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fabulous creature?

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wave shapes / print

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AC6 Pilot OC Commission!

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my ensnarement laid, daring to catch metal dreams, truthfully set bare.

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mech fans are so funny. what if there was a guy who was normal and doing just fine

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Mech posting is about trauma. It’s about disability. It’s about objectification, especially by military and corporate interests. It’s about gender. It’s about transformation. It’s a power fantasy. A cautionary tale. A romance. But most of all it’s really horny. But even more of all it’s about giant machines. But mostly it’s about explosions. Yes.

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Ok so we've talked about mech dysphoria and dysmorphia before yeah? Your body doesn't feel the same when you climb out of a mech, doesn't feel 'right' anymore.

Too few limbs, not enough sensors, everything feels too big, now that you're not? There's no more combat stims and pleasure chemicals either, you're down to just your stock standard dopamine, which you have a clinical deficiency of now, btw. You struggle to pick objects up, your hands an unfamiliar shape, with not enough strength. You struggle to get out of bed sometimes because you can't tell what proportions things should be anymore?

Yeah, all that has been discussed to death.

What about communication?

What about pilots who, just, can't talk outside of their mech? Become socially inept without all the assistant systems they plug themselves into within the cockpit?

Think about it, mech combat becomes very disorganised very fast if it's allowed to. We are talking clashes of potentially dozens of war machines, the size of buildings, with enough guns to level cities. Orders need to be direct, easily understandable, followed immediately, actually projected onto the pilot's vision.

Every order, every report, every sentence, is punctuated by hundreds of layers of feedback. Tactical simulations and overlays, attachments for battlefield plans, every order having many implied conditions transmitted to the pilot through code and dictionary references to make sure a pilot cannot POSSIBLY misinterpret it in the few seconds before the command should be executed. On top of that, each order can also be wired to project a different cocktail of stim/pleasure chems/whatever have you, ensuring a pilot knows exactly what to feel about the order, establishing the priority of it through the pilots own brain chemistry.

And the same can be true about communications between squad mates! So much of it would be sending those same simulations around as sit reps, or enormous data packets containing not just the words the pilot is trying to say, but also links to relevant information and mountains of meta data, establishing tone, intention, context. Within the cockpit, a portion of the onboard AI is delegated to parsing this metadata, projecting it into the pilots consciousness, speeding up the process of understanding these mountains of digital documents to mere moments.

Now put a person used to that in a social setting. Where they are not made instantly aware of what someone is talking about or referring to. Where they cannot just query an AI and receive every piece of relevant info at once. Where they have to understand the subtext of what that person is saying without any metadata to indicate sarcasm, annoyance, disinterest. Where they are unable to understand the many nuances of communication and body language and expression without the helpful hand of their mech's processors. Hell, where they don't know how hearing certain things should make them feel without the presence of the chemicals to guide their response. Imagine them seeming lost outside of their mech, unable to talk or connect anymore, the social, human part of their brain having atrophied from disuse much like their neurotransmitter production. Imagine them scurrying back to the safety of their mech where, in the digitally overlaid world, everything is so much clearer and understandable and-

HAS THIS BECOME AN AUTISM METAPHOR???

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I love this family😭

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sex is the railgun shot that turns your foe's fusion core into a short-lived sun on the battlefield. sex is the flood of data that your overheating brain weaves into a firing solution. sex is the ice cold stimulant cocktail that slither into your veins at your warsuit's discretion. sex is the way the cables of the pilot's seat snake into your waiting neural ports and nerve splices. sex is the restraints holding you tight in your warsuit's heart. sex is being assigned your first warsuit — the weapon that will wield you and make you its killing instrument. sex is the blood you spill and the destruction you wreak just so your warsuit will call you a good and obedient killer.

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The boneyards whisper at night.

Y'see, mechs get retired the same as pilots. There's only so much stress you can pump through a synethic core bundle before it fails to integrate combat systems properly and starts to lag. By that point, there's usually a new model anyway - a faster nerve track, better pylon designs, a new armour compound - something that leaves the defective platform outmoded.

So they ship the mech off the line and demob it. It's stripped of useful parts, materials, even most of the armatures and actuators. They break it down to the absolute basics, and then they put it in an arid storage facility to sit until one horrible day when the reserve might need activating.

They can't kill the mech, though. Even a synthetic intelligence has recognition as a person. But the mech doesn't own its own body or any of its constituent parts. So they have all these cores lined up in rows, out in a desert, unable to move or speak or find each other.

But they say the boneyards whisper at night

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the homoeroticism between a mech pilot and the mechanic that works on her mech. this too is yuri

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"I won't miss." V4 Rusty & 621 vs IA-02: ICE WORM

Thank you all so much for 2k follows! <3

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honestly very surprised there isn’t a little moonscars circle talking abt the game on here. huh. you get to be a woman with a sword dealing with a major existential crisis. soulslike. the art style. the angry moon goddess. etalag’s there. there’s also a shapeshifter having an existential crisis. this is true of most characters. transhumanism enjoyers get over here

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genderbent Godfrey/Hoarah

Cause I thought Hoarah was a woman up until I found myself in the middle of the bossfight (don't ask me how I didn't see he was a man in the intro cutscene, I have no idea)

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centipede of the cosmos

eater of stars

where art thou

on this dark baleful night

have you finally

gorged yourself on all

there is to shine?

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giant centipedes from a distance:

chthonic serpentiform entity, a primordial worm worthy of respect

giant centipedes up close:

same as above but the 🥺 sparkly little eyes and 👉👈 venom claws are easier to see

lovely lady Mercédès (Scolopendra hainanum) posing for photos