I really love the idea of sentient mechs because of all the unique relationships they have with their pilots. You can have mechs that refuse to let their pilot go because they love them so much, mechs that sacrifice themselves to make sure their pilot lives, or even mechs that hate the atrocities their pilot is forcing them to commit and will happily turn on them if given the chance. My favourite is a mech who remembers all their past pilots and has vowed not to make the same mistakes with the new one.
Girl Frame is a powered by the apocalypse game about lesbian mech pilots navigating social interactions with each other, under the watchful gaze of a "Handler" tasked with using them as tools to defeat an eldritch threat. It focuses on identity, fascism, transfemininity, and extremely toxic social dynamics.
"...in 2026 gender, fascism, and dehumanization are pretty universal experiences."
"‘mech pilots are horny because they get sweaty and fuck after the fights’ you pedestrian, mech pilots are horny because the neural feedback loop from striking an acquired target w/ +90% accuracy on a full flight of LRMs makes most pilots leak in their seat. It’s not about two pilots, separated by mountains of metal, learning to mutually respect the others skill it’s about how these industrial war machines have direct lines into their nervous systems and an oxytocin & dopamine tap directly linking destruction to pleasure."
Painting a target with a laser guidance system. The target frantically looks to the sky for incoming missiles, preparing its anti-air capabilities. As it searches, it gets slammed from the side, a quadrepedal mech chasing the laser as the pilot inside purrs
Handler is captured by their old "hound" now working for the rebels, they're being held in the mech's hands, and the handler, refusing to be captured, yells the pilots old kill command. It almost works, the pilot's mind flushes with the idea of crushing them into paste. Then they take a breath, and say to to the handler "You don't control anybody's life now. Not even your own."
"‘mech pilots are horny because they get sweaty and fuck after the fights’ you pedestrian, mech pilots are horny because the neural feedback loop from striking an acquired target w/ +90% accuracy on a full flight of LRMs makes most pilots leak in their seat. It’s not about two pilots, separated by mountains of metal, learning to mutually respect the others skill it’s about how these industrial war machines have direct lines into their nervous systems and an oxytocin & dopamine tap directly linking destruction to pleasure."
TW: noncon, slapping, ass grabbing, choking, forced stripping
========================================
Hound lined up next to its battle-sisters on the hanger floor, beside where each of their mechs stood nearby in the respective hangers
Hound and its sisters were chatting amongst themselves, wondering why they were called when they succeeded with the missions with no causalities and even brought back two more future hounds
As loud clicking of footsteps echoed through the hanger, hound and its sisters quieted immediately, straightening their posture and saluting
Handler walks up the group, a wicked smile on their face, one they have when someone has to suffer...
The smile made the hound group uneasy, scared of whats to come
Handler gently quickly saluted the group before speaking in their soft and honey sweet tone
"At ease! Now I would like to say congratulations on your latest sortie. Very fine work indeed, good job to each of you!"
They looked upon the group, seeing each one have a smile burning on their face, all except for one
Handler walks up to the one not smiling, to the hound not like the others
"You, my hound, why are you not smiling and enjoying the praise?"
It lowers its head, avoiding all eye contact, only to be met with a leather glove gripping its chin and forcing its head to stare right into the Handlers eyes
"Be-because um I didn't do anything really. They did all the work I just mopped up the dirty work..." Every word it spoke had less and less force behind it, ending with a meek quiet tone
Handler scans them for a minute, looking up and down the line of its battle-sisters before refocusing on their hound
"My dear hound, this mission would not have worked without you! You deserve the praise and rewards as much as they do!"
Hound tries to look away as best it can, shaking its head 'no'
Handler grabs its cheeks in one hand, squeezing hard to make the hound whimper in pain as it looks once again into Handlers eyes
"That wasn't a suggestion mutt. Let me make it more simple for you. I order you to accept all the praise and reply with a heartfelt 'thank you' from each one, got that?"
Hounds eyes go wide in fear, seeing no way out and hoping it will be all over soon
Handler squeezes their hand harder on its cheeks
"I'll ask once again, do you copy mutt?"
Hound gently nods, holding its breath the entire time
"Speak!"
"Y-yes! Yes! I-I understand!"
Handler smirks hard, releasing their grip before leaning in, stopping only mere centimeters away from hounds face
"Good. Dog."
Hounds face immediately goes red, its breath is caught in its throat as it tries to force itself to speak. It quickly turns its head and clears it throat before looking right back at Handler
"Th-thank you Handler!"
A soft warm smile grows on Handlers face, giving a soft pat on the hounds head, then standing straight up and looking to the rest of the lineup
"Hounds, for doing such a good job today I encourage you to praise your sister-hound today. Make sure it learns how to take compliments well. Give as many as you, however you want. Got that?"
"Copy!" They all shout in unison
Hounds face goes pale as it feels the sadistic eyes of all its battle-sisters turn at once to it, it takes a deep breath hoping it won't be so bad
Handler smirks, taking a few steps back before giving one simple command:
"Begin."
