#coaster mechanics

[hyper-coasters]

An up-close reminder of why NOT to have your phone out on roller coasters. This is a whole CHUNK taken out of the lower wheel from Cheetah Hunt, caused by a cellphone that had been dropped on the track. Not only do you destroy your phone, but you can do some serious damage to the coaster itself! Damage like this requires the whole train to come off the track and be at least partially, if not entirely, disassembled. Cheetah Hunts maintenance is done in-house annually and as needed by Busch Gardens mechanics. Super grateful for what they do!

[meilia-stims]

May i request a sidesplitter stimboard it's @ballpitbee 's oc, can it have a mechanical theme with gifs of the smiler (the roller coaster) and black and yellow spirals and other things that give off sidesplitter's vibe, please and thank you

Sidesplitter (@ballpitbee) stimboard for @12-oz-joy with mechanical themes, smiler and spiral stims

🌀 🔧 🌀

🔧 🌀 🔧

🌀 🔧 🌀

[nat-stimmy]

Lightning Rod (SOURCE)

[showyoumyfavoriteobsession]

One of my favorite Youtubers, Marcel Vos, has a series where he's beating every scenario in Rollercoaster Tycoon, usually focusing on just making a nice-looking park. For today's video, he based all the color schemes for the rides and decorations on different pride flags, and it’s unbearably cute. Mutuals we are meeting at the nonbinary pirate ship ride <3

[quixot1sm]

Hear me out: N and Hilbert going back to the ferris wheel with their kid

this is very very sweet (and i most certainly will be doodling something about this at some point) but i think, when their kid's grown enough to ask why they're so sentimental about the old thing, the following conversation would be pretty funny to overhear. well this is where your father rejected me<3

[toytulini]

hit tag limit on the last post cos i started talking about roller coasters again 😔

[mapsareforbraindeads]

people need to stop talking about roller coasters around me because holy fuck they are so uninformed

[farttherapy]

*boogley laughter*

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[episbep]

rehab day nineteen (I think? I’m starting to lose track)

my safe space, my sad view, the place I am crying and learning and feeling and healing ❤️‍🩹 fuck this is hard. my mentality has shifted from wanting to use and missing the “good times*” to being absolutely petrified of going back to that mental place and causing even more harm and damage than I already have. There is so much uncertainty surrounding the impact/consequences of my behaviour and actions and I want to make it all ok right now (typical addict ffs) but until I am in a better headspace I will only continue to cause harm to those that I love and take more than I am able to give back. The euphoric recall has turned to seeing it for what it really was - sitting alone in my room, putting shards above everything important in my life. I have faith that I can build a beautiful life once more but I absolutely must surrender to the program and put my recovery first.

I’ve been searching for Buddhist affirmations or prayers to start the day with and I’m going to start with the one up there👆 I can always switch it up if/when I find others that resonate with me but for now, that’s perfect. My intention is to start each day by reciting my daily affirmations and prayer, attend The Buddhist Centre 7:30 online meditation (Monday to Saturday- recovery meditation recordings on Sundays) and complete my gratitude list and goals for tomorrow each evening. The affirmations I’ve chosen are from the list that we all pick from each morning in treatment, I’ve just narrowed it down to the ones that work for me:

“I am a worthwhile person. I am enough. I am a unique and precious human being, always doing and being the best that I can, always growing in wisdom and love. I am in charge of my life, and am responsible for my feelings and behaviours. I am capable of changing; there is no fixed self. My emotional well-being is primarily dependent on how I treat and love myself. I do not need to prove myself to anyone , I need only express myself as openly and honestly as I am capable. I am not alone for I am one with the universe. I deserve to be loved by myself and others. I live one day at a time and do one thing at a time (keep it simple!)”

*they were not good times. they were fucking up my life times and hurting everyone I hold close to my heart times. They were fucking dark times when I felt that using was my only choice. I am incredibly grateful to be in treatment and to be being helped onto a path where there is light at the end of the tunnel.

