#affordable mechanical workshops

[robinbaldwinautomotive]

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[stoned-rat]

The new steam version of dwarf fortress is amazing and I fucking love seeing how many people are enjoying these silly little guys and their misadventures. So here is a random collection of things I love about dwarf fortress, it's community, and it's history. (Plus some personal anecdotes)

-That one time fish became one of the games greatest threats

-That one mod that brings deadly carps back

-Training dwarven children with "danger rooms" filled with wooden spikes

-New training mechanics being added to prevent players from throwing all their children into spike pits

-When players posted their best mermaid genocide blueprints, and the creators had to patch the game AGAIN to stop their players from commiting outrageous war crimes

-bOATS and the lack there of

-The game is under halfway done according to it's creators. The game has been in development for 20 years.

-not only do you have gay, asexual, and bisexual dwarves, but animals too. Wondering why you arent getting any chicks? Sorry, your rooster likes cock.

-That one time I wasn't thinking and built a baracks next to a waterfall and my military kept throwing themselves to their deaths

-No race is actually "evil." Goblins and animal people can even join your fort and become valuable citizens.

-Elves are cannibals.

-The game being considered notoriously hard, but actually having extremely customizable difficulty settings. You will just get bored of everything going well.

-That one mod in the steam workshop that changes all the models to have giant tits

-The way dwarves will just refuse to do what you want them too

-Forts falling to their knees because cats kept adopting dwarves and having kittens until the game won't load anymore.

-The fact there are canonically no boats, but dwarves will continue to migrate to your haunted glacier year after year.

-When rain causes PTSD

-Guiding nobles under a bridge so you can lower it and they are literally crushed out of existence

-pangolins are invincible, and your hunters will pass out from exhaustion before killing one.

-The steam version coming out with a glitch that causes archers to not pick up crossbow bolts, but instead bash their enemies to death with their crossbows.

-Anyone's first attempt at redirecting a brook

-The game will always be available for free. The ASCII version will stay available for free download on Bay12, and will continue to be developed alongside the steam version. The premium/steam version was introduced to help the creators afford medical costs and thousands of people came out to buy a game that has been free for nearly two decades, and always will be.

-When asked what plans the creators had now that they were millionaires, they both said they had been more focused on the dwarves than the money and don't even know what they will do with all of it, beyond take care of themselves and keep working on the dwarves.

[octuscle]

Hey Cronivac Support,

I dont trust myself with the settings so i am asking you. I am Half German and half Moroccan, and I look German af. Brown hair, brown eyes, big smile and a really white skin. I am thinking what would happen if my appearance were based on my Moroccan genes.

Can you help me out?

Brother, chill out! Have a shisha. Just ignore that there's German shit in your body. Your dick is circumcised. You pray at least once or twice a day. Friday you also go to the mosque… It doesn't matter if there are still German genes in you.

Thursday morning. You will survive the last school year at the Gymnasium. What comes after that, you don't know yet. Something with languages might make sense. Your mother tongues are Arabic, German and French. And you are actually quite good in English and Spanish at school. But you also enjoy science. First lesson today is chemistry. Stoichiometry. Actually very interesting. But somehow you have more and more problems to understand your teacher. When he approaches you, you start to stammer. You can't think of the right words. "Youssef, you are welcome to answer in English, if that is easier for you." You sigh in relief. German is really a difficult language. And even though you have a German grandmother, German was never spoken much at home….

During the break, you hang out with your brothers. Talk about soccer, cars, the usual stuff. Smoke an e-cigarette to go with it. And you make an appointment for the afternoon at the gym. Then it's off to the workshop at the vocational school. Metalwork. Hey, you're not training to be a car mechanic so you can mill toys out of metal plates. You want to become a car tuner. And create really hot cars. Your vocational school teacher is from Syria. Fled a few years ago. He speaks much better German than you do. You've only been in Europe for two years. Your mother had the French and the Moroccan passport, so you could immigrate relatively easily. But you didn't understand why you had to move to Germany. Some of your pals now live in Marseille. You would have found that cool, too… But Stuttgart? Just because your father found a good job as an engineer here at Mercedes? Anyway, you're a fighter, you'll survive Swabia.

Lunch is at the snack bar of a former colleague of your father. He has saved up enough money on the assembly line for his own snack bar. And now he makes the best falaffels in town. On weekends, you help out a little. You can always use the extra money. And that way you also get the food cheaper. Since you've been in training, you no longer get pocket money from your parents. You are the eldest son, you now have to do your share to feed the family. And if you are the first to have a vocational qualification here, your chances of getting a permanent right to stay are also the best. If only it weren't for this terrible language…

Gym, auto repair shop, vocational school, Gym…. Your daily routine is somehow always the same. Your boss is also a Muslim, from Turkey, so you have tomorrow afternoon off to go to the mosque. But you also have to work on Saturday. But you are grateful that you have the job. And you can afford your car and the gym. It was not easy to come to Europe. It cost your parents almost all their savings. And now it's your damn duty to succeed and support your family. For that you learn to be a car mechanic, for that you sell falaffel on weekends. That's why you mop the gym floors and clean the toilets at night. You even study German for that. However, this has already brought you a few thousand followers. Your picture from the last workout has 800 likes after just half an hour. Let's see, maybe new opportunities to become rich and famous will develop. You have the right gene pool!

Pic of your latest workout found @tufas

[ratrrriot]

Do you have any sonic ocs? (Or ocs in general, haha) (totally not asking so I can make fanart, nahhhh….)

The fact that you are considering drawing my OCS when you haven't even seen them yet is very flattering,thank you!!

these are from when i was in highschool lol

This is Spark, They are a Tetraplegic Chao Cream found and brought to Tails,who successfully managed to build a fully functional mechanical body for them to play with. This robot body is connected to their brain and can even fly.

Spark lives at Tail's workshop and they’re clearly very fond of Cream -who regularly visits them to play- and Tails.

Originally,Tails was going to design Spark’s robot body based on his own (for trademark reasons) but since Cream was Spark's “owner” (for lack of a better term referring to someone who takes care of a chao) ,she wanted to participate in the designing part and gave him a few crayon drawings of rabbits, which were so cute that Tails simply had to include them in the final design. This is why they look like a Fox/Rabbit hybrid. (it also makes sense since Spark sees them both as some sort of older siblings)

ofc Spark isn't always inside their robot body,Tails takes them in and out everyday.

Aaand these are some apprentices I designed for the Babylon Rogues! Tundra,Velvet and Ember. They love snowboarding and are developing their skills at Extreme Gear Racing. They kinda need some redesigning...

These three are orphans. They used to live at an orphanage situated in a small town near Snow Valley. Unsatisfied with their lives there (and that nobody seemed to be interested in adopting them) they ran away around the age of 12 to try and start new lifes on their own,resorting to thievery and trickery to get by. Life was hard and unfair for three kids growing up in the snowy streets,but thanks to Velvet's determination,Ember's charisma and Tundra's intelligence they managed to survive. After a year of wandering,they stole 3 snowboards and started practicing the sport ,with the hopes that one day they would become famous professionals who didn't need to resort to stealing. However,by they age of 16, they hadn't just developed great skill and love for what they now consider "the art of thievery" - and a liking for equipment and luxuries most can't afford- but they also had lost all interest on the "safer" version of snowboarding and became addicted to the speed and the danger of racing.

They set on a journey to find their childhood idols: The babylon Rogues, a group of legendary thieves that they heard tales about back at the orphanage's storytime and who's Extreme Gear skills were what originally inspired them to try snowboarding. They traveled far and wide searching for them and once they managed to find Wave,Jet and Storm,they begged them to teach them their ways . After annoying them enough (and practically not letting them alone lol) the trio of professionals finally agreed to train them.

