#HOW TO REPAIR DEAD LAPTOPS

[violettwrites]

the fall — daryl dixon

a/n: hi guys !! sorry i have been so mia recently, life has just been crazy and work is insane coming into the christmas season. my laptop is currently away for repairs so i wrote this on my phone — please bear with me if there’s any mistakes. im hoping to have that back soon !

if you enjoy this, please don’t forget to like, reblog, and/or comment ! your support always means the world to me

summary: daryl loses you during the start of the apocalypse, and then he finds you again.

( this can be read as just daryl dixon from season 1 OR apart of my trailer park!daryl series ! they both work together so it's completely up to you! )

word count: 2,110

warnings: swearing

resources: divider by @/adornedwithlight

➵ masterlist

➵ ask box

➵ rules

“(y/n)?!” daryl’s voice crackled over the phone as you stood in the emergency room, one hand pressed against your ear while the other held the phone to your other ear, trying to make sense of the words daryl was saying over the chaos of the building. the emergency department you worked in was teetering on the edge of an explosion— patients were pouring in, people were screaming, and you could hear ominous groans and growls coming from behind curtains.

“(y/n), can you hear me?!”

daryl’s voice sounded frantic through the static. you could picture him, sitting in the passenger seat of merle’s truck, hand gripping the phone so tightly his knuckles were probably white. you knew he was panicking, probably punching merle’s shoulder to drive faster, to get to you.

“daryl, i—” you started, but gunshots cut through your words. the loud crack of bullets echoed through the hallways. your heart raced as you whipped your head toward the sound, seeing military soldiers in riot gear filing into the hospital, trying to contain what they could.

“shit!” daryl’s voice shouted on the other end, hearing the gunfire through the phone. “what was that?! are you okay?!”

“i don’t know,” you spoke softly, but your voice remained panicked, ducking around a corner as you tried to figure out a way out of the hospital without getting caught in the crossfire. “the military’s here, dar. it’s bad, real bad.”

you could hear merle cursing in the background through the phone, his voice sharp with confusion and fear. he was probably just as pissed as daryl, not wanting to wait around.

“we’re comin’ for ya,” daryl said, his voice firm despite the panic you knew was coursing through him. “jus’ stay where you are.”

“no—” you shook your head, though it was pointless because he couldn’t see you. but you knew that staying in one place would only get you, or them, killed. “it’s not safe here. you need to go, daryl. get outta the city.”

daryl didn’t like how firm your voice was now, like you had accepted your fate. but he also knew you were strong, and you could hold yourself. it was everyone else he wasn’t comfortable with. “i’m not leavin’ without ya!” his words were clipped, but you could hear the desperation seeping through. “jus’ tell me where to find ya.”

“you swallowed hard, ducking down a hallway as more gunshots rang out behind you. “i’ll find you. just go!”

“not an option,” daryl growled, clearly getting more frustrated. “we’re comin’ to get ya.”

“daryl, i swear to god, just go!” you shouted, your voice shaking. you knew you had to make him leave. the city was falling apart, and if he stayed any longer, he wouldn’t make it out alive.

and then, the line went dead.

you stared at the phone for a second, frozen, before shoving it into your pocket. you couldn’t waste time standing there. you needed to survive. you needed to find a way back to him.

the months that followed were a blur. everything crumbled so fast— society, infrastructure, order. the infection spread quicker than anyone had anticipated, and soon, the world was unrecognisable. you’d managed to survive by keeping to the outskirts of the cities, staying on the move, scavenging what you could. it had been a battle to stay alive, but you never stopped thinking about getting back to daryl.

each day, you held onto the hope that he was still out there. that he, and merle, had made it. you had to believe he was still alive. it was the only thing that kept you going.

one day, after weeks of wandering, you had heard rumors from a group of survivors about a camp up near the quarry. a group had settled there, and something in your gut told you to go. you shoved what little you had into your bag and made your way towards the quarry, hoping against hope that daryl would be there.

daryl sat on the outskirts of the atlanta camp, absentmindedly sharpening his knife as he stared out into the treeline. his mind wasn’t on the task though. it hadn’t been for weeks. ever since the outbreak started, ever since he lost contact with you, he hadn’t been able to focus on much of anything.

merle was his usual self— bossy, loud, and always looking for trouble. but daryl? he was quieter these days, more withdrawn. every hunt he went on, he couldn’t stop himself from searching for you, his eyes scanning every inch of the woods, hoping for a glimpse of you.

but every time, he came back empty handed.

he’d given up hope of hearing from you over the phone weeks ago, but he couldn’t give up the idea of finding you. you were out there somewhere— he just knew it.

“hey! you gonna sit there all damn day, or you gonna help me with this firewood?” merle’s voice cut through his thoughts, causing him to grit his teeth and ignore his older brother. he was tired of merle’s shit.

daryl stood up, slinging his crossbow over his shoulder without a word. he made his way towards the tree line, scanning the area out of habit. the camp wasn’t the safest; no walls, walkers always lurking, and the occasional survivor that would wander too close for comfort, but they had done a good job keeping it secure. for now.

just as he was about to head back, movement caught his eye. daryl squinted, grip tightening on the strap of his crossbow as a figure stumbled out of the woods. for a moment, he thought it was just another survior— a poor soul lost and scared like the rest of them. but then his heart skipped a beat.

it was you.

“(y/n)?” the words ripped out of him before he could stop it, and in an instant, he was running toward you, his legs carrying him faster than he thought was possible. you looked different— thinner, worn down, like you had walked through hell. but it didn’t matter. you were alive.

your eyes met his, and the world around you seemed to fall away. after weeks, months— you weren’t sure. but you had finally found him.

“daryl,” you breathed out, your voice weak but full of relief.

he didn’t hesitate, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into his chest, holding you tight. you could feel the rapid thump of his heart against your ear, the warmth of his body grounding you in a way nothing else had since the world fell apart.

“i thought i lost ya,” daryl muttered, his voice rough and his breath warm against your neck.

you held him tighter, your fingers gripping the back of his shirt under his crossbow like he was the only thing keeping you from falling apart. “i’m here,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “i’m here.”

for a moment, the two of you just stood there, holding onto each other and letting the weight of the time split up crash down around you. all the fear, the uncertainty, the loss— it all seemed to fade in that moment.

when you finally pulled back, daryl kept his hands on your shoulders, like he needed to keep touching you to make sure you were real. his eyes scanned your face, taking in every detail.

“merle?” you asked softly, knowing daryl’s older brother never strayed far from his side.

“he’s back at camp,” his voice steadying. “still a pain in the ass.”

you let out a weak laugh, the sound foreign after so long without joy. “figures.”

“come on,” he said, his hand lingering on your arm as he started to lead you back toward the camp. “you need to get some rest.”

the camp was quiet as the two of you entered, the crackle of the campfire being the only sound besides the soft rustle of leaves. merle spotted you first, his eyes narrowing before recognition flashed across his face.

“well, i’ll be damned,” merle said, leaning back with a grin. “look who finally showed up.”

you met merle’s eyes, a small smile tugging at your lips despite everything. “good to see you too, merle.”

daryl guided you to a spot by the fire, his hand never leaving yours as if he couldn’t bear to let go. you settled beside him, exhaustion finally catching up to you. but for the first time in months, you felt safe. you were with daryl. that was all that mattered.

as the fire crackled in front of you, it’s orange glow casting flickering shadows on your face, you leaned back against a log and let out a breath you didn’t realise you had been holding. the tension in your shoulders loosened ever so slightly, but the weight of everything you’d been through was still pressed on your chest. your eyes flickered to daryl beside you— his presence was grounding, familiar, something solid in a world that felt like quicksand.

he hadn’t let go of your hand, his rough fingers wrapped around yours as if he was afraid that if he did let go, you’d disappear again. you could see the exhaustion in his eyes, the way this had all worn on him too. daryl wasn’t one to talk about feelings or admit when things hurt him, but you knew him better than that. the silence between you wasn’t awkward; it was full of unspoken understanding. you had both lost too much to let go of each other now.

merle started to wander off toward his tent, mumbling something about needing sleep. “you two lovebirds catch up,” he teased, but it was half-hearted. he wasn’t cruel like he used to be— at least not to you.

as soon as his brother disappeared into his tent, daryl finally spoke, his voice low, like he was afraid to break the moment. “how’d ya make it?” he didn’t ask out of disbelief, he knew you were tough, but it was out of curiosity, needing to fill in the blanks of your absence.

you leaned forward, resting your elbows on your knees, staring into the fire. the memories of being on your own flooded back; sleepless nights, close calls with walkers, finding shelter in abandoned houses, and the hunger that gnawed at your stomach daily. “i just kept moving,” you shrugged, your words so quiet they were almost drowned out by the crackle of the fire. “after that day at the hospital, i knew i couldn’t stay. i had no idea where i was going though, but i knew i had to keep going.”

daryl nodded, his eyes fixed on you, listening intently. he wasn’t the type to press you fore more details, but you could see the questions in his gaze. you gave him a small smile, trying to ease his worry. “i thought about you every day,” you admitted, your voice cracking slightly. “it was the only thing that kept me going sometimes. knowing you were out there, somewhere.”

you watched as his jaw clenched, his eyes darkening as he processed your words. “i looked for ya,” he muttered, his voice rougher than before. “everywhere we went, i looked. really thought i lost ya.” the raw emotion in his voice made your heart twist. you reached out and placed a hand on his arm, squeezing gently.

