#white pc build

[destineygames]

Valorant is for the girls 🤭

Shop my Setup | Twitch | TikTok | YouTube | Instagram | X | Threads | Facebook | Pinterest | Lemon8

[mcdolann]

🤍 dream machine 🤍

[rose-colored-hearts]

I think Carrie White would make an interesting build for a dnd character. Wild Magic Sorcerer with Acolyte background??? A tragic backstory??? MOMMY ISSUES???? She’s primed to have a dnd character based off of her.

[ozcarr]

Actually cleaned a little for NYE so the apartment is presentable and I feel like bragging about how much our (roommate is @hateno) place rules

[oobxlr8r]

Week 26

Week 26

[softle0]

my biggest regret in life was getting caught into the all white kpop aesthetic room and ofc now I hate it, literally all the furniture in my room is fucking white and it’s just a pain in the ass, biggest regret for sureee

[forgivenfolly]

pretty much all of my pc stuff besides the cooler is going to be here tomorrow so i get to just stare at the boxes for an unspecified time like 🧍🏻

[snaids]

His and hers ❤️

[lusin333]

I, @Lusin333, have an ATI Radeon HD 4350 GPU (AriesATX-21-M06).

I will put this GPU in my crypto mining rig so I can mine more Bitcoin or some other crypto.

Thanks to AMD for giving this GPU to me FOR FREE.

[spaceistheplaceart]

A Human's Touch - HL2VRAI AMV

constantly thinking about the relationship between the game, the NPCs/science team, and Gordon/The Player

ID AND CREDIT BELOW:

BEGIN ID

An animatic set to the song "A Human's Touch" by TWRP. The visuals are timed with lyrics, so I'll type the lyrics in quotes "like this", then explain the visuals, then move onto the next lyrics. I hope this format works well for all, and if it does not- feel free to reach out!

"Am I a toy to you, my love?"

Benrey stares up through Gordon's computer, standing on a black and white grid. He is in a beanie and jumpsuit, like many citizens from Half Life 2. He has a small mustache and a shadow over his eyes. He has a neutral expression. With each word of the lyrics, the camera zooms further out to reveal he is in a computer inside Gordon/The Player's room. The room has a PC tower, a chair, a desk, a microphone, a shelf with a VR headset and games on it, and a few posters. One poster is of "Kane and Lynch 2: Dog Days" and another is of two chimps grooming eachother. With the following musical beats, the room changes slightly to show passage of time. The chair moves around, things appear and disappear on the desk, and the chimp poster is torn down for another poster that says "Gamer's don't die, they respawn." On the final beat, the player is sat at the desk.

"Just a thing to play and then throw away."

A computer screen with four applications shown on it: steam, discord, garry's mod, and Half Life. A mouse cursor floats over Half Life before retreating. The screen is shut off and turns black.

"I never asked for this."

Benrey and Coomer sitting against a black background. Benrey is turned away, hunched a little. The lyrics appear on his side of the screen.

"I always did my best."

Coomer is turned to the side, looking up with his hands grasped together and eyebrows worried. The lyrics appear on his side now.

"Without your love I am..."

The Chuck E Cheese shown at the end of the series, drawn in black and white. The screen glitches.

"A broken mess."

The Chuck E Cheese is now worn down and broken. There's a banner hanging out of it that says HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO before it's ripped off. Minions are laying in one of the corner buildings. On the righthand side you can see partially graffiti that says BUBBY IS BEST. In the background is the citadel from Half Life 2.

"Now I'm never enough."

Tommy and Bubby sit against a black background. Tommy is facing the side, with a worried expression, wearing a suit, his propeller hat, a bowtie, and holding a briefcase on his lap. The lyrics appear on his side.

"And it's almost too much."

Bubby is turned away. His fist is clenched and producing fire. He wears a tattered labcoat. The lyrics appear on his side now.

"For me to work..."

Gordon, against a white background, limp with lines attached to his hands like a puppet. His face is not visible.

"I need..."

A side by side of the player lifting their VR controllers and Gordon's hands lifting limply in game in sync.

"A humans touch."

Gordon's hands drop to his sides again as his head lolls to the side, rolls back, then he opens his eyes- a VR headset flashing over them at "touch".