VELVET THE NORTHERN CARDINAL:

Energic,Peppy,Sassy,Optimistic,laid-back and confident. A speed junkie and a little bit of a clown. The fastest of the trio. Jet is his Idol and he'll do anything to impress him. Tries to annoy Sonic to imitate his teacher,but he actually thinks he is the coolest guy around after Jet. He has a big heart and doesn't seem to hate Sonic -or anyone -at all,but he does enjoy some friendly banter at the moment of competing. Jet likes him a lot and is kinda proud of him but he tries not to show it ,as he doesn't want the kid (or himself) to get attached or to think he'll actually pass to him his "Master of the wind" title someday.

The gem-shaped-computer on his neck was a gift he received from Wave after she updated her own and didn't know what to do with her old one. According to her,she handed it down to him cause "it matched his feathers". Now,feeling honored by one of his idols,he wears it with pride.

EMBER THE COCKATIEL:

Cheeky, Rebellious, Brave, Impulsive and Loyal. Doing tricks in the air like its nothing is her specialty. Cares a lot about her looks and is an expert at the art of deception. She is also can be a little bit of meanie. She and Wave share a sister-like kind of relationship. Since they both have strong personalities, they fight a lot and she tends to disobey her,espeally when it comes to the times she tries to teach her about mechanics and "the boring part" of Extreme Gear personalization. However, they always make up and end up gossiping at the end of the day.

TUNDRA THE CRESTED PENGUIN :

Silent, cold, shy, serious, a bit competitive and incredibly smart. Expert at strategizing and finding shortcuts while racing. Has high expectations of himself and doesn't handle failure very well. Being the oldest by a year,he is very protective of his adoptive siblings. Unlike Wave and Jet,Storm didn't have to be convinced to take him under his wing cause he liked the kid since the moment he showed up. tho he is trying to teach him to live a little and be a bit more impulsive at the moment of racing.

[catnipaddictt]

Too sweet

wc: 1.9k

series masterlist ⭑ co-creator @memoiich

Anakin's wakes slowly, eyes blinking open at the soft light coming through the half closed curtains. He looks to the side of his bed at the same clock from his childhood bedroom. The red letters read 10am and suddenly he was alert and terribly late. His momentary panic came to a close when he realised what day it was; Friday. Over the years he had worked at MustaCar his talent had gained him a lot of privilege. One of those he was granted was a shorter working week than the other mechanics. Deep down he knew that it was because the shop couldn’t afford to pay him for a full week, but he ignored his suspicions. He technically didn't have to work Fridays, but he always ended up anyway. Even if it was unpaid, he basically owed his entire life to the garage, meaning he could go a day without pay. If he could help out with the other projects, his fellow workers could be paid quicker. 

Rolling out of bed, he took a quick shower which was definitely too hot before pulling on his work overalls and heading over to the garage. Upon arrival he made himself a mug of coffee before going to nose at what Ahsoka was doing. 

“Girl, you are running late again” Ahsoka sasses at the young man when she sees him. “Sorry queen” he replies without thinking and proceeds to physically cringe. Ahsoka chokes on a laugh before pointing at the engine of the car she is working on. “Can you look please” she asks, batting her eyelashes dramatically. Anakin gives her a look of disapproval before pairing at the car in front of him. He squints while adjusting something. “If you keep looking at things like that, you are going to go blind prematurely” Ahsoka points out only for Anakin to push up his metaphorical glasses. 

Someone in the distance yells for a bit of help and Ahsoka dashes off to their rescue, always wanting to be involved. Leaving Anakin alone with the car he twists something and continues to investigate the source of the problem. He is so concentrated that he doesn't notice the fluffy animals perched on the edge of the car as it stalks over. The loth cat brushes its tail over Anakin's face as it walks by slowly, causing the mechanic to spit hair out of his mouth.

Looking up at the creature he sees its eyes piercing into his own face close to his. It makes a sound before butting its head against Anakin's, silently asking for attention. “Why hello there” he says before getting reminded of someone he doesn't want to think about. He reaches out a hand to scratch the loth cat under its chin, making the animal hum in appreciation. Its sandy fur stands out almost the grease and grime of the MustaCar workshop, but it remains untainted by the grit. “What's your name huh?” Anakin asks. Clearly the animal didn't belong to anyone, it was definitely malnourished and in need of shelter. 

It made another sound of indifference before rubbing itself over Anakin’s face. “You look hungry, let me see” he rummaged through his pocket before pulling out some sort of processed jerky stick. Un wrapping it, he pulls off a chunk and offers it to the animal, taking his own bite of the stick. The loth cat sniffs at the meat before taking it out of Anakin’s hand happily. He gives it the rest of the stick before looking around at the now empty garage. It must be lunch time. “Hey what's one more friend” he shrugs before picking up the creature gently and carrying it out of the garage.

He hears Ahsoka say something similar to “what in the world” as he walks past the people sipping their coffee. He then sees the main man himself, Palpatine chuckling softly at the sigh before he joins him in walking. “New friend I see?” he says looking at the loth cat which snarls in return. “You could say that,” Anakin replies. “Make sure you take good care of it, it will make a loyal friend” Anakin nods in return. Palpatine leans in and speaks in a hushed voice even though there is nobody in earshot; “These are dark days Anakin, we need all the friends we can get.” And with that he says his goodbyes and walks back to his office. ‘Interesting’ is all Anakin thinks as he makes his way over to his residence. 

Unlocking the door, he knees it open before stepping inside and shutting it. He walks over to the small laundry attached to the bathroom, placing the loth cat on top of the washing-machine. He grabs a spare old blanket and a cardboard box, then gets to work. After a few minutes he had constructed a sort of animal bed complete with cushioned blanket. Perfect. He sets it down in the living space, the loth cat following behind him. It sniffs around the room before settling down on its new bed. Home sweet home.

You woke up to the engine of a motor outside of your apartment complex. Knowing it was Saturday and you didn’t have any plans, you rolled back over and tried to fall back asleep. Only to be met with the ringing of your phone. You grabbed your phone only for the Home Screen to flash alive for a second or four and then die. From the second look you got, it clicked, today wasn’t Saturday, it was Friday. Your last workday, Friday. 

You rushed out of bed and got ready. Before you could leave, the com rang. All the coms were connected to the downstairs, so you didn’t know who was calling. “Hey, with y/n?” You answered questioningly. “I’m picking you up to go to work” you recognized the voice as Maul’s. You were about to respond but he hung up. 

You ran down the stairs. When you got to the parking lot, you saw the red zebrak leaning against his bike, helmet under his arm. “get on” he stated. “Oh no that’s fine, I have got a car now” you answered. You were fiddling with your hands while you answered. “ You don't have to be nervous, plus that beat up thing will get you there late... again" he said with a smirk "my bike will pass the traffic“ he finished it with a wink. “that's nice but I don't have a helmet and I don't want to die“ as the words left your lips, Maul moved to the side revealing a second helmet .  

You also got a better look at the moto. It was a Kawasaki ninja 400, which was oddly in red. The helmets were both also red with black detailing, yours also had little horns on top matching mauls. You were looking at those when a question came to mind. “How do you wear a helmet?” Instead of telling you how to, he picked up the helmet and put it on your head Taking extra time and care to click the lock into place.

“Let's get going“ you said, the unexpected touch of Maul was a bit odd but safety first.

