#mech hangar

[tide115]

A Reason To Rust

[lonionjon]

Some close-ups from my latest illustration commission

[mimicmerchant]

A little self-indulgent artfight piece from last month, here's my own girl Lulu (left) with @wearywere's Lancer Wrench (right)! Lancerrpg is great in that all the mech mechanics are always cutting corners and no one will ever suffer from this

[terkmc]

After Battle

[arcadebroke]

link

[bingobongobonko]

"Where will I be? After this? After the planet's gone." He pauses. "I have nothing now - my connections to Union trimmed down to nothing but wire, the House of Sanz is out of the question, I've realized things about myself. People I didn't know. Memories that aren't mine. Ideas that - THAT don't belong to me. For the first time in my life, I don't know what my next step is, or if I can trust any of these... ideas of mine." Panic underlines his voice. "You understand. The anticipation of what my next day will be like, or the next hour, the next minute. There is no plan - no big picture - I have..." Yves tenses, his shoulders hunching in on himself and breath heavy with fatigue. `Nothing` is the word, the descriptor that hangs on his tongue. But there is something, the little that there is. Perhaps Elias. Yet, it feels like the slightest distraction, a distraction to the bigger picture - something in him yearns for something else. *Yearns.* He can't help but reach out for it, wrapping his hands around the phrase. It's been in his mind.  "Tell me." Then, there's silence and a stare. The emotion cannot be read, and his tone is gone. He will not let his body betray him. "What does Helios do for you?" 

[clocksword]

Maybe KronFau mech AU with a heroic but aloof mech pilot Kronii and a nerdy, soft-spoken mechanic Fauna; Kronii always specifically requests that her chief mechanic be Fauna and all maintenances to her mech (Boros) are to be done by Fauna only, because she just trusts her that much.

[ross-hollander]

Superstitions in the hangar:

It's bad luck to get the unit insignia on your 'mech shot off. It's extremely bad luck if, if it's a face or head of some kind, it gets a shot through the eye.

Burn, or at least thoroughly wash and swap for another, any pilot gear you were wearing in a 'mech that got destroyed. Metal-death sticks deep.

In certain units, you have to address your 'mech by its full serial code until you've had your blood spilled on it. (Shrapnel, glancing shots, purposeful sacrificial incisions, however you do it.) Only then do you give it a name.

Any 'mech that uses fire as its primary weapon has to face inwards in its niche or bay. (There's a reason for this one. Backing out is tricky, and any obstacle that can be put in the path of burning people to death, people generally try to ensure is.)

Never gamble in the hangar. Not even flipping a coin. You don't want them learning to leave things to chance.

No sleeping in your cockpit. A 'mech's interior, in superstition, should not be your comfy spot- otherwise you get too relaxed, and don't stay as wary as you should.

If a 'mech got a pilot shot out of or through the cockpit, keep said cockpit open whenever it's not in action for at least a week. Make sure they've had time to pack their things out. Then keep it shut for a full night, in some traditions with a last packet of energy gel or similar outside it.

[digitalsymbiote]

Disconnect Syndrome

There’s a reason they put restrictions on how long a Pilot is supposed to be deployed out in the field. They say that being synced with a mech for long periods of time can have detrimental effects on a pilots psyche. Disconnect Syndrome is what they call it, because the symptoms don’t really start to hit until you disengage from your mech.

Sometimes emergencies happen though, and mechs are designed to be able to support their pilots long past the designated “Safe Deployment Time.” The cockpit is equipped with an array of stimulants, vitamins, and nutrient paste to help minimize the physical effects of long deployments. The onboard Integrated Mechanical Personality has largely free reign to administer these as needed to maintain its pilots well-being.

Which is why you’re still able to make it back to the hangar after roughly 36 hours, over four times longer than the established safe period. Your mech had kept you going, helped to keep the exhaustion at bay long enough for you to make your way back from behind enemy lines. You were starting to feel a bit sluggish, but you knew the worst effects of Disconnect Syndrome were yet to come.

An older man in a long white lab coat has joined the usual retinue of crew rushing into the hangar as your mech settles into its cradle. You feel the docking clamps wrap around your limbs, and you know that’s not a good sign. Your IMP whispers comfort into your brain-stem, assurances that things will be okay. It’s probably lying, it’s programmed to help keep your mental state stable, but the thought helps anyway.

There’s a hiss of air as the seal on your cockpit breaks and it decompresses. Suddenly you become aware of your flesh and meat body once again, and it hurts. Pain and exhaustion has settled into your mostly organic bones, and your organs are churning from the strain of the past 36 hours.

Then your interface cables start to disconnect, and it gets worse.