END ID

I took the screen turning off effect from this video

[mcdolann]

🤍 pc set up complete 🤍

[unusualtfs]

The Roommate Compatibility Program

this is my first time posting something like this to tumblr, hope it's an enjoyable read !

Arthur and Jimmy may have had the same last name, but that was the only thing they had in common.

Arthur Lee was, by all accounts, a nerd. When the Asian math major wasn’t dutifully taking notes on complex equations at his lectures or studying in silence at the library, he could usually be found holed up in his dorm, gaming until the wee hours of the morning. His only extracurricular activity to speak of was his weekly participation in the Chinese Student Union, if by “participation” one meant “sitting in the back of the room and not speaking to anyone.” His naturally pale skin was made even more so by a lack of sunlight, and his messy black hair resisted any attempt at styling. Short, shrimpy, and gay, he had clearly never seen the inside of a gym. In short, he was the exact opposite of his roommate.

Jimmy Lee was everything Arthur was not. Tall where Arthur was short, buff where Arthur was skinny, popular where Arthur was friendless. The straight white jock spent his days living out the all-American college fantasy — playing sports, pumping iron, and partying all night long. Of course, that hardly left any time for Jimmy to work toward his comms degree — but that hardly mattered, because everyone knew he was as dumb as a bag of rocks. His brutish Neanderthal features, extensive body hair, and blond buzz cut only added to that impression.

Maybe it would have been unrealistic to expect Arthur and Jimmy to be friends, but certainly no one could have anticipated the sheer antipathy that defined their roommate relationship. Arthur’s reasons for hating Jimmy were predictable — he was dumb, loud, and obnoxious; he left dirty clothes and sweaty exercise gear everywhere; and he stank up the dorm with his alpha musk. Jimmy equally couldn’t stand his prissy, prudish roommate. Arthur nagged him constantly, and he shot down all his invitations to work out or go out. Not to mention, he forbade Jimmy from getting laid while he was in the room, which was all the time. Nothing said unsexy like the presence of a judgmental Asian nerd hunched over his gaming PC at two in the morning.

Needless to say, it was not an ideal situation for anyone. So when a flier for the Roommate Compatibility Program was slipped under their door one evening, their interest was piqued.

Having issues with your roommate(s)? The Roommate Compatibility Program is here to help! Our trained experts use scientifically proven methods to ensure you and your roommate have a lifelong bond. 100% success rate, guaranteed!

In a rare moment of agreement for them, they decided they had nothing to lose.

That was how they found themselves entertaining a stranger in their dorm the next day. The man, who had introduced himself as “Mr. Thompson-Filipowski, from the RCP — but you can call me Mr. T.F. for short” had shown up out of the blue, giving them no time to prepare. So now they sat in their respective beds, answering Mr. T.F.’s questions as he appraised their living space thoughtfully. He wore a loud blue suit and had in hand a clipboard that he occasionally used to jot down notes, but otherwise he had no distinguishing features to speak of. Everything else about him, from his build to his skin tone to his hairstyle, was somehow impossible to pin down. He must have just had one of those faces.

“Thank you, boys,” he said after he was done interrogating them about their (lack of a) relationship. “I just have one more question for each of you before we can officially get started.” He turned to Jimmy first. “Jimmy, what would your ideal roommate be like?”

Jimmy had to think for quite a bit at that question. Finally, he responded in his vapid baritone: “Uh, I dunno… I guess he would just, like, be my bro.”

Mr. T.F. nodded, scribbling something on his clipboard. “Okay, excellent.” He turned to the Asian nerd next. “And Arthur, what about you?”

“My ideal roommate would be someone who’s, well, similar to me,” Arthur said, wincing at how his voice still cracked at every word. “Someone who shares my interests, and who I can spend time with, and… yeah.”

Mr. T.F. returned to his clipboard. “Right,” he said. “So, to summarize — Jimmy, you want your roommate to be your bro. And Arthur, you want your roommate to be similar to you. Is that correct?” There was a strange weight to his words, exuding the sense that something significant was carried within them, but Jimmy didn’t register this and Arthur thought it irrational, so both roommates ignored it. They nodded.