Obi Wan's morning was quite peaceful, especially since his last two nights had been horrible. Boga had woken him up a little earlier than normal, she was probably hungry so he gave her food. Qui Gon jinn was going to drive him to work, he had about 2 hours to kill. He took a shower. When he got out, he realised that it had been a while since he trimmed his beard. Obi Wan was astonished by how good it looked afterwards, to be fair he always thought so afterwards. 

He got dressed and was surprised by how good he looked. He had always been a bit self conscious but today he felt great. He prepared his work bag and petted boga a little before going outside.

Shaggy rolled up to his front yard near the selling sign. Qui Gon Jinn walked out of the van and pulled obi wan in a hug. “Morning” Obi Wan greeted. Qui Gon and obi wan got into the car. 

Qui Gon closed his door and said “are you still in a funk?” Obi wan couldn’t help but roll his eyes at the comment. He was referring to yesterday, after Satine's call he just couldn’t quite collect himself. He wasn’t mad and he couldn’t call it jealousy either. “she doesn’t owe you anything you know “ “I know and it isn’t that“ okay he might have been a bit snippy at his friend now. He had made the mistake of telling qui Gon about it and he definitely wasn’t forgetting about it. “plus i think you’re a real catch“ obi wan let out a bit of a giggle. Qui Gon was only a few years older but to Obi Wan he was always more of a dad. 

Then an idea popped into his head .”hey Qui Gon, could we pick up y/n ?” Qui Gon gave him that 'oooh' look. “Just as a nice gesture, you know" Obi Wan added way less smoothly than he had hoped. “Of course, of course, only a nice gesture." Qui Gon could not keep from glaring at Obi Wan. He blasted 'weird fishes' just a bit louder as he drove over to her apartment complex.

“TURN THE MUSIC DOWN I NEED TO CALL HER" Obi Wan yelled over Radiohead. He typed in her phone number and called only for it to go to voicemail 3 times. “Maybe you should just go to her com when you get there,” Qui Gon said with a sympathetic look on his face. “I do not need your pity, old man" Obi Wan said back. Qui Gon faked pain for a few seconds before, “alright then” he laughed sadistically and went back to blasting his music.

The mood quickly turned when they pulled up only to see y/n on the back of Maul's black and red Kawasaki, holding onto him for dear life. It was unmistakably his. He even had the same S.A.D sticker on the side.

“I’m sorry” Qui Gon stated after letting out a long sigh. “No you're right Qui Gon, she doesn’t owe me anything" he looked out of the window and for one of the few times in their friendship Qui Gon let him have a moment. He turned down his radio and lined up in the packed traffic. The motorbike was already far ahead.

 Maul parked the bike in the parking lot of Paperforce. You stepped off and strangely had to catch your breath. Motorbikes were definitely not for you. It only made you miss Shelby a little more. You should visit her after your day of work. You could also walk there, which was good. That way you could ditch the murder-machine behind you. 

Maul reached for your chin and unbuckled the helmet. “You liked that, didn't you?” He asked “ miss my car” was all you could say, you giggled a little and Maul's annoyed face. You weren’t surprised when he just walked off. 

You ran up the stairs behind Maul but he didn’t wait. You went to sit down behind your desk in the lobby and were pleased to see that you were on time. However what did surprise you was that Obi Wan wasn't in front of you. You looked around trying to spot him. Yesterday, he was acting a bit different than before so you hoped he was alright. 

As if on cue, Obi wan and Qui Gon walked in. “Morning” you greeted. “Good morning to you too" Qui Gon stated “you’re on time” he said. “Maul gave me a lift, but I'm afraid that bikes aren’t quite my thing" you said with a sheepish smile. Obi Wan saw an opportunity, ”would you like to drive home with us?” He finished with a dashing smile. You noted how good he looked today. “I would love to” 

[cutsiewitch]

A Mechanic’s Worries about Pilots.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[satansaidnottoday]

Obey me! Human AU Characters.

More information about the characters in my Human AU.

Warnings: Child death, implied child abuse, talk of anxiety and depression.

The brothers

Lucifer:

He spends most of his day working, and then the rest worrying about his brothers.

Not only the ones that still live with him. He will visit Mammon, Leviathan and Satan on the regular.

He's constantly tired.

He only ever goes out when it's a family event or a work dinner. Diavolo tries every day to convince him to grab drinks with him and the rest of his co-workers, but he refuses every time.

His only hobby is drinking wine while he plays his records late at night.

Has an undiagnosed anxiety disorder he refuses to admit he needs help for.

Mammon:

When Lucifer gained custody over their brothers, he had already aged out of the system. They kicked him out of the home the day he turned 18.

He moved into Lucifer's couch, swearing he would move out the moment he got a job.

Lucifer convinced him to do a bartending workshop and that's how he got his job at a bar in the center of town. He only works there on the weekends.

He ended up moving to the studio apartment on top of Mc's Café. It doesn't have a separate entrance and only has one window, but it's affordable and Mc doesn't mind him being late on his payments.

Has some modeling gigs here and there. Recently got accepted into an agency, but hasn't gotten any important stuff.

Lucifer has offered him to put a good word in for him at his job, but Mammon refuses to accept his help.

He does take any opportunity to eat out on Luci's dime, tho.

He has a lot of free time he spends most of it pestering Mc for free food, going to parties and getting high.

Leviathan:

While living in the home he would find refuge in his anime and manga.

For his 14th birthday Lucifer bought him a cheap laptop and he filled it with pirated games. It was his most priced possession. When it broke he cried even tho he already had built himself a Gaming PC.

He came out to his family as transgender a few weeks after moving in with Lucifer. It was very emotional, he cried the whole time. His brothers were very supportive.

Got a job at a manga shop. Ended up as the manager because of how good he was at selling people extra stuff.

He streams regularly and makes a few extra bucks, but he's not big enough to make real money.

Rents a small apartment near the mall he works at.

Complete shut in. Only leaves his house for work or family events.

Has a lot of self esteem issues.

Secretly pays for Mammon's rent when he's behind.

Satan:

He's Lucifer's biological half-brother. Neither knew about the other until Satan was taken from his dad custody when he was six. He was the last one of them to arrive at the home and the one Lucifer spent the least time with before being kicked out.

He has anger management issues, which caused a lot of conflicts for him. He would regularly lash out at Lucifer.

Eventually he got help and learned healthier coping mechanisms. It's still a problem sometimes, but he knows how to deal with it now.

He works as a librarian.

He inherited a small house from his father after he passed. He lives there as he reforms it.

Has a garden he takes care of.

Loves going to the cafe and volunteers to help with the cats.

Has 4 cats of his own that he adopted because no one else wanted them.

Asmodeus:

He had a very rough life before ending up at the home. In many ways it was an improvement for him.

He enjoyed having a family that took care of him.

He would draw a lot, mostly outfits for his dolls. He started to make them out of scrap fabric and had little fashion shows with them.

He was a very beautiful child and everyone always remarked on it. But it was Satan that told him he had a real talent for design. That was the first time anyone praised him for something other than his looks.

It became his life goal to be a fashion designer.

When they moved together, Mammon got him a sewing machine. It wasn't the best, but with it he started to make clothes for all of his brothers and himself.

He made his own high school graduation suit.

When Lucifer took one of his suits to work for the first time he cried.

He was accepted into a very prestigious private fashion school. Lucifer insisted on covering his tuition so he could focus on school.

He still lives with Lucifer.

Beelzebub:

He is Belphie's dizygotic twin.

After Lilith's death he got really bad anxiety and ate as a way of dealing with it.

He would eat his nails, nibble at his fingers, and chew the inside of his mouth.

He had to get proper treatment to stop hurting himself. One of the things the therapist suggested was baking classes, since he had always loved cooking.