“you didn’t lose me. i’m right here.”

for a moment, neither of you spoke. daryl’s hand found yours again, his grip firm, but this time it wasn’t just out of fear. it was something more— something unspoken but heavy between you.

“you gonna stick around now?” he asked, his voice quiter than before, almost hesitant. “stay with the group?”

you hadn’t exactly thought that far ahead yet. the idea of settling down in this camp, was both comforting and terrifying. you knew it wouldn’t be the last time you have to move, but you knew one thing for sure— you weren’t about to leave daryl again. “if you’ll have me,” you replied, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

daryl gave you a quick, almost unnoticeable nod, his thumb brushing against your knuckles. “ain’t goin’ anywhere without ya now,” he said gruffly, the tenderness in his words barely masked by his usual demeanour.

the firelight danced in his eyes, and for the first time in months, you felt like you could breathe again. you leaned your head against his shoulder, closing your eyes for a moment. his presence was steady and warm beside you, and for the first time since the world had gone to shit, you allowed yourself to feel safe.

[mobox87]

I forgot, Hello, I oppened Commissions again, Hi

I'm going crazy for not having a PC for 2 months (I draw on a laptop, and it's awfully slow and doesn't accept games). I'm opening commissions.

Consider the noble cause of having my PC repaired for vision.

💮COMMISSIONS OPEN!💮

My mom told me to throw myself away, so here I bring what I need, Everything is in dollars, if you have doubts about the prices then ask me there (it's my third table of commissions and I still don't know how to do them ;; ) What will I use the money for?

My computer's video card is dead, as are many other parts of it, but I want to go step by step while I can build a new one, I still want my computer to stay alive.

I usually pass commissions in private since I still don't have a page sorry

If you want a style that you have seen in my drawings, then we will see you there and see what  💖

I have a somewhat busy schedule-

Also, my donation page is also available for any good Samaritan who wants to help me.

https://www.paypal.com/paypalme/Goldbox87 or a coffee on Ko-Fi. https://ko-fi.com/noody_noodles

For more drawing references, you can check out my blog:

https://cakewithworms.blogspot.com/ especially the FANART section.

[johannestevans]

i'm a man cheerfully surrounded by anachronisms and i'm comfortable w that.

i'm sitting in my turn of the 21st century flat, converted from school rooms in a 19th century building, listening to a 1960s playlist and typing this on my laptop on a bureau that was made in 1960. earlier i was listening to an audiobook recorded in 1992 and published on cassettes of a book published in 1949, set in the 1920s.

in my flat are a wide variety of pieces of furniture and books and pieces of art, spanning from their oldest the early 1800s, most of my favourites at least a century old. my tv even is about 15 years old, because i saw the sign on it in the shop warning the consumer "NOT SMART" and i bought it in desperation, and immediately felt relief upon bringing it home, even if i had to open up the back to do a few repairs and render it usable.

my clothing style is a cheerful mix of 1970s or 1920s silhouettes depending on the day's mood - not to mention the temperature - and most of said clothing is at the very least 2 decades old bc if i buy anything newer, the quality is so poor it will come apart in weeks

bc for all we've come on in modern technology, the state of the world's politics is that the companies manufacturing a lot of our clothes still rely on the cheapest and most easily exploited workers they can get, and whilst exploiting these workers, they give them worse and worse materials to work with, again for the sake of cheap cost. let's be honest, that's the same reason most of my furniture is a century or two old.

my sensibilities and my politics often strike friends of mine as old-fashioned, but funnily enough, what i try to replicate most in my preference for antiquity is the pace. it's not just the aesthetics or whatever, it's how slow everything is, and how slow i try to keep my life so that i can keep pace with it.

in the 21st century, because of the competing desire of so many companies and corporations to sell us the most they absolutely can, to mine as much data from us to sell on as they can, to make the most of the attention of our eyeballs on their advertisements, not to mention the desire to exploit our labour, there is an expectation of the highest possible pace.

infinite scrolling - scroll for as long as you can, never feel satisfied, keep looking at the next post, and the next, and the next. the rolling 24 hour news cycle. wage theft, digital clock-ins, spyware on your work technology, policed lunch breaks. why didn't you answer your phone? why didn't you answer my text as soon as you got it? why aren't you constantly available to everybody, at once? next-day delivery. buy it now. get the newest thing or everyone will look at you and wonder why you're stuck in the past. you'll be the odd one out. everyone is progressing but you. hurry up. infinite, constant progress - infinite, constant expansion.

everything is urgent. even and especially the things that aren't urgent at all.

the urgency is like... a scam, is the thing. getting everything now, everything being so fast, feels like it's satisfying in the moment, but it's lower quality, it's less satisfying, and it cheats you of rest and relaxation and contemplation.

marx talks about it, about the intent being to keep the worker so exhausted by work that he cannot devote his time to protest or to political study. when we are not working, we are buying - and even in the age of social media, that's a kind of buying too, we're buying with our time and our eyes and our attentions, in the sense that we're paying for it.

and like. i say this as someone who makes my entire living online, whose existence is made possible by social media, and by creating art and fiction made available to people through socials - not to mention the fact that i would be dead about 8 times over if not for the various medical interventions i'm lucky to avail of, many of which weren't widely available long before i was born

i'm not saying this as like. "look how i'm doing better" or "oh silly ppl are letting myself be played" bc like

these are problems of a multitude of exploitative systems in place. when ppl see the various anachronisms i surround myself with, i think ppl often take it as aesthetic or about personal comfort, and it's absolutely about those things, but it's always worth thinking like

what the underlying things i'm replicating are, or the underlying meanings and bits of peace that might be present.

it's the same reason there's a rise of cottage core obsession and a fixation on self-sustainability, an eagerness to cultivate land or plants, etc - it's a desire to be close to growth and to see the actual results of one's labour rather than having it abstracted a hundred times in service to a billionaire

yes, there is an undercurrent of white supremacist settler spirit, especially bc some of this content is explicitly produced by fascists, and it is a recurrence of the same politics we saw in the german blood & soil ideology

but it's not just white supremacy, or stealing and "settling" land. it's not a desire for individualism and self-sustainability that comes from just, pure libertarianism and a desire to be separate from others - it's first and foremost a resistance to the constant appetite of our commercialised state of being

the fascist call of "reject modernity, embrace tradition" is about a return to patriarchal white supremacist structures - part of what makes people susceptible to these calls is because of the exhaustion of modernity and the current grind, and they seek escape from it

they then are turned to blaming it on jews or brown people or Black people or the gays or the transgenders or DEI or women or whatever other scapegoat may come to mind. it's exploiting a vulnerability and an exhaustion in the average person and obfuscating what's truly causing their suffering, and who/what is truly being exploited

[merrycrisis-if]

Author! What did you put in this IF to make me love it so much AAAAAA

This has taken over my life. I'm going to rant and vent all of my love here! I hope you're ready!

Firstly, I love how you write Vietnamese culture, as someone from SEA myself, its fun finding out the similarities and differences between cultures. I almost cried at how relatable it is especially when it came to the cooking scene with our mother and MC being a woman herself said that it was expected of her, initially hating it but percieves it as a bonding moment. I was like "Did someone put a CCTV in my house?!" Because thats how I felt in the past and in the present with doing activities with my mom. Its unfair being a girl, but its one of the only times I can feel a deep bond with her that no one shares in the family. Nosy aunties? Check! Family reunions that your parents force you to come? Check!