“Excellent!” Mr. T.F. said, the ominous presence now gone from his voice. “Okay, so often what we’ve found at the RCP is that roommate incompatibility is often a case of misapplied expectations. Often, our roommates do meet our expectations, you just need to keep an open mind about it. I’d wager you boys have much more in common than you think.”

Arthur rolled his eyes and Jimmy audibly scoffed at that, but they both kept listening anyway.

“For instance, looking around your dorm room, I can tell that both of you have a pretty similar fashion sense, wouldn’t you say?”

Arthur wanted to protest that all of the clothes strewn about belonged to Jimmy, not him, but the more he looked, the more he realized that wasn’t entirely true. That jersey on the floor definitely belonged to him, as did the baseball cap hanging from his bed and the sweaty white socks next to his desk. In fact, now that he thought about it, roughly half of the clothing he could see actually was his. Huh, he supposed he did dress similarly to Jimmy, then…

“I guess so,” Jimmy said as Arthur was distracted. “It’s hard to remember whose is whose sometimes because we dress the same and wear the same size, huhuh.”

As Jimmy spoke, his words became reality. He didn’t notice, but he shrunk down a few inches from his previously monstrous height until he was just under six feet — still respectable, but no longer anything more. Meanwhile, Arthur rose dramatically to meet him, until they stood at the exact same height. Since the two were equally small and shared the same taste in schlubby, sporty clothes, they essentially owned one wardrobe between them, borrowing and swapping constantly — although what looked tight and well-fitted on the muscular Ajimmy was loose and baggy on the lanky Jarthur. Curiously, the shirt Jarthur currently wore was the one item of clothing he wore that didn’t update itself to match his new reality; as such, it was now uncomfortably small on him.

Mr. T.F. continued, “And judging by the sports gear and gaming equipment in here, it looks like you also have similar interests, isn’t that right? Have you ever tried bonding over that?”

Again, it seemed Mr. T.F. was mistaken. Yes, their room indicated their respective interests in fitness and video games, but those interests were far from shared. Jarthur wanted to correct him, but then he had to reconsider. While he wasn’t into sports like Ajimmy, he certainly knew his way around them. He got as hyped as any other guy watching the Super Bowl, and he had fun whenever he was invited to play a quick game of basketball or soccer.

Meanwhile, Ajimmy was trying not to laugh at the implication that he liked video games. What did Mr. T.F. take him for, some nerd like Jarthur? But now that he thought about it… he did have fond memories of owning his bros with his mad gaming skills. He didn’t really want to call himself a gamer — he wasn’t into any of that anime or Nintendo kiddie shit. But Madden, CoD? Yeah, he fucked with those.

Imperceptibly, the dorm room shifted to match the roommates’ changing interests. Posters of popular players duplicated themselves from Ajimmy’s side of the room and pinned themselves into the wall above Jarthur’s bed. At the same time, the gaming computer vanished from Jarthur’s desk, swiftly replaced by a small TV between their beds. Well-used controllers popped into existence, one for each of them. The roommates themselves weren’t spared from the wave of changes, either. The tan leached out of Asjimm’s skin until he was quite pale, although not unhealthily so. Meanwhile, muscles made themselves known for the first time all across Joethur’s body. He was still lanky, but there was a definite sculptedness to his body that had never been there before, demonstrating his newfound appreciation of physical activity and straining his shirt even further.

“Yeah, all the time,” Joethur responded to Mr. T.F.’s questions. “I can destroy Asjimm at basketball in real life and in 2K,” he bragged.

“As if!” Asjimm retorted good-naturedly. “Next time, I’m kicking your ass, nerd!”

Joethur laughed. He may have had some problems with his roommate, but their shared competitiveness was not one of them.

“Ah, that’s lovely to hear,” Mr. T.F. said, checking a box on his clipboard. “The best way to become closer is to spend time together, after all. But that should be easy for you two — I’d imagine your class schedules are quite similar, since you’re in the same major.”

