#handler posting

[superectojazzmage]

By far the funniest thing about Armored Core 6 is that one of it's biggest impacts culturally is somehow creating a whole genre of pornography based around toxic relationships between mech pilots and their handlers.

[chaosmagetwin]

Command Prompt

"Stop. Just, stop okay? She's gone. She's not here. And she's never coming back, okay? Just.... Fuck. Just go to your fucking kennel."

"Command accepted." The lieutenants disgusted face left my vision as I turned away, and left her almost empty room. Bodies passed me by. Some turned away from me, some reached out a hand before someone else pulled it away. None touched me. They couldn't.

I killed the last person who dared.

I stood in front of my pod. I couldn't connect to it without her. I waited. She'd come soon. I stared at it.

"Do you need help, pilot?" A voice called from behind me. I turned, and looked at their shoulder. Engineer. Third rank. I didn't look at their face.

"Request denied. Unclear intent. Please state intentions."

"... Do you need help connecting to your pod, miss?"

"DENIED. ADDRESS PILOT BY RANK." It can't call me miss, only she can call me miss, I am not miss, I am pilot, pilot pilot, leave me alone alone alone.

"S-sorry..." It left.

I stared at my pod. She'd be here soon. She'd tuck me in. The lights dimmed. The attack on the base must've needed a long meeting to sort things out. She had to be busy. She was busy.

My legs trembled, aching.

I fell before the lights rose again. I sat on the floor, and stared at my pod. She was coming. She always put me to sleep before going to bed.

Did she forget? She must be tired. Too many meetings. They always put her in too many meetings. Always worked her too hard. Too many logistics she had to handle for me.

"Pilot. Stand up." A voice called.

"Orders received. Confirmed." I stood up, and looked at their shoulder. A commander. I saluted. I didn't look them in the face. I can't look them in the face.

"How long since you slept?"

"Current operation is at fifty two hours, thirty nine minutes. Requesting handler."

"Request denied." I flinched. What? "You're being reassigned. Lay down in your pod."

"Orders received...." I couldn't move, couldn't say the word. "Denied..." I whispered. "Requesting handler!"

"Request denied." The voice sighed, deeply, frustrated. "You need to sleep, pilot. You are... not functioning properly."

"Pilot is operating above mission parameters!"

"And what parameters are those, pilot?"

"... Survive."

"You cannot complete that mission if you do not sleep."

"Confirmed. Request Handler to complete mission."

"... oh, Kit...." I flinched on hearing my name. No. No. No.

"PILOT. I AM-"

"Be quiet, pilot." My mouth snapped shut. I felt my tears slide off my face, hitting the metal plate beneath my feet. "I know you've been told. I know how you reacted. I know you killed the doctor. None of that is your fault. It's time for you to go to sleep."

"... Order denied. Please. It.... I... I can't..."

"Your handler is dead, Pilot." The words hit me like an AP round. A wail grew in the air. "You're being reassigned to a new handler. Out of the system. You... you're being retired."

"No! No! No! Requesting handler! Stop hiding her from it!" I couldn't move. My legs wouldn't move. I needed to kill this thing in front of me. A spy, a fake, an enemy wearing the uniform of the commander, he's not real, he's not real. I couldn't move my legs.

"You held her hand, Pilot. Who gave you your last order?"

"Handler!"

"When was it received in this operation cycle?"

"Order received at hour 8 and seventeen minutes!"

"That was two days ago. What was that order?"

"... Survive...."

"What were the exact words, Pilot?"

".... It can't.... it can't...."

"Repeat them to me."

"Confidential information! Cleara-"

"Override! Security clearance level 8, two nine alpha three seven Kilo Indiana Tango. Repeat your last orders to me!"