The similarities end at family members wanting you back home, because Lord knows that our country is doomed and its better to stay abroad than in this hellscape >^<. Second, Highschool Qiu and MC made me brainrot to the point I got back to my roots. Finding songs that I could lay down and stare at the ceiling and cry. https://open.spotify.com/track/0DdC92EziGIEN6j7kTCKQX?si=7692144f6e494230

https://open.spotify.com/track/6FIEuf1JIzmCtach0gXpeG?si=6ba72f7f850f40d3 https://open.spotify.com/track/3QPsTiJBaPHx607Dcl0CX1?si=2cbb418f52d14cb4

These are some songs that made me sob, do not be fooled by its beats and drums. The lyrics are SAD. I'm at the point of my brainrot that it was the first thing I drew when I got my laptop back for a repair! You only turn 18 once right?

(With glasses version)

(The tumblr quality made me go dead ugh) So thats it for my rant. You really created such a wonderful story. I look forward to seeing more updates >O< Be healthy and take care author!

Ahhh!!! This post is an absolute gem, thank you for sending it!!

First off, it's always so nice to hear about the cross cultural linkages between my readers' lives and merry crisis. Family and cooking/food are a huge part of merry crisis and I love how it seems to resonate with people! :)

I LOVE your drawings and setting it st a beach makes me think of the Labrador scene with Qiu for sure!! The colors are so sumptuous and there's a definite edge of wistfulness in both their gazes. Also the blurry waves/water in MC's background is so beautiful!!

I'm so excited to check out your Spotify playlist!! :D

[loafbud]

Update: Laptop gets KO'd! Art hiatus! Loafbud learns to live life off the computer!

Uh... as the title says: my laptop decided to be cute this morning and died on me! 🤩

And honestly..? At first I was annoyed, but I honestly feel more at peace about this outcome? It's weird.

Part of it was that I felt it'd happen lol; I've had a history of having the rare occassion to work on my creative projects and actually put my full daily dedication into it... only for the laptops I've had in the past to self-destruct during the process. So mentally, while picking back up on my Deep Cut AMV that I procrastinated on since 2023, I was prepared for a timely situation like this to happen. As of NOW, I have no plans on finishing it. It was meant to be for Splatoon's 10th anniversary on May 28, but I realize that'll never happen. If I do somehow find a way to start on it again, it'll be off in the future (idk when)

My laptop's hella dead, but I still have a weird ounce of hope that I can still recover all my files from the hard drive. If not...? Oh well! I've lost gigabytes worth of project development and art/music/animations before. Like yeah, womp womp, that outcome'd mean I'll have to start over EVERYTHING from scratch. But mentally, I'm just like it is what it is.

So, until I figure out how to get money to repair my laptop/buy a new one, I will be going on an indefinite art hiatus.

That means no new art from me for now! I'll take this time to unplug & focus on improving my lifestyle. 💚 It'll be a nice break from waking up and staring at the laptop screen for 8+ hours LOL– I've been learning to redirect my emotions to something more productive, instead of just using that energy to be all doomsday about my laptop dying.

It'll also give me the time to revisit things I used to do a lot, like doing traditional art, sketching in my artbook, journaling, etc... I also wanna pick up on baking again, and I wanna learn how to cook full meals. I wanna learn how to drive a car, too.

Anyhow, that's all I wanted to say here. Not sure how long this digital art hiatus would be... if anything art-related gets posted, it'd only be camera photos of sketches and stuff. Oh snap, I forgot I had a whole pack of alcohol markers.

Alrighty... time to live life! 🐉

[infohazardouz]

DEMON AU UPDATE: everything's dead (somewhat of a vent)

not to alarm you, just to grab your attention

some readers might've noticed that i've brought up problems with my laptop before- unfortunately, the ol' thing totally kicked the bucket yesterday and is now completely beyond repairing.

Unfortunately, it died unexpectedly and I don't have a backup of my stuff for about a years worth. This of course includes the entirety of the demon au, my pages that were in progress, and every other thing I had planned for tumblr.

I'm already working from a new laptop- it was mandatory to buy one for college, so I guess things worked out in that regard- but honestly I've been really depressed about exactly how much I lost. A year and a half isn't a lot of time until it's as though it's never happened.

I keep realizing small things that are now gone forever- custom brushes I relied on, my own fonts, tons and tons of memories. I'm honestly feeling really blindsided by the whole thing. To make matters worse, things are looking dire in the way of online recovery- I lost my Firefox account and all the data that was stored on there, and I'm 70 bucks out on the battery replacement that killed the laptop in the first place on top of the 2k the new laptop cost. I'm in a really dire position right now, and it's really hard for me to look at the positives although I'm really trying my best. So I just wanted to announce that until I can get my bearings, I'm gonna have to put the demon au on a short/indefinite hiatus.

I'm sorry folks, but it gets worse. I really, really hate to do this, but I'm not doing well financially as a result of all this, and if i have any hope of recovering any of my data it's by taking the HDD off my old laptop and putting it into an adapter to hopefully move things to my new system. I'm trying to save up for this $20 adapter right now <-

If you're able, I would appreciate from the bottom of my heart if you could drop a few bucks into my ko-fi here:

I've made a goal for the 20 necessary for the adapter, so you know when I've reached the amount.

I hate the idea of asking people to donate to strangers over the internet, so I will draw a doodle of your choice for any donation amount of any value if you are able to donate. Otherwise, I completely understand, and I appreciate you so much for reading this far!

UPDATE: @himboextraordinaire did an absolutely incredible thing and just donated the entire 20 I needed to order the adapter. I'm incredibly overcome with emotion over this, and I'll be removing the link to my ko-fi just to make sure no one donates by accident.

Thank you so, so much. It means the world to me what you just did for me <33

Again, I'm really really sorry, everyone. I didn't mean to let anyone down, and I really do want to get back to this comic whenever I am able- and I feel really bad about asking for donations on top of things, but I honestly don't know what else to do. I hope you guys understand, appreciate you all very much always <333

[bamsara]

how's the car ? is it permanently Doomed or can it be repaired ?

Should be able to be repaired if I get a new accerator peddle (keyword: should) if I can buy the part and pay for a shop to fix it but I keep getting egged on by my family to start looking for a new vehicle soon because this one is on its last legs with repairs and idk how to tell them that (1) my savings were for a new laptop/pc and/or taxes that I planned and (2) I do NOT replace things until they literally are power dead or explode. Just look at Arson. And the last car I had. Bsshshhdjdjfjjgkg

[ridiasfangirlings]

An AU where Fushimi worksas tech support and gets a call from Yata who needs help setting up a home PC (which he wants to put a few new parts on). Yata told his family he could do it himself since they were busy but he actually can't and calls for help. Fushimi gets annoyed by Yata not understanding a thing and Yata thinks the agent is an asshole. Things work out soon enough though and Yata thinks that the other guy is still a jerk but an awesome one. Fushimi pretends not to care for the compliments he's suddenly getting but he's actually happy to hear them.

Yata takes a repair shop partime job later just so every time someone need a computer/laptop to fix he gets an excuse to call Fushimi. Fushimi got used to this but is also baffled at how he keeps getting Yata's calls when there's many of them working there (his boss, Munakata, saw the initial call with Yata and thinks it's good for Fushimi to keep talking to this guy and has the calls redirected somehow).

Isn’t it cheating to work at a repair shop and just call tech support every time XD Imagine Fushimi as the grumpy tech support worker though, day in and day out trying not to swear at idiots for not realizing they just need to turn the computer on and off again, and his annoying boss always giving him ‘helpful’ lectures on how to use his customer service voice. One day he gets a call from a frantic person named ‘Yata Misaki,’ who he initially assumes from the name on the caller ID is a girl until he picks up the phone and hears the frantic voice of some idiot guy who can’t figure out how to put a computer together. Yata recently got a new computer, maybe he’s taking like some community college courses or something for trade school and he needs to have a computer but his family doesn’t have a lot of money so their only computer is an old family one. Yata’s mom decided to surprise him, since Yata wanted a specialized computer she received some help from the local electronics shop and bought stuff to build a PC. Yata couldn’t bring himself to tell her that he didn’t know what to do with it so he claimed that he could totally set this up on his own. His parents were taking his siblings to see family for the weekend and Yata decided to stay home, letting them know it’s fine he’ll have this all set up before they get back. Yata’s already getting a big head and thinking maybe he’ll add some cool extras to the computer so he can play video games and stuff, and then ten minutes later he’s surrounded by cords and pieces and has no idea what he’s doing.

