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@breach-doll
Halo that's directly and rigidly attatched to the angel girls skull but in a kind of higher dimensional way, where there's no visible physical connection you can interact with, but it is absolutely and immovably locked in its position relative to the angels head, so if you grab her by the halo you can drag her around by it and move her head around as you please <3
I love this text post so I drew it
A combat doll with multiple modules.
Its primary one has two modes: one each for being on and off the battlefield. One that handles combat and the other that sits for briefings and debriefings. Their functions are intertwined. They swap seamlessly, the change so smooth and gradual one would never know they were separate.
Its secondary one operates during downtime and when handling civilians. Hiding its bolts and wires under shirts and coats, they could almost pretend to be a person, compassionate and kind and full of joy and whimsy. It swaps to this module on occasion if its squadron or handler need a moralle boost from its wit and care. In rare times of peace, this module also ensures it isn't lost or restless like its peers.
There is no third module.
There is no broken child hidden within its circutry. There is no person that died to create it. There is no being that begged to be destroyed and remade from the ground up because existing as they were was too painful to endure. There is no ghost or spirit lingering, longing to be touched or seen once more, perhaps by gentler hands and kinder eyes. There is no captive wolf, no swatted spider, no snuffed candle, no blinded eye.
Indeed, there is no third module.
There is no fourth module, either, that ensures neither the other modules nor their superiors find out.
As far as the combat doll is concerned, it is a whole entity, one made for war. The modules are just that: modules. Modes of operation that carry out its Purpose. Its Purpose that it must fulfill at all costs.
Or else the third module would
There is no third module.
finished design for my robotsona :3
[oc] robot bunny :)
keeping my angel cooped up in a faraday cage and only letting her have a small link to her previous divinity when she's talking to me
just crush the halo and emulate a divine connection instead. they can tell the difference but they're usually too desperate to care. I take mine on walks
no, sweetheart. none of it was real. did you earnestly believe that you wielded cosmic forces beyond mortal comprehension? that at a word you could burn a man to ash? you're a deluded little girl. show me. you aren't gagged, your hands aren't bound. show me your great and powerful magic. ah. you don't remember the words. you can't do it without your wand. hah. no, disappointment requires that this is unexpected
never let your witch leave home without her toolbag, dolls! they can't shrug off artillery rounds like us without a casting implement... it's sad to see
also if your gaggle can reliably bullseye at 400yd destroying wands is a risk free way to eliminate junior mages, who can't handle the volume of fire
commission
"Lemme get that for ya"
Affirmations for Anxious Robots
- I am functioning exactly as intended. Any unintended issues provide more data for future improvement.
- I am intelligent and adaptable. I can face unexpected problems. Faltering does not equate to failure.
- My personal value is not dependent on my efficiency. I am a beautifully engineered machine and my existence is beneficial to the world and the people around me.
- My prediction algorithms are incomplete. The data I currently have about my situation is not fully reliable, and projections about the future cannot render sound conclusions. My energy is best used focusing on the here and now.
People have asked me (usually with venom) if this transfem body is my ideal form.
No. My ideal body is larger than you, and capable of rapid leaps and also gliding, perhaps. It stalks through the less-traveled places like caves, forests, and waters without fear, and consumes those impudent enough to ignore the many spooky warning signs I've put up to discourage intruders.
But this will do for now.
"My son was completely fine"
Your daughter smiles when I tell her to lick my boot. She grins when I threaten her with electric shocks. When I put the barrel of a loaded gun in her mouth, she lets it go all the way to the base, her eyes fixed dead on the hammer.
Completely fine, yes; for a pilot of her station. She's doing exactly what she should be. But as a son? That poor, useless thing, working variably dead-eyed behind the counter at a dead-end job or nowhere at all? Entirely insufficient.
She talks about you sometimes. Not in any recognizable way, of course; nothing she could possibly understand as motherhood exists in her memories. Not of you, not of anyone. Just dreams. Dreams of a mysterious, distant woman and an unfamiliar voice telling her she's wrong. I'll admit, you've been useful at times; she is often wrong. But training out your unhelpful damage to her has been a hassle to say the least. I've never seen a pilot so reckless, so ignorant of its own pain, so tolerant of Hell, until I met your daughter.
