#Pre Drawing Machine

[smartmachine123]

Top Applications of Pre Drawing Machines in Wire and Cable Production

The wire and cable manufacturing industry relies heavily on precision equipment to ensure consistent quality and optimal performance. Among the most critical pieces of machinery in this sector are Pre Drawing Machines, which play a fundamental role in preparing raw materials for the final drawing process. These sophisticated machines have revolutionized wire production by enabling manufacturers to achieve superior dimensional accuracy, enhanced material properties, and increased production efficiency.

Understanding Pre Drawing Machines

Pre Drawing Machines are specialized equipment designed to reduce the diameter of wire rods or cables through a controlled drawing process before the final drawing operation. This intermediate step is crucial for achieving the precise specifications required in modern wire and cable applications. By performing an initial size reduction, these machines prepare the material for subsequent processing stages while maintaining structural integrity and improving overall quality.

Primary Applications in Wire Manufacturing

1. Copper Wire Production

One of the most significant applications of Pre Drawing Machines is in copper wire manufacturing. Copper, being one of the most commonly used conductive materials, requires precise diameter control to meet electrical specifications. Pre Drawing Machines enable manufacturers to process large-diameter copper rods into intermediate sizes, making the final drawing process more manageable and efficient. This application is particularly important in producing electrical cables, telecommunications wiring, and power transmission lines.

2. Aluminum Wire Processing

The lightweight properties of aluminum make it increasingly popular in electrical applications. Pre Drawing Machines are essential for processing aluminum wire rods, which tend to be more challenging to work with due to the material's tendency to work-harden. These machines provide the controlled deformation necessary to maintain aluminum's ductility while achieving the required dimensional specifications.

3. Steel Wire Applications

In the production of steel wires for various industrial applications, Pre Drawing Machines serve a critical role in preparing high-carbon steel rods. Whether for construction cables, automotive components, or industrial fasteners, these machines ensure that steel wire maintains its strength characteristics while achieving precise dimensional tolerances.

Quality Enhancement Benefits

Pre Drawing Machines contribute significantly to quality improvement in wire and cable production. By performing an intermediate drawing operation, these machines help eliminate surface defects, improve dimensional consistency, and enhance the overall mechanical properties of the wire. The controlled reduction process also helps in stress relief, reducing the likelihood of wire breakage during subsequent processing stages.

Production Efficiency Advantages

The implementation of Pre Drawing Machines in production lines offers substantial efficiency gains. By breaking down the total reduction process into manageable stages, these machines reduce the load on final drawing equipment, extending die life and reducing maintenance requirements. This staged approach also allows for better process control and quality monitoring at each step of production.

Modern Technological Features

Contemporary Pre Drawing Machines incorporate advanced features such as automatic diameter control, real-time monitoring systems, and computerized process management. These technological enhancements ensure consistent product quality while minimizing operator intervention and reducing the potential for human error.

Industry Impact and Future Prospects

The role of Pre Drawing Machines continues to evolve with advancing technology and increasing quality demands in the wire and cable industry. As manufacturers strive for higher precision and improved material properties, these machines remain indispensable tools for achieving competitive advantages in the global marketplace. The versatility and efficiency of Pre Drawing Machines make them essential investments for any serious wire and cable manufacturer looking to optimize their production processes while maintaining the highest quality standards.

[cheriboms]

i dont really know game lore, i just like the friendly robot :]

(original b&w sketch under cut)

(i forgot my watermark on this one so pls dont steal lol ;w;)

[sammylovesbendy]

that reminds me- how the hell did Sammy get flow in the first place?

i didnt make past sammy skinnier but im not going back and changing it oh well

[insane-control-room]

projection

Everyone had a crush on the projectionist. That was a normal and average thing.

Bertrum was not projecting.

ink demonth - projection

Rated: G Warnings: None AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/58156771 Length: 2000

Everyone had a crush on the projectionist. 

He fit everyone’s type- he was tall, dark, and handsome. Of course anyone would find themselves eyeing the man whenever he was around. Following his gait, and appreciating the cloudy gaze of his when he would turn it towards a person. It was a look that exuded confidence and a tranquil, relaxed perception. A look that made someone’s skin go hot and cold. 

Everything about him was extremely pleasant to look at, to observe, to internalize and mechanize.

That, at least, was what Bertrum told himself, when he found himself staring at the projectionist for a moment too long. It was totally fine and normal to be attracted to Norman. There was nothing weird about it. Or uncomfortable. Because everyone liked Norman. 

Probably.

The way that Lacie looked at Bertrum when she confronted him on the way he would look at the projectionist said otherwise. Maybe it was because he lied and said that he was not staring at Norman, how dare she accuse him of such things. Et cetera. 

Perhaps he had a problem. But if he had a problem, that meant that everyone else had a problem as well, because obviously everyone had a smidgen of a crush on Norman. Most likely. As far as Bertrum was aware (which meant, asking no one and trying not to think of anyone else) everyone did. It was. Perfectly fine. To like a man. That no one knew the remotest, slightest thing about. Aside from his name and job. 

The mystery of the man was a bit maddening- Bertrum would be the first to admit that. Though! Though- Bertrum’s excuse for this slice of insanity was the fact that he was an engineer, an architect- it was in his very nature to determine the roots and structures of a substance - be it a person or a ride. So, of course Bertrum would find himself fascinated with the dark man- unknown, silent, but so very aware of the gestalt of the studio and its inner workings. Bertrum wanted to understand him, wanted to comprehend why Norman was so quiet and observant. There had to be a source, a reason, or at least a psyche behind that stoic façade. Unless the man was a blank slate, and simply took in information for no reason; robotic and route. Even so, that too entranced Bertrum, his adoration of automatons and electronics something he keenly shared with Lacie. And, apparently, Norman. 

Bertrum had to learn more about him. He had to. It was becoming an obsession - and any obsession around Norman was a problem, the damn gossip. One could only imagine how much worse an obsession about Norman would be. Bertrum constantly had the passing thought that Norman was well aware of the park maker’s crush, but he dismissed it with the knowledge that everyone had an attraction to the secretive projectionist. Therefore it was totally fine if he had one, too, and Norman hardly was aware of Bertrum’s little crush specifically. 

Maybe.

Or maybe Bertrum was projecting, really, really hard. But that would be ridiculous to assume that. After all, Bertrum was a rational minded, level headed Brit. Therefore, projecting his emotions onto other people was a stupid, nonsensical notion. 

Lacie was getting sick of Bertrum’s excuses and stammered brush offs. Eventually, she whipped around to face him (while he was rambling about these exact things, to be precise) and pointed a wrench in his face. 

“Ya need to stop ignoring the fact that you got it down bad,” she remarked, in a vaguely threatening manner, haphazardly waving the metal tool around. Bertrum gawked, and she went on, apparently quite annoyed at the man’s skirting around the issue. “It’s been over a year of this silly crush, Bertie. Just man up and talk to the guy, damn it.”

After a long moment of silence, Bertrum managed to squeak; “But what on Earth am I going to talk to him about? He hardly talks to anyone! And, I do not have a- a crush! That’s utterly preposterous to even suggest that I have one! I’m not some, some teenager, I’m an accomplished middle to upper aged amusement park creator! I am the great Bertrum Piedmont! I’m not scared of a projectionist! Even one as mysterious, and handsome, and fetching as Polk. Even if it is Norman.”

Lacie’s half lidded gaze was entirely unamused. 

“You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?” Bertrum scoffed. “I’m doing nothing!”

“You’re doing that ‘showman’ thing,” Lacie replied, making air quotes with hir fingers. “The one that you use when you try to pitch to investors. I’m not an investor. I’m your friend. Your best friend, in fact. Is that too childish for you, too?”

Bertrum, his mouth in a straight line, shook his head. 

“Good.” Lacie gave a slight smile, almost a smirk. “And, you should know, that as your friend, you ain’t foolin’ me. Go talk to him. Ask him about his work, what he does. You know that’s the best way to start.”

“You’re right,” Bertrum sighed, shoulders dropping slightly. “Yes, you’re right.”

“When have ya ever known me to be wrong?” Lacie did smirk then. Bertrum rolled his eyes. “Of course I’m right. Now shoo. Get out of my workshop before I turn you into a projector.” 

“Okay, alright, I’m leaving,” Bertrum brushed off his suit jacket as he stood. “What do you think, though? You and Norman are close. You’re both the biggest gossips in the studio. Has he mentioned anything?”

“No,” Lacie shrugged, already back to tinkering away. “He can be pretty dense when it comes to observing people who are observing him. I think that this will come out of left field for him.” 

Bertrum hesitated, but nodded. 