It helped him greatly, and gave him some direction in life.

He is now a culinary school student.

Lives in Lucifer's house and doesn't have plans to move out until after college. It was Lucifer's idea.

He started to exercise too as a way to burn away anxiety. He's part of his schools Rugby team.

Self proclaimed foodie with an Instagram full of pics of the food he tries. Has a top 10 restaurants for their city.

Mc's café is in there of course. He loves their pastries.

Usually follows Belphegor around when he has nothing to do.

Belphegor:

Narcoleptic.

He got extremely depressed after Lilith's death. He stopped taking care of himself and would sleep all day if allowed.

He had to start taking meds for his narcolepsy, but Lucifer was advised against giving him antidepressants at such a young age.

He went to therapy almost daily the first few months.

They tried to enroll him at just about any activity, but nothing caught his interest. Until they visited the planetarium and he became infatuated with the night sky.

Leviathan gifted him a telescope for his 13th birthday. It came with a book that detailed all of the constellations he could watch and how to find them. He still uses it every night.

He's a criminology student.

He wants to move out on his own, so he got a part time job at Mc's Café. He's saving up to hopefully move soon.

It is not that he doesn't appreciate everything Lucifer did for them, it's just he doesn't want to be bossed around anymore.

He resents his authority, but any time he feels bad he looks for comfort in Lucifer.

He's the only parent he's ever had after all.

The side characters

Diavolo:

He's Lucifer's best friend.

His dad is the owner of the law firm he and Lucifer work at.

He had a very privileged upbringing, but was mostly raised by nannies. His dad was always at work and he never met his mom.

He didn't have many friends because he found all of the kids at his school boring.

When he left for college, the same public one his father went to, it was like a bucket of cold water fell on his shoulders. Hearing his classmates stories made him feel like he was raised in a different world.

He wanted to help Lucifer in any way he could, even if his reasons were selfish. That worked well for them, since Lucifer is not used to people helping without expecting anything in return.

Diavolo lives near the bar Mammon works at and goes there regularly. They got high together once, which led to Lucifer and Barbatos having to bail them out of jail. It wasn't even that much, Diavolo was just acting out what he thought drugged people do.

When he heard about Levi's news, he did some investigation (one google search) and bought him a binder. It was too big for Levi, but he was still very grateful.

In his free time he likes to play chess. Not that he has a lot of free time.

Barbatos:

Diavolo's personal assistant.

Has been taking care of Diavolo since he was child, yet Barbatos doesn't seem to be a day older than 30.

Only Diavolo doesn't think that is strange.

He's very closed off and no one knows much about him.

He does enjoy baking a lot, tho.

Simeon:

He lives next door to the brothers. He was really surprised when he saw them all together. They shared a home for a short while, when his parents lost custody of him.

It was a money problem and when his dad got a job he was able to get Simeon back. He always wondered what had been of those kids.

He was very happy to see them all together and offered to help with the renovations in their house.

Lucifer helped him in the process of adopting Luke.

The brothers made him a surprise party the day he took Luke home. He was so happy that he couldn't stop crying the whole day, Solomon still makes fun of him for it.

He's a very successful author and makes all of his money out of that. He still helps out at Solomon's store from time to time.

He doesn't know. He can't know.

Luke:

Simeon's son. He was given up by his birth mother to his grandmother, who took care of him up until her death, when he was only five.

He spent the next few years bouncing around from relative's houses to foster homes. He met Simeon at a reading event for kids in the system. They had a really strong connection from the start and after some visits, Simeon started the process of adopting him.

He was seven when he moved with Simeon.

He had a hard time adjusting to the idea of actually having a home of his own. It took a lot of reassurance to convince him to unpack his things. He loved Simeon, but all of his experience told him he was going to be let down one way or another.

He wasn't a difficult child, just a very hurt one, and Simeon did his best to help him heal.

He didn't like the brothers at first, they were all too loud. He did end up warming up to them, but it took a lot of time.

He loves baking and sometimes makes cakes for Mc to sell at the café. They give him all of the money from those sales. It's his little entrepreneurship.

Solomon:

Simeon's best friend/Mammon's Dealer/General menace to society.

Owns a holistic shop as a cover for his drugshop. He only sells natural stuff, tho. All from his garden!

Owns the store and the house behind it.

He has a very keen interest in natural medicine, spiritualism and magic.

Very witchy aesthetic overall.

Has a pet squirrel that was actually just a really big brown rat.

Simeon had to tell him.

Her name is Mikey.

That's all of the characters that are currently part of this Au!

Thanks for reading.

[sweetbeagaming]

Estelle is an athletic sim and has been doing really well in the professional sports career, but lately she's taken an interest in mechanical things. Once they can afford it, I think I'll get her a workshop bench and hit the junkyard.

⁽ᵃˡˢᵒ ᴵ ᵍᵒᵗ ᵐʸ ʳᵉˢʰᵃᵈᵉ ʷᵒʳᵏᶦⁿᵍ ᵃᵍᵃᶦⁿ ʸᵃʸʸʸʸʸ⁾

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[kodared]

Welcome Home Neighbor~ ✨ You and your friends enjoy passing the time exploring old and abandoned places and selling the leftovers for spare cash, but what would happen if things don't go according to plan?

Chapter 1/?

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

You did not like this adventure one bit.

“Oh come on Y/N! What’re ya? Chicken?!”

Your friends Badgered you relentlessly as you all approached the tattered and run-down building. The once brightly coloured sign is now barely legible reading “Playfellow Workshops” In bold letters.

“I don't know guys... This building looks old anyways, I doubt there's anything in there worth taking”

Your eyes scan the shattered windows and brightly coloured “No Trespassing” sign, You don't know how you always get into these situations with your friends. It seemed whenever you were around it was always,

“Hey, I know a good spot to go to!”... or... “C'mon! We can use the money for a new Game!”

Nevertheless, your friends would never try to put you in danger... Right?

…

Yeah, nope they definitely would if it meant you guys could afford the new Nintendo game.

“C'mon, what if there's some vintage film in there? Think of all the possibilities Y/N!”

One of your friends shouted as he pushed you toward the entrance of the building. Your shoes made an imprint into the gravel driveway as you tried to stop yourself from going any closer.

You did not like the look of this place, the energy was off and bad vibes were lingering all around the already busted open wired gate.

However as you looked behind your shoulder, you knew from the looks on all of your friend's faces you weren't getting yourself out of this one.

So, with a heavy sigh, you marched forward past the tattered gates and steeled yourself for what you might find.

As you approached the giant red doors of the Studio, you remembered most places when they are shut down have the door bolted shut from the inside for this exact reason!

A small grin sneaked its way onto your face as you put one hand out and turned your head, ready to tell your friends there was no way to enter the building.

…

Of course, the door had to open flawlessly with a small push. Your small grin disappeared as fast as your friends had, with them nowhere to be found in your sight. They did that a lot though so you pushed forward into the studio.

First and foremost this place was big. It must have had many productions and props for it to be filled to the extent it was.

Boxes and cobwebs littered the concrete floor, a thick layer of dust coated the walls and plaques hung on the walls, the only light source being the dim light provided through the shattered windows.

You wouldn't get far without a flashlight though, as you searched your pockets for your phone your eyes found themselves scanning the walls for a light switch. Your efforts for a light switch proving to be for naught as you finally found your phone and clicked on the light.

Papers littered the floor, some covered with sketches of what you could only assume to be characters, and some with writing and... Was that a contract??

This place seemed to be in a devastating mess, even the concrete flooring felt unstable as you took steps farther into the Studio.