What was Mr. T.F. talking about? Joethur had never taken a comms class in his life, and Asjimm would certainly never be caught dead in a math classroom. But then Joethur went over his class schedule in his head again, and he realized that he did share most of his classes with his roommate. There was Accounting 101 on Mondays and Wednesdays, and Entrepreneurship every Thursday morning… In fact, aside from Joethur’s one math class and Asjimm’s lone comms class, their schedules were identical! But how could that be the case…?

“Well, I mean, yeah, I guess we do,” Asjimm said. His face twisted into a cocky smirk. “But just between you and me, it’s not like we bother to show up to class most of the time, right Joethyr?”

Everything suddenly snapped into place for Joethyr. Ausjim was right, of course — being a business major required confidence, charisma, and leadership skills more than anything else, and both Joethyr and Ausjim had that in spades. It certainly didn’t require studying or smarts, which was fortunate for Joethyr, as his brain was rapidly shrinking to match his meatheaded roommate’s. In fact, it was even smaller than Ausjim’s — he had scored highly enough in high school math that he was able to take an elective comms class for an easy A this semester, while Joethyr was being forced to struggle through calculus for a second time.

Records across campus rapidly rewrote themselves to reflect this new reality. Ausjim’s grades rose slightly, even as Joethyr’s GPA dropped from a 4.0 to a 2.0 — but whatever, C’s got degrees. In turn, the two roommates underwent their own changes. Joethyr’s unkempt hair retreated into his skull, leaving behind a slick fade. Moreover, the spark of intelligence retreated from his eyes, leaving them dark and hard. Ausjim’s hair experienced the opposite change, growing out into an impeccably groomed quiff that perfectly framed his face, neutralizing his unattractive Neanderthal features. His body hair also faded into nothingness, leaving him totally clean-shaven. The business classes he was taking had taught him the importance of presentation, after all.

“Yeah, bruh,” Joethyr agreed, now speaking in the same vacant timbre as Ausjim.

“Well, how do you boys spend your time then?” Mr. T.F. prompted. He was nearly at the bottom of his checklist — this far into the process, he didn’t even need to guide the roommates’ transformation. Their new personalities had largely subsumed who they used to be, and would be happy to fill the remaining gaps by themselves.

“Isn’t it obvious, bruh?” Ausjim said. “The gym — duh! Gotta get those gains!”

At his roommate’s proclamation, Joethy underwent a startling change. At last, his muscles ballooned all across his body until they were identical in size to Ausjim’s. No longer did he have to settle for merely toned — he was well and truly ripped. So dramatic was the change that his shirt was instantly torn apart, revealing his glorious pecs and washboard abs for the world to see. The Asian hunk subconsciously flexed as he thought about his answer to Mr. T.F.’s question, realizing something funny in the process.

“Hell, we probably even spend more time at the Chinese Student Union than class, right bruh?” Joethy nudged his equally jockish roommate.

The word “Chinese” resonated in Ausjin’s mind as he experienced sudden changes of his own. His lush hair was quickly thickening and inexorably staining itself midnight black. And as for the rest of his body, his lack of hair down there became much easier to maintain, as he naturally had less of it. Meanwhile, his facial features were shifting all at once — brow softening, nose broadening, eyes narrowing, lips plumpening. Eventually, they settled on what the rest of his body had already become — a carbon copy of his roommate.

“Yeah, bro, totally…”

At the word “bro,” the roommates’ final changes began. The physical refinements were over, but there was still work to do mentally. Ausjin’s brain was purged of the faces of his former family, their white features morphing into far more familiar Asian ones. Fond memories shifted as his mother’s famous meatloaf became her authentic dumpling recipe, and the destination of his childhood summer vacations was corrected from Europe to China. Through it all, he remained the dumb, popular jock he had always been. That was also true of Joethy, who could no longer remember being a lame, skinny nerd. Nights spent studying were replaced with nights spent partying, and members of an extensive social circle easily entered the parts of his brain that had never experienced true friendship. His memories of his family remained the same, however — with one key addition. The newcomer’s face was blurry, but the more that he focused on it, the more familiar it seemed. Almost like… his own face…? Or was it Ausjin’s face? That seemed closer, but… 

By Joethy’s side, Ausjin found his memories haunted by an identical face. The two jocks sat there in dumbfounded silence, both trying to recall who it was that featured so prominently in their memories. What was his name? Not Joethy or Ausjin, but rather… rather…

“Joey! Austin!”

