#mechaposting

[frostfangalphabitch]

The rest of the base has gone to sleep, but you don't sleep anymore. You don't join them in the mess hall anymore, either. You barely eat organic food at all these days, and when you do, it's mainly for pleasure. You can take the organics out of the pilot, but you can't take the love of sweets and pizza out of the organics, you guess. Despite that, you're so far removed from your humanity that it's gotten difficult to relate to most of them. It's not like anyone else is sharing your meals of titanium and copper.

The other pilots look at you with fear and disgust, knowing their inevitable fates if they're ever pitted against you. The mechanics see you as an oddity, a fascination, and heap praise and adoration upon you, but it's hollow in your eyes. It feels more like they're ogling a rare car rather than talking to a pilot. The corps see you as nothing more than a weapon to be pointed at their enemies, or whoever has less money than them that week.

The only person who still respects you as an autonomous individual is your handler. You adore her just as she loves you. Certainly, you're still a weapon - that's what the relationship started as after all - but you think she might be the only human in the base, including the mechanics, who could truly love a weapon of any kind. She's been so good to you through all of this, taking each stage of your radical transformation in stride as naturally as a lover watching her partner go through a more mundane transition. She's only gotten more attracted to you as you've grown into your new form and become more comfortable and confident with yourself. You'd burn the whole world down just to make her happy.

There's one other who respects you for who you are, though: your girl. Your beloved Wolfrun Mk.X, heart of Coral, veins of electricity, and arms of 5 ton power-guzzling metal-shredding AC-devouring WB-0010 Double Trouble carnage. Before all this started, you always thought of her like a weapon, just as the others see you now. Then she started changing you. The Coral in your augments connected with the Coral in her systems, and something changed in both of you. At first, it was just a whisper. Something brushing over your psyche, speaking just on the edge of hearing, incomprehensible but unmistakable.

Then your body started following suit. Your teeth, jaw, and digestive tract were the first things to change, presumably to allow you to consume and digest - you're not even sure if that's the correct term - the materials your girl needed to keep changing you. After your first meal, the tastiest 20 pounds of scrap you've ever eaten, your skin started changing too. The docs couldn't give you injections anymore. Their needles bent or broke when they tried to push them into your skin. You figured out why a few weeks later when what was left of your epidermis sloughed off and revealed armored plating underneath. They had to take an angle grinder to your arm in order to access your veins. You didn't feel any pain when they did. At the time, you thought that should have disturbed you a lot more than it did.

By that point, you'd been noticing Wolfrun's thoughts coming in a little clearer. In transit to your jobs, it was feelings of curiosity, probing, and wonder. In combat, it was a spark in your vision when you needed to dodge, a wordless warning about approaching enemies. In the base... still nothing but a whisper. That's when you started feeling lonely: when you couldn't feel her presence anymore.

As you became more and more monstrous, more and more like her, you began to visit her night after night. Maybe it was because you sensed an intelligence within her 65 ton body, or maybe it was simply because being near her drowned out the silence. You had no way of verifying this, but you felt like she relaxed as well when you were around. She was shut down in the hangar, of course, and there was no way any part of her could still be engaged, or so you thought. But as time went on, the whispers got louder, the words - feelings and thoughts, really - more comprehensible. And all the while, your body changed.

The 5'6" chubby trans gal who went into debt and subsequently under the knife to get a hand-me-down set of 4th gen augments all those years ago is long gone now. The thing you've become, whose claws clanged against the metal of the hangar's floor, had long since cast off that form. Where once was skin had become plated metal. Despite having no screws or rivets to speak of, it stayed firmly in place no matter how much the techs tried to pry it off. The augments which before had stuck partially out of the left side of your skull had seamlessly integrated themselves into the sleek plating that had cropped up on your head, looking far more natural than they ever had before. Your hair had fallen away, and the metal around your skull became angled and sleek, looking more bulwark than biological and with aerodynamic fins sprouting from it.

A sleek black plate had formed where your eyes once were. The day you woke up with that, you thought you had gone blind. You panicked, begging for help, afraid they wouldn't ever let you pilot her again. You had been moved into your new warehouse home at that point, and it took time for the maintenance techs to find you. Before they did, though, you felt someone - your girl, you realized - beckoning to you. She could help you. When the techs finally got there, you begged them to put you in her cockpit. It took them a while to figure out who you meant by "her", but your handler, who had come running the moment she heard the news, was on top of it. She barked at them to get you to Wolfrun, and with great difficulty, the three of them helped you get your then-8 foot form into her. You spent the next week inside her cockpit, refusing to get out except to eat and drink. She was there with you, and she let you see through her eyes. The world as she saw it was far more vivid than human eyes could ever see, infrared, ultraviolet, gamma, magnetic, smells, sounds, vibrations, on top of the visual spectrum you were used to. And when the delicate sensor plate where your eyes once were finally engaged at the end of that week, that's how you saw the world, too.