Her words flowed out of my mouth, repeated like a mantra in my head for so long they made up more of me than I did. "You have to survive, baby. Don't let me die in vain, you have to live! Get off me, doc, let me say goodbye. Let me tell her to live. Listen to me, Kit. My little Kit. Oh, I love you. You did such a good job for me today. You saved a lot of people, okay? But now you have to think about you. You have to survive. Priority one, okay? Confirm for me, baby. Authorization two nine alpha three S-seven.... Kilo. Indiana.... tang- tango. Good..... -rl"

"Priority one, Pilot. What is your next step in this mission? Your handler is not available."

".... Command: Sleep."

"Lay down in your pod, Pilot."

"Order.... confirmed..."

[lupi-usque-ad-finem]

sorry for my animallike whimsy and incurable bloodlust i wasn’t socialised properly when they adopted me from the shelter

[dev1l-g1rl]

You know, in most mechsploitation stories I read I find myself bored of most handlers’ actions but perhaps that is due in part that I’m quite blunt when it comes to punishment. Disobedience could be much more effectively weeded out through simple actions such as shooting the offending hound in the leg and continue to send them out on sorties as normal and whether they receive painkillers or not is entirely dependent on how genuinely they prostrate themselves before me. Make sure to only ever give rewards such as affection to those that do well, make your love won through performance and obedience alone. They’ll perform well even with their injury if they wish for even a, “good job, pup,” and the pain will remind them that their actions, their disobedience, only serves to harm them in the end; it’s better to be obedient, adored for how well behaved you are.

Make sure to give them many reminders of their lives before you and how their life could have been if they weren’t so weak but that’s perfectly fine because you make them into something more, something that should be proud of. Give plenty of reminders of what fresh torment may wait for them tomorrow if they were to slip; if you have a pack of hounds this is especially easy by simply punishing the worst performers in view of the rest. Make sure that every ounce of pleasure, any solace or mercy is granted from you, by you. Remind them that the only place they are safe is by your heel and they will follow. 🟣

[lifeboundhound]

Hounds do not grow up learning to ride a bike. They grow up learning to ride a boot.

Hounds do not grow up learning to drive a their first car. Hounds grow up learning to pilot their mech.

Hounds do not walk down the isle in their wedding dress. Hounds are dragged down the catwalk in their pilot suit.

There is no before, there will be no after.

No matter how many flashes of memory's you think you have.

You have been

And always will be

A hound

[bookyred]

I want to slowly force you to behave more and more like a puppy.

Whenever we are sitting near each other and you express confusion, a light push to make your head lull to the side. The pushes growing stronger and stronger each time.

Stroking your head seemingly absentmindedly and occasionally an ear scratch.

When we're resting on a sofa, gently but firmly encouraging you to rest your head on my shoulder and eventually my lap.

Gifting you a heart choker for your birthday or some other appropriate celebration.

Guilt tripping you into wearing it if you don't do so automatically.

Whilst you are sleeping tying a thin thread around the hollow metal ring that forms the heart.

Telling you it came with the "choker".

Holding it gently whenever we are together. Eventually swapping it for some string.

Starting to pull on it when I want you closer.

Gifting you a thicker collar, still with the heart but attaching a proper lead this time.

Adding a name tag and calling you pet more often.

One day I wake you up early and tell you we're going somewhere.

I walk you into the building, my grip tighter than usual and I seem worried.

I talk to the thing at the desk and we head to the very back of the building.

I help you up the steps into some great metal carcass, murmuring to myself that "this is right, this will be fine. Only a month." as I do.

I inject you with something and tell you it is to help adjust to it. You don't know what 'it' is, but I gesture at the vast construct as I say the word, which gives you an idea.

I sit you in some strange sphere and strap you in. The last words you hear before a whole month of all sound becoming static or muffled are: "Ok pup, that ring at the end of the corridoor, try to hit it. Don't worry about how, just..... try."

[houndtrainer]

mutt gets its reward

[nephi-soup]

I actually fucking love when women go "Yes ma'am O7." I just had to go through a slight personality shift/character growth due to hardships and I started getting loads of "Yes ma'am"'s I fucking love being the new me. I feel so handler-pilled.