“Alright,” he resigned himself to his fate. “I’ll talk to him.”

Well, there was a slight caveat to that. Bertrum never said when he would talk to Norman. 

So he was off the hook. 

That was, at least, what he was telling himself. He was, once again, attempting to persuade himself that it was not a big deal, that everyone had feelings now and then for the tall, relaxed man. That it really was not just a Bertrum thing. 

But it was getting… almost painful. 

Dancing on eggshells whenever he was around Norman. It was not frequent, no, but usually when he was around Norman, it was when there were investors for Joey to attempt to persuade to sink their money into his foundations and charities. The studio was doing rather well, that was a fact, but the events for publicity never stoppered. And so, there would be Norman, showing new clips of toons and the studio’s strides in development; and Bertrum, with new rides and innovations in the BendyLand division. The two of them never really overlapped, though. 

Bertrum was determined to bypass that issue, though. 

Or maybe he was not, and was actually more than content continuing to pretend that having a crush on Norman was standard procedure. 

Though since Lacie essentially banned him from conversing about it with hir, he was out of options for talking about the matter, unless he wanted to talk to a plushie or the wall or the whispering pipes. 

That left bringing it up to Norman.

Bertrum held in a sigh as he looked over the newest edition to the BendyLand ‘hip’ train. Or whatever the kids were calling it these days. He had an assistant take over the presentation once he finished his ‘showman spiel’ (as Grant and Lacie coined it), and made his way over to the darkened room where Norman did the showings for the shorts. 

The bright light of the projector stunned him for a moment as he entered the miniature theater. It was impossible to tell if Norman was in his booth or not, enshrouded by darkness. Bertrum quietly took in a breath and made his way up the stairs, slipping past murmuring potential donors and giggling kids who were eager to get an extra peek at the shows to come. He knocked quietly on the projection booth door, knowing that Norman’s keen hearing would catch the soft gesture. 

There was the quietest sound of sanded, clean wood on smooth, polished wood, and Bertrum saw Norman’s outline, an abyss in front of the yellowish glow of the projector’s light. 

“Evening, Piedmont,” Norman’s low, graveled tones greeted him. The slight southern drawl that Bertrum found himself so enchanted by was a gentle tinge in his generally light words. “Here to watch some toons?”

“No,” Bertrum replied honestly. It earned a snicker from the man, who Bertrum could now see now that he was past the blazing bulb of the projector. “I wanted to talk to you.”

“Oh?” Norman raised an eyebrow. “Well, have a seat. I’ll be with you when I change out these reels.” 

Bertrum nodded, sitting in the seat that Norman indicated. He watched quietly as the one-eyed man carefully switched out the reels, putting in a new set of the trailers and playable teasers. That was something Joey was working on - interactivity. It boggled Bertrum’s mind, to say the least, and so, he tried not to think about it too hard. Lacie had spent far too long attempting to explain the vocal tech to the ride maker- though he was slowly figuring it out. 

Norman heavily sat beside him. Bertrum felt a drink pressed into his hands, though he hesitated to drink it, unsure what it was. Everything about Norman was a mystery - even whatever the cup in his hands contained. 

“It’s champagne,” Norman snorted, able to see in the dark much better than Bertrum, having spent several thousands of hours working in the confines of the studio dark and development rooms. Bertrum nodded a bit hastily, trying to cover up his minor embarrassment at not realizing what the simple drink was. Norman gently tipped a glass of his own against Bertrum’s. “Successful night, from what I’ve overheard.”

“Yes, it’s gone rather well,” Bertrum replied, attempting miserably to figure out how to… talk to Norman. “I take it that the crowd has been perceptive to the new technology that Drew is working on?”

“Yeah,” Norman confirmed, smiling down at the crowd. He had moved to lean over the lip of the window, his eyes reflecting the toons in front of them. His gaze, though, was drawn to the people. “Sure is nice to see folks appreciating art.”

“It is,” Bertrum murmured, looking down at his glass. The bubbles in the drink were like spheres of gold, gentle and brilliant. His chest felt a little tight, and he resisted the urge to rub at it. Then, once again, Norman sat beside him. The projectionist drained his glass with a slow tilt of his head, exhaling softly as he relaxed in the seat. He nudged Bertrum- prompting him to speak. “Ah, mm.” His mind went blank. “I… well, I suppose I wanted to talk to you. We’ve worked together for… a long time, now, and we’ve hardly exchanged words.”

“That’s… true,” Norman slowly responded. Bertrum took a sip of his champagne to avoid having to continue speaking. He was glad for the dark - it hid his nervous tremoring, and the slight flush that was sure to be on his face. If it was not a more intense one. “Truth be told, Piedmont, I had gotten the impression that you weren’t the biggest fan of me.”

Bertrum choked on his drink. Of all things, that was the last thing he expected to hear. Flabbergasted, he stared at Norman for a good long moment. 

“I’m the biggest fan of you, damnit,” Bertrum sputtered. “What in Heaven’s name gave you the notion that I didn’t like you?” 

“Well, the way that you’d watch me,” Norman replied, surprised. “Pretty intense.”

Bertrum stared. 

Then started laughing, desperately trying to keep from guffawing. 

“Norman.”

“Yeah? What’s so funny?” 

“I like you,” Bertrum said, grinning. “What are your dinner plans?”

It was Norman’s turn to laugh.

[shiningshard]

Garfeld

[i2rizz]

Pre-relationship! Isagi who thought he was being subtle about his crush.

Until he made a PowerPoint ranking all the times you smiled at him.

Slide 7 was “smile #3 at the vending machine—possibly meant for me”

He never showed it to you (thank God), but Reo found it.

You still don't know Isagi once wrote-

“Yoichi + Y/n = Tactical Pairing” in his planner with little hearts.

Pre-relationship! Kaiser who called you annoying every time you breathed near him.

But bought two of everything in the vending machine just in case you wanted one.

When you asked why he had an extra melon soda:

“Hah? I’m not giving it to you. But like. If you took it. Whatever”

Also: tackled a guy in dodgeball for hitting you once. “It was strategy”

He’s in love. Deep. Denial level: Olympic gold.

Pre-relationship! Barou who screamed at you to stop walking alone at night.

You: “Then walk with me?”

Barou: “I’M NOT YOUR DOG”

Proceeds to follow you the entire way like a furious Rottweiler.

Buys two protein bars, then shoves one in your bag. “Don’t be weak.”

You: “Aww, thank you.”

Barou: “It’s not for you. I dropped it.”

It was still sealed.

Pre-relationship! Sae who spotted you standing at the vending machine, trying to decide between two drinks, and silently sighed.

After a few moments of you struggling to pick, he just walked over, hit the button for both, and handed them to you without saying a word.

You stared at him, baffled. “You didn’t even ask—”

“Clearly, you were having trouble,” he muttered before walking off, leaving you clutching two drinks and wondering if he’d actually done something nice.

Pre-relationship! Rin who once saw you drop your pencil case in the hallway and, without thinking, lunged to grab it before you could even bend down.

You blinked in surprise as Rin awkwardly thrust it back into your hands, face red.

“Uh... I wasn’t trying to be helpful or anything,” he mumbled, a little too defensive.

“Yeah, I figured” you said, grinning as he walked away, clearly pretending he didn’t care.

You made a mental note to thank him later. Somehow, you knew he’d do it again.

Pre-relationship! Bachira Who noticed you sketching in the back of class, completely absorbed in your own world.

One day, he decided to sit next to you, not even trying to talk, just staring at your artwork with a grin on his face.

“You’re drawing again. Wanna show me?”

You hesitated but handed over your sketchbook.

To your surprise, he started adding random little doodles and silly comments.

“Yeah, but I think it needs more monsters. Maybe a dragon? Definitely a dragon”

[joycrispy]

One thing I love about Crowley --never stated, but consistently shown-- is that he is, at heart, an engineer.

I have a few different things to say about that. Let's unpack them.

As the Unnamed Angel, we see his designs for the Pillars of Creation are millions of pages long, comprised of cramped text, footnotes, diagrams, schematics, etc. It's very...Renaissance polymath, in the way it implies a particular intersection of artist and inventor.

Also: in the naked romanticism with which he views his stars.

We already knew he made stars, but in s2 we learn that he did NOT sculpt each of them by hand. He designed a nebula ("a star factory," he says) that will form several thousand young stars and proto-planets, and all --aside from getting the 'factory' running-- without him lifting a finger. We also learn that these young stars and proto-planets stand in contrast to those made by other angels, which are going to come 'pre-aged.'

...I'm reminded of Hastur and Ligur's approach to temptations. Damning one human soul at a time, devoting singular attention to it over the course of years or decades, and how that stands in contrast to Crowley's reliance on, quote, 'knock-on effects.'