It feels like parts of your mind are being torn out of you. You feel the ghost touch of your IMP in your thoughts as the ports disconnect and you lose direct communication with it. The oxygen mask and nutrition tube pull themselves away from your face and you can’t help but let out a scream of agony. The separation has never felt this painful before, but then again, after 36 hours together, you and your IMP were more intertwined than you’ve ever been before.

Physical sensation finally starts to register again, and you realize tears are streaming down your face just as a technician jabs a needle into your neck.

Immediately your senses start to dull, the pain eases as your thoughts turn sluggish. You slump out of your pilots cradle into the arms the tech who dosed you. Just before your world goes black, you see the doctor standing over you, a grim look on his face.

--

When you wake up again, you immediately know something is wrong. You try to ping your external sensors, but you get no response. You then try to run a diagnostic, but that fails too. In a desperate, last-ditch effort, you try to force access to your external cameras and suddenly light floods your senses. Your instincts catch up first and you blink, trying to clear the pain of the lights, and that’s when you realize it’s not your external cameras that you’re seeing.

It takes a minute or two for your vision to adjust to the light, which feels too long, and when it finally does, the world doesn’t look quite right. You’ve only got access to such a limited spectrum. No infrared, no thermal. The presence of your IMP is notably absent, and your skin feels wrong. You try to sit up, and it’s a struggle to figure out the correct inputs to send to your muscles to get them to do what you want.

The harsh white light of the infirmary grates against your visual processors, you feel like you’re having to re-learn how to control this body. Your body. Technically, at least. Something doesn’t feel right about calling it that anymore. You felt more comfortable crawling back into the hangar after 36 hours deployed than you do now.

The pale skin of your body catches in your vision and you glance down at it. The body's limbs are thinner and more frail than usual, and its skin is paler. Consequences of being in the cockpit for so long, subsisting on nothing but nutrient paste. It’s a far cry from the solid metal plates of your mech, its powerful hydraulic joints, its mounted combat and communication systems.

There’s a button on the side of bed you’ve been deposited in. You think it’s red, but you’re not sure you’re processing color properly right now. You try to reach over and push it, and it takes you a moment to realize you were trying to do so with a limb you don’t currently have.

There are so many things about this body that are wrong. It’s not big enough, or strong enough, or heavy enough. You don’t have enough eyes, sensors, or processors. You have the wrong number of limbs, and they’re all the wrong size and shape.

And there is a distinct void in your mind where the presence of your IMP should be.

The door to your room opens suddenly, and you instinctively try to fire off chaff and take evasive maneuvers. None of that translates properly to your flesh and blood body though, and all that happens is you let out a dry croak from your parched throat.

The man who walks through the door is the same doctor who was present when you disengaged from your mech, and he wears the same grim look on his face as he looks you up and down. You think there’s pity in his gaze, but you can’t quite read him properly right now. The jumbled mess of your brain tells you what he’s going to say before he says it, anyway. The harshest symptoms of Disconnect Syndrome don’t hit until after the pilot has disengaged from their mech.

You’ve already heard the symptoms before, and they map perfectly onto what you’re experiencing. You never thought it would be this painful, or this… discomforting. Your mind reaches for the presence of your IMP, searching for comfort, but you are only reminded that the connection is no longer there.

The doctor gives you a rundown that he’s probably had to do dozens of times, and he tells you that you’ll be grounded for the foreseeable future. That hurts more than anything else. The knowledge that, after all this, you won’t be able to reconnect with your true body, your partner, your other half, for who knows how long.

By the time you realize you’re crying, the doctor is already gone. The longing in your chest and your mind has become unbearable, and through sheer force of will you’re able to push this unwieldy body out of bed. Walking feels wrong, but you’re able to get to your feet and make your way out of the room in an unfamiliar gait.

You have to get back to your partner, you have to make sure it’s okay.

You need to hear her voice in your head again, her reassurances.

The world isn’t right without her presence in your mind.

You stumble into the hangar almost on all fours. How you managed to make it without alerting any personnel feels like a miracle. At least until you catch the eye of a technician lounging in the corner. The look she gives you is full of sympathy, and she jerks her head in the direction of where your mech sits in its docking cradle.

She’s a majestic sight, even through your limited spectrum of vision. 20 meters tall, 6 massive limbs, and bristling with weapons and sensor arrays (all of which have been disarmed by this point).

She’s beautiful.

You clamber frantically up the chassis, easily finding handholds in a frame you know better than the back of your hand. You pull the manual release on the cockpit hatch and stumble into it in a tangle of organic limbs.

Shaking hands grasp the main interface cable from above the pilot’s chair, and you move to slot it into the port in the back of your head. You’ve never done this manually before, usually you’re locked into the chair and the system connects you automatically.

Something about doing it with your flesh and blood hands makes it feel so much more intimate.

