Sabik (never weyland)

I post. Vaguely feminine. Nazis fuck off.

[saabenthusiast]

Intro Title Crawl

I figure I should probably make a pinned post for this blog explaining why I made it and a tiny bit about how I want to conduct myself.

(Minors do not interact! I am not a good influence! I will talk a lot about fetishes and stuff that is too adult to feel comfortable discussing otherwise.)

I don't plan to give a name, or much identifying information, the internet is a big place, after all. Pronouns are She/Her. I tolerate they/them, but not my preference. As for whats in my pants; I write Mechsplo.

I live under a rock in regards to socialmedia-only controversies, so I apologize if I come across as ignorant in the future, I very likely am though I do not intend to be.

I made this blog to post the kink things I feel like writing that I enjoy. Currently, thats Mechsploitation, though normally the comfier side of it, as going further into the extremes starts to make me uncomfortable and I don't think I can write that very well, either.

In terms of fetishes, I absolutely do not like and will not write Incest, Pedophilia (or anything sexual with underage characters at all, I don't care for the technically correct vocabulary), Scat, or anything involving a Non-Sapient or less-than-human intelligence.

This is also a blog to give me an excuse to practice writing, and also to reblog the occasional post I find interesting. (I tend to not reblog a ton of stuff, just not how my brain works, not a criticism of any content on this site)

Politically, I'm left of United States Liberalism. How much further left depends on the day.

Racists/Sexists/Fascists fuck off. Anyone who excludes someone on basis of gender or sexuality fuck off. (That includes any of the "This subset of transpeople aren't equal/don't deserve to be equal to other transpeople" stuff that seems to happen on this site). On a more minor note, I also strongly dislike anything AI-generated, and the weird slurs and insults that people call AI also bother me. I don't consider AI users to be Literally Hitler or anything like that, but I do lose respect for it.

If anything about this bothers someone, please block me now, save both of us the time of arguing or appearing in eachothers' feeds.

I'm pretty sure my messages and asks are open, be polite and please speak in good faith if you message me. I can be wildly inconsistent checking this site so response times can and will vary.

[janecakeandthehoecakes]

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.

[saabenthusiast]

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.

[janecakeandthehoecakes]

Hounds are sentimental creatures, even if they cold killing objects they do retain the ability to create intimacy and share connections.

Whats noteworthy about this phenomena is how often Hounds become rather emotionally connected with one another. If one falls in battle, aside from emotional distress, the other hound attempts, even against their handler’s orders, to acquire a piece of the other hound to commemorate them by. They will risk capture, death, punishment, or and even attempt it mid-combat if the opportunity arises.

These mementos can range from suit patches, mech exoarmor scrap, or even live ammunition. They’ll imprint the name of the fallen hound by any mean deemed fit.

This is one of the only rituals every hound seems to respect, even when an affect Hound has a clear rivalry or any other divide. Mementos are often treated reverently, with a shrine or even a mausoleum of sorts being amassed by the surviving Hounds.

It is HIGHLY recommended for handlers to not take a Hound’s memento in any situation because this invariably leads to several cases of disobedience and misdirected violence from the Hound afflicted.

[saabenthusiast]

It dreams of flying, not the poor facsimile of Its mech forcing itself through the air, not the brutal efficiency of the transport. Instead, updrafts, headwinds, cold air against its greying skin. Flight, with wings and feathers and canvas, not... It

Its mind had wandered again, surely the mainframe caught it. Its gaoler Handler would reprimand and recondition it for the mistake. That would mean more painful memories, less time outside, and no balcony access. Its window would be overridden and opaque, stuck in that flat grey box it was told was home.

The mainframe had indeed caught the lapse in attention, the attempted recollection, those old memories that would eventually break a Hound but were needed to keep it viable. Within a minute, a report was printed and delivered to the Handler at her desk.

She had been delaying it, there was something sentimental about the Hound's dreams. Similar to hers, however long ago, before the protests, the boycotts, the uprisings, and the tightening noose. Hard to ignore what was already obvious, regardless of what orders she got anymore said. The blockade had not been lifted, her facility sieged for the past week.