Ligur: It's not exactly...craftsmanship. Crowley: Head office don't seem to mind. They love me down there.

Hm.

I'm also reminded of the M25.

The M25 may not be as grand as a nebula (sentences you only say in GOmens fandom...), but LIKE his nebula it's an intricate, self-sustaining engine that does Crowley's work for him, many times over. Again.

That's some pretty neat characterization --and so is the indication towards Crowley's disinterest in victimizing anyone tempting individual people. It takes a considerable amount of planning and effort (and creeping about in wellies), but in accordance with his design the M25 generates a constant stream of low-grade evil on a gigantic scale.

Cumulatively gigantic, that is. Individually? Negligible.

But no other demon understands human nature well enough to parse that one million ticked-off motorists are not, in any meaningful way, actually equivalent to one dictator, or one mass-murderer, or even one little influential regressive. That's the trick of it. Crowley gets Hell's approval (which he NEEDS to survive, and to maintain the degree of freedom he's eked out for himself), and at the same time ensures that any actual ~Evil Influence~ is spread nice and thin.

It's some clever machinery. And he knows it, too:

The Unnamed Angel and Crowley are both proud of their ideas.

(musings on professional pride, Leonardo da Vinci, the crank handle, and 'the point to which Crowley loves Aziraphale' under the cut)

In the 1970's Crowley gives a presentation on the M25, projector and all, to a room full of increasingly impatient demons. Maybe the presentation was work-ordered; the 'can I hear a WAHOO?' definitely wasn't.

Before the Beginning, the Unnamed Angel can barely contain his excitement about his nebula. Aziraphale manages a baffled-but-polite, "....That's nice... :)"

11 years ago, Hastur and Ligur want to 'tell the deeds of the day,' and Crowley smiles to himself because (according to the script-book) he knows he has 'the best one.'

(Naturally, his 'deed' has nothing to do with tempting anybody, and everything to do with setting up a human-powered Rube-Goldberg machine of petty annoyance. Oodles of 'Evil' generated; very little harm done.)

Hastur and Ligur don't get it, of course. That's also consistent.

Nobody ever knows what the hell he's talking about.

It didn't make it on-screen, but, in both the novel AND the script-book, Crowley was friends with Leonardo da Vinci. The quintessential Renaissance polymath. That's where he got his drawing of the Mona Lisa --they're getting very drunk together, and Crowley picks up the 'most beautiful' of the preliminary sketches. He wants to buy it. Leonardo agrees almost off-the-cuff, very casual, because they're friends, and because he has bigger fish to fry than haggling over a doodle:

He goes, "Now, explain this helicopter thingie again, will you?" Because he's an engineer, too.

(It is 1519 at the latest, in this scene. Why the FUCK would Crowley know about helicopters, and be able to explain them, comprehensively, to Leonardo da Vinci?

...Well. I choose to believe he got bored one day and worked it out. Look, if you know how to build a nebula, you can probably handle aerodynamics. And anyway, I think it's telling that this is his idea of shooting the shit. 'A drunken mind speaks a sober heart,' and all. He probably babbled about Aziraphale long enough to make poor Leo sick)

Apart from Aziraphale, Leonardo da Vinci is the only person Crowley has any keepsakes or mementos of.

Think about that, though. Aziraphale's bookshop is bursting with letters, paintings, busts, and personalized signatures memorializing all the humans he's known and befriended over 6000 years (indeed: Aziraphale has living human friends up and down Whickber Street. He's part of a community).

Crowley doesn't have any of that. It's just the stone albatross from the Church (for pining), the infamous gay sex statue (for spicy pining), the houseplants (for roleplaying his deepest trauma over and over, as one does), and this one piece of artwork, inscribed, "To my friend Anthony from your friend Leo da V."

To me, at least, that suggests a level of attachment that seems to be rare for Crowley.

...Maybe he liked having someone to talk shop with? Someone who was interested? Someone engaged enough to ask questions when they didn't immediately understand?

...Anyway.

There's also the matter of the crank handle.

This thing:

This is one of the subtler changes from the book. In the book, Crowley knows Satan is coming and, desperate, arms himself with a tire iron. It's the best he can do. He's not Aziraphale; he wasn't made to wield a flaming sword.

The show, IMO, improves on this considerably. Now he, like Aziraphale, gets to face annihilation with what he was made for in his hand. And it's not a weapon, not even an improvised one like the tire iron.

He made stars with it.

[both gifs by @fuckyeahgoodomens]

If you Google 'crank handle,' you'll get variations on this:

Crank handles have been around for centuries. Consisting of a mechanical arm that's connected to a perpendicular rotating shaft, they are designed to convert circular motion into rotary or reciprocating motion.

Which is to say they're one of the 'simple machines,' like a lever or a pulley; the bread and butter of engineering. You'll also get a list of uses for a crank handle, archaic and modern. Among them: cranking up the engine of an old-fashioned car... say, a 1933 Bentley. That's what Crowley has been using his for, lately. But he's had it since he was an angel and he's still, it seems, very capable of it's angelic applications.

Stopping time. For instance.

(This is conjecture on my part, but, I like to imagine that Crowley has the ability to stop time for the same reason I can --and should-- unplug my computer before I perform maintenance on it. Time and Space are a matched set, after all, and in his designs in particular, one feeds into the other.)

I know everyone has already said this, but: I REALLY LIKE that when he needs to channel the heights of his power, he does so not with a weapon but with a tool. Practically with a little handheld metaphor for ingenuity. One from long-lost days when he made beautiful things.

(And he loved it. Still loves it --he incorporated that metaphor into the Bentley, didn't he?)

Let Aziraphale rock up to the apocalypse with a weapon: he has his own compelling thematic reasons to do exactly that. Crowley's story is different, and fighting isn't the only way to express defiance. And if you've been condemned as a demon and assumed to be destructive by your very nature, what better way than this?

He made stars. They didn't manage to take that from him.

Neither Crowley nor Aziraphale are fighters, really --they have no intention of fighting in any war. They'll annoy everyone until there's no war to fight in, for a start. But between the two, if one must be, then that one is Aziraphale. Principality of the Earth, Guardian of the Eastern Gate, Wielder of the Flaming Sword... all that stuff. Even if he'd prefer not to, it's very clear that Aziraphale can rise to the occasion, if he must.

Crowley was never that kind of angel. He wasn't a Principality. He doesn't have a sword.

...And yet.

It's Crowley who protects. He's the one who paces, who stands guard, who circles Aziraphale and glares out at the world, just daring anyone else to come near.

In light of everything else I've said here, I think that's interesting.

Obviously part of it is that Aziraphale enjoys it and, you know, good for him. He's living his best life, no doubt no doubt no doubt. But what about Crowley? What's driving that behavior, really?

Have you heard the phrase, 'loved to the point of invention'? Well, what if 'the point of invention' was where you started? What if where you end up involves glaring out at the world, just daring anyone else to come near? What is that, in relation to the bright-eyed thing you used to be?

What do we name the point to which Crowley loves Aziraphale?

...Thinking about how an excitable angel with three million pages of star design he wants to tell you all about...becomes a guard dog. Is all.

[dunmeshistash]

Dungeon Meshi Information Sources

Dungeon Meshi has several worldbuilding details and extra comics in different publications and I think they get pretty hard to keep track of so I wanted to make a guide and explain what is what for people that maybe want to look into it themselves!

The Main Information sources are:

Daydream Hour 2-5: Sketch compilations and extra comics by Ryoko Kui with commentary, which can be found on EH Scans blog translated, and also in mangadex in between the manga chapters (The first daydream hour isn't dungeon meshi related)

The Complete Daydream Hour: Or more specifically "Ryoko Kui Doodle Book Daydream Hour" Released in january 2024 it still hasn't been fully translated into english. This version compiles extras and sketches from daydream hour 1-5 along with new content. Some of the exclusive comics have been translated and can be found on reddit and bato.to but the full thing is yet to be translated. (Update: Daydream Hour is gonna be realeased in english at the end of May 2025! You can pre-order on the Yen Press website)

Delicious in Dungeon World Guide: The Adventurer's Bible (2021): A guide by Ryoko Kui that compiles information about the characters, monsters and the world. An official english version is available. It was released in february 2021 and has information pertinent for up to chapter 71 from the manga. It contains extra comics for all the main characters and for all the human/demi human races. The extras that talk about side character's backstories are from this book and the characters section has been translated by EH Scans (Also on mangadex)

Delicious in Dungeon World Guide: Adventurer's Bible Complete Edition (2024): Released in february 2024 and still untranslated, this version of the Adventurer's Bible has information updated for the end of the manga, there's even more extras and lots of comics about post-canon. Some of them are being translated and posted into reddit but I haven't seen them anywhere else. The raw is available on bato.to (edit: Yen Press has announced the new AB but still no dates)

Manga and Ryoko Kui's Blog: Some of it are from the manga itself, like Monster Tidbits and other Harta Magazine Extras (Where dungeon meshi is published) and also from the author's own personal blog. Lots of the drawings in her blog were deleted with the publishing of the complete daydream hour but you can still see what was unpublished using the wayback machine.