When you finally left her cockpit, you realized you could still hear her. From then on, she was with you always. That made you happy. It made her happy, too. You started letting her choose her own parts, and she was happy to. She still insisted you choose some too, though, since according to her, it was your body just as much as it was hers. True enough, whatever force was altering your body changed you to match her. When you tried out digitigrade legs, you stumbled getting out of bed the next morning after yours had reconfigured themselves to match. When you got her bulky, high capacity arms, your arms - fully synthetic by then - had bulked up considerably.

Even cosmetic changes started to affect you. You painted menacing, sharp teeth onto her head over the sensor plate with mechanical precision, and you found your own mouth elongating and becoming more of a muzzle as a result. You'd have thought being so malleable would have unsettled you, but you found you were more excited about the possibilities instead. It felt more like becoming who you were meant to be. Besides, it made wolfing down your metal meals easier. You figure intention, either yours or hers, or both, affected how you changed, but no one else had any satisfactory explanation for any of this. You'd stopped caring long ago in any case.

What you and Wolfrun ended up settling on for her, after earning a mountain of COAM for you and your handler with your unbeatable, utterly synchronized performance, was a mid-lightweight build focused on tearing apart the battlefield as quickly as possible with heavy machinery. What you became in response was anything but lightweight, at least compared to the humans around you. The finned bulwark and the black sensor on your head never really changed, but the rest of you seemed plenty mutable. Your arms grew long and powerful, your shoulders tipped with decorative spires. Your waist grew slender, tapering inorganically in nested panels to allow for plenty of articulation. Your torso got wider, too, though for whatever reason, the outline of breasts remained constant on your new chassis. You kept the digitigrade legs. Over time, hydraulic supports seemed to have formed on yours. The snout stayed, too. You were too proud of that paint job to ever take it off even with the changes to your own body. BECAUSE of the changes. You might be more machine than woman at this point, by you're still you, pride and all.

The techs estimate that only about 5% of your body is still organic. Probably most of your brain and maybe some other systems, plus a few symmetrical patches of skin. They suspect that you had either some kind of sympathetic Coral connection to your AC that rearranged your augments and allowed the changes to start, or that somehow repair nanites adapted to your form and began "fixing" you. In any case, they think the bulk of your changes are done with at this point. You're a little disappointed by that. Wolfrun likes the new you, though. She's happy for your connection and to be able to get even closer to you. Your handler appreciates your new form just as much. She doesn't even bat an eyelid when you tell her that you've been talking to Wolfrun. If anything, she seems a little sad that she can't talk to her directly. As for your relationship with your handler, you might be nearly twice her height, standing at a hulking 10 feet tall, but that doesn't stop her from loving you, or from jamming her fingers lovingly between your legs after missions.

But she's sleeping now. It's late, but you're still lonely. There's only one entity up at this time of night you'd care to talk to, so you climb the catwalks to meet her, claws clanging against the metal of the hangar. You smile your toothy, metal smile as she greets you, opening her cockpit so you can crawl inside and be one with her for a few more hours before your next mission.

#this one's probably too long to get attention #but it felt so good to write #armored core 6 #ac6 #mechaposting #mechposting #transhumanism #transformation #handler x pilot x AC

[furtiveseal]

Sus as hell to be a mech pilot. You're spending all your time in the "cock"pit? 🤨

#seal talks #mech #mecha #mechposting #mechaposting

[hemipenal-system]

Pilot whose mech goes down on the battlefield. they get swarmed by rebels with welders and saws, intent on cutting them out of it, and they just let them.

they get the cockpit open and immediately discover why pilots get titanium teeth and retractable claws implanted when they finish training

Pilot who gets yelled at by their Handler for getting blood all over their jumpsuit

#mech pilot #mech posting #mechaposting #mecha #pilot/handler

[ghost-of-tk]

What if the COM is 621's voice? Or the closest thing to it.