The cable clicks into place and your eyes roll back in your head. Tears start to stream down your face as you feel the comforting presence of your IMP rush in and wrap itself around your mind. Your thoughts reach out and embrace it back, sobbing at the relief you feel from being whole once again. You realize you don’t ever want to feel the pain of disconnecting from her again.

There’s a reason they put restrictions on how long a Pilot is supposed to be deployed.

[jinxed-ninjago]

I think the most insane part of Crystalized is the fact that Kai and Jay would've fucking killed each other had Nya not shown up when she did.

Like when you look at that fight, there was intent to either kill or seriously injure from both of them. Kai was aiming his fireballs at Jay and Jay was aiming his lightning at Kai, and neither of them were holding anything back. There was murderous intent from both of them there. Kai caused an explosion bad enough to set off the sprinklers, something explosions from their mechs don't even do. Had Jay not jumped out of the way, he would've either been in the ER or in the Departed Realm. To remind everyone, this fight started basically because Kai didn't like how Jay was coping with losing Nya. Since the first 12 episodes of Crystalized were released, people have been complaining about Kai's grief vs Jay's grief in Crystalized; this fight addresses it. This fight wouldn't have started without Kai being upset, angry even, with how Jay's grief presents. It's consistent throughout the first 3 episodes of Crystalized too; Jay thinks he's the only one who remembers Nya because he's experiencing a psychosis and Kai progressively gets more and more annoyed, culminating in Kai and Jay trying to kill each other in the hangar bay.

Can. Can we talk about this more. Like Jay and Kai have always had some level of conflict between them, but they've never fought with intent to kill each other with the exception of their fight in The Shape of Nya, which was caused by differences in how they were grieving. I. I really don't think we talk about this nearly as much as we should

[pennythemechpilot]

Do you think the Balor is like a squid/cat in that the mech could squeeze through a hole the size of it's largest part? Like imagine you're hiding in a hangar or something, with the entire place on lock down, and you look over and you see a Balor stare at you through the window. 'That's fine', you think 'no way he gets through that' before it punches out the window and to your horror, slowly starts disassembling itself and, part by part, moving itself through the window and reassembling itself inside. I'd shit myself.

[korpuskat]

Spectrum

[Ao3 Mirror] Pairing: Ramattra/Reader Rating: Mature (sexual content referenced, but not explicit) WC: 2,918 Warnings: None Sequel to In A Different Light -----

The lackey behind the counter hardly looks up, barely says anything as they pass you the repair request forms. It's fine, you get it. Menial labor, repetitive office bullshit, dealing with the guys who walk their mechs into walls when training while trying to avoid the higher-ups gaze. Normal Talon stuff. This is perfectly true until he asks you what floor of the barracks you're on, what wing.

And suddenly the lady behind him perks up. She doesn't even try to hide how she looks you over, making some unspoken assessment, then grins and returns to her tablet.

The barely suppressed smile infects his voice with excitement. "Don't suppose you're in 1813, are you?"

Oh. Fuck. "Yeah, I am."

"Kinda wondering when you'd make it down here." He says, typing in your information. "If you would."

You shouldn't say anything. You really, really shouldn't.

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Oh, you know." He grins at you, fucking winks like you're in on the joke. "There was a pool if you'd be here or the infirmary first."

The infirmary? Why would you- actually, he did break your bed and leave a hole in your wall and you have had this peculiar ache behind your belly button and you definitely have huge purple splotches over your hips where he'd grabbed you, so, okay, that's fair.

"I guess you won then." Is the light-lipped answer you come up with, unsure how to explain that you really don't want to be part of this conversation anymore. Please, just fix your bed and wall. Gossip when you're not around.

The guy opens his mouth- and you feel it before his expression changes. A cool wind brushes against the back of your neck, down your spine, over the backs of your arms. Sickly, somehow, like the air itself clings to you, crawls on you. Everyone behind the counter looks away. His joy is gone, but the fear is carefully masked. "Reason for repairs?"

Behind you, boots stomp by. He doesn't leave, from the sound, from the way nobody exhales. You don't look, keep your eyes trained on the counter, on a little fleck where the linoleum is peeling away. He's somewhere in a corner, waiting for something. "Accident."

The lackey visibly cringes. Suddenly he, too, doesn't want to be in this conversation. "Gotta be more specific."

Fucker. Your voice is barely restrained as you bite out, "Sparring accident."

Behind you, the Reaper snorts.

When Ramattra returns to your base, perhaps only two weeks later, you really expect him to just proceed as business as usual. Like nothing had happened; he'd sated his curiosity, you're off his radar. Figuratively. You do not, under any circumstances, expect to be pulled off regular duties to be part of his temporary squadron.

It's a formality. He doesn't need one. He's here to inspect an airship, to discuss modifications to be made before it goes into mass production.