Leaving her office, she turned off the lights and left her coat in her chair. Some historian type would probably vilify her worse than the demons at the gates by the end of all of this. There's some small satisfaction in a final denial, though.

It hadn't been ordered to stand down, and It had been active and awaiting the deployment order since the facility went to Full Alert 126 hours ago. The buzzer at the door sounded, Its implant shocked It to attention. Surely, Its warden staffer had come to confirm the order soon to arrive, and It waited for the door to open, revealing the- Handler. That didn't make sense, the Handler (for even thinking of gaoler was impossible, so close to the authority) was out of uniform, no precedent for this had ever been made before. Its conditioning overrode the feeble cognition still left to the Hound, forcing it back into the commands of the Handler, following them into the service elevator.

After a tediously uncertain wait, the Handler and the Hound arrived on the rooftop of the Facility's Citadel. Seems the devils were starting their assault now, their first and final, having simply waited them out. The Handler brought her dying, sagging sack of bones that barely resembled the Hound who she had instituted herself to the precipice. They took one last look at their Hound, removed Its collar, and pushed.

And for one, glorious, beautiful moment, the distant artillery an orchestra and the fireworks above, It flew.

[ashes2caches]

now draw her with a penis. and also give her elf ears while your at it. they make everyone cuter.

[systembomb]

So, question for the Mechsplo crew.

Why do we always assume the Rebels are the good ones and the Empire/Whatever bad? How do we know the *Rebels* aren't a bunch of Christofascists with good press?

[saabenthusiast]

TLDR: It depends entirely on how you want to write it. I enjoy (and assume other writers also enjoy) writing mechsploitation where the ethics of High Command is very, very clearly lacking and the rebels' are much better.

In more detail, I can think of 4 probable factors to this.

Mechsplo is heavily influenced by Armored Core VI, where the corporations are waging a war in secret, behind any government's back, and the rebellion is comprised of the people who we learn repeatedly through the game that the corporations hate (or are at minimum indifferent to). Ingame, not even the player is immune to corporate exploitation, and is affected by it in every possible playthrough. The rebels, however, only attack the player in specific circumstances, where they're forced to attack you because of a corporation or they're attacking you after you've actively targeted them. Even after absolutely obliterating their presence at a major installation and going back for round 2, they still are willing to work with you and hope that you are able to work for an ideal, and not for a credit value, which makes them a lot more likable than the Corporations. They aren't perfect (that's a rabbithole that I'd rather not spoil if someone wants to play AC6) but they're so much better than the Corporations that its pretty easy to label one of the Rebels' Good and the monolithic authoritarian entity Evil, at least for the purposes of mechsploitation.

The group that is normally turning people into a Hound in our stories are the Authority/Corporations/Empire/High Command/Imperium. (call it as you will its all the same entity) The idea of being broken by an abuser and treated as an inhuman object (as is done to a Hound) can be kinky, but its not a remotely ethical thing to be doing to someone, no matter how many "the ends justify the means" you want to supply. This makes it a lot easier to set expectations, and those expectations are almost always that High Command is an immoral and evil group.

Ultimately, Mechsploitation is a kink genre. I like to write in the genre because I like to focus on what I find hot at that moment. Its not a complex setting with a rigid canon or anything like that, being less of a setting and more of a sandbox with ideas that are mutable so I can write about my kinks. Most of the time, a writer will only really make changes to the generally accepted 'defaults' so they can write their interests more easily. However, through this long game of telephone, the idea of a Rebellion becomes watered down, less complex. Its not as diverse or conflicting as a real group of Rebels may be, it is there to serve the purpose of the writer as the antagonist to the Corporation; a group to handwave the setting into conflict. Being the antagonists to the Corporation, they're often written as whatever the opposite of the Corporation is, so they tend to be Good where the Corporation is Evil.

There's also the real-world angle to consider. Its very, very easy to point out the times that a real life Government/Corporation has done something unethical that harms people for the gain of the Government/Corporation. (environmental destruction, supporting fascist or authoritarian politicians, selectively supporting minorities when its 'convenient', etc.). Meanwhile, a Rebellion is a lot more idealistic, and is comprised of people who have been wronged by the Authority. (I am being deliberately vague because rebellions are far more diverse than corporations and I'll admit I'm not the most well-researched in that area.) Meaning, in a real world sense, the Christofascists are normally supported by the same corporations and governments that we generalize in mechsploitation.