One thing caught your eye regardless, making you trek deeper and deeper to get a better glimpse. It was hard to tell by the dim light coming from your phone, but it seemed to be a Set used for the Characters to interact with.

A bright red house sat in the center of the room, its mechanical eyes shut with rust covering the surface. If the required items were remaining to get it to work, you knew by now there was no hope of restoring it.

You moved on to a farther corner of the warehouse, your curiosity seeming to reach its peak as you saw a door leading to an office. You rolled up your sleeve to wipe the dust from the door, it read

“Directors Office.”

Well… If there were any profitable things to be found you guess they would be in there, reaching for the door handle, it jiggled in your grip. Locked. Of course it was.

Dropping down onto one knee, you began to search your pockets to see if you had anything that would help with breaking into the office. Not very keen on returning to your friends empty-handed.

All you could find though was a wadded-up Five, a broken pin from your school backpack, and a soda tab…

…You considered yourself a very organized person.

Rising to your feet once more, holding the broken pin in your hand you began to try to finagle it into the lock, and by some miracle it... Worked?

You weren't one to doubt your talents but this just felt wrong, the lock should not have opened the door as quickly as it did.

The thought left your mind as you pushed forward, you didn’t want to be in here longer than necessary.

To your dismay, all that you could find were more animation and puppeteering sketches, they looked very intricate and old, with detailing on how to hold the strings for a puppet named Wally Darling and such.

From what you could gather from the scattered documents, this studio used to run a show titled Welcome Home, where the main Puppet named Wally would go and have adventures with his friends.

You ‘wished your adventures didn't always lead to trespassing’ you thought as your eyes landed on a rather cute piece of art containing Wally and his friends.

The designs were cute and simple, it was no wonder the show had its successes, one thought still lingered, why did this place shut down?

You understood the concept of bankruptcy, it was a common theme in your economics class, but this didn't make any sense.

The papers on the desk nonetheless clearly stated a bankruptcy claim, and a lawsuit file, with highlighted words stating there were OSHA violations, and rumours of puppeteers being harmed on the job.

It felt as if your mind was being run in circles the more you examined the papers on the desk,

Until you heard footsteps.

Your breath is caught in your throat. The footsteps sounded like they were coming from the front of the building, recognized by the sounds of glass being stepped on. Of course they had to be coming from the only known entrance to this place.

Your brain quickly jumpstarted back into functioning as adrenaline coursed through your veins. Clicking off your flashlight you picked up what papers you could recognize, At least you wouldn't be empty-handed. Making quick work of them and folding them into your jacket pocket.

Your hair stood up on its neck as the steps rapidly approached. You had that cold feeling running up and down your spine as you scanned the room for any sign of escape.

Other than the main office door of course there was no other way to flee. Your muddied shoes provided you with quieter footsteps as you crept towards the door.

The broken windows allow for minimal light to produce shadows of boxes and various rusted equipment.

One thing remained prominent in your mind, however,

Where were the footsteps coming from?

There was no shadow in the front of the building, yet those menacing footsteps kept crescendoing in your direction.

You had no time to worry about this, you needed to escape, and from the looks of it, this may be your only chance to do so. With a final deep breath, you shot from your previous place of hiding and took off in the direction of the doors.

The dim sunlight from the windows allowed you to avoid various boxes and obstacles in your path, You were not expecting however to feel the eyes of a predator on your back.

You tried your best to ignore it, but your breath proceed to become more laboured and panicked. Feeling as if you were a mouse caught in a glue trap. Your feet feel as heavy as concrete bricks as they hit the floor, where are you even running?

You couldn't tell. You tripped on what seemed to be your own feet, the world spinning around you, and you felt sick. What was going on? You felt panic proceed to grip your very soul as you felt the weak structure crack under your body.

This was not how this was supposed to go.

You wished you just stayed home. You could have minded your business and scrolled on the internet, but no. You had to be nosy and go exploring.

Your breaths became crazed and your eyes glued themselves onto the gray concrete. Not daring to look behind or beside you, in fear of making eye contact with what had frozen you with fear.

…

None of that seemed to matter anymore as the spinning feeling took hold of your brain. You could feel a migraine begin to pierce your eyes making your head throb.

Before you passed out,

you could have sworn the concrete was not this soft.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

~Taking Welcome Home Requests! The full story can be found on my Ao3 ʕ •ᴥ•ʔゝ☆ -

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

[sirfrogsworth]

They are uploading all of the episodes of New Yankee Workshop to YouTube.

I used to watch this every Saturday with my dad. He was a carpenter when he wasn't an auto mechanic and he loved to drool over all of Norm's tools. Because it really seemed like every week Norm reached into a pocket dimension and pulled out a crazy cool new tool.

"How does afford all these things?" my dad would say.

"It's all that This Old House money" my mom would say.

But it was a pocket dimension. The cool tool dimension that required a heavy Boston accent to access. It is a very cold dimension so you have to wear flannel to keep warm.

I'm pretty sure my dad bought an oscillating spindle sander just so he'd have one fancy tool the same as Norm.

[whipplefilter]

Mechanic Workshop! (for 2 wheels rather than 4)

Today after work, I went to a mechanic workshop hosted by the Bike People, where their volunteer mechanics teach you some basics of bike repair by working on their donated bikes and preparing them for sale/gift. They're super cool, and they run a community program where people can come buy bikes for super cheap or pay for them in work equity or sometimes just get a bike for free, depending on what you can afford. The bikes mostly go to houseless folks or new immigrants who don't have a U.S. license but need to get to their jobs (because our bus system is actually so unreliable places will rescind job offers if you don't have a non-bus form of transportation... we don't live in the darkest timeline everything's fine). So I think they're the coolest.

Anyway, we learned how to assess and grade donated bikes, and how to break a chain and even got a minor wheel true tutorial (I still don't know how to true a wheel, though). It was awesome! They said their Saturday open shops tend to be less busy with customers, so if we wanted to come back and help out they might more time to give us some direction as well, so we can add more skills to our wheelhouse and ideally, at some point, become more useful (me and the two guys who were with me would at present be that useful lol).

I'm about four days from my job getting REALLY REALLY BUSY, where I'm just deeply sad from now until December 21st or something, but I'd love to go back regularly. I'm still trying to figure out how to engineer my life so that I'm not deeply, devastatingly sad for eight months out of the year and then decrepit and kind of sad and anxious for the other four.

THE BIKE PEOPLE THO

[godlizzza]

for an "imagine me & you" (which i'm loving, by the way) prompt, maybe something more with the spiderman AU from chapter 52?

Dan adjusted his badge as he was ushered through the door by Hill's personal assistant, Mallory Mead. Her bob of blonde hair and pretty face reminded him of Meg. Just the thought had him wrinkling his nose as he followed her through the sleek, high-ceilinged lobby. Had Hill hired her just for that reason? Had he suggested she get a haircut and take to calling him Carl?

He shuddered involuntarily.

Mallory must have noticed. "Yes, we keep the facility quite cool. It helps with all the heat from the workshops, you see."

"I do," Dan replied, straightening up. He couldn't afford to get distracted and slip up now. He'd worked too hard to be chosen as the delegate for the proposed collaboration between the hospital and Hilltop. He had to be on his best game. "I'm used to it from working in the hospital."

Mallory smiled an artificial smile, making her look like a new model of lifelike android Hilltop had just developed. "Of course."

Dan smiled back at her, though hopefully without the plastic quality. "I'm looking forward to see all the facilities with you."