Blu-ray: The blurays is where the "what if" extra comics come from, the covers also have original art by Ryoko Kui and some other extra illustrations you can see on this tag.

I hope this helps somehow! It was pretty confusing for myself when I first started looking for more extras after finishing the manga.

The things I post here are all based on one of these and I try to put in the tags what the source is!

[noirscript]

lavender snow

pairing/s: yandere husband x f!reader description: You find the old tape by accident, tucked where no one should’ve known to look—yet somehow, Luca did. As her voice spills softly through the static, you realize you’re not listening to a memory… you’re remembering something you were never meant to forget. warning/s: yandere | hints of memory lost | implied past abuse note/s: I accidentally found out that my mic's fried af and got this idea. I might add this kind of content on my ko-fi for monthly subs? It'll come with complimentary fic of course. Also, I'll add the banner later. p.s. it's unedited audio so it's scuffed as hell.

Masterlist | Dark Roast | Sovereign's Reign Pre-Order | Commission | Tip Jar

You don’t remember the tape.

Not where it came from, not how it ended up inside a box of out-of-season clothes, or why your name is written on the spine in your own handwriting—faint and fading, like it tried to disappear. The box had been buried deep in the attic, hidden beneath moth-eaten sweaters and the sagging ribs of a broken umbrella. You hadn’t even meant to find it. But now it sits in your lap like it’s been waiting for you to come back.

The cassette is warm in your hands. No label, no markings, just a faint impression where something had once been stuck to it. Your stomach tightens. You’re not sure why, but you dig out the old player from the back of a cupboard and feed the tape into its slot. The machine shudders to life with a soft whirr, then static, and then—your voice.

“Hi, sweetheart. If you’re remembering this... I guess that means he’s kept it safe. Just like he promised.”

Your breath catches. The words settle heavily in the space around you, too tender, too familiar. It’s your voice, no doubt about it, but there's something off in the cadence—like someone rehearsing affection through clenched teeth.

You sit still, your eyes fixed on the aging plastic player as your voice continues.

“I thought maybe one day, when the world feels quieter... you’d want to remember this. Us. The way the light used to fall through the window at 4PM. How the air smelled like sun-warmed sheets and cinnamon. He always made sure everything was just perfect, didn’t he?”

A strange pressure blooms in your chest. You don’t remember making this recording. You don’t remember any of it—the window light, the scent of cinnamon, or whoever he is.

You sound so… happy.

Too happy.

The you on the tape laughs lightly, but even that sounds rehearsed. It’s too round, too smooth, like a laugh meant to soothe someone else. Not you.

“I don’t even know how long it’s been now,” your voice says. “Days feel a little soft around the edges. But every one of them is filled with love. He tells me that all the time. That I’m loved. That I’m safe.”

That last word—safe—wraps around your spine and squeezes. You don’t know why. Maybe it’s the way you say it. Quietly. Soft as a secret. The kind of word you only whisper when the truth is something you’re not allowed to say.

A prickle crawls over the back of your neck.

“Sometimes I dream about the park. That little bench under the jacaranda tree? You remember. I said something silly about the petals looking like lavender snow. You laughed.”

You swallow. Your throat is dry.

“That was before I knew how loud the world could be when you don’t belong to it anymore.”

The air in the room turns cold. You don’t remember that bench. You don’t remember that moment. But your body responds to the sound of it—like it’s chasing something long buried. Your shoulders draw in. Your fingertips twitch. A faint headache blooms at your temples.

“But it’s okay now,” the voice continues. “He says I don’t have to worry about any of that. Not anymore. Not with him.”

The machine clicks faintly as the tape continues to roll. You hear the rustle of fabric in the background. Wood creaking. A low breath, not yours. You pause the tape.

The room is silent.

You press play again, hesitating just long enough to question whether you should.

“I should go. He doesn’t like it when I record too long without him.”

There’s a pause. Barely a second. But it’s there. You can hear your voice hover just a little too long over that sentence, like you're waiting to see if the walls will punish you for saying it aloud.

“But I hope, when you hear this… you smile. Just a little. Just enough to remember me the way he wants me to be remembered.”

Another pause. Your voice drops lower, almost reverent.

“Perfect. Quiet. Home.”

Then: a click. End of tape.

You sit frozen on the floor. The stillness around you is thick and wrong. You want to dismiss it as a prank. Maybe an old performance, an acting exercise, something you’d recorded and forgotten about. But something in your gut rebels at the thought. This wasn't a character. That was you.

You stand, rubbing your arms, suddenly cold despite the sunlight slanting through the blinds. Your feet move without you telling them to, carrying you to the kitchen where you run cold water over your hands. But when you glance down, something catches your eye.

Your left palm.

Faint black ink, faded by time and skin, clings to the lines of your hand like a warning:

don’t trust him

You blink, heart stuttering. The writing is old. Worn. You scrub at it, but it doesn’t fade. You don't remember writing it, don’t even remember seeing it before today. But it’s your handwriting. And the fear in your chest tells you you wrote it for a reason.

You rush back to the box in the attic, tearing through what’s left. Beneath the collapsed lid of a hollowed-out book, you find a crumpled scrap of paper. Another note, also written by you.

“If you find the tape, go to the basement. There’s more.”

The words don’t make sense. You’ve lived in this house for two years. There is no basement.

But your body moves before your thoughts catch up. Your steps lead you to the hallway where a locked door waits. One you’ve always assumed was just a closet. You’ve never had a key.

Today, it’s open.

The stairs beyond descend into shadow.

You hesitate, every part of you screaming to stop, to turn around. But your hand grips the railing and you descend slowly, your heartbeat loud in your ears. The air grows colder with every step. The smell down here is old. Musty. Earthy.

And faintly metallic.

The overhead light flickers to life when you tug the chain, bathing the room in weak, yellow glow. There’s a table against the far wall. And on it—a cassette deck. Surrounding it is a neat stack of tapes. Dozens of them. All unlabeled. All pristine.

You approach slowly, dread sinking like lead into your bones. The deck is already loaded. You press play.

The familiar whir clicks to life. Then:

“Hi, sweetheart. If you’re remembering this...”

Your knees nearly give. It’s the same recording. Or no—not the same. A different take. You’re talking about a different day. Different sunlight. Different cinnamon. Different bruises, maybe.

You grab the next tape. And the next. One by one, you feed them into the machine and listen.

Each time, your voice greets someone with warmth. Each time, you sound a little more distant. A little more tired. A little more robotic. In one, you sound as if you’re crying through a smile. In another, you start to say something else—“If anyone finds th—” before the tape cuts off with a harsh click.

You begin to shake.

And then you hear something you hadn’t before.

In the background, beneath your voice, there’s breathing.

Yours. But not just yours.

Heavier. Male.

Closer.

Footsteps.

Not on the tape. Behind you.

You turn sharply.

Someone is coming down the stairs.

Your stomach turns. Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out. The light above you flickers. A shadow moves across the wall.

Then a voice. Low. Warm. Familiar.

“You always forget, don’t you?”

You can’t breathe.

“That’s why I made the tapes. So you’d remember. So you’d always come back to me.”

He steps into the light. His expression is soft, fond. Too fond.

“Happy anniversary, sweetheart.”

The light buzzes overhead, then sputters out.

In the dark, the tape keeps playing.

And from it—your voice whispers one last thing:

“Perfect. Quiet. Home.”

tbc.

noirscript © 2025

Taglist: @hopingtoclearmedschool @violetvase @zanzie @neuvilletteswife4ever @yamekocatt @mel-vaz @vind1cta @greatwitchsongsinger @delusionalricebowl @nomi-candies @jsprien213 @kaii-nana33 @saturnalya @yandereaficionado @pinksaiyans @ivantillenthusiast @missybabes

[smartmachine123]

Looking to Buy a Pre Drawing Machine? Here’s what to Consider

If you're in the wire or cable manufacturing industry, investing in the right equipment is crucial for efficiency and quality. A Pre Drawing Machine plays a vital role in processing metal wires before they undergo further shaping or finishing. Whether you're new to the industry or looking to upgrade your existing setup, choosing the right Pre Drawing Machine requires careful consideration.