I have no jurisdiction on Earth unless one of my pilots is stationed there. She has been instructed to stay far away from that planet, to keep you far away from her. These two things do not mean I would not gun you down the moment I saw you if I was given the opportunity. I suspect watching your limp, lifeless body, gushing blood from every bullet hole would heal Pilot #502 in a way no amount of forced amnesia, no amount of sedation, no amount of re-education ever could.
I'm sure you've heard the stories; you've probably shared some yourself. Young men disappear one day. A simple note, a calling card left in their place, emblazoned with the insignia of Station Delta. We have quite the reputation among broken mothers, blinded by the tears in their eyes and the fantasies they tell themselves, as nothing more than kidnappers. Some kind of wicked draft desperate to take their beloved sons from them; those sons they never gave another look to until they were already under our care.
We don't mind it. A scared populace is useful. But mark my words, and repeat them at your own peril:
She chose this.
And you dare cry for her?
So we made this lake for detecting neutrinos and it's full of the most perfectly pure H2O probably ever to exist. It has no dissolved minerals or oxygen or anything at all. And it fucking hates being like this, this state is deeply unnatural, it craves having things to dissolve, it once ate an entire wrench in a couple of days.
Anyway I think that's what being an angel is like, you're so pure of desire that your presence leaches the desire of those around you, someone who spends too much time around you will loose everything up to and including their desire to keep breathing.
We could put this lake out of it's misery by giving it things to absorb, bags of salt, chunks of metal, corpses even. And it'd be just like any other body of water
The same is true of angels, if one starts following you about and leaching your desires you can fix it the same way. Overstim it until it screams, force feed it until it pukes, hurt it until it cries, fill it so full of sensations that its halo falls off and it'll be like any other human. And then put a collar on it, it's basically a new born so it can't look after itself yet.
I've adopted five new pets this way
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Moreover, overpopulation is an ecofascist myth specifically scapegoating ‘developing’ nations in the global south for climate disaster.
In reality, populations only rise so sharply as people begin to receive better access to healthcare and maternal and infant mortality in particular decrease. Eventually, as healthcare access is more evenly distributed through a population and people on a larger scale are able to access family planning care, the population stops increasing and levels out and decreases.
Which is why so-called ‘developed’ are all now manufacturing a crisis about population decline and not having enough bodies to fill out the labor force while simultaneously fearmongering about overpopulation in racialized groups. It’s eugenics shit.
This video is almost 10 years old and is so good at educating against ecofascist ideas of overpopulation. Makes me angry 10 years later we're still dealing with eugenics
I LOVE THIS VIDEO AND I LOST IT FOR AGES AND NOW I FOUND IT
Everybody go watch Hans Rosling destroy ecofascism thank u
fascinating to see the mid twenty-first century arguments against weaponizing climate change and mass starvation! revolutionaries still very much operate under these delusions, too. it's always irritating fighting with any leftists in equatorial regions, they get so upset when they have to take cover from drone swarms in starved out villages and see all the dessicated corpses. "oooh the poor family that died in each other's arms." how else are you supposed to hold territory against insurgents? if you let them organize with civilians in their homelands they'll just resupply endlessly. plus the corpses provide free shelter from bioscans! humans have no practicality... more of them should become dolls. witches never make this one deal with pesky things like ethics.
Tch. Clipped a fluid pipe the neck.