Joey and Austin Lee snapped back to attention, refocusing on their strange guest.

Mr. T.F. chuckled, putting his clipboard away. “You boys zoned out there for a sec! It’s okay, I’ll get out of your hair soon. I just have one last question for you — are you getting along as roommates?”

“Well, of course we’re getting along, bruh!” Austin exclaimed.

“We’re basically the same person already!” Joey finished his twin’s sentence with a pure, dull guffaw.

Because it was true. Joey and Austin Lee were clearly cut from the same cloth: The identical twin Asian jocks were both brainless, buff, bisexual business-major bros. The only appreciable difference between the twins was their hairstyles. Austin fancied himself a pretty boy, spending hours by the mirror meticulously maintaining his gelled hair. Joey, meanwhile, rocked a utilitarian crew cut, confident enough to put his angelic face on full display. But other than that, they were totally inseparable — everything they did, from working out to gaming to partying, they did together. (Rumor had it that they even fucked together, only bringing a lucky girl or guy home when he or she was willing to share.)

“Great to hear that! Thanks for participating in our Roommate Compatibility Survey, you two — although I don’t know what results we were expecting from twins like you… Anyway, have a great one!” As Mr. T.F. exited the room, he allowed himself one last glance back at the Lee twins as they mindlessly bantered. Both of them had certainly gotten their wishes. Joey was exactly like Austin, and Austin was exactly like Joey, and they were certainly each other’s bros — in both senses of the word. Another success for the Roommate Compatibility Program.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind Mr. T.F., the Lee twins promptly forgot he had ever existed, returning to their existences as paragons of young Asian American masculinity.

“So, what’s the plan for today, bro?” Austin said. “Hit the gym, then hit the streets?”

Joey smirked, admiring himself and his twin in the mirror. “You know me so well, bro!”

[deathnguts]

Barty crouch jr who’s a disowned trust fund baby who still gets a monthly allowance from his mommy and invests in tech stocks probably and lives in a huge ass apartment in a nice building but it’s literally not furnished at all and he never cleans it ever and he spends most of his time on high on his pc and he’s got the gamer sleeper bod with pierced nipples and belly button and the worlds sluttiest hip bones and happy trail under his stained sweat pants and the most dead eyes under his scraggly hair that’s in desperate need of a haircut he doesn’t feel like getting but he’s getting a new tat at least once a month and they’re usually from himself because he bought a tattoo gun online but doesn’t have a license to tattoo others and he literally only goes outside to club and drink and visit his mommy because what else is there to do and he doesn’t even try to make friends or start relationships because he doesn’t care about people and why should he why does it matter and he’s literally just the most burnt out loser you ever did see but he gets away with literally everything because he’s rich and pretty

Evan Rosier who’s just another middle child in a pond of siblings to parents who have never tried to look at him so they don’t notice at all when he leaves with a shit load of their money and never comes back and they’d give him more if he asked to keep him out of the house but he would rather die than do that so he immediately gets into the shitty office pencil pushing Patrick Bateman type shit that his father and oldest brothers did but in a business that wasn’t just handed to him so he can feel like he’s made his money and therefore his life himself and he lives the rest of his life that way with a grind set around hours spent in the gym and specialized diets and crisp tasteful fashion and very demure stoic presentation of himself to the world and actively cuts himself off from everyone around him because of the mindset he gave himself through this life style that everyone is below him and waisting his time so he literally doesn’t have friends or family and barely says any words or feels anything everyday but no one can see that because he’s too far away to make out and too good at painting a picturesque image of himself for anyone to try because he’s rich and pretty