Anyone can write. Anyone can write Mechsplo. Just because the norm is that the Rebels are 'Good' and the Authority is 'Evil' doesn't mean that it MUST be done in that way. Girlframe makes a point to say that the morally awful things that the Authority does to create its Hounds is considered necessary to be able to protect Humanity from an external threat. In that context, a Rebellion would be interesting and quite possibly full of Christofascists. So, please, write mechsploitation how you want to write it! Eventually, the genre might change, but if it changes because of your work then I'd imagine your work was very influential and that's something to appreciate!

I realize I went off on several tangents and have tried to clean this up a little bit to be easier to understand. I know I'm writing this in response to @systembomb but I also don't know who else might read this, hence the very general response (I got excited and overexplained all of this, apologies). I'm sorry if I come across as antagonistic, I hope that I don't.

[janecakeandthehoecakes]

Hounds, like all on-site personnel, are expected to eat whatever is offered at the cafeteria, as distant High Command finds determines it economical, and their personal Handlers find it a reliable way to track nutrient intake.

Occasionally, a Hound may sneak in contraband, such as 'real' meat, at their own peril and expense. Considering the risks they run and their meager pay, this tends to be an infrequent occurrence amongst Hounds.

That's not to say Hounds solely subsist on nutrient-dense pastes stored in their mechs and marginally less bland food-shaped plastics in the cafeterias, there's also the food provided by their owner Handler.

A particular doting Handler may choose to hand feed their Hound a sweet (bought or homemade, depending on temperament and intimacy) to their Hound.

Few Handlers don't at least privately enjoy treating those pretty mouths, especially if their treats are full of something to make their Hound wrap itself around their finger so readily.

[saabenthusiast]

The myriad ways a Handler is paired with a Hound are varied and difficult to fully catalogue. In all likelihood, this is a result of Handlers being allowed to induct anyone into the Hound Program so long as the person in question is a lower rank than the Handler. Generally, this includes any civilian and the vast majority of the military structure is at a Handler's disposal, though there are some informal rules that Handlers publicly abide by. If someone is effective in their position, being scouted by another Handler, or crucial for morale, Handlers normally refrain from openly Hounding that person. In most instances, this means that the target is left alone, as it keeps the peace between Handlers (any squabble between Handlers invariably includes their Hounds, leading to an excessively violent mess, one that High Command will make an example out of).

However, some Handlers refuse to be denied. Some Handlers will fabricate charges, demotions, or create entirely false identities for their target victim. High Command will mostly turn a blind eye to this, provided a Handler is discreet and hasn't ruffled any feathers amongst their peers. After all, who can say that the victim wasn't reassigned, promoted, quit, or KIA?

As a rule of thumb, if you think a Handler has their eyes on you; they don't. You'd already be in the operating theater with your signature forged on every relevant document if they did.

But, if your heart races at the thought of being stripped of your rank, your identity, your humanity? Well, I'm sure a Handler might claim you if you beg ask nicely.

[janecakeandthehoecakes]

Hey guys, i know yall here for the smut and dont worry i have more in this bank of bad ideas i call a brain. But i know what you are

So i wanted to say happy trans visibility day from everyone here at HQ (Me and my cat) congratulations on becoming visible cloaking will be engaged back tomorrow so go celebrate!! i know i will celebrate it and enjoy it from my side heh. Anyway keep spreading the spores to create more people like us. Aight bye freaks more mechsplo soon

(yes i did say mechsplo just to add it to the tags, sue me >:3)

[janecakeandthehoecakes]