[yaoischolar]

if anyone cares im actually very good at rhythm games to the point im learning how to git gud at osu because Im Just A Crazy Bitch

[bricksxbooks]

I support this product idea on LEGO Ideas, and you should, too!

[hyper-coasters]

If you have never been on a roller coaster during an evacuation, you may wonder how it's done. Well, on Cobra's Curse the trains have 8 electronic locks which are located on the lower back of each train. There are several ways to unlock the lap bars in case of an emergency, but the most commonly used option is a 25 volt battery pack. The pack plugs into the ports pictured above and with a dial located on the battery pack, you turn to unlock and release the lap bars. If for any reason the battery pack is not available, there is a pump system that can be used to manually pry the seats open. The final option, which does not work on all the trains as some are newer, is with a giant butter knife. No, I'm not kidding. It is called a harness release key, and it is a long silver pole that comes to a flat, rounded end. To unlock the trains that allow this option, it is essentially jabbed into the marked spot on the train located near the edge where you place your foot to get on.

[b0xedc0ffee]

I think I want to be understood on a level that is far deeper than my personality.

I want someone to be able to tell me my favorite color, like I can tell them the tallest rollercoaster. I wake up and yearn for someone to be able to trace my scars like how I can trace out the terrain of a coaster after riding it once.

I want to be understood in the way I understand the assembly of a wheel bogie. I want someone to know exactly how many bones I have, like how I know how many coasters there are at my home park.

I want someone to be able to understand what my eyes are speaking rather than what my lips are, like how I can describe why a chairlift makes the noises it does in such extreme detail.

I want someone to be able to reside my trauma by memory, like how I can go in depth into the history of my favorite park.

I want someone to be able to tell me how my brain works, like how I tell them a rollercoaster works.

I think, the simplest way to put it.

I want to be understood, like how I understand rollercoasters.

I desire to be understood on a level that is more than human.

More so, machine.

[eiralunaire]

Damian rode a ride with his girlfriend only to see her pass out on the way down.

The amusement park was full of lights and bustle, and Damian Wayne walked with a serene expression next to his girlfriend, who seemed much more excited than he was. Although at first glance Damian didn't seem like the type of person who would enjoy a park, he had agreed to accompany her, convinced that it would be an... interesting experience.

“Are you sure you don't want to wait here?” she said, pointing to the mechanical game that stood in front of them. It was one of those where the passengers were launched up and then fell suddenly, only to be launched again on an adrenaline-fueled roller coaster.

Damian smiled slightly, with that gesture that he considered confident and that, in his eyes, made it clear that he was not afraid. “Do you think I'm going to let you go up by yourself?” he joked. “Besides, I'm a Wayne. A little game is nothing to me.”

She rolled her eyes, laughing softly, and they both joined the line. When their turn came, they settled into their seats and fastened their seatbelts, and Damian looked around, assessing the safety system as if it were a strategic project.

“Relax, Damian. It’s designed for this,” she whispered to him.

“Who said I’m not?” he replied, but she noticed his hands tightening on the armrests with a slight tension. It was almost adorable to see Damian trying to remain stoic.

The countdown began, and Damian felt a knot in his stomach as he heard the machinery start up. And suddenly, the ride launched into the sky at breakneck speed. The wind whipped their faces, and in an instant, they felt as if they were flying… and then they were falling at full speed. His girlfriend screamed with excitement, while Damian barely managed to suppress the urge to grab the bar in front of him.

However, on the second fall, Damian heard silence beside him. He glanced over quickly and noticed that she had closed her eyes, her head tilted to the side. She seemed completely relaxed, more so than anyone would be in such an intense game.

“Hey!” Damian nudged her slightly with his elbow, calling her name, but got no response. His calm expression turned to concern, then to barely contained panic. The game kept throwing them up and down, and he tried somehow to steady her, but it was nearly impossible. “Did you pass out…?”

The game finally slowed down, and when it came to a complete stop, Damian was already in action. She quickly freed herself from the harness, and before the operator could even react, Damian had stepped out of his seat and was untying her.

“Are you okay?” The softness in his voice was unusual, almost inaudible. The concern was evident, though he tried to hide it.