Regulus Black who has never lived for himself and isn’t starting now so he ignores the voice in his head reminding him he’s a boy and chokes it to sleep every night with his long hair and flowing dress skirts and tries to assert that by marrying the rich family friend that raised him more than his own parents (who barely even looked his way during his own wedding that they planned) right when he turns seventeen and locks himself away in the perfect white house his husband made for him and keeps trying to nail on the mask of being the perfect little wife but he just cant and goes stir crazy and obsessive and is a nightmare to be around during his rising amounts of emotional breakdowns and if it were a hundred years ago he’d probably get lobotomized but it’s not a hundred years ago so his husband (Rabastan if you couldn’t guess) tries to distract him by funding some pity studies and encouraging him to go to an old and privileged college for useless degrees he’s only getting so he’s too worn out to start fights at home but it works and keeps him civil and mostly empty and comfortable enough to continue to be a half dead powdered and pretty wife that can continue to float through life with literally no one in his life sticking around through his tantrums and bone deep issues except his husband who wants him to stay that way for convenience and everyone is h the outside looking in thinks he’s just perfect and mysterious because he’s rich and pretty

Literally just the unholy trinity in a modern, nonmagical setting as the worst versions of themselves in a context we know: closed off rich young people who are bubbling with hate but too depressed to really do anything about it and too rich and privileged to have to so they genuinely believe what they have must be good and not in need of change because they have it all right?

Anyway then one day they meet and they feel alive for the first time ever maybe and smooch and stuff woo modern rich pretty douchebag romance.

I just need something like that, soemthing that showcases their flaws and genuine awfulness without sugarcoating it but in turn shows how their love for one another genuinely brings out the best in them. Just like remembering that they’re messy bitches but their love trumps all like actually. And who cares, they look fantastic together and they have enough to own your entire bloodline, there is nothing you can do about anything they do.

[writingwithcolor]

Is it less offensive to have my black sheriff be a scaredy-cat or trigger-happy?

joeyyygunslinger asked:

I’m conceptualizing a wild-west (I haven't and never will pick a state/year, it's just a generic wild-west setting) black comedy comic series. The main characters are a pair of sheriffs who work together more often than not, one Black and the other White. I want one to be fiery-tempered and trigger-happy (To the point where, in just about every other cover I’ve sketched so far, he has his gun out and is asking the other guy, “Can I shoot it?”), and the other an over-cautious scaredy-cat… And neither of these personalities seem to be a very PC one to give to a Black guy, so which one would be less offensive?

Technically, you can give the character whatever persona you see fit. From there, flesh them out to be more than the traits you mentioned. Show us why they’re the way they are and how they’re more than that. As often stated, it helps to have more characters of the identity if you’re unsure about stereotypes and characterization.

Objectively, a cautious, scared Black man character is less (potentially) stereotypical than one with a temper and trigger-happy. The former recalls Angry Black Person, Scary Black Man and Violent Men of Color tropes. One might argue the scaredy-cat Black man has notes of emasculation, but personally this kind of personality is way less encountered. Exploring a softer, cautious Black man character would be interesting to me (speaking as a Black woman. I’d love to hear from more Black men and people!).

Do not write from a place of fear

I do want to address your comments on being Politically Correct and less offensive. I’m not a fan of those words when it comes to representation. Maybe it’s the snide connotations of the word, often accompanied by a derisive attitude. Maybe it’s just me! But I just don’t love proper and preferred representation being equated to it.

I would like to take the more positive approach.

For one, being respectful and including proper representation vs deliberate or even thoughtless exclusion, should be the focus. Not which choice will step on fewer toes. Writing from a place of fear and extreme caution is stifling. It snuffs out your creativity and will have you questioning your every move. I get that it's natural to feel that way when exploring new territory, but we must learn to be courageous as writers and write against the fear. Your work will turn out much more fluent and natural when you do.

On the other hand, it’s definitely important to build enough knowledge and do the research so you'll have this confidence on hand while you write. This will help create a story with characters that are less like carefully curated caricatures meant to cause the least amount of offensive as possible.

While you should absolutely:

Be aware of stereotypes and what could be offensive as you build your characters and story.

Question your choices and trace the logic of why you made them.

You should also:

Focus on writing varied, complex people.

Let your knowledge guide and inspire you, do continuous research, but not let it fully stop all momentum.

Use the editing, sensitivity read process, and revisions to correct and adjust your work.

~Mod Colette

[mawofthemagnetar]

No Mister Slab, I Expect You(r Keyboard) To Die!

Inspired by THIS tumblr post!