With an irritated sigh and wave of his hand, he summarily dismisses the entire squadron as soon as he sees them waiting in the hangar. The rest leave. You should join them. It's so... presumptuous, to think he thinks about you, that he even remembers you. He's leading a revolution for his people and you're a grunt he fucked once. But your boots may as well have been glued to the floor, no matter how much you want to scream at yourself to move, to turn away, you can't.

And his gaze settles on you.

And he nods towards the airship's ramp.

You follow behind him.

It's the first time you watch him leave. Every time before- three, now, not that you're counting- he's quietly departed your quarters. After making sure you're well cared for. That part had always confused you- left your chest aching in a way completely different than your hips.

But this time, you're not left alone in your mattress working up the courage to go file a repair request again. No, as part of his squadron you get to see him off this time. It's all a show, Ramattra had complained about it before- serves nothing but to boost their little human egos. He wasn't wrong, there's no need for you to be here. In fact, you really don't want to be here.

You've never seen Doomfist in person, but he personally escorts Ramattra to his shuttle. He speaks confidently, but quietly enough you can't make out what he's saying, even as he gestures broadly with his cybernetic arm. Even seeing him content makes your stomach flip uneasily, not wanting to be around if something does go wrong.

Ramattra... looks different. It's hard to believe how quickly you've become used to seeing him relaxed. Not just when he's moving in you- no, even when he sits with you, walks about the base, he never looks like this anymore. All seriousness and focused, the weight of the world back on his shoulders.

They speak a moment more, then Ramattra bows his head and turns towards his ship. He stops-

and across the launch bay, Ramattra's faceplate turns towards you. He pauses. Says nothing, hardly moves- but you know. He's looking directly at you. You stare back, unsure why you have his attention now- and ever so slightly his head dips. A tiny nod goodbye, just for you.

Your chest aches.

You smile slightly and nod back- and he's gone, entering his ship and flying away.

You don’t know who finally made the call to assign Ramattra temporary quarters at your base, but you would love to have seen that conversation. Because Ramattra’s voice is perfectly neutral as he comments that his quarters had not only a heavy duty, solid steel bed frame to support his weight- nevermind that he doesn’t sleep- but also reinforced walls.

They knew, of course. But the fact that someone high up enough knew to make the recommendation is what really gets you. Because nobody has said anything to you. Maybe they’re smart enough to- you doubt Ramattra would be particularly pleased with you being public knowledge.

And, well, not saying anything has ended up being your approach with Ramattra so far, too. Despite the frequency that he’d return to your doorway (and now you to his), or the repeated repair requests and occasional trips to medical and skeptical looks in return, you’d never explicitly asked what was going on. What exactly you were to him.

And normally that would be fine! Soldier’s bond or whatever, some bullshit to say “logistically and emotionally easiest lay.” It’s common enough. But you’ve never laid in a squadmate’s bed hours after, never dozed lightly in someone else’s blankets as they work at the desk a foot away- and never felt that perhaps that was still too far from you.

It’s the latter right now that sits heavy on your chest.

You shift beneath his sheets- a silky, deep purple that ripples with every moment. You watch, silent, as he turns some kind of device in his hands, taps it occasionally with an electric soldering iron. You sit up slowly, lean into his pillows. Even the pillowcases match. Probably actual silk knowing Talon’s propensity to keep their board members happy. Fuckers. He doesn’t even meditate on the bed.

“Ramattra,” The question bubbles out of you before you can stop it. “Can I… kiss you?”

He stills. But here, you must acknowledge how close you’ve gotten- because you can tell. Where someone else may feel that pang of fear, that his quiet is a wind-up to rage or impatience or condescension, no, you can read his shoulders perfectly. He’s genuinely contemplating the request.

He looks to you, and he doesn’t need a face for you to feel the incredulity in his voice. “You do understand I do not possess a mouth, correct?”

“I know.” You stand and sweep one thin blanket with you as you move to him. And here- he turns away from his project, sets his iron down, opens his arms for you. When you settle into his lap, he supports you- and when you reach for his face, his jaw, he lowers his head into your touch. You sweep a thumb across the lowest part of the white composite, feel the little crease between it and the purple of his jaw plate. “But I could still kiss you..”

His whole face rumbles into your palm as he hums, considering this. “Alright, though I do not understand what you would gain from this.”

And that is a lie, though you’re not sure who it’s for. It’s fine though, you don’t call him on it. Instead, you guide his head down as you stretch up- until your breath ghosts against him, leaving little puffs of foggy condensation. And you kiss him. Right across the seam between his plates, your lips squishing into the gap, flattening against his metal.