Within seconds the lineup has surrounded hound on all sides and begin bombarding it with compliments. It struggles to comprehend whats happening before its brain catches up and it starts spewing out "thank you's" to each of them
It only takes a few short minutes before one of them grabs its ass and gives it a playful squeeze. Hound turns to the owner of the hand and stares blankly, trying to think of what to do. That was until it heard them chuckle, whipping its head around to look at Handler once more
"Oh I should mention." They gleefully calls out. "If the hound there doesn't respond correctly or in a timely manner you may punish it however you see fit."
There was a lot of emphasis on the word 'however'
Too much emphasis...
The one grabbing its ass chuckles, causing hound to look at her
"I never got my thank you, mutt." She smiles hard.
Before it could speak she raises her other hand up, and grips hounds hair, forcing a yelp out of its throat. She yanks its head back and forces it to its knees on the floor
"Y'know I don't think I ever got a thank you as well!" Another chimes in before quickly slapping hound across the face. forcing a whimper to escapes its lips
Before hound could full recover from the daze of the slap, the area became bombarded with the rest of its battle-sisters saying they never got "thank you's" either
Hound felt a hand wrap around its throat and starting squeezing, causing hounds hands to fly up on instinct to stop it
As it tries to cry out a pair of fingers is shoved down its throat, causing tears to well up in its eyes and it clicks together what its night is gonna be like
Hands start grabbing, squeezing, clawing, jabbing, everything to hound. Hound could only take it all, trying its best to mutter out "thank you" over and over again but never getting more than two in a row before stopped by something or someone, leading down a spiral of punishment
Handler looking at the pile of hound and its battle-sisters slowly start stripping off its clothes and soon after, each other. Handler turns and begins walking out of the hanger. Satisfied with the results.
Hound could only whimper and whine as more and more punishment came barreling down upon it from some very good and pent up hounds
. . .
Handler returns to the hanger, many hours later with the sister-hounds as personal long gone
In the middle of the hanger floor was left a very well used and bruised hound. It was too exhausted and in too much pain to even move.
Handler gleefully walks up to the hound, leaning over and tauntingly speaks
"Learn your lesson hound?"
It takes a moment, trying to process the words spoken before very slowly and painfully nodding its head
"What are you?"
"A-a good dog..." It croaks out, feeling how dry its throat is
"A very good dog indeed"
"T-thank y-you Handler...." It mumbles out trying its best to be loud and not causing itself more pain
Handler gently kneels down, pressing a soft finger to its lips. Handler waits a moment before slowly snaking their arms under their hound and lifting it up bridal style
"Now let get you cleaned up my good hound'
Handler carefully and smoothly walks out of the hanger once more, carrying their lovely hound
Hound leans its very tired and sore head against Handlers chest, listening to their heartbeat and softly mumbling out a simple sentence on repeat, like its trying to never forget.
Handler closes her grip tighter on the side of your neck, her thumb pressed against your trachea and her fingers clawing along the side of your neck, nails finding purchase in the taut skin and leaving little half-moon marks of blood in their wake.
"Tell me what you did wrong." Said as evenly as she might tell you what she had for breakfast that morning. Her grip grows tighter and you feel something throb in your head.
"I..." You struggle at the answer for a moment too long—the fingers close tighter.
She pulls you up, stronger than she has any right to be. You're lifted like a marionette, your feet barely touching the ground.
"Tell me what you did wrong, Pilot." Not a hint of emotion in the words, but the meaning is clear.
You nod, and the anger threatens to burn its way out of you. She lets you back down and loosens her grip and you feel the edges of the flames on your tongue.
((emblems/insignias/symbols for the foundation and all the rebel factions in girl frame! every now and again i have to put all those classes i took in graphic design to use, you know...
sorry for all the biblical imagery, the campaign im working on atm is full of it. i got bitten by the eva bug
in order: foundation (light + dark), peace league, sun's fury, mothers of eden (dark + light), gordon paul's (light + dark)
feel free to use these in your own games! or for whatever else lmao. credit is appreciated but not really needed.))
hypothesis: combat doll kink is anxiety accommodation fantasy
observation: stock trope of combat doll kink is the "hound/handler" dynamic, popularized by WARHOUND. an obedient hound who thrives on the approval of their master, their handler.
this handler guides the hound through intense, life-threatening situations, providing reassurance and recognition for their effort. they administer rewards for their servitude, both in a classic S&M style and in a more emotionally intimate way.
to me, this is barely distinguishable from having a friend that supports you and helps you with difficult tasks when you feel scared. most of the difference is ludic and archetypal.
enter the hound as a sufferer of generalized anxiety disorder!
when every situation feels tense and dangerous, when you require a lot of reassurance for things that may seem basic or uncomplicated for other people... you can really start to feel like you're soldiering on through life.
when you become so afraid of everything, it almost loops back around into fearlessness. you know exactly how everything and anything can bite you in the ass, and you have a reasonable understanding of the likelihood of these things happening, even though that doesn't make you any less afraid.
so having a figure present to administer rewards for your effort is a pretty good way to balance out the feeling of maximum effort for minimum outcome.
someone there to hold your chin and tell you what a good hound you are...
even if all you did was go buy groceries or go to the bank,
even if all you did was the chores you were supposed to do,
because those things are still important. it wouldn't be worth such a fuss if they were not.
and you deserve help accomplishing those things before you go and handle them on your own.
these are some observations i have on the archetype as a feature of the genre.
Delta Squadron @delta-squadron - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
