You keep your head down, feeling the ground shudder under you and against your back as it gets closer. Closer. Closer. Wincing with each step until it stops. You can’t help but foolishly peek up over the bank.

There it is. An old FX Series Mech. It stands in the clearing, its back to you, but you can see its blue laser grid scanning wherever it looks as it scans from left to right as it says “Searching for Pilot.”

You duck back down, grabbing the pendant on your necklace and trying to breathe calmly and quietly. Perhaps you pray, if you’re that sort of person or just the desperate type. In any case, you just hope that it doesn’t find you.

You watch as the grid comes into your view on the thicket of trees to your left, slowly panning rightward. You hold yourself, make yourself as small as you physically can, as the grid moves in your direction. But you’re in luck and you can see where the grid picks up, leaving you hidden in the shadow of the embankment. You still hold your breath, though.

To your relief, the grid passes right over you. You stay still, daring not even to breathe as you listen to the Mech’s hydraulics and servos and its foodpads in the dirt as it walks away.

You let out a sigh of relief and before you can even get it out you gasp in shock. The grid is back over your position and a burning red.

“Acquiring Pilot candidate,” the Mech says. The FX series always had a synthesized voice that was pleasing to you, soothing. Maybe even a bit arousing, if you were being completely honest. But now it’s the most terrifying sound in the world. You clamber to your feet, scrambling as you dive away just in time to avoid the massive metal hand demolishing the bank you were hiding behind.

You bound across the stones in the creek, slipping from them half way across and trodding with sodden boots to the other side and into the treeline. The FX pursues you, a deluge of water spilling from the creek as it stomps through and onto the shore behind you. You make your way further into the forest, running toward the sound of gunfire the whole time, hoping that the trees will slow the Mech, or at least obscure you from its scanners.

The sound of cracking timber and grinding metal behind you tells you that your hopes were in vain.

You barely manage to dive away from a falling tree as its shadow grows around you, adrenaline allowing you to push yourself back to your feet as quickly as you hit the forest floor. The natural flow of the land funnels you downhill between two peaks as you run for your life. You don’t know where you are or where you’re going, but eventually, you run against a craggy rock wall. You try to jump and reach the ledge, you try to climb the jagged rock face.

You can’t.

You freeze as the red gridlines of the FX Mech’s scanner trace up your body, silhouetting you against the wall.

“Pilot candidate acquired,” its smoky synthesized voice affirms that you’ve nowhere left to run. Nowhere to hide.

You slowly turn around, hands raised about your shoulders to show you’re not a threat. You aren’t a threat, after all. “Please, I’m not a pilot,” your run-ravaged voice ekes out.

The Mech’s scanning field narrows around you. “Evaluating Pilot candidate.”

“I’m not a pilot!” your voice croaks out, as loud as you can make it. “I don’t want to be a pilot!”

“Irrelevant,” the mech’s disturbingly alluring voice says, “This unit requires biofuel.”

“I don’t care!” you plead, “Just… just let me go.”

The mech remains silent as it stands before you, its scan field shifting from red to green as it traces up one leg, briefly turning red again where it moves over your trick knee, then stays green as it traces up the other leg, up your torso, and down your arms. The light seems to sparkle and flash as you look into the single standard “eye” of the FX Series Mech as it scans your head. It feels like an entire rainbow flashes by before the scanner turns off.

“Candidate compatibility: Eight-seven percent,” the synthetic voice says. “Congratulations, Pilot.”

“No, no!” You press yourself against the wall, holding your hands out defensively. As if they’d be any defense against a war machine. “I’m not a pilot! I don’t want to be a pilot.”

“Irrelevant. The Pilot requires protection.”

“I don’t want your damn protection!”

“Irrelevant.”

The FX lowers itself while white steam rises from a seam around its front. A terrible stench like burnt meat and rot permeates the air as the hatch to the cockpit loses its hermetic seal. The mch leans forward, the hatch turning into a ramp as if it expects you to just climb inside. When it does, a gut-wrenching rattle rings out as the yellowed bones of the previous pilot tumble down the diamond steel walkway to the ground in front of you. You quiver where you stand, the soaked insole of your boot squelching with every bounce.