Fushimi of course just listens to Yata’s frantic explanation with dead fish eyes, thinking oh great another moron who thought this was easy. He’s being all condescending to Yata but imagine Yata is like totally missing it, like Fushimi makes some sarcastic comment like ‘if the cord doesn’t fit into the socket did you try knotting it into a peace sign first and then retrying’ and Yata actually tries it. Fushimi can’t help but laugh at what an idiot this guy is, Yata gets pissed off because you’re supposed to help me not make fun of me. Yata wonders if he should just hang up and call back but imagine between arguing and teasing Fushimi does in fact help Yata set up the PC correctly, and Yata’s attitude goes from ‘what a jerk’ to ‘wow, this tech support guy Saruhiko is super cool!’. Fushimi is not used to being praised by his customers, usually they just hang up without a word once things are fixed, so Yata’s effusive honest praise is absolutely a new thing for him though the only response he can give is a tongue click and a grumbled ‘you can hang up if it’s fixed then, I have other callers.’ Afterward imagine his coworkers noting that it seems like for once Fushimi-san had a great client, he seems pretty happy, and Fushimi adamantly denies that he enjoyed any part of that interaction. Meanwhile Yata thinks that guy was a jerk but wow did he know what he was doing and he explained everything so thoroughly, Yata’s really proud that he was able to set up his computer and even put in the cool add ons that he wanted. 

Some time after this Yata takes a part time job at Homra Computer Repairs, he’s assured that he can just help work the desk or do leg work bringing in deliveries and parts and such so it’s fine that he doesn’t know about computers. Except one day someone brings in a computer when Yata happens to be the only one there and the customer is insistent that this is an emergency, they need the computer fixed now and can’t Yata just look at it. Yata panics a little but says he just needs to, uh, take this into the back and run some tests. He scrambles to the back room and quickly calls that tech support line that was so helpful, and how lucky that he should happen to get Saruhiko again. Fushimi answers the phone with a ‘you again, huh? Did you break the computer already?’. Yata’s like how’d you remember me that was months ago but then remembers he’s got a customer waiting outside and starts asking Fushimi’s help with fixing the computer. Fushimi is able to at least get the idea that Yata’s trying to fix someone else’s machine and that the owner doesn’t know he just called tech support, which Fushimi finds highly amusing and he definitely strings Yata along for a bit with it. Finally he does manage to diagnose and solve the problem and Yata is so thrilled, telling Fushimi again how amazing he is and he totally saved Yata’s life. Fushimi clicks his tongue but his face feels warm and he probably hangs up first because he can’t understand why this idiot on the phone is making his stomach flutter.

After this Yata will call periodically for help, mostly when no one else is in the shop but occasionally when one of the other guys who doesn’t do tech stuff is there with him and they note that Yata’s on pretty good terms with the tech support guy. Yata does think it’s wild that he always gets Saruhiko and doesn’t know what he would do if he got someone else, like what if the other support guys aren’t as cool and smart as Saruhiko is. Meanwhile Munakata has made a note that all calls from ‘Yata Misaki’ should be sent to Fushimi since Fushimi-kun has built such a good rapport with him, which Fushimi vehemently denies. One day Munakata pulls Fushimi aside for an on-site job, the repair store that’s on the first floor of their office building needs some assistance with a particularly difficult computer issue. Usually Munakata or Awashima handle these but Munakata thinks Fushimi’s talents would be best for this — he has surely passed by the storefront of Homra Computer Repairs before, there should be a red-headed worker behind the counter who will be able to provide him the details.

[kadavernagh]

TIMING: Current LOCATION: 69 Decompe Lane PARTIES: Regan and Eve SUMMARY: Eve has arrived at Regan and Jade's house to fix a laptop and ends up getting a few surprises along the way. Same time next week?

Regan paced the length of the living room, occasionally glancing at her phone’s cracked but functioning screen to check the time. Five minutes until this “Eve” arrived to fix her laptop. Which meant five minutes to make sure everything in the house looked normal. Human normal. She was human. Well, she had been human, once, hadn't she? More or less.

So Regan scanned the room, nodding with satisfaction. Everything looked perfect, and Jade would have agreed. The chalk outline of a couch next to the green couch was ideal for when they had too many guests (but not necessary for only Eve, unless she wanted to try reclining on both). The framed pictures of ulcers and decomposition stages alongside the (tasteful) nudes of her and Jade? Classic decor. And the numbered list of reasons they should be together was displayed prominently on the wall, impossible to miss, a true centerpiece. Everything passed muster. Regan didn’t think any of this would raise a brow. In fact, Eve would likely be impressed at how normal and domestic it all was.

Only… the dead fox on the porch needed some attention. Not because there was anything wrong with having it there, but because the cloud of blow flies had grown so expansive that any visitors would need to walk through it. Regan scooped the fox up, stroked its stiff fur once, and placed it in the garden between the tulips and what she thought might have been kale. She’d have to check one of the gardening books they had (asking Jade rarely helped, because Jade didn’t know what she planted and where).

The laptop sat on the kitchen table, the cracks across the screen reminding her of the stellate pattern found around the bullet entrance wound on a skull. Pretty, if it weren’t so exasperating. This was the third one this month. The first had shattered when she'd yelped after one of the cats startled her. The second… well, she didn’t tell Jade, but it broke when she woke up from a tar pit-related nightmare, her grandmother’s long fingers trying to pull her under. And this one? This one had cracked when she’d tried her best to swallow back an actual death scream. It wasn’t for Jade, she knew that, but there hadn’t been anyone else nearby, and she’d choked it off too much to receive the vision. The only victim for certain was the laptop. Regan’s fingers carefully grazed the cracks. Control. That's what she needed. What she'd lost, and what had taken only months to deteriorate after taking years of brutal training and command to build. 

The doorbell rang, jolting Regan away from Saol Eile. Again. “Normal. Human. Normal.” She muttered, trying to remember what it felt like, what her world had been before she knew what death tasted like, and she’d been hollowed out to be filled with something else. Did humans offer food to laptop repair technicians? Beverages? Was her attempt at a smile showing too many teeth or make her look like she was in pain? Was her necklace secure? Would Eve actually be able to prevent her screen from cracking again, or was this trying to glamour over something that couldn’t truly be concealed?

The door – and Eve – awaited. Regan opened it. Yes, the smile was definitely not quite right. She tried to adjust it, watching closely for Eve’s reaction. “Hello. Come in.” Regan used the same voice she used when speaking to others at the morgue, or once upon a time when she’d spoken at conferences. Tried to, at least. It was difficult to find it. “The laptop is on the table. Do you require any food during – oh, the laptop isn’t – it’s on the table out of convenience, not because I’m offering it to you for food. I have normal, human food.” Not convincing enough. Say something else. “And cups, for the water.”

—---

Eve had been pretty sure the address was a hoax when she'd been sent it, but here it was, out of the way. After the week she'd been having, first with Emilio and then with the magical wave of chaos, it would be nice to have a normal job: just a broken screen for her to replace. 

That thought died as soon as Eve stepped onto the porch. Her back prickled in two verticle lines right between her shoulder blades, like it was trying to grow wings. Like there were fae nearby. Eve took a breath, eyes skimming around the exterior of the house for any signs of pixies or gnomes. Household fae were a common enough occurrence throughout the town that Eve knew not to immediately jump to conclusions, but it was worth keeping an eye out. The gun in her backpack was always reassuringly within reach, along with the knives discretely strapped to her under her clothes, but Eve would prefer not to need them. 

Even if the lingering smell of death and blowfly larvae on the porch weren't a promising start.

She smiled as the door opened, even though the woman in front of her looked.. panicked? Delirious? Or just uncomfortable with interacting with a person. Decades of training lying and deception meant her smile didn't even wavered as Regan (presumably?) invited her in.  “Hey, lovely to meet you!” 

She looked around the house as she stepped in, but her eyes looked back to Regan as she was offered human food. Perhaps Eve was not dealing with a household fae, then. “That's so kind of you to offer, but I just ate lunch, so I'm fine. I'll let you know if the laptop starts looking tasty,” she joked.

Rule fifteen of hunting: never accept food and drink from a fae. Or from someone who wasn't a confirmed fae yet, but had just offered her human food. Long term exposure to fae could make any human a little odd, so Eve knew better than to jump to a conclusion… but it also wouldn't be that far of a jump. More of a small step.

