#SPACE PILOT | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

70roxy07 · 1 month

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A little sketch with a different outfit, just trying them out

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propalitetz · 1 year

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STAR PILOT

#Character Design #character art #rocket boots #oc #star #space pilot #retro inspired #retro #80s #platform boots #disco #vaguely #forced perspective #artists on tumblr #digital art #80s inspired

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gigagendergt · 1 year

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You’re so far away from home.

You live on a spaceship. You have a DVR of old movies and a CD collection. You have some houseplants. You monitor local star radiation and keep an eye on that distant black hole. While you write reports you drink coffee that tastes like hazelnuts. Sometimes you run out of coffee and that’s the worst.

Your job is mostly boring, until it isn’t. A piece of space debris hits mid-rewatch of Audrey Hepburn’s Charade and damages the starboard engine. A systems error sends you careening around the ship, re-wiring circuitry while Queen blasts, glitching, in the background. Your little stove breaks and you spend an afternoon cobbling it back together from spare parts before the fusion reactor blows. You keep getting messages with nonsense words like “janeery” and “french”. When you look in the mirror there are wrinkles in the corners of your eyes, a gray hair brushing your forehead. Your niece’s birthday comes and goes.

You start to doubt why you do it.

Of course, that’s when the message comes.

#writing #sci fi #scifi #spaceship #outer space #blurb #space pilot #comfy aesthetic #vibes

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sunny-aster · 11 months

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discord commission

commission details --> x,

#bear #space pilot #astronaut #commission #art commission #my art #artist on tumblr

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nexeliam · 2 years

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Clay sculpture of Atmos, an original character of mine, an alien/cyborg pilot with bird features and robotic bodyparts. His design was inspired by Starlight Brigade artstyle and lore. 22cm / 8,6 inches tall / About 8 hours of work

#clay #clay sculpture #sculpture #sculpting #acrylic #paint #original character #starlight brigade #atmos #science fiction #space pilot #cyborg #robot #bird-like #handcraft #figurine #statue

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fruity-mercenary · 3 months

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I made another oc for my favorite book but this is his boyfriend. Im in the middle of the second one so if he gets a partner well damn. But anyways his name is Link, he was a star pilot- to which when quantum tunneling came around was abandoned- so he started his own team of misfits so now hes a space pirate. But one of the good ones. And meets WHATEVER THE MCS REAL NAME IS as mckeown con. Also links a thief working with a hacker, whatever some other thief wants.. so does he. Its just down to whoever gets it first

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dollish-shard · 9 months

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Obsessed with the very concept of mech pilots having handlers; and specifically the usage of the term. They aren't a navigator or support, they're a handler. Mech pilots may be unparalleled agents of war on the battlefield, but they're raw, uncontrolled. A pilot needs a handler to point it to what to shoot, because otherwise they just don't know what to do. Brains so melted by their training, overwhelmed by neural linking, that they need a voice they can latch onto and follow unconditionally. An unconditional obedience that carries over outside their mechs, where they're oh so weak and broken. Where the veil comes down and the true power dynamic reveals itself. A tool that follows orders without thinking, and the one who wields them.

#empty spaces #mechs #mechposting #mech pilot

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ofcowardiceandkings · 3 months

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tfw ur havin a convo with the neighbours and ur bf is in need of a cuddle ༼ つ ◕_◕ ༽つ

#this is 100% based on that photo of lily cole with her bf of the time in her lap and im nowhere Near sorry #ghfjdjfd god this was such a shitty sketch and i just kept messing with it ?? trying not to be TOO fussy and just Play yknow #im pleased with it considering its not even a scan its a photo of a sketch i played colour and light with SHRUG SHRUG SHRUG #im not trying to be good i guess im just exploring the space ?? because i dont ghfjdkjf know what im doing anymore #anyway ... puts Link in Zelda's lap ..... good #legend of zelda #tears of the kingdom #breath of the wild #zelink #link x zelda #botw/totk #pilots doodles

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prokopetz · 1 year

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One of the most common questions I get about my games is "can I play as this? can I play as that?", and I'll level with you: basically every game I write is about a narrowly focused experience, so if you're the sort of player who's afflicted with the contrarian urge to insist on playing a character who's the exact opposite of whatever type of character a game is notionally about, regardless of what type of character that is, you're probably not gonna have a good time.