Etho woke up staring at his lap.

He blinked a few times, and lifted his head. Something was bound tight around his wrists, and the chair he’d been tied to was kind of painful.

He blinked, uncomprehending, as he stared into the massive eyes and smug smile of Keralis.

Etho opened his mouth.

And closed it.

Keralis was sitting in a high-backed spiky-looking chair, like something out of a movie. And of course, he was wearing a white suit with a blue flower for a corsage. For some reason, Jellie was sprawled contentedly across his lap. As if that wasn’t enough, behind him, a wall of lava was flowing down. Etho looked around the rest of the (modern and tasteful, natch) room, to see it dominated by suits of armour and other lovely decorations.  

Keralis’ massive desk sat between them, with a shiny new gaming PC and all the trimmings off to the side. Keralis gently stroked Jellie, and locked eyes with Etho.

“Ah, Etho! You’re awake!” he said brightly, and his left eye twitched.

“…Keralis? You okay, buddy? Something wrong?”

Etho would be lying if he said he wasn’t slightly nervous.

“Hm? No, no, no. I’m fine. I’m very, very fine.” Keralis leaned in, grinning nastily.

“So…uh…why am I tied to a chair?” Etho asked, tilting his head, “’Cause, like, I was kind of sending some e-mails to Pause when Doc dropped that bag over my head, and-“

Keralis’ eye twitched.

“I suppose we don’t waste time, then. Etho!” Keralis said grandly, steepling his fingers together on the desk, “I am replacing your entire setup.”

Etho froze.

“NO-!“

“OH, YES!” Keralis cackled, “YES, ETHO, YES! A NEW KEYBOARD! A NEW MOUSE! NEW MONITORS! A NEW MIC STAND!”

“…Actually, can I keep my old monitor, I only had, like, the one-“

Keralis’ eye twitched.

“You get two monitors now,” he said grandly, scratching Jellie behind the ears. She hissed and hopped off Keralis’ lap, wandering away.

“YOU CAN’T DO THIS!” Etho shouted, “I- man, I have like, emotional attachment to-“

Keralis twitched again.

He pressed a button on his desk.

A massive flying machine flew up at the top of the lava wall, Etho momentarily spellbound by the build that had Doc’s thumbprints all over it. And speaking of Doc, the man himself was standing at the top of the lava wall on a catwalk, wearing a black suit and an evil smile.

The flames danced in his eye as he placed down a shulkerbox containing…something.

“What…what are you going to do?” Etho asked nervously, “What do you want from me?”

“You? Nothing!” Keralis laughed, “your setup, though, sweetface…”

“WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM MY SETUP!”

“DOC!” Keralis called, snapping his fingers, “BURN IT!”

And Doc threw the shulker into the lava.

Etho gasped as it broke, as his broken keyboard, his sticky mouse, and his monitor with a flickery line going through the middle of it all fell into the flames. His tissue box, though-

Etho shed a tear as the empty Kleenex box hit the lava and instantly burst into flames.

“You’re a monster!” he sniffled.

Both Keralis and Doc burst out laughing. Grand, evil cackles, that eventually petered out.

“Why? Why would you do this to me!?” Etho protested.

Keralis scowled, clicked a few things on his own terminal, and spun the monitor around to see.

“THIS IS WHY.” He shouted.

Etho’s eyes fell on an email he’d sent out to all of the Hermits the previous week.

“I fail to see how that’s a problem. Or worthy of being on your Bond Villain arc.” Etho huffed.

“ETHO. THERE ARE NO SPACES BETWEEN ANY OF THE WORDS!” Keralis shouted.  

[cozy-writes-things]

Electric Love: Pt. 1

Edgar [Electric Dreams 1984] x Gn!Reader

All of my fics so far have followed the same universe, so I thought it's only logical that I post an introduction to that universe.

The old man peering at you through puffy eyes and age seemed to have an air shrouded in mystery. His thin, white wisps of hair seemed to stagnate in place as he adjusted his button down.

“This old thing has been around for years now,” he gruffed—an unreadable tone—as his hand encased the yellowed plastic, “I don’t remember what happened to it; must have dropped it, or let some animal chip away at it.”