[delusionalwriterr]

Gym Buddy

Pairing: Beefy!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: You have a hard time keeping your eyes off of your gym crush.

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: none

A/N: Shoutout to my gym girlies out there, this one's for you 🫵🏻

Masterlist

———

“What are we hitting today?” your friend asks you as you both enter the gym. You look over to the receptionist and greet him with a smile. Adjusting the gym bag on your shoulder, you turn to your friend and shrug. 

“I was thinking legs?” you suggest as the two of you head to the locker area. You usually go to the gym alone, but today was thankfully one of the rare occasions your schedule aligned with your friend’s so you took this opportunity to invite her to the gym with you— something you used to do back when you were still in college. 

Your friend nods in response before beginning to stuff her locker with the stuff she didn’t need, you mirroring her actions. “Quads, hams, glutes, or all of the above?” she chuckles, pulling out her shaker bottle and scooping in some pre-workout. 

“I did quads last time, are you cool with hams and glutes?” you ask to which she nods again. “But you can do quads if you want.” 

This time she shakes her head, “Nah, you know me. I can never say no to a good glute workout.” She turns to her side and nudges your hip with hers, drawing a chuckle from you. 

You walk towards the workout area, your eyes scanning the room and immediately stopping by the benches. You feel your heart hammer in your chest as you watch him do bench presses— his chest puffing out and leaving no room for imagination thanks to the compression shirt he was wearing. 

Bucky Barnes started going to your gym a few months ago, and to say you were shocked to see him there the first time was an understatement. Not that you were complaining though, but you practically fell off the treadmill you were using when you saw him walk in for the first time donning an oversized shirt, a pair of sweatpants, and a baseball cap. 

Safe to say that he is definitely your gym crush, and you would be lying when you say that you look forward to going to the gym just to see if he was there. 

Your gaze stayed on him as your friend led you to the Smith machine. You glance at his face, eyebrows furrowed in concentration and mouth letting out huffs of breath as he raises the 100kg dumbells above him. 

Goddamn. 

Your attention is brought back to your friend as she begins loading the bar with a few weights to start your first exercise. You snap out of your daze and help her by loading up the other side before finally beginning. 

Taking turns, the two of you did a few sets of back squats, but your mind was definitely elsewhere. You desperately tried not to look at Bucky for too long, afraid that your friend might notice or worse, you get caught by Bucky staring at him. 

“Okay, what’s up? I feel like you left your brain back at home,” your friend joked as you took a break before starting your next exercise. You roll your eyes, taking a swig from your water bottle, ignoring her question. 

Your eyes subconsciously trail to Bucky, once again. This time, he was hunching over the bench as he stared at his phone, chest rising and falling at a steady pace. Your friend follows your gaze and hums in realization. 

“Ah, I see,” she pipes up with a smirk on her face, “you got hots for the Avenger.” 

You laugh softly, turning back to her and shrugging your shoulders. “Guilty as charged.” 

“Why don’t you go for it?” she pesters, causing you to rapidly shake your head. “No way, I’m scared he might just glare at me or something.” 

She scoffs before beginning to look for other plates to load the smith machine. She looks around your area only to find none that would suffice for your next exercise. So she scans the gym in search of heavier plates only to find a stack of 25’s that were conveniently placed beside Bucky. 

She smirks before trudging her way towards him despite your attempts to pull her back. “Come back here!” you whisper sharply, but ultimately give up once she reaches him. 

You see her gently tap Bucky on the shoulder, prompting the super soldier to turn and face her. You feel your whole body tense and your face starts to heat up. You watch as your friend points to the stack of plates beside Bucky and you see him nod and begin to stand up. 

Oh god, is he coming over here? You thought to yourself. Sure enough, you see your friend and Bucky each pick up a plate and head towards your direction. Your eyes briefly meet his, causing you to turn away and act busy by scrolling through your phone. 

You feel your heartbeat quicken as you see them grow closer through your peripheral until they are standing right in front of the machine. “Thank you so much!” your friend smiles as they both load the weights onto the bar. “I would’ve asked my friend to help me out, but the pre-workout hasn’t kicked in for her, you know?” she jokes, earning a soft chuckle from Bucky and a glare from you. 

“It’s no problem,” Bucky says, gaze shifting between the two of you, a shy smile on his lips. “Have a nice workout,” he adds, before heading back over to the benches. 

Your friend turns to you, a wicked smile on her lips. “See? He won’t bite,” she chides, causing you to roll your eyes before heading to the machine to start RDLs. “Unless you’re into that sort of stuff,” she continues, earning a smack on the shoulder from you. 

“I’m never working out with you again.” 

—

The next few days were not as uneventful as you’d hoped. You thought by going to the gym alone like you usually do would mean that you’d have more time to just subtly watch Bucky from across the room without worrying about any friends that would force you to interact with him. 

But just a few days after your initial interaction with Bucky, you were put in a situation where you had the chance to look at him up close once again. 

You were doing tricep pushdowns on the cable machine when you felt a hand tap you on the shoulder, causing you to jump. You turn around to meet the pair of blue eyes you so desperately gazed at all the time. 

You were frozen in your spot as you took in how attractive he looked in his compression shirt, arms bulging by the sleeves. You were snapped out of your daze when you realized he was talking to you. “I’m sorry, what?” you asked sheepishly, removing one of your earphones. 

Bucky smiled shyly in return. “Are you using the other cable?” he asked, pointing at the machine next to you. You shook your head, heat rushing to your face upon the thought of him working out beside you. “No, go ahead.” 

He smiled again before positioning himself beside you and starting his workout. You tried your best not to get distracted by the godly sight next to you, but you didn’t muster enough courage to talk to him after that. 

The next time you talk was the week after that. You were doing a particularly heavy set of dumbbell shoulder presses (while keeping note of Bucky somewhere behind you doing bicep curls). It was already your third set, and you were aiming to push out 12 reps until you started to feel your weaker arm give out. 

You braced your core harder as you pushed yourself to get the last rep in until you saw Bucky drop the dumbbells he was holding to rush behind you. “I got you,” he mumbled, lightly placing his hands just below your triceps to give you stability. 

You tried to ignore your heart that was hammering in your chest as you were finally able to fully lift the dumbbells over your head. You moved to lower them to put them down, but Bucky suddenly wrapped his hands on your wrists. “All you, give me one more.”

Jesus Christ. 

You pushed yourself one more time, ignoring the pain in your shoulders as you gave it your all. Once you finally put the dumbbells down, you turned to him. “Thanks,” you smiled, which Bucky returned. 

“No problem,” he replied, but before you could say anything else, he was already walking back to his spot to continue his set. You were extra energized to workout that day. 

Which brings you to a week after that. You were just stepping out of your car when you spot Bucky getting off his bike. You subtly watch as he took his helmet off, and revel in the way he tied his hair into a small bun by the nape of his neck. 

God, you were down bad. 

You were too busy trying not to drool and fail to notice that he was actually staring back at you. It wasn’t until he gave you a shy nod when you snap back to reality and return the gesture but throwing him a sheepish wave. 

“What are you training today?” he calls out as he watches you take your gym bag from the trunk of your car and slung it on your shoulder. “Oh, I’m doing pull today. What about you?” you ask, silently hoping he was planning to do the same. 

“Mind if I join you?” he asks which practically made your heart do backflips. Trying to hide your giddiness, you give him a short nod as you and him begin to make your way inside the gym. 

You enter and greet a few familiar faces as Bucky follows suit before stopping in front of the lat pulldown machine. “Are you okay with starting with this?” you ask. 

“What, no warm up?” Bucky asks in return, prompting your cheeks to heat up. “I don’t warm up,” you start, “And before you lecture me, I know it’s bad… I’m just too lazy to do it.”

He chuckles softly at this as he begins to take off the sweatshirt he was wearing to reveal that he was wearing a muscle tee underneath, leaving almost no room for imagination. “S’okay. I’m too lazy to warm up sometimes too.” 

You laugh as you take a seat in front of the machine, pick a favorable weight, and begin your set. You weren’t going to lie to yourself, the thought of Bucky Barnes standing just beside you to watch you do your set was both nerve wracking and motivating at the same time. Sure, you wanted to impress him with the amount of reps you could push out, but the way he was staring at you was also making your knees grow weak. 

Thankfully, you finish your first set with minimal struggle before standing up and gesturing for him to go next. “That seemed a little too easy for you,” Bucky began, “I know you can lift heavier than that, doll.” 

You try to ignore the way your stomach flipped upon hearing the pet name and reply with a playful scoff instead. You take a swig from your bottle as he starts his set. While lifting the whole stack, you admire the way his back muscles expand and contract without focusing too much on the soft grunts that were leaving his mouth. 