Haha come on, miss! i was having so much fun in the tall grass, some nettles won't kill me!", she laughs, out of breath. Her Handler had made her stop playing and sit down in this pretty little meadow while she fussed over the nettles in her hair and her clothes. She tries to gently push her Handler away, chuckling to herself, being commanded to stay still yet again, frustrating her Handler just a little more. There the Hound sits, on the ground, twitching and mumbling out nonsense, how could she have pushed her Hound this far? It was supposed to be a simple and straightforward affair. Not this. Panicking, she orders her delirious hound to stay still, she's not ready to lose her favorite person tool. "It was meant to be easy, it was meant to be easy" she keeps repeating to herself, pulling large pieces of shrapnel out of her Hound's bodysuit. Weaker now, she just barely makes out a giggle from her Hound "Come on... miss! chase me...". The heat from the raging inferno that was her Hound's mech mere minutes ago can't compare to how hot her Hound's blood feels on her face, blood she so desperately tried to staunch. She tries to keep composed, and barely manages to keep her rebellious tears in check. She hits her breaking point as her Hound's last breath rattles out "Miss? I feel cold....." she can't stay composed, and slumps down, cradling her Hound's face. She failed her job, it was just an easy mission. It was routine, she was meant to keep her safe, and now she is gone She realized she had called her Hound a tool till her last second, hardly fair when she needed her Hound just as much as her Hound needed her, As she is dragged away by paramedics to dispose of the Hound's body, the Handler remains limp, completely catatonic, staring as she is lifted into the mobile transport Staring at the site of the Rebellion's first counter-offensive. Staring at the field where she lost her First and Only Hound.

[saabenthusiast]

Due to last week's Public Relations disaster, High Command has updated the Dress Code & Uniform Handbook - Section H - Pilots. Skirts are no longer accepted, and are replaced with slacks or other full-length pants. Additionally, it is highly encouraged for all personnel to wear underwear while on duty and especially at public events.

Last week's incident, for those who have somehow not seen it, was an award ceremony dedicated to the defenders of Outpost 14. The Hound who singlehandedly delayed the advancing mechs was praised for her efforts by the Outpost Commander, her Handler, and Eastern High Command during the Ceremony.

Eyewitnesses (and unfortunately, High Command's broadcast) watched on in concern as the Hound appeared to stumble, dripping a substantial trail of fluid behind her as she walked from the stage.

This could have been reasonably ignored or otherwise justified as a hidden IV bag rupturing or something excusable, had the Hound not immediately slipped and fell in her own puddle. The live broadcast and various personal cameras amongst the crowd caught the moment, including a painfully obvious underskirt view for several seconds as the Hound fell and lay on the floor.

Due to the Hound's choice in underwear, better described as a complete lack of choice, this exposed her visibly excited anatomy and left no opportunity for excusing this event.

Handlers, please be certain that all necessary uniform changes have been made by the end of the current week, as High Command is quite displeased with this event and finds the efforts required to override this in the news cycle costly and distasteful.

[saabenthusiast]

It has come to High Command's attention that volunteers and applications for Hounding has skyrocketed in the week since the incident. As such, High Command is now liaising with appropriate advertising and media channels, and the current Uniform restrictions have been reverted.

[saabenthusiast]

Due to last week's Public Relations disaster, High Command has updated the Dress Code & Uniform Handbook - Section H - Pilots. Skirts are no longer accepted, and are replaced with slacks or other full-length pants. Additionally, it is highly encouraged for all personnel to wear underwear while on duty and especially at public events.

Last week's incident, for those who have somehow not seen it, was an award ceremony dedicated to the defenders of Outpost 14. The Hound who singlehandedly delayed the advancing mechs was praised for her efforts by the Outpost Commander, her Handler, and Eastern High Command during the Ceremony.

Eyewitnesses (and unfortunately, High Command's broadcast) watched on in concern as the Hound appeared to stumble, dripping a substantial trail of fluid behind her as she walked from the stage.

This could have been reasonably ignored or otherwise justified as a hidden IV bag rupturing or something excusable, had the Hound not immediately slipped and fell in her own puddle. The live broadcast and various personal cameras amongst the crowd caught the moment, including a painfully obvious underskirt view for several seconds as the Hound fell and lay on the floor.

Due to the Hound's choice in underwear, better described as a complete lack of choice, this exposed her visibly excited anatomy and left no opportunity for excusing this event.

Handlers, please be certain that all necessary uniform changes have been made by the end of the current week, as High Command is quite displeased with this event and finds the efforts required to override this in the news cycle costly and distasteful.