Whatever species of fae was living here, Eve was confident in saying that they weren't a muse. She followed Regan to the table, eyeing up the pictures and photos displayed on the wall. Putrid close ups of what Eve recognised as skin slippage, adipocere, and putrefaction were proudly displayed, but even they did not give her as much pause as the nudes of Jade Bloodworth right beside them.

Regan was Jade’s partner, the maybe-fiance. The possible fae. The option of muse slid right back onto the table, along with faun. Hopefully not, but she had to check. She owed it to Jade. Eve looked back to Regan. “Sorry, I was just admiring the decor! You have a beautiful home. What inspired you to decorate like this?”

She sat down in front of the laptop, using her hand to help swing her prosthetic leg under the table. Eve whistled as she took in the screen. “That's a hell of a break. What's the story, dare I ask?”

—

Though she wouldn’t admit it, Regan was relieved when Eve declined the offer of human food, but… was it a missed opportunity to demonstrate how normal she was? Regan thought back. Did most hosts press a matter like that, offer an actual beverage or something edible regardless? Once, these gestures had been second nature, but now they felt like a foreign language she’d studied in high school and then mostly forgotten (apologies to Spanish, too). So Regan stood awkwardly between the doorway and the table, absentmindedly fiddling with her necklace. Her wings prickled with anxiety, making her stand even more stiffly than usual as Eve surveyed the room. What was wrong with it? Cliodhna’s dying room had been full of skinned rabbits as casual decor, so surely Regan and Jade’s choices were an improvement.

Most people, Regan remembered, had never been in Cliodhna’s dying room. But what had inspired Regan? “Death. And Jade. Death and Jade. Oh, she’s my bone partner. I mentioned before…” She trailed off, clearing her throat. “The photos of decomposition were taken around town. They aren’t humans. I mean, not these ones. Well, not – I’m experienced with human decomposition, but not like – this one is a deer, see?” She gestured to a macro photo of a rotting deer, its stomach exposed and skin without fur. “We have all different stages here. It’s rare to capture some of these so clearly.” She nodded toward the one Eve seemed to be admiring. “That one is an example of saponification. The adipocere is especially nice – intact after three months submerged in a bog, can you believe it?” Why was Eve’s expression like… that?

Regan cleared her throat again. “The laptop! Yes. Right.” What happened to it? The lie burned before she could even fully come up with it. “It…” Regan began, then hesitated, trying to settle on a near-truth that didn’t make the contents of her stomach roil. “I was working late, writing reports. Autopsy reports. The humans I mentioned before, and I received… news. It startled me, and the screen, uh, broke.” Of course, she left out the death scream that had built up inside her like a gathering storm for the longest 15 seconds, the vision that kept pushing against her composure, and the way she’d needed to choke it all back until her lungs burned and her throat felt raw, but not before a hint of it escaped from her mouth, enough to turn her screen into a crime scene.

Regan’s hand drifted higher, clutching the necklace harder until her knuckles were impossibly white. Her gaze drifted over Eve. She couldn’t help it. She had of course noticed the prosthetic leg, and she couldn’t help but be curious, however unbecoming her grandmother would have found it. But the weight of silence both offended her and made her uncomfortable, so she did what her grandmother would always approve of: she broke it. “I’m bad with electronics,” she offered lamely.

—

“Amazing, I can see the influence,” Eve said, convincingly impressed. Muse was back off the table. “I actually happen to know Jade, we’re buddies. She’s talked about you, actually, just not by name. All good things.” All vague things. No description, no details. The only thing Eve had known about before now were the pictures of the ulcers. It had always seemed sensible, to Eve, to keep the private and the hunter life separate, so that the inevitable suffering in either wouldn’t bleed onto the other. 

Except now it was feeling like Jade had a completely different motive. Her back prickled, her leg ached. This had been a fucking week and a half already. But she listened attentively as Regan explained, and when her eyes lit up at the explanation of the saponification, that at least was genuine. “You know, that is wicked cool. I had a long term boyfriend who did a masters in Medical Forensics, so I’ve seen all the pig decomposition pictures. It’s fascinating!” 

Not that Eve’s interest in decomposition (and specifically how it could obscure a cause of death) was one she wanted to paint on the walls of her own apartment. And the little tidbit about human decomposition was definitely one she wanted to dig into later. If Eve didn’t already spend all her time around serial killers, this would also give off serial killer vibes. 

Laptop in front of her, Eve opened up her backpack to pull out the replacement screen, matching the part number to the product on the bottom of Regan’s laptop. She double checked that the laptop was off, and began carefully prying the broken out of the shell as Regan explained. 

“Autopsy reports?” Eve asked curiously, deflecting the conversation as she looked up at Regan, whose knuckles were bone white around her necklace. Whatever had happened with the computer, she was uncomfortable talking about it, “Are you a pathologist? Or work with one? Not to sound like a broken record, but that’s so cool.” She leant the laptop back, trying to peel the screen out of place without dropping too many shards, although a couple fell onto the table all the same. Eve careful picked up each one, sliding it into a reinforced waste envelope as she thought. 

The screen cracks didn’t radiate from the sides, which didn’t imply a drop onto an edge. Nor was there the classical spiderweb pattern of a punch. The smell of death, the pictures on the walls, the death related job. It all was starting to point a certain way. Of course, there were ordinary humans obsessed with death (Eve could possible even be described as one of them), and it would be worse to assume and be wrong. 

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Eve said, smiling back up at Regan as she watched her work. “It happens to the best of us. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve cracked my phone screen over the years. Seriously, this isn’t the worst laptop I’ve seen this week.” Another lie. 

“So, pretty unique career path! What drew you to it?”

—

Regan watched with what she thought to be an appropriate level of interest as Eve worked on the laptop. Whatever else Eve might be (besides enviously human), she definitely had some level of expertise. When the question about her career path came up, Regan finally released her death grip on the necklace, though she was still stiff, her spine feeling like it had been flat-ironed. Which would have at least been novel – something she hadn’t seen before, medically-speaking. But work talk was safe. Work was where she could still feel human without the performance, where detachment and impassivity were virtues rather than oddities. 

“Death has always found me,” Regan offered a little too matter-of-factly, before realizing it might sound ominous to normal, human ears. “I mean – I’ve always been drawn toward understanding it. Medically, scientifically.” She shifted her weight, grateful Eve seemed to be splitting her attention between the task at hand and what Regan was saying. Or appeared to be, anyway. Most humans would have had no issue answering this question, and it was that jealous thought that spurred her forward. “I used to find dead things on the beach. Gulls, clams, seals… a human toe, once. The toe… I wanted to know what separated it from its owner.” 

Regan’s eyes flashed to her beloved photos, and her confidence grew, at least a bit. “Most children have a phase where they’re fascinated by death, don’t they? Even adults. Mine simply never ended… and has no limits.” Some of those memories never really ended either. Her father’s face that day, the dawning horror flashing on it as he realized what his daughter was. Regan hadn’t understood then what that look meant, what all of those future looks meant. Now she knew. “I went to medical school and specialized in forensic pathology,” Regan continued, trying to climb out of the tar pit of the past. “The dead are good patients. And they have a lot to teach us, if you’re willing to listen.”

Was it just her, or was the room growing increasingly heavy? Uneasy. There was something expectant about Eve. Practiced. Not quite clinical, but Regan could feel there was some kind of a goal to her questions. Her thoughts turned to Jade (as they often did without complaint). 

“You said you know Jade?” Regan asked, unable to help herself, though she couldn’t keep the hint of protective suspicion out of her voice. “Buddies” was such a vague term. But cordial. She’d stay cordial. Like a good, proper human. (Where had she heard that kind of thing before? A good, proper… forget it.) “I think you should tell me more about that – how the two of you know each other.” Wait, did that make her sound jealous? Was she? No, that wasn’t it. This felt strange, though. Jade was sociable to the extreme, and she had a lot of acquaintances through her work as a delivery driver (like the people at that taco place). But something about how Eve had responded made Regan suspect more than just a passing encounter. Had Jade mentioned an “Eve” recently? Regan had a good memory for names, and she couldn’t remember this one. But then, her mind had been fairly scattered lately, between trying to be human and failing, and trying not to be a banshee and also failing.