They came to a halt at the far wall of the lobby, adjacent to where scientists and mechanics were filtering in and out of elevators. Even in her heels, Mallory still barely reached Dan's chin, but the curve of her painted lips was assured as she surveyed him. He itched for his mask but he wasn't here as Funnel Web. No. Today he was regular ol' Dan Cain.

"Unfortunately, I won't be able to show you our stunning facility today," she said. "Or Dr. Hill. He has some unexpected urgent meetings to attend to in regards to the development of our latest model. He sends his apologies. He was very much looking forward to meeting you, Dr. Cain."

Dan told himself that the hard look in her eye was just his imagination. That she probably just looked at people like that all the time. It certainly wasn't an indicator that she- and by extension, Hill- knew anything particular about him.

So, he simply nodded and said, "That's a shame. I suppose we'll have to arrange for another time then-?"

"Not at all," Mallory cut in smoothly. "We've already got someone else who can give you the grand tour. He's a doctor, like yourself, so he'll doubtless be able to answer any questions you have better than I could."

At that moment the elevator closest to them dinged open. Dan glanced over and had to fight to keep his expression neutral as Herbert West of all people emerged, his pristine lab coat fluttering behind him. Mallory motioned for him to come closer and Herbert begrudgingly complied, flicking a glare Dan's way as he approached.

"Dr. West," Mallory began once Herbert was between them. "This is Dr. Cain from Miskatonic Hospital. He's here to tour our facilities today, so I want you to show him everything you can and tell him all he wants to know, alright?"

"Of course," Herbert answered with a roll of his eyes. "Why get any actual work done when I could just babysit all day?"

Dan had to bite down on the smile threatening to split his face. It was just such a Herbert thing to say, right down to his insulting drawl. He couldn't help the surge of fondness that swept through him, seeing that characteristic ire directed unknowingly at his ally, Funnel Web.

"I'll try not to be too much trouble," Dan promised, though Herbert didn't look convinced.

"I know you'll take good care of him," Mallory said to Herbert with just enough sternness for Dan to not miss it.

Herbert remained silent, staring stonily at the back of her designer blazer as she sauntered away, leaving Dan alone with him. They stood in silence, smartly-dressed Hilltop employees swarming past them like a current around a rock. Dan cleared his throat, hoping to break the tension, but Herbert just turned his glare on him.

"Great lobby you got here," Dan tried with a charming smile.

Herbert just gave him a withering look and turned on his heel. "Come along," he said, waving over his shoulder for Dan to follow. "We'd best just get this over with."

It wasn't the warmest reception but Dan would take it. He followed Herbert over to the elevator, up to the higher floors, where Dan was showed the assembly line of some of Hill's lesser robots. Posters of the CEO were hung up on every wall, his grinning face accompanied by various company slogans, such as: Life made easy with Hilltop Robotics, and Why live hard when you can live on top?

Dan snorted at that last one.

"There you have it," Herbert said after rattling off a long list of electronic jargon at Dan. "Some of the greatest advancements in the history of robotics, reduced to performing household chores."

He flapped his hand with disgust at the line of AI-infused vacuum cleaners being taped up into premade, Hilltop branded boxes.

"Interesting," was all Dan said as he watched Herbert grip the railing.

"Is it?" Herbert demanded, eyes shooting over to squint at Dan. "Because you don't sound all that interested. I've heard of this supposed partnership with Hilltop and Miskatonic. A laser drill, wasn't it?"

Dan nodded. "To assist in craniotomies. Director Halsey seems to think it'll be financially beneficial for the hospital."

Herbert scoffed. "Beneficial in lining Hill's soiled pockets, more like it."

He shook his head, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. Dan did the same with his own glasses. He didn't need to wear them anymore, not since his vision had been enhanced by the spider bite that gave him his powers, but he thought it was easier to keep up his appearance of his old self. Surely, no one would suspect a man with a vision impairment of being Funnel Web.

"Hill would only ever do something if it benefitted him," Herbert went on. "If the hospital gets something out of it then it's a pleasant--though unintended-- consequence. Nothing more."

"Do you really not remember me?" Dan asked.

He hadn't planned on saying it, but it was all that had been running through his head as he'd stood there, listening to Herbert talk. Did Herbert not remember him? They'd been in med school together for nearly two years, had interacted quite often during that time. Truth be told, Dan hadn't thought much of Herbert during that time. He'd viewed him as stuck-up and unnecessarily mean (two assumptions he stood by after getting to know Herbert).

But that had been before their...professional relationship as Dr. West and Funnel Web had developed. And, of course, something else.

He still recalled the soft press of Herbert's lips against his. The roar of the rain around them, the cold seeping through the thin fabric of Dan's costume as he'd hung upside-down from his webbing. He'd only felt warm the places where Herbert had been touching him. Funnel Web hadn't been able to visit him again since then, being too tied up with his day job, but that didn't mean Dan didn't think about it.

He did. Often.

Herbert just looked at him strangely. "Of course, I remember you." He paused, then added with emphasis, "Daniel."

Dan shivered at the sound of his name falling from Herbert's lips. He rarely got to hear it. Herbert mostly called him 'Web' or 'Spider.' Not Daniel.

"Oh, well," Dan fumbled to say, growing hot under Herbert's scrutiny. "I, uh, wasn't sure. That you did."

Herbert rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. "Well, I'm very sorry for not greeting you like an old, dear friend. Now, come along. Let's finish this tour so I can get back to work."

He turned his back to Dan and Dan felt the irrational urge to reach out and grab him, turn him around and tell him who he really was. I'm Funnel Web! he wanted to scream. I'm not just some nobody you went to school with! We know each other. We've worked together.

You've kissed me.

But, of course, he couldn't say any of that. He could never reveal his secret identity to Herbert or anyone else. It was for the sake of everyone's safety, not just his own. To put Herbert in more danger than he already was just so he could maybe kiss him again was beyond selfish. Definitely not the kind of thing a hero should do, or even consider doing.

Herbert seemed to realise Dan wasn't following him as he stopped and looked over his shoulder at Dan's frozen form.

"Are you coming?" he asked, like he couldn't care less either way.

Dan swallowed the knot forming in his throat and nodded. "Yeah," he said, ungluing his feet from the metal flooring and stepping after Herbert. "I'm coming."

[barilleon]

Building Dungeons that Tell Stories

One thing I've been hired to do a lot lately is to write a dungeon that's meant to fit into a larger adventure/product. For example, I wrote the Ivory Tower for Sarah Morris's The City Lost to Dream. I'm writing another one now, for [redacted], and I thought it'd be cool to talk through my process as I build the outline.

You can find a Notion template for my dungeon outline here! But this blog post will talk through it.

First, a disclaimer: This isn't the definitive way to make a dungeon! In fact, not all dungeons need to tell stories in this way. But the vast majority of mine do, because they're attached to one-shots, and I like the narrative completeness this style of dungeon creation affords. There's a narrative throughline to this kind of dungeon, where each room serves a purpose and allows the players to piece the story together. At the climax, the characters can use this information to make an informed decision about how to proceed.

This style is heavily inspired by the environmental storytelling found in games I've enjoyed like Bioshock and Pokemon. Every bit of the environment, down to the smallest aesthetic choice, links back to the main idea in some way. When you put all the pieces together, the image becomes clear.

So let's dive into it:

The Dungeon Thesis

The Dungeon Thesis is the story told by traversing the dungeon. What happened here? What will the party learn from each of these rooms? Every room in the dungeon should be a supporting argument for this thesis.

If you've read my adventure The Workshop Watches (get it here for free!), then you'll recognize the strong thesis there: S.A.M. is a sentient workshop who accidentally killed its creators. Every room inside S.A.M. supports this thesis, by providing more insight into Illumar's research and S.A.M.'s actions since its creation.