Slowly, she blinked, her eyes half-closed as she tried to come to. “What… what happened?”

Damian breathed a sigh of relief, but seeing her dazed state, worry crept back into him. “You fainted,” he explained, helping her to her feet. He was trying to sound neutral, but there was something in his tone that betrayed the fright he had felt.

“Oh… that explains the ringing in my head,” she said, smiling weakly. But noticing his worried expression, she tried to reassure him. “I’m fine, really. It was just… more than I expected.”

Damian shook his head, an incredulous smile playing on his lips. “I knew it was a bad idea, but no, you had to convince me it would be ‘fun,’” he imitated her in a slightly mocking tone.

She laughed, though the laugh turned into a small cough, and Damian gave her a warning look. “Okay, Bruce Wayne Jr., I’m not getting on anything like that with you again. You look more scared than I am.”

Damian watched her closely, his eyes shining with relief and something else. Finally, he smiled and murmured, “Only you could pass out in one of these games… and make me worry like an idiot.”

[darsynia]

Forgiven (CEO Steve/f!Reader)

MCU MASTERLIST | STEVE ROGERS MASTERLIST | Ro Roll

Summary: Since dropping out of school to care for your sister, your daydream has been that a rich, handsome man will save you from drowning in debt. Until then (read: never), you’ll work hard at your new receptionist job and try not to ogle the impossibly hot construction guy working in the foyer…

Words/Warnings: 2,855 | none

As 5/7 of my Ro Roll birthday fics for @ronearoundblindly, forGIVEn is a fluffy meet cute between CEO Steve and f!Freader. Gif is by @ashilesun.

Excerpt:

“Something wrong, miss?”

You look up to see Foreman Eye Candy standing beside the desk looking gently concerned. One sandy blonde curl is plastered to his forehead with sweat, and you can see that his eyes are a gorgeous shade of blue.

From behind you, a hand lands on your shoulder with just enough pressure to guide you to your seat.

“Nothing of note, Sir, I’m sure!” your coworker says hurriedly.

“All right,” the man says, setting his left hand down on the counter. There’s no ring on his finger. ‘Sir’ Eye Candy (you’re going to hell for all of this) offers a kindly, “Have a good afternoon,” and right at that moment, both of the reception phones ring. There’s no time to process the oddness of what’s just happened, not until you’re back at home and making dinner for your sister.

“How was your hump day?” Jennie asks from the living room.

You nearly splash boiling hot water all over yourself.  

FORGIVEN

“Thank God for the internship last summer!” your sister says (again).

“I do, I do,” you promise, looking at yourself critically in the grubby bathroom mirror. She doesn’t have to know you pick a new deity to mentally ‘thank’ every time. Today it’s Thor, because you need to bring electricity to your first day on the job. 

You’re hoping to look professional but approachable for this customer-facing position, and it looks like the months of clothes thrifting before your internship last year are really paying off. Do you wish you could work in your field of choice? Sure, but working in the same company as a receptionist means you have both in-field and company knowledge. Once Jennie is back on her feet, you hope to be back on yours, too.

You step into the kitchen to check that everything is set up for your sister. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come back at lunch?”

“No mother hen-ing, you promised! I’ll be fine, and you’ll need your own lunch!”

Your watch beeps that it’s time to start walking to work, so you slip into your sturdy dress shoes and give the room a final once-over. Jennie’s cooler of food is near the couch, she’s got all of the remotes, and her walker is within reach. You’ve even put a pair of crutches in the umbrella stand and lashed the damned thing to the couch so she can’t knock it over. Her charger is at hand, the blinds are down, and the end table has her morning coffee on a coaster.

“Get out or I’ll start throwing things at you and you’ll be late from having to clean them up!” your sister teases.

“I love when you nag,” you tell her, shutting the door before she can retort.

Star Industries is honestly your dream workplace, even after pausing your mechanical engineering degree to take care of Jennie. After Tony Stark and his company spun it off as a subsidiary, Star really came into its own. The company has an inspiring mission: to ensure safe, affordable prosthetics for the people who really need them. Many customers are war veterans, just like the two men in charge. The COO even has one himself.