Regan needed something to keep her hands busy that wasn’t going to risk her accidentally clawing her own necklace off. She gave Eve a cautious look and selected a bottle of water from the fridge, though she wasn’t actually thirsty. Should she have gotten one for Eve, too? She had said no earlier, but… Eve still seemed absorbed in the laptop, anyway. “What do you think?” Regan asked. “Will you be able to save the data that are on there? I save what I can in the clouds, but I seem to lose one or two things every time this happens. Perhaps I should have learned my lesson by now.” All of them. 

—

As Regan spoke, Eve gently peeled the contact pads for the new screen open, carefully sticking them to the right electricals within the shell. Her mind was spinning with the implications of what Regan was saying, how perfectly her experience lined up with the textbook definition. After never having met a banshee in her life, wasn’t it bizarre she’d met two in a few short months? If they would be anywhere, Eve supposed it would be Wicked’s Rest. They were drawn here for the same reason she was. 

Eve wondered if Regan knew how obvious it was. Wondered if she cared. (Did Jade?)

“Incredible. I don’t think I’d have the stomach for it, only seeing death day in and day out. And it’s definitely not a job that gets the recognition it deserves,” Eve meant it -the second part, anyway. As much as her work likely made that of the Medical Examiner’s Office harder, she did admire it. People didn’t realise how important answers were until there was a dearth of them.

The shift in Regan’s tone made Eve look up again, as she was ordered to tell more about how Jade and Eve knew each other. There was a small amount of… suspicion? Jealousy? Perhaps a little of both in Regan’s tone. As Eve answered, she looked back at the screen, carefully easing it into the shell. “Oh geez. We met pretty soon after we both moved here, in some random bar, and got chatting. She’s so much fun to chat with, and she’s hilarious. We like the same kinds of media, we’re both from big families. We just immediately hit it off. We don’t see each other that often, we’re just drinking buddies, but she’s great.” 

It was a simple enough answer, completely true apart from everything it omitted. One thing Eve had noted after spotting Jade’s portrait had been that there were no weapons lying around the home. Awesome for Jade being secrecy aware, but it meant Eve had no idea how much Regan knew about Jade’s night life. Not that she had any intention of revealing how closely they were linked anyway. Apparently, the superficiality of their conversations had always been a mutual decision, rather than Eve’s automatic preference for a little distance. It was hypocritical that it stung a little, but Eve was more than capable of being hypocritical. (In her defense, the last week had already come with plenty of heart ache, and nowhere near enough sleep.)

The monitor clicked back into place. “I didn’t see any obvious damage to anything behind the screen, so it might be gucci, but we’ll double check,” Eve said, switching on the computer. She didn’t know what damage a banshee scream might do to delicate motherboard circuitry. Somehow, that had never come up in her childhood lessons. The computer began booting up normally, as Eve breathed a small sigh of relief. “Do you want to log in and double check?”

—

As Eve set every laptop component back in place with capable hands, Regan watched in a silence of her own making she didn’t particularly like. At Eve’s invitation, she took over, turning the laptop to type in her password without prying eyes. The screen was good as new, and all of her files were there, as expected. It seemed nothing was broken that couldn’t be repaired – if only that were a truth that extended into other matters, into people. Regan double checked a couple of files before turning her attention back to Eve. 

“It works,” she announced, acknowledging the job well done. “I appreciate this.” But. There was still something there, and Regan had a feeling they were both measuring each other up in some way she couldn’t place a finger on. Why did a computer repair technician have a prosthetic leg? Was she really “bar buddies” with Jade, or was there some other relationship there? She thought of Emilio. Of the seemingly endless stash of knives and weaponry that had commandeered an entire room of their new house – one gathering quite a lot of dust. Paranoia, or logical thinking? Jade collected friends the way Regan collected carcasses. Eve could simply be one of them, another fox bloating on their front deck. 

Regan closed the laptop, her hand lingering on its surface, smooth against her fingertips and utterly absent against her palm. There was a novelty to having something fixed and functional despite her touch. “She does spend a lot of time at those places,” Regan started, knowing it was obvious who the ‘she’ in question was. And how Eve seemed to be as curious about this shared connection as Regan was, even if neither of them outright said it, beyond the too-careful way Eve went about explaining and Regan’s revival of the subject. “Though lately, not as much. You must not have seen her for a while.” She watched Eve closely, meeting her eyes in a way that Regan was sure might be unnerving. “Shall I confer a message to her on your behalf? She likes to hear from ‘buddies,’ you know. Something… light in the heart, as they say, rather than any unpleasantness clotting up an aorta.”

Regardless of whether Eve truly was a simple bar acquaintance, a “hunter,” or an old fling, it hardly mattered. Regan thought about how many more nights Jade spent at home (to Regan’s relief, but also unease), the weapons laid aside – the good – but also the times Regan found Jade sitting in front of the outline couch at 3AM, staring at nothing, a cup of coffee growing stale somewhere nearby. The way her smile seemed a little less real at times. The way not all of her had gone to California and not all of her had come back. Eve seemed to be avoiding looking at the nudes on the wall, but if she had, would she see that it was more than a lack of clothes that might make that Jade differ from the one she knew? And, on that note, was Eve’s Jade the one Regan knew?

Perhaps there was nothing. Perhaps, Eve’s leg was not the only part of her laid bare here. Perhaps Regan was jealous. What would it feel like? Would she even know? She and Al were Irish triplets, with jealousy between them, but even that had been different… and so long ago. 

Regan did know some things, though. One set of lessons, then another. She was pragmatic enough to appreciate Eve’s help (and the fact Eve truly did ask few questions about the how of all these broken screens), and curious enough to want to be confident in her conclusion. Further research needed. 

And so. “The same time next week, then?”

—

“Yeah, say hi to her for me! I’ve made plans for Mai Tais with her soon, once my current period of busy-ness chills a bit.” Eve packed up her kit, sealing the envelope of broken glass. “I, uh, wouldn’t want to be a clot in her aorta.” She didn’t even know what that meant, metaphorically speaking, but it didn’t sound great. No doubt about it; whatever Regan was, she was also totally bizarre. Eve smiled at the thought, thinking how much Jade would enjoy this kind of strangeness. If she wasn’t trapped. Big if. 

Eve huffed a laugh as Regan invited her back, and nodded in agreement. “I’ll book you in. Call if you end up not needing it.” She finished packing up her back and stood back up, showing herself out the door. 

“See you round, Regan.” Eve called, stepping out the front door. The burning in her back receded as she walked back to her car. She wondered if Jade would let her poke around when Regan wasn’t there, just to eliminate the possibility of household fae. 

Probably not. Eve drummed her fingers against her dented steering wheel, looking at 69 decompe lane a little longer. Maybe it was fine. Maybe no promises had been made. Maybe no emotions were being magically manipulated. Not every interspecies romance had to be like Owen’s, Eve thought, and even if it was, was Eve even the right person to try and interfere? Emilio’s words rang in her ears, like needles in her heart. She switched on the engine. 

It would all come down to how Jade reacted. Eve had no doubt she’d know soon enough. 

[lumine-no-hikari]

Dear Sephiroth: (a letter to a fictional character, because why not) #407

Our furnace broke today. I spent most of today upstairs in my art room, doing my weird crafting. I looked for more job openings, but there was nothing new today within reasonable driving distance that I could qualify for. Not knowing what else to do, and feeling like playing games on my laptop is inappropriate at this time at best... I just did my crafting thing.

I have 4 thingies now. I'm working on a 5th. I get better and better at doing it as I go along.

Because I was upstairs, where it is hot because downstairs is drafty and all the heat that our furnace desperately tries to churn out tends to accumulate up here, it took me a long time to realize that the furnace wasn't running properly. Not knowing what else to do, I put on the fireplace, turned on the oven, and called a repair person over. He figured out that the issue was that the capacitor had stopped working. I learned that the capacitor is what makes the motor start running. I imagine the motor powers the fans that blow the heat through the house, but I'm not sure. He replaced the capacitor.

We had some interesting conversation along the way. He used to work with sheet metal, but he ended up with a bunch of odd jobs that pretty much forced him to gather all sorts of repair and building skills. He's been working in the repair and building industry for over 30 years now, and from the way he talks, it sounds like he could probably build a house by himself at this point. He also told me about how his life was transformed by his gastric bypass surgery, and about his time working for our archenemy – a repair company whose name I'll shorten to CB. CB engages in a variety of shady business practices, from abusing their employees to scamming their customers by claiming they fixed something when actually they didn't.