You know you can’t escape. You know it’s useless. It doesn’t stop you from trying. You run to the right, only for the Mech’s hand to slam into the rock wall beside you. You run left, and the other hand misses you by a hair’s breadth.

“Stop, please!”

Your pleas fall on deaf ears as the hands close around you, lifting you from the ground.

“Please remain calm, Pilot.”

You can barely even manage a feeble ‘I’m not a pilot.’ as you’re shoved into the cockpit and everything goes dark.

[one2-2four]

my disaster lesbian mech pilot for an upcoming lancer game!

[multiversetravelingjournalist]

Chapters: 2/? Fandom: Original Work Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Mech Pilot/Handler Characters: Retired Mech Pilot, Retired Mech Pilot Handler Additional Tags: When your wife is retired defunct prototype tech, PTSD, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Medical Trauma, Eye Trauma, Psychological Trauma, Romantic Hospice Care, Cybernetics, Amnesia, Memory Loss, Physical Disability, Prosthesis, Medical Abuse Recovery, Human Experimentation, Government Experimentation, Recovery, Hospice, permanently incomplete, Trans Female Character Series: Part 1 of Story Fragments Summary:

A little story chunk of a story about love and memory loss and the aftermath of war.

[gamagachi]

⁺⋆✧ Channel Art ✧ ⁺⋆

Some of my Youtube Thumbnails that I really like, I really love these super bright and punchy little works of art, I think they look super cute altogether! Now if only I could just finish videos quicker!!! Moving forward I'm gonna just let myself finish videos faster! Even if I don't like them anymore, it's better to let them go out so I can learn rather than keep them close to my chest out of fear that they're not good enough!!

⋆( u ω u ✧)⁺⋆

[thestalkerbunny]

My dnd group is expanding out and we're playing a setting called Lancer ft. space and mech pilots.

So I had to design a character who is basically the anime Mech Pilot after he ran away from the military (with the mech) and is hiding in the dark of space and does odd jobs for wet food for himself. Basically the ugly truth of being a mech pilot isn't all fun and cute games-it's a lot of bodily damage and psychological harm that results in a very very broken and medically unwell man.

Qwerty the cat is a new addition; it's a cat who they found on an abandoned mining asteroid that is the byproduct of far too many generations of cats inbreeding with each other and cannibalizing each other.

[doveshovel]

Mecha WizardEgg the Star Stable starter horse

[evilevilevilnotevilevilagain]

Dynamic Duo(they hate each other)

Pilot Bass and mechanic KA; probably sneaking off to smoke behind cafeteria G again.

[severalowls]

"Mech Pilot" posts fundamentally betray exactly what flavour of mech any given person is into. Do you love mech pilots for the inherent tragedy and melodrama or do you love mech pilots for the existential terror of losing yourself to the literal-metaphorical Machine or do you love mech pilots because militaria and Killing give you some kinda weird boner.

Yes they are all intensely erotically charged but you gotta pick one you love and one that you find intensely annoying thems the rules.

[toerrishumansodont]

I think my evil wizard is coming along nicely :-)

[ashinbloom]

Warhound Domestication Guide

Go read this new Human Domestication Guide story co-authored by me and my system mate, the deranged mech pilot called hound. TWs for: blood and gore, non-con, conditioning, forced intox, and probably other stuff

Warhound Domestication Guide

https://archiveofourown.org/works/58570786/chapters/149223379

[catmask]

fuckin around with @rznant and joked about adult mars in catgirl mecha-verse (ra's project) but then it turned into an actual loredev session as all good spitball sessions do. anyway heres mechpilot mars

also i really liked @koboldfactory AU's robo menya so i did a catgirl mecha twist on the design :-)

[terminatorgirlfriend]

i'm tired of doll/witch, mechpilot/handler, i've yet to see musician/conductor...

i humbly submit for you my own personal selection: hostage/bank robber.

[k1nky-r0b0t-g1rl]

Opinion on forcefem vampirism?

Potentially only rivalled by forcefem mechpilots