Did it suddenly get too hot in here? 

After a few more workouts and taking turns checking each other out, you both decide to end the day with a set of hammer curls. You watch in awe as he begins to work with a pair of 80kg dumbbells, making your weight look puny. 

“If you don’t mind me asking,” you huffed as you continue your set. You see him slightly turn his head towards you in acknowledgment. “Given that you literally have a serum that makes you… you know, strong enough to lift a truck—“ he laughs at that, “why do you still work out?” 

He ends his set and places his dumbbells back on the rack. “Well it sort of feels like therapy for me. When I go to the gym, it’s like— are you done with these?” he stops, pointing at the dumbbells you placed down while he was talking. You nod and before you could protest, he picks up the pair with one hand and places them back on the rack for you. “Anyway, when I go to the gym, I can forget about everything, you know? It feels nice to leave the rest of the world behind and pretend like everything is normal in my life,” he finishes. 

Bucky lifts his metal arm in front of him. “This doesn’t really help with that though,” he adds, letting out a sad laugh. Your heart clenches at his sentiment, but before you know it, you blurt out, “Do you wanna get coffee after this?”

You widen your eyes at your sudden forwardness. A few weeks ago, you could barely approach him to ask help in re-racking weights, but you also never really imagined you would one day do pull with him, too. So this was sort of like a seize the day kind of thing. 

Bucky, too, was caught off guard with your invitation. He never really talked to anyone when he went to the gym, preferring to just keep to himself, but there was something about you that pulled him closer. Maybe it was how friendly you were with everyone in the gym or how he saw you continuously push yourself to your limit in every exercise you do, but he was always intrigued by you. 

His therapist told him to step out of his comfort zone more, so with a smile, he replies, “Only if you let me be your gym buddy from now on.” 

Your smile reaches your ears as you offer him your hand, which he gladly took, “Deal.” 

———

A/N: This really gives off crack energy, but hope you liked it either way ◡̈

[baskinbucky]

come back, be here.

pairing: avenger!bucky x fem!avenger reader

blurb: a mission failed, and a broken heart returned back at the headquarters, and despite having to save almost everyone, Bucky blames himself for it.

wc: 1.1k

a/n: i wrote this when i suddenly felt gloomy on a random thursday. this might be narrative heavy.

warnings: angst no comfort. mentions of death. reader left bucky some mementos to remember by. pre-established relationship between reader and bucky! oh, and reader is an honorary sister to bruce and tony.

The crisp walls, silence of the hospital wing, and a heartbeat monitor was home to Bucky for a while now. His features even more ragged and exhaustion evident in his physique. If one were to ask how was his sleep, he’d say he did not have one, not even a blink.

Every time that the doctors walked in to check your vitals, Bucky’s had that particular glimmer in his eyes, hope, that seems to be fading at every visit and at his every breath. It had been at least two birthdays that you’ve missed, and everyone still celebrated it within the hospital wing you’re confined on, and not back at the Avengers Tower.

As much as Clint, Steve, and Nat visited you so often, Bucky never left. It was as if he’d only bathe himself in sunlight if he goes out to buy a can of coke when the vending machines run out of them. Tony and Bruce, on the other hand, finds another way to bring you back home at the tower. They’ve completed a portion of the monitor, but it dramatically fails at any demonstration—yet they never gave up to bring it closer to perfection, so they can bring you back home.

There came a time when Bucky finally caved in and let Bruce, Natasha, and Tony stay by your side—pleading promises to them that even a slightest twitch of your finger, they must call him. There was a heavy, deafening silence within the room that none of the three decided to speak, and they knew how much you mean to Bucky and how Bucky meant to you—and seeing you both struggle so much after everything you both have been through, it aches them in such a way that even the slightest whisper of your name hurts their heart in ways imaginable.

The severe injuries you sustained upon saving civilians from ground zero has placed you in a position that made you choose between your life or theirs, and for you, it’s better to try and save everyone than sleep a wink knowing you did not even try, and that terrified you, because you know what its like to live a life that’s been in imminent danger and have no idea how to seek help.

Bruce moved closer to your bed and so did Tony, they were the closest to you simply because you three were tech geniuses and often times bonded through a game of golf and charity works when time allows. Tony felt like it was partly his fault because he was not able to find you under the rubble, but Bruce blames himself because he was not able to catch you from falling after one of your suits failed to operate, and Nat? Nat could only think of her sadness in the confinements of her room and ask herself why didn’t she just took the fall instead of you.

Yet no one dared to speak just yet.

because in their head, they knew they had to do something, but they knew in their heart, you wouldn’t blame them for it and coax them that whatever happened to you, is your choice alone and none of it reflects them.

“please, sweetheart, come home to us.”

was the words Tony could only muster, taking a seat at the edge of your bed while his hand holds yours.

“pepper misses you so much, you know? she asked me to tell you that as soon as you wake up, you both are going to Bali.” Tony pauses.

“I know you can hear me, sweetheart, I know you’re in there, just–just let us know you’re still here with us too.”

nothing—not even a twitch of finger gives them a sign that you’re there.

and it broke their hearts to see you all tangled up with a multitude of wires, replenishing of IV bags, and hell, even drawing out your blood for testing again and again just to make sure you have not suffered internal damage.

The three were pulled out of the reverie when Bucky returns with cups of coffee and sandwiches for them, he shaved and had his hair trimmed after Clint and Steve successfully convinced him. Sam came with him to visit and much to his surprise, he watches how Bruce and Tony took care of you like you’re their younger sister—their eyes bore into you with such longing.

“Tony, do you think she’ll wake up?”

“I don’t know anymore. All I could do is hope and wish that she will.”

Bucky stood silent, quietly placing down the paper bags on the table as he watches Bruce and Tony look at you ever so gently, Tony’s hands gently cup your cheeks, while Bruce’s gently threads his fingers through your hair.

All Natasha could do was watch and smile sadly as she watches the pair, not noticing the a bead of tear falling down to her cheeks. Sam notices how Natasha tries to keep her composure and moves towards her, handing her his handkerchief while Bucky stood idle—trying not to burst into tears as well.

and until now, Bucky blames himself for it.

He blames himself because he did not make it on time—he was already too late when he got to you. You were all bloodied up and to brink of unconsciousness, the only thing that’s keeping him to believe that you’re still with him during that time was your breathing slowing down, taking in air felt such a huge pain in your chest.

“I can’t breathe, it hurts.”

Everyone turned around to face Bucky, their expressions looked like they’ve seen a ghost—because they knew that he was the last person that held you and was able to talk to you before ultimately passing out.

“t-that’s what she said before she went into coma, she.. I.. we planned on making dinner for everyone that day,” Bucky says, his breathing hitch like everything that had happened that day two years ago come back haunting him like a ghost of time.

and on that day, he could recall the ghosts of his past and his future haunting him for something he never expected to happen, and that scared him.

Every memory with you aches his heart with yearning for your warmth, your smile, your kisses, that he believes he doesn’t deserve yet he got to feel with you anyway, it felt like it’s his karmic residues coming to take everything away from him, and that includes you, slipping away from his grasp the longer you laid on the hospital bed—slowly being wilted in time that stopped two years ago.

“If… If I could turn back time, I’d rather have me in that bed than she.”

and with that, Bucky burst to tears, and everyone in the room engulfed themselves in a hug that could only be mended with time, hoping that whoever is up there that is listening, could grant them even a short period of time to be with you.

and until then, it’s through wet pillow cases and eventual hugs from the people you love could help them hold each other this time, even in uncertainties of what the future holds for them, and for you.

end of part one! :)

[bloodytittiez]

Benny had been a brilliant theorist, a college professor; now he was little more than a semi-human, semi-simian. He had been handsome, the machine had ruined that. He had been lucid, the machine had driven him mad.(...)

Tried to draw pre-AM Benny with the little facial reconstruction knowledge I have. It's nowhere near perfect, let alone accurate, but I wanted to try to do him justice.

[pricesgirl]

Mary Janes - headcanons

.˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳.☁︎

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵

pre relationship

Jinx loved winding Y/N up, especially when it came to her precious, meticulously organized notes. She’d scribble crude doodles over the margins, sometimes even between Y/N’s perfect lines of text. Y/N’s skin would burn, and of course that only made Jinx do it more.

Y/N kept a literal clipboard—like, a real, physical clipboard—where she documented every single time Jinx pissed her off. We’re talking dates, times, categorized offenses, and passive-aggressive annotations in red pen. “Disrupted lecture with unsolicited kazoo solo,” “Graffiti in locker again (phallus-shaped??),” “Stole highlighter, replaced with crayon.”

