old monitor


Introducing my Probably Intelligent Personal Pixel Array, otherwise known as PIPPA.

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Another fine piece of retro computers joins my army! Say hello to Siemens-Nixdorf Scenic Mobile 500! Equipped with Pentium 100 MHz, 40 MB of RAM, 788 MB HDD, Chip & Technologies 65550 1 MB video chip and ESS1888 sound card, it’s a complete beast for DOS and other older OS. One of the downsides is the fact it doesn’t feature any kind of CD-ROM, but at least it has a functioning floppy drive, as well as a serial/parallel port, so I don’t complain this much. Who knows, I might pick up a PCMCIA CD-ROM/PCMCIA-to-SCSI adapter someday.

MS-DOS 6.22 works like a charm, as I suspected it would. The ESS sound card, and its OPL3 clone, sounds as good as the Yamahas I have in my other retro machines (YMF744B in Tecra 8100 and OPL3 SA-x in my oldschool rig). The screen quality is also great, for an old TFT monitor. However, when it comes to the video, this one doesn’t have a built-in BIOS function of screen scaling, so I have to use a small TSR program to force the full screen, otherwise I’d be playing the DOS games in a bit smaller window (the native resolution is 800x600, and the screen is downsized to 640x480).

Just for the kicks I also tried out Windows 3.11, and no problems here as well (though I had to search for appropriate drivers first). Really enjoyed a quick round of SimTower and other Win3.x games.

Overall, just like Tecra 8100, it’s a damn fine machine if you’re looking for an authentic DOS/early Windows experience, but worried about building from scratch and configuring a retro rig by yourself.

Oh and shoutout for @ms-dos5, as I know you like these kind of thingies. ;)


And finally my “pixel art” examples. They will be offered in 16-bit (left) or higher-color (right).

I’m also thinking about adding an optional “crt filter” variation but I’m not sure how people will like it since it’s still inaccurate.

I could always hook up my old monitor and take a photo of it though. We’ll see.

patrickarch  asked:

The Devil's Luck for a title

The Devil’s Luck

Nicholas Wilde had always been notoriously unlucky in love, in health, and in the concept of return. Unfortunately for him, she’s a little bit more stubborn than luck.

sorry this is so late! i’m doing them all now! please accept this mess of words in return. nothing like 2 a.m. rambles, m’right!

Nick is sure that there isn’t a more pathetic fox in the world when Judy bids him goodnight and presses a paw to his arm. The way she says “goodnight” with that soft admiration hanging off her teeth has his stomach flipping and his eyes turning down.

He clears his throat. “Yeah. Uh… Night, Carrots.”

“Try not to pull an all-nighter, okay? Night shift doesn’t need to see your face as often as they do.”

“Foxes are nocturnal, Carrots. I’ll be fine.”

Her violets turn to chastisement, and he clutches the sides of his rolling chair until his knuckles go cream. “Nicholas,” says Judy.

That’s all he needs, really.

(all he ever needs)

“An hour,” he promises.

She concedes (barely) and touches his arm again.

(breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe o-)

“Call me if you need anything.”

He won’t. But he nods. Watches her leave. The first of the night shift had already arrived, clicking on the light to his corner desk and sitting back to the hum of an old computer monitor starting up. Nick turns and ignores him. Typing up the newest report and trying to ignore the scent of ginger tea she’d left behind.

He has the Devil’s Luck, and he’s not ready to test it.

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It was nighttime after her long shift when Charlie found him—the tousle-haired two-year-old sitting cross-legged in ratty footie pajamas practically swallowed by a foot of snow.

It wasn’t the first time a child had been abandoned in front of the fire station. It broke her heart every time, but she thought she’d never seen anything so cruel as the scene in front of her:

The blue-eyed toddler held a dead bird in his arms like a teddy bear, chubby cheeks stained with salt from crying. Held it so tight she thought she’d have to pry it from him. Instead, he looked up at her with round, pleading blue eyes, shoving the limp feathers in her face.

“Bowd,” he said through sniffles.

She took it from him gingerly, his eyes saying fix it. Not knowing what to do, she held it to her, staring at the broken, lifeless feathers.

She looked back up, reaching out for the boy.

“Come on, sweetheart.” she said, trying to use her best calming voice. Hoping not to scare the little one. Hoping he would come.

He sprung forward, almost knocking Charlie over, clinging to her tightly with a trusting expression. His body was warm. He should have been cold. He should have been dead. Instead, the little thing burrowed his messy-haired head in the crook of her neck, stroking the top of the dead pet with a finger.


“Bird,” she repeated, finally figuring out what he was trying to say. She looked at the dead thing, wanting to drop it as she looked at its glassy eye. She made a mental note to disinfect everything she’d touched after she’d disposed of it. But she couldn’t do it yet as she looked at the young boy’s eyes, glued to the thing.