Consider, 621 is heavily augmented. Built and designed to serve as a killing machine, to obey instructions. Until they steal the name "Raven," they are just a serial number; one of several. There's no need for a killing machine to speak.

But there needs to be some communication. An AC pilot can't afford to be distracted by a visual warning, so maybe it's more efficient to be told when their ammo is low. Similarly, their handler can listen for radio status updates while monitoring the wider battlefield: how many repair kits a pilot has used, how much damage they have taken, how many opponents remain, etc.

So it makes the most sense for AC pilots like 621 to just communicate through their COM. It doesn't matter what they think, what matters is whether the AC is ready for combat.

#armored core #mecha #mechaposting #armored core 6 #c4 621 #handler walter #this made more sense in my head

[cutsiewitch]

A Mechanic’s Worries about Pilots.

A gifted mechanic is called in to service a pilot. As The Mechanic begins to head towards her station to work on the pilot, she can’t help but ruminate on her feelings about pilots. She honestly doesn’t like them.

It’s not a personal thing, she’s sure that they were great people at one point, but it’s hard to see them like that anymore. She finds the whole thing creepy and offputting. She see’s what they do to pilots, knows how they’re made. She probably understands the process more than anybody on the base. She’s a prodigy in mecha suit engineering, which also includes pilot systems.

It makes her uncomfortable. The pilots are treated like objects, tools of war. That’s what they are too, what they’re made to be. Their skulls are full of tech that hooks them straight into their mechs, their brains fried with dopamine and other kinds of chemical soup to reward them when they shoot targets into slag. They even end up sharing the space in their head with the onboard ai’s of their mechs. They’re locked into the mechanical nerves and metal muscles of the mech. It makes them amazing killing machines, but their minds are practically crippled outside of the suits, raw and untethered, ungrounded.

The weirdest thing to her is they seem so happy. It doesn’t even look like it’s just the chemicals, it can’t be. They like it, whatever fucked up experience they’re having, it’s making them happy as can be. They want to get back into the suits, they want to push more. They like getting bossed around like dogs by their handlers. They love their ai’s almost like some weird fusion of a lover, a sibling, and a reflection. They can barely even articulate how they feel, most don’t bother, but The Mechanic has worked in this business long enough to learn anyways.

She gets to her workshop. It’s honestly kind of pathetic, barely worthy of the name. She knows that the pilots are treated as tools, but mechanics aren’t treated much better. Human but still not really worthy of respect. They work her and the other mechanics like slaves, cramping them into the crawl spaces where stuff needs fixing. Even with her advanced position all they afford her is this broom closet from hell. The room is cramped and humid, like a small metal sauna. It’s still marginally better than the communal workshop. Even with the bigger and more open room it still somehow manages to be claustrophobic and hot.

The Pilot is already there, sitting on her workbench, completely naked. The Mechanic isn’t surprised, but her face still burns with heat as she blushes when seeing The Pilot’s bare ass resting on the same giant hunk of tungsten-steel alloy she uses to fix delicate parts and machinery. The Pilot’s augs are invasive and take up a good portion of its body. Its arms, its legs, and a good portion of its back are more machine than human at this point. Normally the jumpsuits account for this, but those would get in the way of repairs. Normal clothes would too, and developing some kind of modesty cover for them is more trouble than it’s worth for the higher ups. They don’t have to deal with the nudity, and it’s not like the pilots even care.

The Mechanic wipes the sweat from her brow and crosses the room. She doesn’t actually acknowledge The Pilot aside from the blushing, but The Pilot’s gaze follows her as she makes her way over to a box of tools. She sets the box down next to The pilots thigh and pulls over the ratty stool she uses for a chair.

She starts servicing The Pilot. She pulls out delicate tools and with ingrained precision she begins opening up The Pilot’s augs, starting with the legs and going up. She hooks its systems up to an old box of a diagnostics unit and begins manually inspecting the parts. She pulls wires aside with tiny fractions of force and checks on the tiny sensors and servos that are no bigger than her fingernail, cleaning them with tiny swabs and lubricating them with drops of oil.

The entire time she keeps hearing weird noises. Soft whines and sounds of scraping play at the edge of her attention, distracting her just the tiniest amount. The Mechanic can’t tell where the noises are coming from, and it’s bothering the shit out of her. When she takes a step back to unfocus and wipe the sweat from her forehead, she sees where it’s coming from.