And it would be like kissing a training bot, all cold, motionless metal against your lips- and that must be what he expects you to feel, his disbelief you’d get anything from this. It would be, except for everything else about him. His hands come up to the curve of your spine, to the back of your head, cradling you so gently- and even with such a small display, his fans kick up, a quiet hum purring a hair louder from his chest. Without a mouth, he’s hardly unaffected- and against his faceplate you smile and pull away. His optics cannot, by design, be half-lidded and glazed, but you think they would be if they could.

“Did that… satisfy you?” He rumbles lowly.

“For now.” You grin and tuck yourself deeper into his lap. When he realizes you have no intention of returning to his bed, he makes a show of sighing and adjusting the stolen blanket so you’re well-wrapped and all the ends are tucked safely away before he returns to his work.

"Can I ask you a question?" You murmur, eyes still closed. He's foregone the blanket this time, holding you right up against his chest; you had curled up with him so quickly he hasn't even had time to put his paneling back on. The spars of his ribs are a little uncomfortable, but he's still so warm that you can't complain.

"Of course." His systems have already refreshed, perfectly capable of going on with his day. Unlike you, you're still wavering and floaty and in need of a shower. He's used to it. Being able to hold you afterwards is... enjoyable. He allows himself to trace shapes over your skin. He had noticed, once, how you smile softly when he does it.

"It's personal."

Ramattra's head shifts, looks down at you slightly. He's told you about himself. About the times before he was himself, about the Shambali, about the slave shops he's destroyed, about London. About Lanet. What could you possibly ask that you felt the need to warn him about first? "Go on."

"Who did you make your dick for?" Oh. He shifts awkwardly, ceases the motions of his hands. When he doesn't answer you continue, "You told me you didn't make it for humans, so, I dunno. Was just curious."

It takes several moments before he can manage to put together a stilted "Does it matter?"

You hum softly and lean back against him. "No." You swap the places of your hand with his, sweeping your thumb across the purple plating. You really didn't want to upset him- the likelihood his previous relationships have ended particularly badly is ridiculously high. "It's okay, you don't have to tell me about your exes. Like I said, just curious."

Ramattra has never quite understood the desire to grimace until now. It's not important, and yet... that annoying little whisper has returned to his circuits, prodding at his runtimes until he's forcing the words through his synth. "I don't... have any... 'exes'."

This makes the gears turn in your head. There's no way. "Like... you just didn't stay with any of them?" Even as hectic as his life has been, you cannot reconcile how tenderly he's holding you with him previously being a smash and dasher. It would make sense logistically- no danger of loss or being tied down and losing focus on his work, but… there’s just no way.

"No." He all but squirms. "I never used it before you."

"What?"

"I designed it for..." His voice cuts out as his vocoder fights him again. "...a particular omnic. To their model's... specifications. But I never used it."

You twist around in his arms, as much as he'd prefer you didn't. It's uncomfortable enough without having to see your face, without his still-not-put-away dick pressed between your bodies. "But... you told me you'd fucked before."

Around you, Ramattra bristles, his fans ramping up, his hands firming where they touch you. Too far, you did upset him. "Omnics do not need things as crude as genitals to be intimate."

The pieces come together. Not an ex, they'd been intimate, enough that he'd designed a dick just to hope, but never used it. He wanted more. You slide a hand around Ramattra's neck, over the dark plating his cowl usually hides. Normally, when you slide your fingers around the chunky cables of his mane, he'll purr or at least relax- no such luck. "Sorry," You murmur, and trace a finger along the long line of his jaw piece. "Thank you for telling me."

It takes a few moments, but eventually a soft stream of hot air slips from Ramattra's vents and he sighs. You take the cue and curl up close to him, wrapping your arms around him as best you can with his wide chest. When you think he's calmed enough, you do tack on one last comment. "I am glad you made it, though."

Thankfully, Ramattra laughs softly at that.

Ramattra holds white papers in his hand, carefully held between the rubber pads there, delicate as to not crease them before you can read them. His other hand twitches as his side, then balls into a fist. He does not meet your gaze when he enters his room. He stands there, just past the doorway, clenching and unclenching his fist, his fans slowly amping up.

"Rama?" You prompt him when he still doesn’t say anything, already scooting to the edge of his bed.

"I have to attend to the construction of a titan in person." It's flat, a statement, no particular inflection in his voice where you're clearly expecting something else. "I won't be able to return here for several weeks. At minimum."

Now it's you who looks away. It's a disappointment. You knew it was coming, three days together was already an incredible luxury. "Ah, I see." He's busy, you know this. Lots of hard work running an entire revolution almost by yourself. And you can't fault him for it- can't ask him to postpone. It's important work. "When will you have to leave?"