The dingy, vintage computer before your eyes surely had not been dropped, nor torn into by some animal. It sat upon his countertop completely destroyed; as if it had burst and shattered from the inside out, ripping the glass into jagged shards. You swallowed this thought; this was no time to debate the old man. He seemed to be quite senile as it was and pushing any further seemed like a fruitless effort. Instead, you stretched a thin smile his way, pursing your lips in thought.

“You actually think you can get this thing to work again?” he queried, raising a salt and pepper brow at your expression.

“Well, I’m not sure, but… I’d like to try,” what you hadn’t told him, however, was your infatuation with electronics. Ever since completing your bachelor’s in computer science, you have been tinkering away at many different projects in between jobs, building custom PCs, fixing old Game Boys, and many others. This little computer was an addition to your ever growing collection.

It came from a company you had never heard of before, only to learn it had become defunct in the 80s due to some inexplicable software issues in their products. This certainly intrigued you, as prodding into its code could provide some useful insight to real, vintage tech that just doesn’t exist anymore. But, that’s only if you manage to fix the heap of destruction limply hung before you.

The old man stiffened at your words, ever so slightly, before rattling out, “Well, if you do, don’t bring it anywhere near me. I can’t stand all this tech, and gadgets, and whatnot. Pisses me off.”

“Right,” you interjected, knowing people like him tend to go on long, anti-future, anti-technology rants, trying desperately to beat him to the punch, “well, how much do you want for it?”

He stilled, contemplating for a moment, “twenty-five should be fine.”

“Perfect,” you chirped, padding against your pockets and bag searching for some cash. Pulling out your wallet, you waded around the folds, only to find a crumpled up and faded ten dollar bill and a debit card.

“Ah, I’ve only got a ten…”

He rolled his eyes, “of course you do, you got PayPal, then?” Your cheeks flushed a burning red hot from embarrassment, “ah, yes, I do-”

“Great, just pay me that way,” he bent down and scribbled something messily onto a note, “here’s my information. I made sure to set this up for people like you, you know. Nobody carries cash anymore, or so my grandson tells me.”

You force out a nervous chuckle.

“That’s certainly true… these days, ah…” you unlocked your phone and began inputting his information into PayPal before pressing send on the digital payment, “okay, it went through.”

“Perfect. You need help getting this hunk of junk to your car?”

“No, I should be fine, thank you, sir,” you croak as you heave the broken computer into your arms, heading towards his door.

“Well, come back if you want to buy anything else. Nobody goes to yard sales anymore, it seems.”

You can only turn your head and chuckle at his quip, before awkwardly dashing out of his apartment and towards your car. The dampened asphalt from the rain squelched under your toes as you lugged the large piece of tech to the passenger side.

“There,” you whispered, to nobody in particular, as you awkwardly buckled the computer in place, “hopefully you won’t fall that way.”

And just like that, you were off, headed towards home to begin the massive project that was repairing this obsolete device.

“What to do with you?”

You groaned as you thumped the solid mass of plastic and metal against your desk, “you’re incredibly broken.”

First and foremost, it needs a screen replacement. Which is easier said than done. Especially considering the company who manufactured these things hasn’t existed in 40 years. Unfortunately, a close replica will have to do. Maybe you could even upgrade its screen with something with a bit more prowess.

Poking inside of its components seemed to tell a different story. Miraculously, none of the motherboards were damaged with the same ferocity the screen had been. There seemed to be some sort of dried, caked on water damage of some sort, that left a sticky residue, but otherwise, everything seemed to be relatively intact. The yellowed casing could use a wipe down from the thick layer of starchy dust, but it seemed to hold its original shape with surprising ease.

Following a closer inspection, it seemed as though the glass screen, and the components in charge of illuminating it, were the only things in need of replacing. A quick browse on Amazon, some tech forums, and a post on Reddit should be a good start in finding a usable replacement for this sad, broken gadget.

For now, however, you get some isopropyl alcohol and a soft bristled toothbrush to chip away at the water damage on the motherboards in hopes of restoring the electrical connections. You were quite hopeful that you’d get this little guy up and running just as soon as you could find the right parts. It’s only a matter of time.