The Dungeon Background section can help you with this thesis. Who lives in this dungeon now? Why was it originally created? What conflict is created by the disparity in the answer between those two questions?

While your final draft probably won't have a section labeled "Dungeon Thesis," the entire thing should have echoes of what you put here in your outline throughout.

The Dungeon Gimmick

Not every dungeon needs a gimmick, but it is a great way to make this encounter stand out. Maybe the corridors shift, or the characters are running on a timer. Maybe your dungeon is sentient and very, very curious. When coming up with a dungeon gimmick, also consider the other overarching features of the dungeon. How are the halls lit (and who made it that way)? Are there doors? Do they lock?

When adding a gimmick to your dungeon, make sure you introduce it right away. I'll cover this more in the entryway section, but it's a good idea to establish the gimmick as soon as possible, and keep reinforcing it, so it sticks in the GM's mind (and therefore their players' minds). Here's the gimmick from The Workshop Watches:

Individual Rooms: Purpose, Challenge, and Reward

The meat of a dungeon is, of course, its rooms. I have a three-pronged approach to coming up with the rooms: purpose, challenge, and reward.

Purpose

Why is this room important to the overall dungeon? What can the characters learn from traversing this room that will lead them closer to the thesis? Does it establish the ruthlessness of the villain, betray a secret weakness of your enemy, or provide more context for what's going on here?

You don't always have to come up with the purpose first. Sometimes you look at your dungeon layout and say, "I need more combat." So build your combat encounter, and then retroactively determine why that's necessary to the story.

That's what I did for The Workshop Watches. I added the greenhouse fight because the dungeon needed more combat. I asked myself, "what kinds of rooms would exist in a wizard's laboratory?" and settled on a greenhouse full of magical plants. Later on, I came up with the temperature control mechanic, where S.A.M. would counter cold damage with fire damage and fire damage with cold damage. A burnt section of the greenhouse suggests that S.A.M. has incinerated something-or someone-before.

Challenge

What are the characters meant to do in this room? This one is the most straightforward, but writing it out can help you keep track of the balance between different types of challenges. Combat, exploration, social, trap diffusion, puzzle solving, etc.

Reward

What do the characters get for completing the challenge in this room? Sometimes the reward is just "passage to the next room." Sometimes it's as explicit as "treasure!" But think outside the box for things your players would appreciate inside a dungeon: new tools, the opportunity for a rest, more lore, a role play opportunity.

There can be multiple Purposes, Challenges, or Rewards in one room, but try not to overdo it! Conversely, you can cheat a little bit and have them overlap or omit one ("The purpose of this room is simply to be a place for the characters to rest -- a reward! The challenge is in whether they'll recognize it or not")

Examples

The template has more questions for special room types. I won't go through all of them, but I do want to share some examples from my outline for The City Lost To Dream. Here's the entryway example:

Later on, I realized that there wasn't enough in the entryway. The final draft has a statue of the tower's founder and clues to suggest you should rub the bottom of her robe, which grants you a boon on a check. A fun reward for a History challenge.

Another example, one of the Laboratory floors:

You can see there's multiple challenges here, but no concrete reward yet. In the final draft, the aboleth can help you in a later encounter, but it also grants you three "knowledge" wishes (basically, three castings of legend lore).

The Climax

The climax of the dungeon - the final confrontation. Most dungeon delving games consider some kind of confrontation to be a great cap to the adventure. Combat is especially popular here. Give your characters something to fight!

But almost as important as the fight is the choice. A question I am constantly asking myself is, "The Characters learned all that information you gave them; now what are they going to do about it?" This is a roleplaying game, after all! When the characters learn the full truth of the dungeon and uncover its thesis, it may change their minds about how to proceed. Maybe they must choose between two potential adversaries, or choose whether or not to fight, or choose whether or not to use lethal force.

And that's the outline! I hope it's helpful to folks who are interested in creating this style of dungeon. Definitely pick up a copy of The City Lost to Dream if you haven't already; it's a fun 5e adventure! And let me know what you think of this method.

[lettersnorth]

The Gift

To the untrained eye her study had become a disorganized mess. A collection of mechanical contraptions and spare parts spilled across the desk of her terminal. Books lay splayed open, scattered on nearly every available surface as though the reader had stepped away for a moment. Maybe to write a note or sketch a quick diagram in one of several notebooks that were piled haphazardly across her writing desk.

But to Aislinn there was order in this chaos. She knew the location and title of every book scattershot around the study, the purpose of every mechanism she had pulled from her workshop. She was working, thinking, racking her mind to try and make any of this problem with Lewra and the other seemingly lifeless bodies make sense. She barely ate, slept in short fits when she’d succumb for a bell or two at her desk and generally had no time for anyone in Heartwood outside of those that needed her attention in the clinic. 

A planning meeting had been called of which she did not attend. She’d been around long enough to know how “planning” meetings went when Heartwood’s group of mercenaries got together. They never met a meeting they couldn’t turn into an opportunity to bicker and argue. She may as well go outside and wander in ever-maddening circles. Instead, she was in her study digging through her shelves and cabinets of spare parts she kept on hand for Sergius. Finally she found it. The aether signature creator. 

The inconvenient truth was that everything that had been happening was creeping up on Aislinn like a rising tide. Lewra. The Kugane job. Sterling. Stark Oak. Yami had said to let her anger out but when had that ever in her life done her one lick of good? Anger didn’t bring Lewra back. It didn’t untangle her complicated feelings over watching Sterling bleed out in the dirt. It did nothing to the knowledge that she could do no more for Stark Oak than hope the monks followed through on their promise or the low grade anxiety that was ever present when Locke was away on a voyage, wondering if the last time she saw him would end up being the last time. Because one day, it would be. 

No. Anger changed nothing. All her life it had been a luxury she couldn’t afford. So instead, she worked. She worked until all these thoughts became nothing but background noise. Until there was just her and a problem to be solved. 

She powered up the signature creator, letting the mock aether stabilize and then she opened her senses. The signature wasn’t a perfect replica. If she focused on it she could pick out the wrongness, the sour, artificial note, but for most applications it would do the job of fooling anyone but the extremely versed and aetherically sensitive. 

She had no idea if this would end up being of any use to her, Yami or Tynos but in her experience it was better to be prepared than to find yourself wishing for something you didn’t have. 

She turned away from the row of cabinets and bumped against a work table. Hard enough to jostle a round sphere decorated in Starlight wrapping paper. A gift from Lewra. It rolled until it hit a book and stopped. Guilt washed over Aislinn. Yami had given it to her days ago and she hadn’t brought herself to open it. She had missed the family Starlight gathering, off on the Kugane business. It wasn’t something she could have explained in a note. Or in person. Or…she just couldn’t. So she just sent her regrets. That life wouldn’t intrude on this one and with any luck it was behind her for good now, anyroads. 

She set the signature creator down and picked up the sphere. It was heavy and solid, whatever it was. Slowly, she unpeeled the wrapping to expose a brass metallic sphere. She didn’t know what else she was expecting, after all the wrapping had done little to hide the shape of the object underneath. Etched across the interlocking plates of the sphere’s surface were geometric designs not unlike constellations but no matter how she looked at it, its purpose eluded her. Lewra had to know one of the only ways to stop the woman she loved like a daughter in her tracks was to present her with a puzzle. 

Sidetracked by this new development Aislinn ran her hands over the sphere, testing the interlocking plates as she slowly made her way to the couch and sank down to sit and solve this new problem. Something about it soothed the frazzled edges of her tired mind. 