[janecakeandthehoecakes]

[saabenthusiast]

It had been a long time since she had been called a Hound, though too much stays the same for her to divorce herself from thinking of herself as a Hound. She still woke up at 0400 surrounded by her mech and massaging some life into her implants. She still snuck into the maintenance bay to check the repair logs. She still took a freezing cold shower before reporting for duty, and she still adores her Handlers attention.

Well, her "Handler". Some habits are hard to break, even after a decade+ and extensive deprogramming.

Nowadays, she wakes up at 0400 in her new home built from the remains of her old mech, and powered by its onboard batteries. Her implants, the ones that weren't deactivated to give her some humanity, needed a few more minutes to reactivate and load their civilian programs. She still sneaks into the maintenance bay tool shed to check on her farming equipment before the day begins. She still takes freezing cold showers, not because of a corporate ration, but because she wants her Handler wife to have hot water when she wakes up in an hour. She still loves her Handler, though her wife isn't always pleased with the pet name or the baggage it carries, its not something so easy to deprogram. That being said, "Handler" no longer meant a sterile presence who coerced affection and demanded perfection, now "Handler" represents a warmth and appreciation enthusiastically given and received.

The Hound was never designed to be reverted, but time and care have remade the Hound into something new, something human.

Time and care can remake you, too.

[janecakeandthehoecakes]

Hounds, even if these machines were classified as humans at one point, are still machines and still require fuelling. For this exact reason, a hound's intestinal system is modified for it to be able to process food with utmost efficiency. This significantly extends the duration of potential sorties, supplemented by a nutrient/stim mix directly into the bloodstream to keep the hound online.

When not in missions, Hounds get to use their intestinal tract, though the specifics are entirely dependent upon its handler. Caring handlers will feed their hound whatever they see fit for their regiment and based on their performance, occasionally earning treats.

"Loved" (for how many Handlers actually experience that emotion?) Hounds are made to exclusively eat from handlers palm, a sign of their complete submission to their Handler and their complete dependence on the Handler.

Generally, though, many Handlers throw their Hounds to the cafeterias and mess halls of their stations, where their Hounds are to fend for themselves. Often, these spaces are not accounting for feeding the voracious appetites of a human converted solely for the purposes of mech warfare, leading to shortages for these Hounds. Still, these Hounds manage to scavenge morsels of food.

Hated hounds are known to stockpile food in the bunks, having no assurance another opportunity may present itself to find food again, contributing to the spoiled smells and health hazards within the Hounds' bunks.

Like anything that enters the bunks, the Bunk Leader gets first pick, even if they are well fed. Often, this is entirely unnecessary because their Handlers care about them most, but this may simply be because they know which hounds get good food, allowing them to “redirect” their favorite meals to themselves. Their Handlers don't care who they steal from, so why should the Bunk Leader care who manages to eat or not, anyways?

[saabenthusiast]

"Decommissioning" has many negative connotations for a Hound, but what exactly does it entail?

To the Propagandist, a Decommissioned Hound is one that returns home after glorious service and reintegrates with society seamlessly!

To the small army of psychiatrists dedicated to a Hound, decommissioning is effectively a second pension so long as they can keep the Hound docile, and with such a wide array of medications to choose from, this becomes as much of a research opportunity as an artform to the lucky few who find a Hound in their care.

To any previously known family of the Hound, decommissioning is best experienced as a letter announcing the death of the Hound; nobody wants their memory tainted by the realities of what a Hound truly is or has become.

To the Handler, decommissioning a Hound is either administrated via bullet, or by a deprogramming similar in its invasiveness and its damage as the original training the Hound received. Can't let any precious state secrets or blacksites leave with the Hound, after all.

To a sufficiently lucky or rich civilian, a mostly-intact Hound is a valuable tool. Whether its repurposed as a live-in maid or any other form of slavery (a strong word for something rarely sentient), or merely a pet project or toy for the civilian, its an idle luxury that many 'military enthusiasts' would love to have, simply to brag about acquiring it.

The exact outcome is not guaranteed, but any Hounds who can be saved from being shot are often a surprisingly valuable token for a Handler to trade, unless its one of those sappy Handlers who retires to stay with their now-decommissioned Hound.