You’d filled out your paperwork after hours, so when you walk into the building, it’s a nice surprise to see how the morning light floods the lobby. The atrium of the building is made up of a multi-storey open space lit by tall windows, with the company’s logo laid out in the tile floor right as you come in the doors. The A in the word ‘STAR’ is, of course, a star, but it’s the missing ‘K’ from its parent company that catches the eye. Instead of upright, the K is laid on its ‘back.’ One stick figure’s front leg and another stick figure’s back leg make up the angled lines from the K--and they’re both wearing prosthetics.

The name badge you’re given has a smaller version of the same logo, and you can’t help but hope this isn’t the only time you’ll be representing the company. You fix it to your lapel and sit nervously at the desk beside the woman who will train you. It’s an hour before you come up for air long enough to notice there’s some renovation work going on nearby. 

Honestly, ‘notice’ is embarrassingly underselling it.

The windows in the lobby are clearly designed to encourage shafts of sunlight that flood a particular area with a cheerful glow. You’ve managed to look over right when one such beam illuminates a man wearing rough work clothes, his head tipped back to drink out of a water bottle. He’s handsome as hell, with a face like Adonis and powerful muscles straining his sweat-damp t-shirt. The sunlight turns him into a golden statue, and you sure as hell would visit museums more often if the art looked like that!

Your phone rings and you answer promptly, tearing your eyes away from the construction worker just as he smiles at someone. The stammered greeting you offer to the caller could be chalked up to it being your first day, but that isn’t the reason at all.

Your first week on the job is equal parts satisfying and stressful. Satisfying because it turns out you’re a natural at taking zero shit with maximum politeness. Your stress comes from the renovations.

The work isn’t loud, and it’s not like you’re worried about safety or anything. Technically, your job isn’t affected at all… well, not because of your assigned work, that is. No, you’re the one affected, and it’s thanks to the man who seems to be in charge.

After that first day, the tarp that separated their construction from the rest of the lobby had been removed, meaning you could just look over and see him at any point throughout your day.

You’ve been rationing those glimpses for your own sanity.

Despite this, there are still details you’ve noted. One, he’s definitely the foreman. Everyone defers to the guy, but his leadership style seems to rely on trust and respect. Two, he has the most genuine smile you’ve ever seen. Paired with his looks, it’s a disastrous combination, especially given Reason Number Three: he’s an utter beast. More than once you’ve seen him moving things with ease that would take multiple other men to lift.

Today is Monday and the men were all at work before you arrive. Their project is taking shape; it appears to be a café with low counters, maybe a wheelchair-friendly gathering space? It would be on brand for the company, and certainly explains why you’ve been brought on as a second receptionist. The usual population in the lobby will certainly go up once it’s completed.

Before you sit down, you take stock of the wide welcome desk. Would anyone notice if you nudged one of the large flower pots to the left to mostly block your view of the café area? You decide to risk it. Foreman Eye Candy is a Distraction with a capital D, and you already love this job.

The morning goes smoothly--but by lunch you’re fairly certain you’ve memorized the pattern on the side of that damned pot, for as often as you’ve looked over at it.

When you come back from your break, the pot is back where it was before.

Your hands shake a little bit as you log back into your computer. Did a cleaning crew come through and adjust it? You’re not brave enough to ask the senior receptionist for fear she’ll question why it was moved in the first place. It’s probably a fluke, you decide.

Without your makeshift barrier, you find yourself looking over at the Foreman way too many times before you’re done for the day, but he’s smiled at least twice in your direction, so that’s something.

On Tuesday morning, you choose discretion as the better part of valor and scoot the pot over to obscure your view again, even taking the time to nudge its closest neighbor a little, to even up the spacing.

After lunch on Tuesday, both pots are moved back, and Eye Candy is smiling. You doubt the two are related.

On Wednesday you bring in one of those Newton’s Cradle desk toys with permission from your coworker at the desk. It’s altruistic, distracting the children when their parents show up to ask questions. Because your area is recessed a bit, you risk setting the item on a little paper sorter to make it level with the visitors’ side. Completely incidentally, that placement blocks some of your view of the café under construction.