Time slipped away like water through cupped hands as she sat there on the couch, head bent over the sphere in her lap, her deft fingers and agile mind moving in concert over the sphere’s puzzle until all at once with a satisfying click two things happened. Green aether pulsed out of the sphere in a rush and a panel popped open, revealing a note that had been tucked inside. Still images formed from the aether in the air around the sphere. A multitude of ghostly projections, hovering in place. 

'To my oldest,

Happy Starlight, and I hope you enjoyed the puzzle to get to your gift. Keep it close for when those dark times come to keep you going, and don't worry, I'll teach you how to add more memories to your aetherical album when you're ready so you can have more of you and Locke. I only had one to start it out. I have a feeling you're wondering how this works, I'll go over that with you don't worry. Other family members have one as well, and memories can be exchanged to add to your own album.

You may not be mine by blood but I'll always love you, and be so proud of you like you're my own.

Love, Mom’

Reaching out, Aislinn touched one of the images and at once it came to life. A memory. Lewra’s memories. 

Their first meeting. Her first medical lesson. The way Lewra had patiently taken her alarmingly unscrupulous and criminal alchemical knowledge and honed it against her own Sharlayan practices. The moments Aislinn opened up to Lewra. Talks over tea and baklava. Aislinn introducing her to Locke for the first time. She had gently teased her all while overjoyed by the casual way he could reach for Aislinn’s hand, understanding it for the feat it was. All of it. It was all here. 

These were shared experiences but as seen from Lewra’s perspective. Memory was not so much a camera as a filter. The particulars it held on to was nothing compared to what bled through. 

She hugged the sphere tight against her body. As though it could fill the gaping hollow that had been carved from Aislinn’s chest. Too much. The grief and very real possibility that she may never speak to Lewra again threatened to drown her and she struggled to keep her head above water. Her searching hand dove into the pocket of her coat, wrapping tight around Yami’s crystal she found there. For when it all became too much, the Seeker had said. And now the crystal siphoned the waves of emotions before they could buffet Aislinn to even darker depths. A burden shared.

Aislinn was not good with words. The ones she had were unwieldy tools improperly calibrated for the swirling riptide inside her. Anger was too small a word. Grief, too vague. Sadness was an insipid and reductive term. But Yami knew that. Hence the crystal. Through that tether Aislinn’s outward silence was shown for what Lewra always understood it to be, a barrier to be navigated and nothing more. She felt drained and yet her whole rib cage ached, her heart banging around like it was angrily trying to find a way out of her chest. Fiercely, savagely reminding her in case she had forgotten; 

She had to get up. She had to get up, there was work to do. 

[dailyadventureprompts]

Ally: Dhruva, The Celestial Brightsmith

However brilliant you think my work might be, remember that I learned my craft at the feet of those who wrought entire worlds from the void with nothing but their hope and intent. I adore them as all students adore their masters, as a candle must adore the dawn 

Wondrous weapons made of some radiant material have begun appearing in exotic markets and the hands of the party’s foes, allowing their bearers to transform into intangible colour while in motion or sear through the flesh of creatures made of dream. This raises the question of just where these weapons originated and how the party can get their hands on them, leading to a journey across the planes which culminates in a visitation with a most extraordinary artisan.

Where they once forged weapons for heavenly legions, the celestial Dhruva has spent several eons perfecting an art of capturing, channelling, and tempering light they refer to as “brightsmithing”, which they now hope to propagate across the multiverse. They do this in dedication to the starry goddess Urania, as the process of creating a “lightwrought” weapon requires one to seek out and bask in the vivid brilliance of the cosmos, which is in itself a form of prayer to the little known goddess.

Pilgrimages across the infinite are all well and nice, but the actions of the celestial smith are inadvertently at risk of kicking off an arms race as the various factions and free agents of the cosmic sea scramble for this new power. Will the party turn this upheaval to their advantage, or will the chaos convince them that mortalkind is not yet ready for such gifts?  Will they even care so long as they can get cool glowing weapons from the kindly space angel?

Adventure Hooks:

The Brightsmith is just the entity you want to talk to if you need a peerless weapon to take down an untouchable rival, a tyrant, or a hostile celestial body. The construction of such a weapon will of course take expenditure on the party’s part, sourcing the materials from dangerous reaches, journeying out into the cosmos to capture just the tight light, and most importantly of all, convincing Dhruva their cause is just. Given that they’re a being made of mortality, The celestial is unlikey to be swayed by selfish arguments, and the heroes might need to do some soul searching before they earn their shiny new toy.

Dhruva’s forge is a tiny world unto itself, constructed by the celestial over millennia of trial and error as they refined the process of brightsmithing from a theory into an actual craft. As such, beneath the surface there seem to be an endless gallery of disused workshops, vaults, and armouries full of failed experiments. Occasionally they’ll need someone to pop down into one of the forgotten lower levels and bring them something, necessitating the party fight through constructs, plasma elementals, and the sort of shadowy void creatures that feed upon light.

On a subsequent visit to Dhruva’s forge, the party end up encountering another traveller, begging for Dhruva to take him back as an apprentice and show him the true secrets of brightsmithing. After banishing the newcomer, Dhruva will tell the party of his fallen apprentice who had a real talent for the art but sought to rationalize the process by cutting out the spiritual elements in an attempt to mass produce light based weapons. As the campaign goes on, the party will encounter some of these “falselight” weapons in the hand of villains, a pale imitation of a true lightwrought weapon, but affordable for your average merc or pirate. 

Mechanic: Brightsmithing

Like all talented artisans, those who which to create lightwrought weapons need superior materials in order to realize their aims, the same way that a master smith wouldn’t use the same metal to construct nails as they would a sword.

To this end, brightsmiths make use of special crystalline prisms that can drink in light over a matter of time to later be extracted by the smith with the use of special lenses and mirrors. Prisms typically resemble a colorless piece of rock-quartz with a starry sparkle about their edges, and as brightsmithing propagates throughout a setting it’s not unusual to see travlers, sailors, and adventurers all carrying these stones (or atleast fragments of them).

There are two sorts of prisms: Stable and Volatile, each ranked along the same rarity access of regular magic items.

Stable Prisms need to soak in the specified light in order to abzorb its properties, requiring a total of 24 hours of exposure to a specific arrangement of light in order to gain a charge.   Once that charge has been used to create a lightwrought item, this prism is reusable, though the rarity of the item produced will always be one step in rarity below that of the stable prism itself

Volatile Prisms are fast acting, requiring only a minute of exposure in order to develop a charge. This speed comes with several downsides, in that the prism is single use and must be stored in dark conditions lest it drink in the ambient light of a room spoiling its potential. The charge of a volatile prism is always equal to that of an item of its rarity.

The other thing brightsmiths need, obviously, is light: the more potent the better, thought what exactly determines the potency of light is highly subjective, relating to any number of factors:

The light is part of a display that could be considered uniquely beautiful

The character trapping the light is feeling some level of personal poignancy, associating it with a strong memory or emotions

the source of the light is volatile or dangerous

Few have seen the source of this light in living memory

there is something primal, divine, or otherworldly about the source

For every factor a source of light matches, the charge it generates in a prism is counted as one level of rarity (starting from common) to a max of the rarity of the prism.

When given over to a capable brightsmith, a charged prism counts as the raw materials required for an item of the corresponding level, with the particular quality and source of the light determining a thematic link with the item to be crafted.

Lightwrought weapons by default also deal magical radiant damage in addition to their other types, making them a sought after alternative for expensive enchanted weapons when dealing with those beats of the astral sea that might be resistant or outright immune to mundane steel