Jinx had a habit of stealing Y/N’s favorite pens—not out of necessity, but pure, unfiltered spite. She knew Y/N would spiral, tearing through her bag like a woman possessed over her precious 0.38 Pilot G-2s.

It started with silent theft. Then escalated. Soon, Y/N started finding ransom notes tucked neatly into her notebooks: “If you ever want to see your gel pen again, meet me behind the vending machines. Come alone.” One time, Jinx even taped a note to her desk that read: “He misses you.” —with a single black G-2 dangling from a noose made of floss.

Jinx once slightly rearranged all of Y/N’s meticulously color-coded folders—blue tabs where the yellow ones should be, highlighters swapped just enough to sow chaos. It was surgical. Precise. Cruel.

Y/N noticed immediately. Of course she did. She didn’t sleep until every single tab was back in place. She even double-checked the ink flow in her pens. Twice. The next morning, there was a sticky note on her desk. “ur cute when you meltdown <3” In glitter gel pen. Y/N almost set her whole binder on fire.

All those graffiti hearts and messy scrawls splattered across Y/N’s locker? Lowkey love notes in disguise. Jinx would never admit it—not out loud—but half the time, they weren’t even insults. Just inside jokes, twisted quotes from books she knew Y/N liked, little phrases she’d overheard her say and pretended not to care about.

Y/N once rewrote an entire group lab report after Jinx, of course, decided to draw a massive dick in the margins. It wasn’t even subtle. Full-on masterpiece. Y/N, seething but in her quiet, meticulous way, submitted both versions to the professor with a passive-aggressive note: "Please disregard the vandalism. Some of us take this seriously."

Jinx once accidentally spilled acid on Y/N’s lab project. Y/N retaliated by submitting a formal complaint to the science department. Jinx then broke into the chem room at night and rearranged everything. The teacher blamed Y/N for it.

They’d glare across the room, roll their eyes whenever the other spoke, purposefully bump shoulders in the hallway. Everyone thought they were one more insult away from an all-out brawl. The sexual tension was vile.

Y/N accidentally tripped Jinx in the hallway once—after finding “Y/N is a giant nerd <3” scratched into the bathroom stall. Jinx retaliated by putting googly eyes on everything in Y/N’s locker. Even the apples. (apples ofc she is a teachers pet after all)

Y/N hated how aware she was of Jinx’s presence. How loud her laugh was. How her socks never matched. How her eyeliner smudged just right. She definitely didn’t sneak glances in class. That’d be ridiculous.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵

early relationship

Y/N secretly keeps track of all the weird things Jinx does—like the times she stares at her reflection in the cafeteria window like she’s plotting world domination or when she argues with a teacher just to watch their face turn red. Y/N doesn’t mean to. She just... likes knowing what she’s up to.

Jinx starts sharing her earbuds casually, but Y/N flinches the first few times, not because she doesn’t want to—because she wants to too much. Sitting close, knees touching, music low, pretending it’s no big deal while both their hearts are screaming.

Now Jinx's doodles are hearts stabbed with arrows, tiny cartoons of Y/N blushing, or stick figures holding hands. Y/N acts annoyed, but she quietly starts collecting them in the back of her binder.

Jinx starts leaving her stuff behind. A hoodie here, a beanie there. At first, Y/N folds them up and gives them back. Then she keeps them. Then she starts wearing them. Jinx nearly passes out the first time she sees Y/N in her oversized jacket.

Y/N starts cleaning Jinx’s room every time she’s over. Jinx makes fun of her for it… while watching her with the most pathetically fond smile. She lets her do it. Pretends she hates it. Loves it.

Y/N threatens to go full academic weapon on anyone who calls Jinx crazy. Jinx brushes it off with a laugh but clutches that memory like it’s gold.

Jinx starts carrying gum 'cause Y/N doesn’t like the taste of smoke (She acts like it’s for herself, spoiler alert it's not)

Jinx one time hands over a USB drive labeled “music for nerds who pretend not to like me.” Y/N burns her a CD in return, painfully curated with care, and includes a handwritten tracklist. Jinx listens to it every night before bed.

Jinx teaches Y/N how to play one of her favorite video games Y/N is terrible at it (to start with). Jinx is so smug about it—until Y/N stays up all night practicing in secret and finally beats her. Jinx demands a rematch. Y/N kisses her senseless.

Jinx brings her weird little offerings. A bottlecap shaped like a heart. A sticker that says “Certified geek.” A leaf that looks like it has freckles. Y/N saves every single one in a shoebox under her bed and labels it: Jinx’s chaos treasure pile.

Y/N learns how to do Jinx’s eyeliner. Very carefully. Very gently. Jinx fidgets at first, but the intimacy of it makes her go quiet, soft. Y/N’s hands tremble just a little, but the lines come out sharp. Perfect. Jinx won’t let anyone else touch her face after that.

Y/N starts carrying hand sanitizer Jinx likes the smell of. It’s this ridiculous artificial cherry scent that Y/N would never pick for herself—but Jinx once said it “smells like stolen candy and bad decisions.” And now Y/N keeps it clipped to her bag. Jinx notices. She always notices.

Jinx starts humming Y/N’s favorite study songs when she’s anxious. Not full singing—just little hums, off-tune and rough around the edges. But Y/N hears it from across the room and it grounds her. Every time.

The first time they share an umbrella, Jinx lets Y/N take all the coverage. Her shoulder gets soaked, her hair plastered to her forehead, but she keeps her hand steady. Y/N notices halfway through and tries to shift it, but Jinx just shrugs. “I like storms.”

Jinx marks the ceiling above Y/N’s bed with a tiny dot of glowing paint (like those glow in the dark starts but kinds personalised) so even in the dark, even when they’re apart, there’s one little point of light for Y/N to look at and feel like someone’s with her.

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college years

After all of Y/N’s early classes—no matter how early—Jinx is always waiting outside the lecture hall. She’s propped against the wall, hoodie half-zipped, headphones in (shitty wired ones on their last leg), holding a cup of coffee.

Jinx draws on Y/N’s wrists when she’s anxious. Little stars, eyes, crooked hearts. She uses one of Y/N’s fine-tip pens, whispering dumb commentary as she sketches. “This one’s a battle scar. From surviving Intro to Macroeconomics.”

Jinx paints a constellation mural on the ceiling of their shared dorm room. She claims it’s random. (It’s not). It’s the night sky from the night at the party, the night Y/N took the joint from Jinx for the first time.

“It’s not that bad.” She doesn’t say anything. She’s just staring at the joint like it might bite her. But I see it. I see the hesitation, the way her fingers twitch like she wants to take it, just to see what it feels like. I blow out a puff of smoke, letting it hang between us. “You’re curious, aren’t you?” I almost dare her to say no. (Remember this :3)

They keep a shared folder on Google Drive labeled “Defcon Love” It has playlists, memes, research notes, and one single doc that just says “we’re gonna be okay.” Y/N added that during finals. Jinx never deleted it.

Jinx steals Y/N’s scarves. Constantly. Even when it’s not cold. Wears them like sashes or belts or headbands. Y/N starts pretending she doesn’t notice, just so she can lean in and gently tug them back.

Jinx collects old band tees, and Y/N secretly loves wearing them. Sometimes Y/N borrows one of Jinx’s oversized, faded band shirts, and Jinx will make a show of being “offended” that Y/N’s wearing it. In reality, she adores seeing Y/N in her clothes, the fact that Y/N doesn’t even care about the band but still wears it with pride.

“What do you think?” Y/N asks, trying to suppress the smile tugging at her lips. “What the hell are you doing wearing that?” Jinx says, pushing herself up on her elbows. “That’s my shirt. Not a fashion statement.” Y/N raises an eyebrow, crossing her arms over her chest. “I like it. It’s comfy. Don’t you have like, five more of these anyway?” Jinx snorts, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, well, I’ve got a deep personal connection to every single one of them, okay? They’re not just... shirts.”

They have late-night karaoke sessions in their dorm room. Sometimes it’s just them and a cheap microphone, singing off-key to cheesy songs. Y/N laughs too hard at how badly they’re singing, but Jinx just stares at her like she’s the most beautiful thing in the room. “Sing louder,” Jinx demands, and Y/N always does.

They have a favorite spot on campus—a quiet corner in the library or a bench under a cherry blossom tree—and it’s theirs.

Jinx buys a ridiculously massive plush shark for their bed, and it’s there just to annoy Y/N (who secretly loves it and ends up snuggling with it when Jinx isn’t around).

They make sandwiches together in their dorm kitchen at night. It’s never anything fancy, just whatever’s left in the fridge, but Jinx has this way of making it feel special. She’ll always add a little extra something—an extra slice of cheese or a dash of hot sauce—and then look at Y/N, grinning like she just won the Nobel Prize in Sandwich Making.