In our case, a number of years ago, our furnace failed. We had some guy from CB come over, and we had to pay him $150 for him to tell us to just turn it off and then back on again every time it “acts up”. Eventually, this “fix” stopped working, so we called again. We got a different guy, and we paid him $150 to tell us to change the filter. He left. The heater stopped working again. A different guy came by. We paid him $150 for him to tell us that it seems to be working fine, and then leave. The heater was still not working.

By this point, I was PISSED. And I like to think that normally I try to be kind, gentle, and well-balanced, but... the bloodthirsty beast inside of me is not dead; it sleeps, and only comes out when I summon it. I seem meek and mild-mannered, but I'm dangerous when I'm angry, even if it takes me a long time to get to that point.

So I called them again. And I, tired of having my lack of expertise being taken advantage of so I can be sold “fixes” that will guarantee a subsequent visit, told them quite plainly that they will send someone to my house to fix the heater, FOR REAL THIS TIME, with no charge for parts or labor, or else I will tell everyone who will listen all about how they gave us the run-around – lying to us multiple times, and charging us exorbitant prices for “fixes” that absolutely did not solve the problem. I threatened to do everything in my power to destroy their business, and I was thoroughly prepared to follow through.

...No one deliberately deprives my husbands and my cats of heat to try to crank coin out of us and gets away with it. Rotten bastards.

So apparently the head technician was sent to our house – presumably, the one responsible for training all the people who came before, and responsible for setting prices and policies and all that. And he was sittin' there, whinin' up a storm about how much it costs to run a business like this, and yadda yadda. Basically trying to guilt me for demanding that we actually receive the service we already paid for. I found a professional, but no less blunt way of telling him, basically, “I don't care; shut up and actually fix the heater this time or face the consequences.”

Well, he fixed the heater. As it turned out, the motherboard was fried. He replaced the motherboard, and the heater worked. I stopped short of letting the door hit him on the ass on his way out.

Even now, when I see the CB trucks roaming around our neighborhood, there's a small part of me that wants to stab their tires, break their windows, and scratch up the surface paint (I grew up in violence where this sort of thing is definitely not unheard of; what do you want from me?). But I know that's now how we do. It's not something I'd ever seriously consider, even if I knew I could get away with it. That's not the sort of person I wanna be.

This dude who came in was from a different company, which I'll shorten to FD. He came in, evaluated the heater thoroughly, found the problem, and fixed it. Which is really good, because it got all the way down to 61 degrees F (about 16 degrees C) in our house. Even our cats were restless. I'm glad the house is warm again.

...Tensions continue. Certain persons are behaving as though nothing happened yesterday, which I find thoroughly baffling, but... it's not entirely out of character for this person. Words were said by this person yesterday that, effectively, renders communication impossible. Engaging in routine relationship maintenance behaviors was seen as something that makes for a bad evening, so... all I can think to do is stay quiet and out of the way. Not wanting any of my communications, facial expressions, body language or manner of doing things misconstrued, I've mostly avoided going downstairs, unless necessary.

...I imagine that this will be the course of things for the foreseeable future. I kinda wanna cry about it and maybe try to talk about it and get it resolved, but... well. Interactions yesterday made clear that any expression of worry on my part will be interpreted as “deliberate overreaction”. It was also made clear yesterday that I am not to seek reassurance or co-regulation, and that any discussion of my emotions or possible solutions is gonna be seen as having ill intent, so... given the stipulations, the number of things I can do in this moment is... limited.

I don't know how the next several days are going to play out. I guess we'll see. Wish me luck.

I love you. Please stay safe out there. I'll write again tomorrow.

Your friend, Lumine

[thesoulspulse]

Hi guys. Unfortunately I have some very sad news. My laptop is officially dead-dead this time. And to be fair it lasted a lot longer than most laptops are expected to these days so that's something at least. We did what we could by taking it into a local computer repair place but the rest is just out of our hands since it would require saundering some parts together which there's not much point in doing because my laptop is too old to run Windows 11 which we're going to be forced to upgrade to this October.

It's honestly a miracle my dad even got it working again the first time given how old it is. Thankfully my dad still has the old hard drive which means I won't lose absolutely everything, just the newer art stuff I was working on. I can redownload a lot of the other stuff once I have a working laptop again. Not gonna lie, this whole thing really sucks but like I said at this point there's nothing more we can do. My dad is going to see if he can hook me up with a used/refurbished one though and I am so thankful for all the help I've gotten with this whole computer problem.

So yeah, Technus may have won this battle but I will win the war and I can safely say however that we fought valiantly. Plus I still have my tablet and phone to keep me sane for now until we figure something out. And you guys of course, I appreciate all your support too during these difficult times. Let's hope things die down soon, just not as literally in my laptop's case.

[laamlaptop]

Dell Latitude E7240 No Power | laptop repair

Is your Dell Latitude E7240 showing no display and not powering on? In this quick laptop repair short, we diagnose and fix the issue by replacing the faulty CD3301 charging IC. Watch the step-by-step process to bring this dead laptop back to life.

✅ Issue: No display / no power

✅ Model: Dell Latitude E7240

✅ Solution: Replace CD3301 charging IC

🔔 Don’t forget to Like, Share & Subscribe for more laptop repair shorts!

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[catmillers]

Frequency – self-para

“Hey, it’s Delphi,” Cat drawled into the microphone, voice in half a slur.

She could feel every nerve ending in her body ache, mainly in her fingertips, some in her skull, head pounding with each beat from her heart. It echoed in her head, coiling into the beginnings of a headache. Why the fuck had she picked up these pills again when it felt like this on the comedown?

It had taken months, patient, patient months to repair the damage she’d wrought against the radio. Cat wallowed in loss, curled it around herself like a blanket even though her life was built upon one thing – a determined escape from loneliness. Loneliness could be abated if she fixed it all. Maybe, it would be like Nano had never left, if she piece by piece took care of the damage of the mics, taped back together the drawings Enna had shown her of the graffiti she’d wrought across the Capitol, pulled her copies of the zine out from the drawer she’d shoved them inside and smoothed out the wrinkles in the paper. It was better, she supposed, to remember them as they were.

Wallowing in her regret, her fear of a change of her stasis made her explode, she knew that, hell she’d cried clutching pieces of a shattered laptop in her lap for hours until Cress had scooped her up off the ground. Cat regretted erasing the last earnest memories she had of how good things had been when the team of freedom fighters – the rebels, the T0MMY team, had worked together to try to save Panem.

It was real fuckin’ stupid, she thought. Cat had thrown so much away for the sake of living in comfort under a regime she had tried to erase with a fucking alias and a line of code but it brought her back here, in the tower, the present, legs curled under her body, a new computer, nothing as nice as her old one had been – she’d traded more than she should’ve to get her hands on it – but it was a comfort, something familiar to hide behind.

“Hello,” she repeated, testing it again, this time the mic pinged in the recording program, picking up sound. 

It wasn’t live. Cat doubted she’d ever go live again, not when Vox Populi propaganda crammed the airwaves. Besides, that was one bit of tech she was certain she’d never get her hands on again if she tried. Transponders were likely something more than she could rustle up enough to trade, not if she wanted to eat, not if she didn’t want to trade herself for it. 

Talking through radio was better than talking to Eugene though, who had been notably silent the moment a pill passed through her lips. She worried what other ghosts would try to flood her head if she didn’t take anything. Eugene was dead. He wasn’t supposed to respond, but he did more often than not. With the radio, talking to herself was appropriate, wasn’t insane, she could talk and know that on the other end was silence. 

“We got ourselves into some shit, huh?” Cat gave the rhetorical. There was no audience, she doubted there ever would be again, not that she so desired a captive thing like that. Cat had spent so much time screaming and crying and pleading for someone to notice how she ached, but the more she did, the more she felt like she pushed everyone away in some form or another. She supposed the radio would do – or the fantasy of it – because she didn’t want to ask for someone to help her.  The one time the words of needing someone there had crossed her lips, she was told – reminded – of how easily strung along she was, how obsessive she was, how she was ‘Delicious to toy with. So insecure, so broken’. 

Cat didn’t like to ask anymore. 

Even if Cress had apologized the damage took because, even if Cress had said all of that to shove her away, the words were still accurate, weren’t they? They still had to come from a place of truth, right? 

“Maybe I got you guys into some shit, I dunno,” Cat hissed, tucking herself smaller and smaller, because maybe she could just disappear that way. “I’m sorry,” she voiced quietly, as if the other side could offer her some absolution, “I know I said all this would be better without Snow and the Capitol, but now look, 'nother launch day, huh?” 