It’s the pilot. It’s breathing heavily, like it’s exhausted. Its face is almost as flushed as The Mechanic’s when she walked in. The metal tips of its fingers scratch at the polished surface of her workbench. Jesus fucking christ, was The Pilot turned on right now? With the face it was making it had to be.

Fuck, now The Mechanic was thrown way off. It was already hard enough to try and pretend this was just normal machine servicing when all of the machinery was attached to a sweaty, naked girl, it was impossible to do it when she knew it was getting off to her poking around in its augments.

The Mechanic just couldn’t get back into the same groove she had before. Every stifled moan disrupted her concentration. Every squirm messed up her precise motions. Everything just kept bringing her back into the moment, where her face was inches away from the pilot’s crotch.

The Mechanic slogged through the rest of the grueling work, doing her best to try and travel into that little place in the back of her mind where she could just stop thinking and do what she was good at. She finished with the legs and then told the pilot directly to lay down so she could begin on her arms.

The Pilot laid down like it was told. The Mechanic scooted her stool forward and raised the seat for a better vantage. In the end the new position wasn’t all that much better than the old. The Pilot’s left arm was cradled on The Mechanic’s lap while she popped it open and began working on it.

It was more of the same. Nothing wrong but basic cleanup, which meant The Mechanic wouldn’t be busy enough to zone out. She could see its face clearly now. It looked so human, so lively. When she pressed a sensor its hand tensed and squirmed, pushing against her stomach a bit. A tugged wire elicited a slight yip of surprise. It felt so carnal, to dig into this things innards and just mess around.

Seeing it like this, The Mechanic couldn’t help but wonder about the difference between the two. Right now it looked just as human as she was, so she couldn’t apply the same cold business mentality she usually did with her work. She felt like they were almost one in the same. I mean, look at it, being a pilot can’t be so bad, right?

The Mechanic’s thoughts ground to a halt. Her surprise was so sudden it caused her to tweak a wire hard enough to get The Pilot to let out a proper yelp. Neither could tell if it was a yelp of pleasure or pain.

What had she just thought? Seriously, what the hell was that? Was she serious? Of course being a pilot is bad, being treated like a mindless dog, worked like a machine, and used like a toy. The Mechanic barely knew where that thought had even come from. I mean, it and her were nothing alike.

The Mechanic stewed in those thoughts, trying to reassure herself that she was nothing like it. She wasn’t an it. The Mechanic was a person, and it was just a pilot. The Mechanic tried her best to just focus on the work, but she couldn’t. The thoughts bothered her so much, and she really couldn’t dismiss them.

Because they were alike, very much alike. Not in the sense that The Pilot was a person. In the sense that The Mechanic wasn’t.

The Mechanic couldn’t help but feel it. She was a cog in a much larger machine, a tiny piece. She was treated almost the same as The Pilot

The Mechanic was worked like a dog. She was given shit conditions and forced to do shittier things. She was expendable, one in a million. You could point to almost any outward aspect of the two of them and they would match up.

The thing that frustrated The Mechanic even more was how they were the same on the inside too.

The Mechanic knew what it felt like to become something bigger. Working in the engineering wing was like being in a hive mind. You’re practically shoulder to shoulder with the people next to you. You become parts of the same whole, you work together, you sweat together, you create together. She can’t even remember how many times she had needed something, a part, a tool, a towel, anything, and a mechanic next to her had just known, and given it to her. She knew she had done the same for others all the time.

She could admit to feeling like an it sometimes. Stripped of your identity, down to everything but your use. She didn’t know The Pilot’s name, and The Pilot probably didn’t know her’s. She was a mechanic. She was nothing but the job she did. A function, not a person.

Her head pounded as she adjusted her grip on The Pilot’s arm. Her head buzzed and it felt like her brain was melting in the heat of the room. She could imagine the wires burning up and melting their rubber casings. The copper and metal fusing together into a frenzied mess as her thoughts jumbled into each other.

She shook her head violently. God she was losing it! Her brain wasn’t made of wires, it was made of meat! She wasn’t overheating, she was just getting some kind of headache. She closed up the first arm, not even sure if she was really done, and told the pilot to swap sides through gritted teeth.

She wanted things to be simpler. She wanted to stop thinking. She just wanted to do her job. The Mechanic missed the engineering floor. She missed the absent thrum as she worked alongside her fellow workers, their thoughts synchronizing into a beautiful and productive symphony. She wanted to be a part of that, of it. She just wanted to be a Mechanic, that was so much easier than all of this.