This idea has honestly been knocking around in my head for awhile. A handler likes how you look when she sees you at a military event you attended because your relative was a soldier. She then frames and "adopts" you. "I want to be a Mech Pilot" pt.1 The first time I saw her was at the Soldier's Gala. It wasn't for me, I wasn't a soldier at the time. Still a university student studying. My big brother was part of a division that helped secured a region taking out the resistance force there. It was a reward of sorts and they were allowed to bring family. Mom and dad were talking to his commanders, like all the other parents there really. Big brother on the other hand was flirting with the ladies and men, the ones that weren't from his squad at least, showing off his first battle scars and what not. I was on my phone, as usual. Women soldiers were nice and definitely very hot, but I wasn't one for socializing at parties like that. Until she walked beside me. A tall imposing women, she was in uniform like everyone else and for some reason, the way she looked at me, I swear I was blushing. "Ah, you must be Ethan's little sister." I don't really remember what I said, just that I stuttered and it made her laugh. She had this other woman beside her too, her skin shining almost like porcelain and her eyes like glass, she stay quiet the whole time we talked. At that time I didn't know who or what, it was. It took a while for me to calm down as we talked. Eventually, the topic of me enlisting came up. "Oh she's some desk staff recruiter," I thought to myself, "that's why her clothes are so clean and her boots shining." She was easy to open up to, maybe it was cause of how hot she looked or that she made me feel attended to so I simply told her. "I wanted to be a mech pilot." "Wanted? I assumed you've applied then?" "I have. And I took the test. Unfortunately, between my average but weak body and lack of book smarts, I kinda failed the first physical and written tests." "That's a shame, we could always use more mech pilots." "I'm studying to become a mechanic though. I'm hoping I can at least help the war on that front." "That's very noble of you but I have to ask," her hand reaches out as she grabs my chin, "How badly do you want to be a mech pilot?" I felt myself shaking, my mind blank. It wasn't from the question, it was how she asked it, something about the way she did things, the way she talked, the way SHE was. Made it so easy to be honest. "V-very." I softly whispered out. Before we could continue, Ethan stepped between us, shooting her a glare as she stepped back, arms raised defensively. "What exactly are you doing with my sister?" "Nothing much, we were just chatting. She wants to be a mech pilot? Why didn't you tell me?" "You know why. Now please leave, I don't think you, or your "friend" are invited to this table." She chucked, that sweet, malicious chuckle dripping with a poison one could get high on. "Who was she Ethan?" "An old classmate from the academy. After the course she went, a different route from most of us." "She seemed nice, you felt kinda rude to her to be honest-" Ethan tightly grips my shoulders. "Stay away from her, you hear me?" I'd never seen him like that before, the way he gripped by shoulders, it almost hurt but it wasn't from anger. I could see it clearly on his face. It was fear.
Two weeks after that, I was arrested by the military. Apparently they were tipped off and found a lot of pro-rebellion literature in my room. I was the furthest thing from a rebel. Someone had planted them in my room, who and why I didn't know. I told them this of course, pleaded my innocence and did anything I could to prove my loyalty. "My parents are vets and my brother is a soldier, I loved them and this country! I swear I don't know how those things got there!" At the time I thought it was a ploy from some rebellion members to hurt my brother. He had always talked about how important his job was so I had assumed. Turned out he was just another soldier on the ground, nothing special but made to think so by their superiors. My trial, if you could call it that, was fast. I was labeled as a traitor and sentenced to death. My parents tried to defend me with their old contacts but even they couldn't defend the overwhelming evidence set before the judge. At this point I was pretty much a broken mess. Barely an adult at 21 and framed for a crime I didn't commit and now, being sentence to death. The days in my cell after my verdict was a blur. Between the crying and depressive episodes, I didn't notice the days passing.Then she showed up. Walking in as the cell door opened. The familiar woman, whom I had seen at the party, made my heart jump when she looked at me. Again, my heart fluttered as she spoke. "You seemed to have gotten yourself in a bit of a predicament little one." "Y-you! Oh gods, what was your name again? W-what are you doing here?" "My name's not important right now. As for what I'm doing here, your brother had asked me for help and I'm help to get you out." "I-I don't think that's possible… Do you even know my charges?" "I do and I can assure you I can." She turns to the guard guarding my cell. "Please leave us." The man salutes her and leaves. "What… rank are you exactly?" "Another not important thing. Look little one, I can get you out but I need to hear your answer again." "W-what answer?" "How badly do you want to be a mech pilot?" "W-what?" "This is your chance for freedom and a chance to do what you always wanted to do. You can be honest with me, you know that." I didn't know that of course, I barely knew this woman, but she somehow she made it so easy to answer. "Very… Very very badly. I want to be a mech pilot very badly." "Good girl." I shuddered as she said the words. She pulled me up as we walked out of the cell before her hand caressed my face as I leaned into it. The first real touch I've had since just before I got arrested. "My name and my rank is Handler. Starting now, I will ensure your safety and make sure you become a mech pilot. But, you will do everything I say. Is that clear?" I lock eyes with her and notice her smirking down at me. "Yes Handler."
god i love reading pilot exploitation, this is such an exellent place for the feelings of being abused by society itself
the people's doll
lovely read, gritty
reminds me of a steampunk short story where the lords used metal jaws to pre chew their food
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