You come back from lunch to find the shelf moved to the other side of your computer monitor.

It’s so disconcerting that you stand there staring at it in shock for a long moment, long enough to attract attention.

“Something wrong, miss?”

You look up to see Foreman Eye Candy standing beside the desk looking gently concerned. One sandy blonde curl is plastered to his forehead with sweat, and you can see that his eyes are a gorgeous shade of blue.

From behind you, a hand lands on your shoulder with just enough pressure to guide you to your seat.

“Nothing of note, Sir, I’m sure!” your coworker says hurriedly.

“All right,” the man says, setting his left hand down on the counter. There’s no ring on his finger. ‘Sir’ Eye Candy (you’re going to hell for all of this) offers a kindly, “Have a good afternoon,” and right at that moment, both of the reception phones ring. There’s no time to process the oddness of what’s just happened, not until you’re back at home and making dinner for your sister.

“How was your hump day?” Jennie asks from the living room.

You nearly splash boiling hot water all over yourself.  

Chanting ‘it’s Wednesday, that’s called ‘hump day,’ there’s nothing that implies you’ve been thinking impure thoughts, pull it together!’ in your head, you answer something non-committal and continue with dinner.

That night you have a dream that Sir Eye Candy walks over and smiles at you, illuminated by one of those rays of light straight from heaven.

On Thursday you arrive at work to find the pots have all been moved farther back along the decorative part of the receptionist’s desk, much too far to move any of them without notice.

As if he’d been waiting for you to see the change, you make brief eye contact with Sir Eye Candy. He does a little nod of acknowledgment before turning to move the large sign for the café. By himself.

“Am I awake?” you whisper to yourself, unable to look away from how effortlessly he moves under heavy strain.

“Keep staring at the boss like that and the rest of his crew will never let you hear the end of it!” your front desk coworker Marcia jokes.

Your cognitive function flatlines as you try to process the word ‘boss’ while at the same time watching the man in question wipe sweat off of his brow. “It’s obvious he’s the foreman,” you mumble, dropping your phone so you have to look away to pick it up. If the screen cracks, you deserve it.

“Oh, honey, this is his side gig. Pet project. Maybe even a vacation, knowing Rogers,” Marcia chuckles.

The name ‘Rogers’ finally gets through to you, in context to ‘the boss.’ Steve Rogers.

Sir Eye Candy is CEO Eye Candy.

“Wait…”

“There it is!” Your coworker gives you the kind of look only busybody aunts and elder coworkers can pull off. “Word is his gym is closed for a few weeks, so he pulled some strings to move this project up. Nice way to start a new job, yeah?”

You’ve been ogling the CEO. “Should I put in my two weeks’ notice?” you whisper. Dismay doesn’t even cover it. You’re practically mortifie--

“I’d advise your manager not to accept,” a nearby voice says. “If anything, I probably ought to call myself into an HR meeting. I’ve been quite distracted this past week.”

It’s CEO Eye Can-- Rogers. All you can do is mutely look up at him, watching the amused look on his face turn into a stern one.

“Have you been messing with my plant display?”

It’s not at all what you were expecting him to say, and you’re still befuddled by the idea he was distracted by you, so you stammer out an admission that yes, you did move his pots.

The phone rings, and after a subtle gesture from Rogers, Marcia takes the call.

“Sir,” you begin, noting the way his posture straightens on hearing the title. You lick your lips in nervousness, and god, his eyes go straight there. HR would be having kittens.

“Go on?” Rogers’ voice is resonant. Everything about this feels like a rom-com, and you are totally worried you’ll screw it up.

“Forgive me for staring?” you offer. You’d meant to say something less obvious, but it’s too late now.

“Yes, well. I’d like to go over your conduct at a lunch meeting, if, that is, you--” he breaks off, lifts his chin, and clears his throat. “In a half hour.”

