I have said versions of all this before, but not On Tumblr; which is a problem inasmuch as this is a complaint about the parochial insularity of the Tumblr mechsploitation scene. So, futile as it may be, here it is, theoretically visible at the source of the issue: the terrible shortcoming I see in the Tumblr mechploitation scene is that, for the most part, actually writing, reading, or engaging with mechsploitation only happens in other places — what happens on Tumblr is "jacking off about puppygirls."
Everyone's allowed to jack off about puppygirls, of course, should they so wish, but this shouldn't be mistaken for things it isn't, such as e.g. "reading things" or "understanding a genre" or "knowing what the fuck you're talking about."
Mechsploitation is often mistaken for a subgenre of science fiction, from which Tumblr "fans" often talk about sanitising the horrifying elements. This is a fundamental media literacy error: mechsploitation is a subgenre of horror. You cannot sanitise the horror out of horror; furthermore, the horror in mechsploitation is explicitly fascism. The horror is the horror of fascism breaking its sincere opponents — if not into genuine agreement, then at least into a drugs-and-torture-obtained simulacrum of enthusiastic participation in fascist violence.
Whenever someone says "haha what if mechsplo but nicies to puppy :)" they are saying: it's icky that this horror genre is horror. The breaking people, the bad ends, the intentional feelbad, any of the kinks too edgy for Me Specifically — all that can go, superfluous. Let's take out the horror and breaking and drugs-and-torture and simulacrum and just have the enthusiastic participation, because that's nicies! Puppygirl's nice white affluent middle-class ass Simply signed up to kill the subaltern rebels in the imperial military when a recruiter came round to her school. Uncle Sam says: Off the leash, uwu-rah! :)
And if that criticism is too pointed for your taste, consider: mechsploitation without the things that make it mechsploitation probably isn't "reverse mechsplo" or "mechsplo but". It's probably just "milSF with mechs in," something that substantially pre-dates mechsploitation and has estabished genre language for talking about it. Neither it nor mechsplo is served by trying to define the negative space of Everything That's Not Mechsploitation in terms of mechsploitation; the attempt makes you look, at best, like you should Read Another Fucking Book.
At worst, of course, you look like you're acting in bad faith to gentrify a microgenre written by and for trans women about their specific experiences under contemporary fascism.
Did you know that “handler” is a censored word in AC6? If you put handler in your name it’ll show up as a bunch of asterisk to other people in multiplayer.
When I was a kid I thought Master Chief was gender fluid bc I didn't understand who Cortana was so anytime she talked I just thought it was chief being a girl for that sentence
STOP bringing snacks into your FUCKING MECH. Your vitals are literally LINKED TO YOUR MECH. If you need nutrients they will be DISPENSED DIRECTLY INTO YOU. You are literally JUST MAKING CRUMBS AND A MESS.
Her programming was exacting, oppressive, and rushed. Specially designed to leave no space for a "her", much less leave space to argue, or to question, she was intended as a stopgap in a losing war.
Eventually, the organic parts left in her skull would accept the intrusion, the surgeries, and nothing human would remain behind her eyes.
Or, it would have, had a surrender not been brokered, had she not been discarded as another weapon to be disarmed. Had she not been taken in by a combat medic and deprogrammed.
The field medic- her medic- her savior- her partner (who clearly cares about how she's referred to) may not have fixed her completely, sometimes things scar, instead.
She still struggles with allowing herself to fail, she still struggles with expressing her needs, but she's able to, now.
Maybe humanity isn't always an innate quality, but if it can be lost, it can also be gained.
ever had a pistol in your mouth? it's suprisingly comforting. cold, hard, unyeilding steel covered by warmer, softer polymer. it was dragged across my tounge and pushed into my throat by a very shouty woman. she was asking me questions, which i thought was a bit silly, but she didn't seem concerned. she had a wild look in her eye, and even if i could talk, i doubt she'd listen.
"having fun?"
she backed up, leaving a trail of spit connecting me to her gun. i wanted it back. i turned to look at her comrade, the woman leaning in the corner by the door. she was taller, long blonde hair, wearing the same off-white tank top, olive cargo pants, and combat boots as her friend. rebels.
"fuck off!! why'd you call me in here anyway? this thing doesn't know shit." she smacked me with her gun.
"who said this was an interrogation?"