Instead, she wrapped the bird up in a spare newspaper setting it on the seat next to the wiggly toddler.

His eyes went wide when the wings disappeared beneath the print and he wriggled free of the car seat, scrambling to the paper and ripping enough of it to expose the beak and head. He sent her a disapproving glare.

“Bowd,” he said, like a scolding.

She buckled him in the car seat, driving slowly, trying to organize her thoughts.

When they reached the house, she grabbed the toddler’s small frame easily, hefting him up and shutting the door. As soon as he heard the sound, though, his eyes darted to the newspaper still visible through the window.

“Bowd,” he said, reaching an open, chubby hand out. “Bowd.”

“I’m sorry angel,” she said. “It can’t come in. Birds have diseases. It can’t come in to the house.”

He may not have understood what she was saying, but the ultimate meaning seemed to reach him perfectly; the bird wasn’t coming.

The toddler began to cry, big blue eyes looking at her pleadingly, reaching a hand out towards the window, fingers splayed, this time in question:

“Bowd?” he plead softly. And Charlie felt her heart break a second time, almost giving in before she remembered it was a safety hazard.

“I’m sorry sweetheart,” she said. Slowly, the toddler resigned himself to his fate, his head dropping to her shoulder, going quiet.

She could feel the tears on her shoulder. She could feel the tremors of him sniffling quietly.

“Shhh,” she cooed, “It’s all right. I won’t leave you.”

They walked through the door to muted lights, the soothing sound of Dorothy’s voice coming from the library.

“And the little rabbit lived happily ever after.”

She turned the corner to see the comforting figures of her wife and adopted son, curled up by the fire, his eyes closed as he fell asleep in her lap.

“He finally fell asleep, the little stinker. Wanted to wait until his firefighter mom got ho—” Dorothy started, then looked up. Her eyes widened in understanding, then her brows furrowed in concern.

“Another one?” she asked, her tone sad as she looked at the small boy’s crying form, limp against her shoulder.

Dorothy carried her son over to the entryway, taking in the second tiny boy’s shaking form.

“Assholes,” Dorothy said.

“Dorothy!” Charlie scolded, giving a pointed look toward the two children.

“What?” Dorothy said without apology. “They are, aren’t they precious?” she said talking to the toddler, reaching a hand forward to touch his still-damp hair.

“Bowd,” he stuttered before Charlie pulled away.

“Better not touch,” she said, “We’re both probably infected with bird disease.”

Dorothy gave a confused look, but quietly took their son to the room, laying the second two-year-old down for the night.

“Goodnight, Dean,” Dorothy said with a kiss, then joined her wife again: “Sounds like it’s bath time.”

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pink is dead.  even monsters may mourn.

“My Diamond.” Yellow Pearl broke Yellow Diamond’s concentration with a quiet word. Yellow Pearl shrunk under Yellow Diamond’s glare, but didn’t have to be told to hurry up before she delivered her message. “Pink Pearl and Blue Pearl have fused.”

“What?” For a moment, Yellow Diamond’s mind spun, lost without context. Fused? Pearls only fused when their mistresses did, Blue Pearl and Pink Pearl had no reason to fuse. For half a second, she thought of Purple, the gem that Pink and Blue made together before–

And then realisation hit, like a lodestone sinking deep into her belly, which suddenly churned with nausea. Pink Pearl belonged to White now.


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Some of your may have already seen my guest comic “Bubble Trouble” for the Steven Universe comic either in print or online but I wanted to make an official post on here.  I included some bonus WIP pages: the final pencil lines and thumbnails.

As this was my first official comic, it was a bit of a learning experience, especially in editing and formatting.  I’m still learning about how I like to go about my watercolor comic process, like what order I layer the colors, how I make the panels etc.  

I thumbnailed this comic back in September and I think I’ve improved since.  I feel that in the end, if a comic has strong, clear posing/staging and a good flow, then that will shine through an exterior that could maybe use more polish.

An Unassuming Life - Part 1

Summary:  Dean returns home after a long day at work to find you waiting for him. This is a domestic/husband Dean AU. The Winchesters are not hunters in this AU. Edited to add: Link to master post of series.

Author: Dean’s Dirty Little Secret

Characters:  Dean Winchester x female reader

Word Count:  1860

Warnings:  Language, nsfw, smut, sexual content, extreme fluffiness

Author’s Notes: Yes, I wrote another AU (potential) series. I’m not sorry. I love it when Dean is domestic. If you guys like this, I’ll continue it. Let me know! Tagging: @mamapeterson, @rizlow1, @salvachester, @aprofoundbondwithdean, @eyes-of-a-disney-princess, @winchesterenthusiast

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