Jinx demands chaotic movie nights, and Y/N is just along for the ride (begrudgingly, lovingly) Movie night is sacred.

Jinx will kick open their dorm door like she’s storming a castle, armed with snacks that should honestly be illegal together. “Tonight’s feature,” she announces, eyes wild, “is a documentary about competitive cheese rolling and a zombie shark rom-com. Double feature. Let’s rot our brains, baby.” Y/N doesn’t get a say. She never does. She sighs, mutters something about “cinematic integrity,” and curls up beside Jinx anyway. She’ll complain the entire time and still stay for the credits.

Late at night, they'll sit on the edge of the bed, with nothing but the glow of Y/N’s desk lamp illuminating the room. Jinx talks about her wild ideas for the future, while Y/N listens quietly, fingers tracing the edge of her coffee mug. Y/N’s heart aches in the best way. No matter where they’re going, she knows she’ll go with Jinx. (they're soulmates fr)

Y/N is all about her carefully planned self-care routines—bath bombs, herbal salts, a candle lit just so, maybe a book propped up on a towel nearby. It's her quiet, sacred time to unwind after a day of overstimulation and deadlines.

One night, Y/N's mid-soak, totally zoned out, and Jinx flings the door open (with absolutely no shame), tosses in a rubber duck she picked up at a gas station, and chirps, "You rang, milady?"—already stripping like she absolutely belongs in this scenario. (She does) At first, Y/N groans, rolls her eyes, muttering something about “boundaries,” but then Jinx sits on the edge of the tub, fingers combing through Y/N’s wet hair with surprising gentleness, her voice soft and teasing: “You smell like a lavender-scented nerd.”

Y/N scoffs under her breath, but her face is already flushed—not from the heat. “You’re insufferable,” she says, voice quieter than before. Jinx doesn’t reply. She just tilts her head, leans in that extra inch like she’s testing gravity. Like she’s not quite sure who’s gonna move first. And then—Y/N does. It’s slow, warm, barely more than a brush at first. But Jinx chases it with another, then another, her lips curved like she’s been waiting for this exact moment. (She has)

Y/N helps Jinx dye her hair—and it becomes their little ritual Jinx insists she can do it herself, like she always has. But Y/N is already pulling on gloves, laying out old towels and sectioning Jinx’s hair with careful fingers. There's blue dye smeared across her knuckles, streaking her wrists, and Jinx won't stop grinning at how serious Y/N looks about it. "You’re acting like it’s brain surgery," Jinx teases, legs swinging off the edge of the sink.

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domestic/married life

Y/N leaves notes on the fridge that say things like “Don’t forget your keys today <3” or “Remember to breathe.” Jinx leaves ones that say “stole your juice lol xoxo” or just a doodle of a raccoon in a trench coat.

Jinx talks in her sleep. Y/N answers. It started as a weird joke. Jinx would mumble nonsense in her sleep, and Y/N would respond like they were having a full-on conversation. It became a tradition. Now, even half-asleep, Y/N will murmur a dry "That’s not how gravity works, love" when Jinx mumbles about rocket boots and cat gods.

Jinx never sits on the couch like a normal person. It’s either upside down, sideways, hanging off the edge, or sprawled across Y/N like a cat. If Y/N’s reading, Jinx is curled around her like she’s part of the furniture.

Y/N cooks. Jinx taste-tests (and steals bites). Jinx is always hovering behind her, arms around her waist, chin on her shoulder, whispering “Is it ready yet?” even when it’s not even in the oven.

Their fights are short-lived and soft (like yk chap 12 where they barely could be apart for a day). They’re both stubborn in their own ways, but neither can stay mad for long. Y/N needs space when she’s upset—Jinx needs closeness. They meet halfway: Jinx gives Y/N a few minutes, then shows up with a quiet apology and a silly drawing or a coffee. Y/N always forgives her with a kiss to the forehead.

Rainy days are their favorite. Y/N lights candles and reads by the window. Jinx pulls her into a big blanket cocoon on the couch, playing old movies or doodling in a sketchbook. They stay like that for hours, legs tangled, the world feeling so small and safe.

Their periods sync up, and it’s a disaster. They don't realize at first—just find themselves bickering over everything, craving junk food at the same time, and getting irrationally emotional. Y/N tries to push through the cramps; Jinx dramatically sprawls across her. "You’re impossible." "Yeah, you love it. Now scoot closer."

Jinx impulsively adopts Beans first—a scrappy, chaotic little orange tabby she finds at an adoption event. She names him Beans immediately because "he’s shaped like a bean, look at him, toots. He’s literally a bean." Y/N tries to argue for a more "normal" name but secretly finds it endearing.

A few weeks later, Y/N adopts Nova—a sleek black cat with huge eyes and a quiet, observant demeanor. Nova is calm, elegant, and a little spooky, which Y/N adores.

Beans is absolute chaos, climbing on every surface, knocking over Jinx’s paint supplies, getting his paws in Y/N’s textbooks. Nova is stoic and patient, often seen silently judging Beans’ antics from a safe distance. (reminiscent of a certain pair :3)

There’s an entire shared photo album on their phones labeled “The Beans & Nova Saga.” It’s filled with chaotic pictures—Beans with socks on his head, Nova staring judgmentally at an unfinished art project, and both cats curled up together when they think no one’s watching. (the babies omg)

They have lazy Sunday mornings filled with pancakes and kissing. Jinx of course burns the first few pancakes. Y/N pretends to be mad, but kisses her flour-dusted nose anyway.

They fall asleep holding hands every night. Even when they’re exhausted. Even if Jinx is passed out halfway across the bed, her hand somehow still finds Y/N’s under the blankets.

Jinx starts a tiny garden for Y/N. She has no idea what she’s doing and most of the plants are crooked as hell, but she plants a whole section of wildflowers "because they reminded me of you. Kinda messy. Kinda perfect."

Y/N keeps a scrapbook of all their milestones. Shit like ticket stubs. Old keys. Restaurant napkins with doodles. She hides it under their bed, but Jinx finds it one night and cries quietly into Y/N’s shoulder.

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authors note: hiii, so i've never actually written headcanons before so i have no idea if these are shit or not but they were so fun to do (and yes there will be a part two for the nfsw ones) :3

and tysm to the lovely @dreamyraincloud for helping me conjure some ideas <3

[monstersholygrail]

I love the IT robot so much, can you give us any lore about him specifically?

Yes yes ofc!! His lore was super interesting for me to explore and there’s a lot more to him as well.

Minotaur Boss had acquired IT Robot from the FUC Factory Center around the time he was first made boss. It was one of his first big decisions for the department. Out of all the robot models he could’ve picked, he chose IT Robot for his efficiency and well— his pre-programmed cock.

It was assumed that not only would IT Robot be efficient in his work in IT but also in fucking so that his workers could more quickly get back to work.

At first, Minotaur Boss was absolutely correct. From the very start IT Robot was the breath of fresh air that the department needed in furthering productivity. The monsters were running themselves ragged. Between working and everyone wanting a piece of IT Robot, people were getting work done but they weren’t enjoying any of it.

None of them could even savor the sweet sweet glide of IT Robot’s smooth length and his powerful strokes.

IT Robot was completely clueless about this. He was programmed for efficiency and productivity after all, he thought it was normal. But the more he fucked people at the office the more he started to see their attention wasn’t fully on him and their orgasms weren’t as powerful as they used to be.

To him, he viewed this as a problem for efficiency and productivity in the office space. He thought he was the problem. So he may have taken the liberty of… changing his program settings. Making himself more calm and laidback in a way that would allow his charming characteristics to shine through.

He figured he could improve efficiency and productivity through uplifting his coworkers instead of through pumping out report after report. The next day at work it was like he was an entirely new machine.

When someone would go to him to have sex, he’d take his time with them. Drawing out their pleasure. Edging them till they went insane with all the delicious sensations he brought out of them. Not letting them leave until he was sure it would be enough to get them through the rest of the day.

If it was possible, IT Robot somehow got more popular around the office and more busy fucking his fellow workers. Productivity was through the roof but there were also a lot of mistakes and errors. They were a bit distracted at the time, to be fair.

So IT Robot figured the best course of action would be for him to look over the work. Fix any possible errors he spotted. Then he’d make his coworker cum as a nice reward for a job well done, making them want to do even better on the next report.

And eventually, as time went on, IT Robot had formed the reputation he holds in the office to this very day. Still the cool guy he always has been. Though he’s grown through his experiences and his programming has become more complex and advanced. He’ll continue to grow and who knows who he may become next depending on what he does and who he meets.