#gaming #tabletop roleplaying #tabletop rpgs #game design #i have literally been asked if you can play as a regular non-giant-robot-piloting human in 'space gerbils'#i want anyone who's actually read the rules of the game to picture how that would work

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70roxy07 · 1 month

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Do you see that planet over there?

Yeah?

What if we accidentally crashed right into it?

Click for better quality

#art #oc #oc art #original character #drawing #drawing oc #illustration #digital art #digital drawing #digital painting #space pilot #space ranger #space rangers #digital illustration #artwork #artists on tumblr #my art #space #space engineer

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retrocgads · 1 year

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UK 1985

#UK1985 #SUPERIOR SOFTWARE #ACTION #BBC #SPACE PILOT #STAR WARP #AIRLIFT

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frostgears · 9 months

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flight deck

you don't have to tell your handler that you're coming in messy after a bad mission. she's tied into flight ops. she knows.

she's waiting by the flight line before the grease monkeys have all your armor off, with a lubed glove on one hand and two fat purple pills in the other.

"ssshhh, pretty thing," she says. "you did your best out there. now open," she forces the pills to your mouth. "good girl. where's that water bottle… swallow. good."

her hand is already working between your legs, reinforcing her praise. they always detach the armor there first.

the pills help. the pills leave you feeling floaty, detached, enough to ignore what they've done to you to make the armor work. you probably can't climax without them by now, not that your handler would ever let you find out.

a few moments later, you spatter your built-up tension and guilt across the deck. with a sigh, you sink to your still-armored knees. your reflex weapons disarm, automatics finally allowed to take over from your own hair-trigger awareness. they're safe now. you're safe.

the grease monkeys are also safe, emerging from behind blast shields that would not have stopped any but the lightest of your armaments. more for psychological safety, really.

"she done?"

"the fuck do you think, wrenchie?"

"i think you couldn't pay me enough to do your job."

"i don't do it for the pay," you hear your handler say, as your eyelids sink towards closed. "i do it because that thing you're all scared of? she's all mine. and every landing, i get to remind myself, and all of you, and most importantly, her." □

#empty spaces #mech pilot #microfiction #combat doll #flight deck #dollposting

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mylittleredgirl · 1 month

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i can't stop chewing on the MASH time loop situation. my star trek brain will not turn off. there is definitely some kind of temporal anomaly at play, but it's not really a time loop in the traditional sense.

effects carry over from loop to loop. they appear to age. the same wounded soldiers appear on the table three times, but the scars of past surgeries are still there. a character leaves or dies and is gone from the mash forever; their replacement arrives near the end of the war and is still there at the beginning. the dates overlap, yet their presence is sequential. the other characters remember all of them.

how far does this effect extend? if it's summer again at mash, is it summer in tokyo? is it summer in maine? if BJ is in korea two years before he arrived, who's in residency in california, marrying his wife, conceiving his child?

their family trees at home deform—different wives, different children, loved ones alternately dead and alive and never born. those inside are oblivious to what they've lost. hawkeye remembers trapper, but not his sister. what happens in korea persists; the world outside is a fragile suggestion. he tells a soldier that men at the front can't see the whole war, only the other guys dug in with them on their one little hill.

for a deep space nine fan this is irresistible. hawkeye says, wars end, but war is forever. kira asks, if the past has changed, why do i still remember it? sisko never left that ship. time itself is warped by trauma. it is not linear. you exist here. you choose to exist here.

#literally the deep space nine pilot rewired my brain and i will never not see it wherever i can #my tng-style trek science explanation is almost ready to go but i'm trying to make it slightly less babbly #and i know i'll have to update it once i see the rest of the show...#but what is the fake scientific method if not hypothesis-analysis-revision right??#mash #mash time loop #mashblogging

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digitalsymbiote · 27 days

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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.

#cybernetic dreams #mechposting #mechanical dysphoria #body dysmorphia #writing #microfiction #short story #mecha #mech pilots #dysphoria #empty spaces

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futurama-in-color · 1 year

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