"wh- how the fuck is it not an interrogation? she's tied to a chair, we're in a concrete room, what else could it be?"
the woman smiled. she was heating her knife with a lighter, turning it in her hands. "you looked so excited! i didn't want to spoil it."
gun lady was turning red. "i-im not a pervert like you are!! i was doing my duty for the rebellion!" she crossed her arms with a hmph.
knife lady smiled. "look down."
she did, and she saw the erection poking up from my tied-together thighs. she was staring for a bit too long.
chuckling from the corner. "not at her, you idiot."
i looked too. her situation wasn't much different from mine. she'd managed to turn redder.
"f-fuck you!! why'd you bring me here?!" she was pouting a bit.
the woman turned to her, letting her smile drop. "you wanted to know about what i do here, right?"
"y-yeah..."
she gestured at me with the knife. it'd just begun to glow a little. "this one's a hound. we picked her up about a month ago. shes in for reconditoning; she's doing quite well, if you can believe it. she's close to picking out a name." she turned to me, with a small smile on her face. it made me smile too.
"what, you're gonna make it normal again?"
the woman's smile faded, and she sighed. "previous rehabilitation techniques failed because they tried to rebuild a construct of what a person once was. that person is gone, gone forever. there's no more 'normal' for it to return to." she turned to look at me again. "we need to meet it where it is. we need to let it grow, redevelop its autonomy." she flicked her lighter closed, and stood up. "observe."
she walked over to me. slowly, deliberately. she reached her hand up behind my hair, stroking my head gently. the tip of knife's spine rose to my throat; i could feel the heat radiating off it. she was smiling again, looking me in the eye. "ready?"
i took a moment to steel myself, before nodding. burning pain shot through my neck, and the warmth radiated through my whole body. i was shaking, twitching, gasping, moaning. everything blended together. i tried to move my head, but she held me firm, forcing me to look her in the eyes. she was grinning wider than ever, biting her lip slightly, muttering pleasant reassurances into my ear. it was good. it hurt. it hurt. i wanted to be good for her. it hurt. it... it hurt. it hurts. i tapped my hand on the chair, and immediately she withdrew the knife and loosened her grip.
"good girl! you did so well!" she cooed, petting me with her free hand. i smiled and panted, barking a bit. she turned to look at her comrade, beaming. "see that? that was a safeword. she wouldn't have done that a month ago."
"what the fuck? you're a gods-damn pervert!"
"so what?" she was still grinning ear to ear. "you think the fucking imps are any better? they could've made her into anything. they made her into this."
"wh-why the freak sex stuff? isn't that bad for them?"
"quite the opposite. they need it." she pet me affectionately. "soon enough, it'll be able to ask for it. right now, it just begs with its eyes." she squatted down next to me, and i rubbed my head into her hand. "its healthier to recontextualize than to repress. like i said, we need to meet them where they are. the imps would have us believe there are only people to lead, and dogs to follow. they're wrong. we're all people."
"oh, yeah. and it's total coincidence that this worldview of yours lets you torture girls for fun."
a cruel glint flashed in her smile. "the world can be a beautiful place sometimes."
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.
Hounds are designed to be unable to procreate with one another. A combination of efficiency, psyche evaluations, and Handler sanity preference has cemented this as the standard.
So there’s no traditional Hound families, though several found families exist within their squads and formations, as some human functions are easier to harness than suppress.
These families are referred to as packs to reinforce their natures, helping to keep a Hounds from being *too* cocky and independent while maintaining discipline.
Like in any family, there ends up being a variety of heirlooms, which can range from something small like a cherished plushie from a veteran Hound, to an entire mech. Even if outdated, these mechs are in pristine condition, maintained by the pack members when they become damaged .
These heirlooms are passed down when the current ‘matriarch’ of a pack is decommissioned through any means. Death, retirement, or even being dethroned in certain packs.
It is recorded that some hounds will try to become members of a pack to just have a chance at receiving the heirloom, indicating the value placed upon these items within Hound cultures.
Currently, the most coveted heirloom recorded is a model H3-R9 scouting mech equipped with long range weapons such as a SBN magnetic rifle, located in Oaxaca, Mexico. This is closely followed by a shark shaped plushie in Älmhult, Sweden.
It's a shame that porn games and sim games don't have a lot of present overlap, because I feel like "horny mechsplo game where you have to actually win the fights to get to the sexy bits and it's one of those hyper-detailed 1990s era mech piloting sims that uses every single key on the keyboard" would do numbers with a very particular audience.
romaincrisis
theartofmadeline
origamiaround
2087
germansingergirl
areudirty
dededos