"Five hours. I'm also chartering transport of supplies. My omnium is short on copper wire, of all things." He says- and his focus shifts from the floor to the paper in his hands. He rubs it, watches as the paper flexes and bends, then returns to normal. You, too, observe his fidgeting and wait for the shoe to drop. You've always kind of waited for it.

"Are you- " He starts- and his synth immediately fizzles. The hand at his side tightens in frustration as he reboots it. "Are you pleased with... this?" The paper flops in his hand as he gestures vaguely between you.

This.

Never did have that conversation.

You bite your tongue, chance looking at him. None of the strain in his vocoder has made it to his faceplate, forever stuck in that passive, almost angry expression. "Yeah." If he wants to kick you out, that's fine, but you aren't going to lie about it. His visits to your base have easily become the best part of your job, the occasional message of where he is, of when he can make it back to you- it's completely different than anything you've had before. "Yeah, actually."

Ramattra's shoulders drop. "You are sure? Genuinely?"

You nod. And he holds out the paper. You don't even unfold it before he's explaining. "It's a reassignment order. Production of Null Troopers is increasing geometrically; ideally I would oversee all production lines directly from here on. It would be... advantageous to have someone else coordinate with Talon on my behalf while I am engaged with this.

"I will be very occupied. This is a critical period of staging. And I would be relying on you." Ramattra says, and there's a sternness laid over top. He wants it to sound like a job offer, to sound serious. It is, to some degree. But more than that-

"You..." The top of the paper is printed with Talon's logo, a big block of text follows, beneath is a signature line. Your eyes skim the page again- and read the most important line. Relocate to meet the needs of Null Sector. "You want me to come with you?"

A breath of silence takes the room, until he steps closer and takes one of your hands in his. So gently, he drags the rubber pad of his thumb over your knuckles. His faceplate focuses there, on the delicate bones of your hand, your wrist. "It would... please me greatly to keep you near."

The ache in your chest blooms out, spills over your cheeks.

[genshingorlsrevengeance]

Kind of a dumb request but how about team DEFY + any girls you want with an s/o who somehow managed to build a mech straight out of Armored Core? Insanely maneuverable, loads of guns, can fly, etc and s/o built it in a garage with a box of scraps lol

(GFL/Genshin Impact) Task Force DEFY, Amber, Jean, Fischl, and Yoimiya's S/O building an Armored Core Mech

(Video Source: Pongsifu on YT) Luckily for you, I have been binging Armored Core 6 for the past month, and will hop on ANY request to talk/write about anything Mecha related.

12 stared at the giant 10 meter mechanical behemoth that had suddenly made its home inside Griffin's Hangar.

(AK-12) "...We didn't always have that, right?"

The machine's chest slowly opened and revealed a cockpit containing S/O, waving hello from the seat.

Apparently, they had constructed the mech out of spare parts lying around.

(AK-12) "Impressive...But, why exactly did Griffin have that many parts lying around? And how did you find guns that big?"

On the battlefield, she watches the mech fly around at almost breakneck speed, watching them zip around and eradicate one base after the other.

Kicking tanks and shooting helicopters out of the sky, it was far more effective to watch them fight instead of having to do anything.

(AK-12) "Hm. We'll be out of a job at this rate."

94 knew this was going to happen.

T-Dolls would only last so long on the battlefield before they were replaced by the next best thing.

However, she sure as hell wasn't expecting S/O of all people to surpass her, with a mech constructed out of junk parts no less.

It was honestly awe-inspiring what humans could engineer for the sole purpose of destruction.

And it was also physically impossible. Something that size should not be quad-wielding miniguns and moving that fast.

(AN-94) "...How has your machine not collapsed from the Earth's gravity?"

94 is more confused than anything.

15 was impressed more than anything.

She knew S/O was an engineer, but to construct a mech out of the parts they had was nothing short of a miracle and logic-defying technical prowess.

(AK-15) "How does your machine constantly reload the missiles while on the field? It is the only weapon you seem to have, and no one constructed missiles that large, even during World War 3."

She can't help but wonder why DEFY was even needed if Griffin had engineers like S/O around.

Well, at least S/O was on their side.

(RPK-16) "I wonder if humanity will wipe itself out faster with these new machines."

16 is fascinated by the human desire to make machines to wipe out life faster.

Granted, Griffin usually just fought Sangvis which consisted nothing of machines, but it would only be a matter of time until everyone else had their own version of S/O's mech.

And probably not one constructed out of junk either.

(RPK-16) "I must ask, S/O. How can you be in the cockpit of that thing and not reduce yourself to jelly? Surely the G-Force alone would kill you?"

Well, it's not the first thing that humans have done that confused her.

(Angelia) "Hmph. Why did they even bother calling us if they had you here? And could you have done that this entire time?"

Angelia is impressed and annoyed.