Is that why pilot’s are so happy? Are they so content because that’s what it feels like? The Mechanic thought about it in her own terms. Would she give up her body to work more efficiently? Would she open up her mind, just to be even closer with the other mechanics? Would she shed all of the cumbersome weight that thinking like a person had, and just become a simple and unbothered it?

The answer was yes. The Mechanic wanted that. The simple, pure existence of it. The Mechanic wanted to be that, and nothing more. When it realized that, it had a much easier time working on The Pilot’s arm.

It finished up The Pilot’s back in no time too. Without all of the messy thoughts clogging up its head, the whole thing went smoothly. The Pilot was sent on her way, on wobbly legs and with shaky breath. The Mechanic might have messed with it a bit more than necessary, but it liked to consider that a reward, for good behavior.

The Mechanic realized it wanted a bit of a career shift. It thought that if being a mechanic was good, then being a pilot must be great! It loved working on machines, but it wanted that sense of empty completion even more. Plus, it’s not like it won’t be allowed to also do mechanic work still. It would be a lot better for everyone if it got to service its own mech. It would be a win win. The Mechanic wiped down its workbench for the last time, and with renewed vigor, went to sign up to become a pilot.

#empty spaces #mechaposting

[babypigman]

kinda fucked up that id actually join the military industrial complex if it meant i get to neural link with a giant robot

#mecha #mech #mechposting #mechaposting

[serenehells]

I have finally beaten the final story path of armored core 6 and holy shit. I don’t think I’ve ever felt more catharsis beating a game in my entire life. ALLMIND was a really cool villain even if I knew the twist before the end, but it is still just as good even knowing it going in, and that is not even to say Iguazu. How much hate there is to just get one more shot at killing the person who seems to be everything you aren’t, and even with the power of a super intelligent AI, you still lose to “world’s okayest lobotomite” Raven and her incorporeal coral girlfriend Ayre. It is just, so good. And cements AC6 as easily my favorite game of this year.

#mechaposting #armored core 6 #armored core #armored core 6 spoilers #just this game is so so good #and that’s before I get kinky with my thoughts about coral symbiosis

[korewa-matoya]

Just a catalogue of how my main AC 'MOON SHADOW' evolved throughout my playthrough of the game.

ver.1.0: Initially wanted a quick build that's in your face with melee, but seeing as how the melee weapons had a cooldown I ended up running two melee weapons to subvert that. I don't remember exactly when, but I think I was running with this setup until around chapter 3 or 4.

ver.2.0: This iteration was made basically for more weight, so I could carry the needle launcher/songbirds. This is what I basically ended my first run of AC6 with. I switched to a reverse joint leg based on a friends suggestion, they're fine, and aesthetically they look nice, it just didn't vibe that well for me especially when it leaves the ground every time I QB.

ver.3.0: For this one I switched out the swords for the Pile Bunker and a secondary Ludlow. The Melander C3 legs gave me more than enough Load Capacity to lug the Pile Bunker around and I eventually got used to the boxy nature of it, and it meshes really well with the Basho arms. The play is still plenty aggressive as my dual sword build but the Ludlows are the main ACS breaker and I'm generally close enough to things to shove the bunker down their throat when they break.

ver.3.1: Not much really changed loadout wise, but I switched the Melander C3 parts out for the Hal Legs and Alba chest piece, and the Alba head for the Mind Beta. Aesthetically I really like it. An amalgamation of boxy, pointy, and rounded bits, that looks good enough to mesh together but also giving it a pretty nice silhouette. But ver.3.0 holds a special place in my heart.

Probably had more to say but I can't remember. This game be is great, be aggressive, stop playing it like a souls game and be the Gundam you were always meant to be.

ver.3.1 Share ID if you want it or the colors: 0B5MFLYKNQ8Q

And this is what it looks like with the decals I'm currently running.

The ALLMIND pinup, and faces aren't mine.

ALLMIND pinup share ID's: FQ1UWX049BX4 MVWGB49Z7R2D AKT93L7W44FL 7GDNK6GAK39R KTJAG1BVC0LJ DMYZHMGSRGUN (You gotta piece them all together.)

ALLMIND/Kate Markson share ID's: 7G4YFFVUY07L CMGUKBLXQ6YN The RIM Billiton and Rhodes Island Decals can be found on one of my other posts.