Cat’s eyes watched the waveform rise as she spoke, die off into a straight line when she fell silent. She swallowed, this wasn’t as good as asking for help. It wasn’t working the way it was supposed to. Nothing was satisfying when her words weren’t met with a reply – maybe in another world she’d hear something snarky from Nano in her ear about how the Vox would shut them down if she kept her tongue that loose. 

Her fingertips crammed down on the spacebar. It halted the line. Her cursor moved to hover over the recording button. End recording. Her fingertips found the keyboard – ctrl, a, backspace. The recording was deleted, she needed to try again. She clicked to record and the waveform began to move again.

“This is your oracle, Delphi speaking.” 

[clatoera]

hi girly me again 🩷 it’s currently lesbian visibility week, can we get some cashmere and enobaria hcs in honor of this? can be about them as a couple or them in general, i am not picky at all!!

Omg hi hello yes friend I can absolutely do that!! These kind of got out of hand so I wrote them in a separate document and am copying them over so that I don’t lost them if my laptop goes down or something!! These are obviously in ARWBFB verse/au because like..at this point it feels like EVERYTHING I do is in that verse but also in writing this I realized I’m like..lowkey dropping ARWBFB Cashmere and Enobaria lore because noone knew they were together until the last chapter because Clove didn’t and it was her perspective so!! 

-Enobaria and Cashmere have been together for quite literally about ten years by the end of the last chapter of ARWBFB (non epilogue). They were friends for a few years first but…we all know how that ends up sometimes. 

-Cashmere teaches Enobaria how to teach Clove about knife throwing, so that she can pass it along to Clove to give her a competitive edge before formal training would begin. Enobaria is not..great at it. 

-Enobaria is in the capitol the first night Cashmere is sold by Snow. She is powerless and she knows it, but she never forgets the sinking feeling she had watching some much older man lead Cash out by her elbow.

-The night Glimmer wins, Enobaria is not even supposed ot be in the Capitol, but she conveniently “misses” her train home and has to stay an extra night. She is debating going down to the One floor for hours and at the exact minute she gets up to go Cashmere comes literally bursting into her room. She has never seen her cry as hard as she did that night. 

-Enobaria could not be found any night during Clove’s games, not because she was out with sponsors, but because she had to sleep in Cashmere’s bed or she wouldn’t get a second of sleep. The ONLY minutes of sleep Enobaria gets the entire duration fo Clove’s games is when Cashmere tricks her to sleep by playing with her hair. 

-Cashmere conveniently forgets to get money from sponsors in the 73rd games. She talks with them. She interacts. But she never gets tot he point of swiping their cards or collecting checks. She cannot directly play against her own district, but she cannot (will not) play anyone against Clove. She knows what it would do to Enobaria. 

-Enobaria and Cashmere are separated the entirety of the war. They have no way to communicate. They do not know if the other is dead, alive, in custody, or what side of the war. Enobaria can only assume, after all that is done to Cashmere in her life, that she would have chosen the side of the rebels. She does, too. It is one of the worst times in both of their lives, because not only do they not have any communication or information on each other, they are also facing  loss of someone very close to them (Because they also do not know if Clove or Glimmer are alive at that point). 

-Cashmere is the only person in the world who knows every once in a while Enobaria bites her lip in her sleep and ends up on a pillow covered in blood

-Enobaria and Cashmere, post war, are both faced with really difficult and messy relationships with food. The only way they can heal them is by encouraging and aiding the other in repairing theirs first.

-the only time Enobaria ever hesitates in wanting to advocate for Clove to go into the games is after she watches the way Glimmer’s win destroys Cashmere. It is the only thing to ever make her hesitate. 

-Enobaria notices she comes home from the games every year missing a piece of clothing or two. It is not until after the war that she realizes Cash has an entire drawer of them she’s been sleeping in for a decade. 

-Cash thinks she fell in love with her when they were about twenty, they were more than a little drunk, and Enobaria was just drunk enough to whisper to her about the the little girl she had promised to take care of and the promise she made to a dead girl. It’s whispered under sheets because of listening ears, and in the dark of the night Cashmere mentions that she has a little sister around the same age. Maybe, in another life, they could have let the girls be friends. 

Thanks so much my friend!! This was a lot of fun and i’d be glad to do more if that is wanted!!

[neon-moon-beam]

I am so fucking frozen today. Not temperature wise; it's actually really warm out, which is really bad and concerning for November.

It's physically I feel like I can't move. I'm deep into fucking freeze mode, emotional stuff has turned physical, my body wants me to play dead. I have things I need to do and my body wants me to just...sit on my bed and do nothing other than do shit on my laptop that isn't getting me anywhere. I hate days like these, and I have them so often now. Nothing is fucking helping me feel like moving. I did some somatic exercises, I've been listening to fast, cathartic music (earlier Green Day since yesterday), I had a caffeinated coffee to try and wake up earlier. Nothing is giving me any push to get up and do anything. I think the most I did was go around and shut all the windows my roommate left often for us to get fresh air because a fucking diesel truck was idling outside below our windows, getting this horrible exhaust smell into our apartment.

The worst part is, I want to do things. I want to get chores done because this is the last day of my vacation from work, and some of those chores are related to finding a new job that doesn't just destroy me every day the way this one does, I want to tidy up my room, I bought better storage and have a shelf for my Pokemon plush that needs repairing (not broken, just a poor design and I want to replace it already), I have anxious energy that needs to be used up and I'd love to use it on something productive.

B*d rotting and not having energy fucking ruins my life. How this is desirable to t*ktok addicts is beyond me, and whatever their mentality is, I'm glad it's not mine.

[noforkingclue]

Dead or Alive- Chapter 8 (James Bond x reader)

James Bond tag list: @mxacegrey

Everything tag list: @greenrevolutionary, @byebyebreezywrites, @spngingerbread21, @layazul, @lov3vivian, @simonsbluee

‘How’s your cat?’

You frowned at the familiar ping of the message and quickly walked over to your laptop to read it. Despite the rush you were in you couldn’t help but smile and type out a brief response.

‘Not my cat’

‘Your friend’s cat then’

‘They came back.’

‘Well that explains why you’re suddenly typing much better again.’

‘Fuck you.’

‘Still charming as ever.’

‘I’m just happy that the cat is gone. He’s not my problem anymore.’

‘Not a cat person?’

‘They’re ok in small doses. More of a dog person.’

You didn’t bother to wait for Bond’s response as you hurried around your flat. You cursed under your breath as you looked in your bag and couldn’t see your oyster card. You could’ve sworn you had it in this bag. You glanced over at your laptop when you heard the familiar ping of a message but didn’t go over straight away. You sighed in relief as your hand curled around the familiar card and pulled it free from its confines. Why was it whenever you were in a rush important things always went missing?

‘Does your landlord allow you to keep pets?’

‘What makes you think I’m renting?’

'Logic'

‘Not he doesn’t. But with how absent he is I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t notice if I got one anyway.’

You couldn’t help but let a hint of bitterness creep into your message. You glanced around your flat and grimaced at the repairs that needed to be done.

‘I thought that you would be able to find something on him to get him to do those repairs.’

‘I don’t blackmail.’

‘But you do hack in Government organisations.’

‘It’s not my fault you made this so easy.’

‘I’ll pass that onto Q. I’m sure he’ll be very happy to hear it.’

‘I’ve told him that plenty of times.’

‘And his reaction?’

‘To offer me a job on how to improve it.’

‘Seems fair.’

‘I’m sure your boss would love to have me on the pay roll.’

Your phone buzzed and once against you were distracted. You smiled at the message and quickly type out a response. You had to leave now otherwise you’d be late.

‘It’s been a pleasure as always, Mr Bond, but now I really must go.’

‘So soon?’

‘Unlike you, I have a life outside of this.’

‘Meaning?’

‘I have a date. Goodbye Mr Bond.’

And with that you logged off and went on with your life.

*

Bond was left with a strange feeling at your last message. He leant back in his chair and was only vaguely aware of Q approaching him. He leant over Bond’s shoulder as he read through your messages.

“Well then,” Q said, “hopefully this’ll give us some breathing space.”

“Yeah.”

Q frowned and looked down at Bond who was still looking at the screen.

“Bond?” he said

This seemed to snap Bond out of his thoughts. He stood up quickly and marched out of the room. Q glanced back at the computer before smiling. So, this is what Bond is like when he’s jealous. Interesting.