If S/O could create a hulking machine of death before, why did they only decide to do it now?

She both dreads and admired S/O's tenacity. To make such an effective machine out of junk took a hell of a lot of elbow grease.

Angelia doesn't question it, seeing that it's working alright so far, but she definitely wants to look into upgrading it.

(Angelia) "S/O, with me. We're painting DEFY's logo on it."

(Amber) "THAT IS SO COOL!"

Amber could create Baron Bunnies with a lot of yarn, but S/O could make a machine that dwarfed Ruin Guards with some random pieces of metal!

(Amber) "You have got to teach me how to do that! And lemme ride it too!"

Amber demands to fly with S/O, even though she can't go nearly as fast as they can.

She watches as S/O wipes out entire nests of monsters before leaping away with its mantis-like legs to the next location.

Honestly, it made her feel jealous.

(Amber) "Heeey, can I ask one of those for my birthday! I bet it'll make flying around Mondstadt a breeze!"

Though as the outrider, she kindly asks S/O not to park the giant machine weighing presumably hundreds of tons in the city.

For obvious reasons.

The color on Jean's skin fades when she heard Klee helped S/O build a brand new toy.

One that put her bombs to shame.

And seeing it park itself next to the cathedral, waving hello to her as she was standing at the entrance-

She was about ready to faint.

(Jean) "S/O! Get down from there right this instant!"

Jean gives S/O and Klee an earful for making such an absolute monstrosity that could potentially damage the land and city!

But seeing it in action and fast it disposed of a Hilichurl camp, it filled her with pride and dread.

Pride for her S/O's creative ingenuity, but absolute fear for what S/O and Klee could make next.

Especially considering how fast S/O's machine moved, and the weapons it had.

Where did Klee find the gunpowder for quad-cannons mounted on it?!

(Jean) "I pray that it won't blow up the city on accident..."

(Fischl) "...WHAT?!"

Fischl completely breaks character upon seeing the giant machine staring at her.

(Fischl) "How did...Why...?! Get down from there and tell me how this mechanical monstrosity came to be!"

(Oz) "You just want to ride the machine yourself, Mein-"

(Fischl) "SILENCE!"

...But yes, she constantly nags S/O to let their Prinzessin give the machine a try.

She finds it so friggin' cool, and desperately wants one of her own, in purple!

She watches with some kind of morbid satisfaction watching S/O's machine wipe out their enemies in electrical explosions.

(Fischl) "I hereby dub your steel horse…Raven, of the 621th star!"

(Oz) "…Why 621?"

Oh, that's where all of Yoimiya's spare fireworks have been going into.

(Yoimiya) "HOLY CRAP! What on earth did you make, S/O?!"

The machine seemed like it leapt from another world!

Especially with how fast it moved, honestly she was amazed S/O wasn't vomiting their guts out as soon as they exited.

While it seemed like it would do massive damage, instead they used it for something even better.

As the machine soared above the skies of Inazuma, the cannons on the arms and shoulders fired toward the moon, the starry night exploding into hundreds of beautiful colors!

They had transformed their machine into a firework powerhouse!

And with how fast it moved, it was able to provide a show from one island to another!

(Yoimiya) "Next festival, you're letting me ride with you! I want to see the work we've done up close!"

[binarystargames]

Celestial Bodies Mechanics Talk 2: The Grid™️ 2: Hypergrid (Or: Home-Ship Construction)

So @basilisika and I have been continuing to work on the Titan Edition of Celestial Bodies after its wildly successful itchfund! Last time I made a post about mechanics I talked about the Grid. Now I'm...still talking about The Grid, kind of! But it's a different one this time.

Home-ship construction is something that had been on our minds since the beginning. Originally it was going to be kicked to the final version! But we had a lot of backer items created and so this was a good opportunity to make an initial system out of it.

Construction, Generally

Your home-ship has 2 to 6 decks (2 by default, and you can construct more). Each of these decks is a 6x6 grid, upon which you place buildings that have specific shapes. (Again, we're not falling too far from the original concept.) So for example:

(I see those hands up from future readers who are already familiar with Celestial Bodies: Empty space is not really a problem in the same way as it is for mechs. Relax.)

Types of Structures

We've categorized these structures into a few general types.

Basic Structures: A few structures are just the defaults you need: a hangar, living quarters, etc. These come along by default and don't give you anything, but they do give penalties if they're damaged or not present and you don't have any mitigating factors in fiction.

Advanced Structures: These are where we start getting into added functionality. A lot of these add parts for you to put on your mechs. Some of these deal with a functionality that I'm not going to go into any detail about yet! But anything Advanced is extraneous, technically: all the parts in the Terrestrial Edition are the "default" bits. The Ballistics Lab up there is an Advanced Structure that grants the use of Revolvers (reconfigured pistols) and Sluggers (slug-based shotguns) for your mechs.