#armored core 6 #armored core #armored core vi #ac6 #fires of rubicon #mecha #mechaposting #robot #allmind

[ember-amber]

By all accounts a mecha pilot can very easily be fat. Not even fat with muscles underneath it, just fat. It's not a job that requires an specific physique, the robot is the one running around after all.

You could say "oh they need to be fit to resist the g force of piloting the thing", but if we are talking Ac4 or Ac6 then we are far beyond any survivable amount of gs, so at that point it reallg doesn't matter and might as well have fun with it.

This is all to say that I am going to draw my ac3 pilot as a chubby woman. (I dont CARE if the game refers to the pilot as he, fuck you, why does it do that)

#armored core #armored core 6 #mecha #mechaposting #armored core 3

[toaster-boi]

mecha is inseparable from fighter jets. there's a reason mech operators are called pilots and hardly anything else.

strapped to a chair rigged to blast itself out of the machine at the pull of a lever. a control stick in each hand, feet slotted into yet more controls. screens and instruments covering the panel in front of you. a helmet displaying all sorts of information, from altitude, to speed, to weapon readouts onto a heavily tinted visor.

a hose connecting your mouth to an oxygen supply with just enough room for a microphone. a full-body suit meant to keep you from passing out during maneuvers and from getting radiation sickness from the altitude you're fighting at.

dancing with death at unfathomable speeds with the most advanced weapons systems humanity can produce.

but one thing i haven't seen from fighter jets is mechs piloted by two people, who each control different systems.

there's "drifting" in Pacific Rim, but that's effectively splitting the sensory load of piloting between two brains. there's whatever the fuck Darling in the Franxx does, but i'm not touching that because i don't want to. combiners like Voltron or Megazords aren't really what i'm getting at.

i want to see a mech piloted by two people in tandem. pilot up front, weapons systems officer in the back. pilot fully immersed in the controls, pulling triggers, tracking individual targets. WSO flipping switches, tuning sensors, talking to command. watching the pilot's back. taking over controls in a desperate attempt to save their pilot when shit gets bad.

pilot plugged into a form-fitting control rig, reading the subtlest of inputs straight from their strained, damaged nerve endings. backseater plugged into a neural sensory interface, blending the machine's observational capabilities with their own senses.

one rendering anything in front of them a burning heap of slag with horrifyingly deliberate movements, but unable to handle the full burden of their machine;

one holding on for dear life, marking targets for certain death, but unable to pull the trigger themselves. desperately trying not to pass out when the pilot pulls crushingly high-G maneuvers.

the pilot is dead without someone in the back seat. the systems operator is dead without someone in the front.

two nervous systems becoming one: a mind that controls the body, and a body that controls the mind. only separated by the chassis between the crude, almost suicidal projectiles command calls "ejection seats." so inseparable you'd never think there was more than one person inside without seeing for yourself.

but perhaps it's better if you don't.

#toaster thoughts #long post #mecha #mechposting #mechaposting #thank you for reading my neurodivergent ramblings

[frostfangalphabitch]

Sonny's Edge from Love Death Robots, am I right?

MMMMMHMMMMM ANON YOU READ MY FUCKIN MIND HOT DAMN IS THAT SHIT GENDER AS FUCK

#mechposting #transhumanism #mechaposting #love death and robots

[hemipenal-system]

mech Pilot who gets off to having her integration ports played with

#mech pilot #pilot/handler #mech posting #mechaposting #mecha

[filth-thezine]

#transformers #psa #mecha #mechposting #mechaposting

[ghost-of-tk]

me, a mecha pilot (college student), overclocking my battered and damaged war machine (ignoring sleep schedule) and risking total power loss (eepy tomorrow) to blindly rush the enemy (procrastinated homework) and deal the killing blow (circle answers)

#evangelion #armored core #mechaposting #meme

[cutsiewitch]

*Holds up the mangled and smoking wreck of another AC, The hand of mine clutching onto it’s crumpled core, the grip crushing the metal even further as oil and coolant leak out, becoming tinged with the blood of the rookie pilot that died within.*

“Is this anything?”

#armored core #ac6 #mechaposting #mechs

[pendulumstar]

i am so normal about j-decker. deckerds literally the sweetest dude ever. he lives for his friends and feels he has no purpose without them or his job. big silly guy with a heart of gold right here

#pendulum sways #i love my stupid ass giant robo sm #i think about deckerd and experience something my friend coined as: #cuteness aggression #episode 40 fucked me up a lil ngl #dude had a nightmare abt not having his friends..... I love him #bpjd #mechaposting