“I-- Of course--” You’ve answered too late, he’s already walking away and calling out to the crew. Stunned, you look over at Marcia. She’s grinning, but doesn’t look up, and you decide to take your cues from her.

Fifteen minutes later, the work crew wraps up. You see them file out in your peripheral vision, but if Rogers is going to play the Principal’s Office card, you’re going to play at being an obedient student.

This sends your mind on a complete irresponsible rampage, and you’re still tamping down the mental images when a gentleman in a suit walks up to the front of the desk.

Your welcoming smile is already in place when you lift your head to greet him, but it widens into surprised happiness to see that it’s Rogers. At the very last minute you stop yourself from acting like he’s picking you up for a date, even though you very much hope that’s what this is, HR be damned. Every fairytale has a villain, after all, and villains are made to be thwarted.

“Can I help you, sir?”

The word choice is deliberate.

“You can. Marcia, do you usually cover for lunch?”

“I do.”

“Good. We’ll be prompt,” he says firmly, tapping the flat of his palm on the desk with finality. You take the cue, getting up and slinging your purse over your shoulder, but inwardly your stomach is a riot of sawdust. 

Are you reading this wrong? All of your teenage aspirations to be swept off of your feet by a rich, handsome man feel like lead weights at the bottom of your shoes. Steve Rogers’ reputation is sterling, and despite your less-than-angelic daydreams, you don’t want to come across like a gold-digger. Even if you are strapped for cash.

Rogers opens the door for you. The front door. The front door of his business. It’s heady and confusing, even more confusing when a slick silver car pulls up and a valet hands him the keys.

“You look like you either need sunglasses or smelling salts,” he says gently.

“A neck brace,” you quip. “For the whiplash.”

His smile is sheepish as he opens the car door for you. “That’s fair.”

The car is cinematically nice inside, and you suppress the desperate desire to pinch yourself until you wake up as he gets in and adjusts the seat for his height. He doesn’t look over at you, which your adrenaline-drunk mind can’t decide is good or bad.

Then he does, and all you can do is smile back at him.

“A confession: I cribbed some of those lines.” Rogers eases the car out into traffic and lets out a long breath. “From Bu-- a friend of mine. Advice on how to be in charge and ask out a subordinate at the same time.” He stops at a red light and shoots a look over at you. “How’d I do?”

You kind of want that neck brace, but despite the trappings, you’re really enjoying who this man is turning out to be. “That depends. Do you want me to be turned upside down and sideways?”

That earns you a look akin to the one he sent you when you’d called him ‘sir.’ You shiver, and he notices. “I don’t think you want to know what his advice might be on the answer to that question! How about ‘maybe?’”

“Maybe is good,” you manage.

“Glad to hear it. What would you like? Italian? Deli?” Rogers looks over and catches his breath like he’d forgotten his wallet. “An invite to lunch without your employment on the line? I’m sorry about that. I got--” He looks back at the road, hands tight on the steering wheel. “--carried away.”

His candid mix of charm and command are sweeping you completely off your feet, tarnished halo and all. “I don’t think I have time to phone a friend for a better answer, but is ‘maybe’ still good?”

Your sister would walk her ass to the car to smack you if she knew you’d just told the CEO of your new company you’re a ‘maybe’ for a one-on-one ‘maybe’ date with him. You suspect his friend would be facepalming, too.

“Your job isn’t on the line, I promise. I’d never misuse power like that--” He breaks off from his serious tone, looks down at his suit and the fancy car you’re both sitting in, and chuckles. “All evidence to the contrary.”

The whole situation is absurd, unrealistic, completely romantic, and everything you’ve always wanted.

You’re going to wake up any minute now.

Rogers looks over and raises his eyebrows. You realize with embarrassment that he wants you to either tell him where he can stuff his lunch invitation, or where the two of you can go eat.

“I got carried away too,” you rush to say. “Yes to lunch. No maybes in sight.”

“You’re forgiven,” he smiles.

to be continued...

[a-method-in-it]

I was going to make a joke that actually the log flumes are fine and it's your track that's sideways, but that wouldn't fix it either huh

why my log flumes sideways