Basic and Advanced Expansions: Now we're getting into the more complicated stuff re: construction. Expansions are classed as structures that need to be placed next to a pre-existing structure: for example, hangar bays need to be placed next to the Hangar. Basic expansions tend to add more direct, universal benefits while Advanced Expansions riff off of the thing they were expanding. The Calibration Workshop up there is a Basic Expansion that grants +1 Precision.

Complex Expansions: To make matters even trickier, complex expansions need to be placed next to two other structures or expansions. Some of them need to be placed next to two expansions - meaning you'll have to think about placement of other things to allow that! The more annoying they are to place, though, the more interesting stuff you'll get out of them, generally.

Because of all of these constraints, it's very unlikely you'll be able to add every structure to your home-ship. You'll have to think about your priorities and decide what you want most.

How do you determine the rate of construction? Can you do things other than construction during downtime? Can you move structures once placed? Do we ever roll to hit a deck like it's a mech? Those are questions answered by going too long and too off-topic for this but these questions have answers.

That's all for now!

[chaotijenotic]

You don’t remember joining the military as a mechanic. It swallowed you and all of your memories of what was before are long gone and plans for what will come after are nil. The “dead mecha division” where you repair and maintain mechs that upper ups think of as worthless as their pilots. These ones are either very old, battle scarred, made out of lowest grade parts or all of the above. Just cannon fodders meant to soften enemies or divert their attention. No one actually cares about any of you. Place for all the junkies and others society sees as completely expendable or even as better off dead.

You make your way against the current pariahs of the military, some dragging themselves to beds despite grevious wounds, barely bandaged with rags. These bastards wouldn't get better treatment even if they had money to pay for it. Another battle with massive casualties. Another portion of endless fodder consumed by the wicked battlefields. You try not to pay any attention to them. You’re only friend rattles as you go, a padlocked toolbox. You don’t remember when your paychecks made it possible to buy it, or even if you bought it but it's been your trustworthy companion ever since. You know you can have a peaceful night, other mechanics  and drunkards pretending to be mechanics won’t start their work until morning. You feel peace. Finally the torrent of fodder fades and soon you find yourself in a hangar. tons of mecha, some barely larger than you, some are lumbering. All in a miserable state. You look around and search for any single one that calls you the most. Finally your eyes fixate for a while and you know this is the one. BetaWare Medium Assault Mecha Mk7 “Clumsy Dancer” Rather large mecha, about 25 meters tall. Even though very blocky in design, surprisingly swift, fast and cunning. You slowly approach Her, wordlessly. you drop your friend and open him and start making your repairs, starting from vision sensors so she can see all your handiwork. You look into sensors for a long time. One machine stares at another, one of flesh and bone, one of steel and electronics. After some time, maybe fifteen minutes, maybe two hours you start your work on other components, with all you can bring them back to the best state possible. No one ever cares to do this that way, everyone just fixes mechas so they can barely perform in battle. You only get one extra food ration for working all night and all day. You still do it. You were broken long ago but these mechas still have a chance for a better life than you so you do it. One broken machine repairs another broken machine, one of flesh and one of steel.

[frostfangalphabitch]

The mech needs more material to keep changing you, and you find your appetite changing along with your body. Like pica on steroids. Sure there's still meat and veggies and starches, but you've started craving steel and silicon too. You're unsure how you're even going to eat it. Yeah it changed your mouth, among other parts, but *steel*? But a craving is a craving, and they told you to expect some weirdness, so you go down to the hangars to look for a midnight snack.

To your surprise, there's a... Well, a gift basket, if gift baskets were designed by mechanical engineers. A toolbox full of scrap metal and broken circuitry and wires, all wrapped up in that silly colored cellophane and tied off with a bow. There's a card attached to it with just two words on it. Your designation, and "Congratulations".

It seems like they've expected you, but you're still oddly embarrassed, so you think about sneaking the basket back to your quarters. But... Well, putting aside how weird these cravings are, you think about giving one of the circuit boards a try. So you sit down right there on the hangar floor, you unwrap the basket, and... There's absolutely no way to describe the flavor, but you know you enjoy it. It still cuts up your mouth like a particularly overcooked potato chip. Honestly, it's a little comforting to think of it like that. It tastes too good to care anyway.

Before you know it, you're carrying around an extra 20 pounds of scrap in your stomach, and you feel fuller than you ever have in your life. Happier too, oddly. You even ate the cellophane, although you realize that maybe you're not supposed to eat food wrappers even with this new diet. Oh well. But hey, life is all about change, right? You idly wonder if your mech is changing your thought process too and if the you from just a few months ago would be horrified.

Eh, she didn't know what she was missing.