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[rubyprin]

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[absentlyabbie]

seriously, though. i work in higher education, and part of my job is students sending me transcripts. you'd think the ones who have the least idea how to actually do that would be the older ones, and while sure, they definitely struggle with it, i see it most with the younger students. the teens to early 20s crowd.

very, astonishingly often, they don't know how to work with .pdf documents. i get garbage phone screenshots, sometimes inserted into an excel or word file for who knows what reason, but most often it's just a raw .jpg or other image file.

they definitely either don't know how to use a scanner, don't have access to one, or don't even know where they might go for that (staples and other office supply stores sometimes still have these services, but public libraries always have your back, kids.) so when they have a paper transcript and need to send me a copy electronically, it's just terrible photos at bad angles full of thumbs and text-obscuring shadows.

mind bogglingly frequently, i get cell phone photos of computer screens. they don't know how to take a screenshot on a computer. they don't know the function of the Print Screen button on the keyboard. they don't know how to right click a web page, hit "print", and choose "save as PDF" to produce a full and unbroken capture of the entirety of a webpage.

sometimes they'll just copy the text of a transcript and paste it right into the message of an email. that's if they figure out the difference between the body text portion of the email and the subject line, because quite frankly they often don't.

these are people who in most cases have done at least some college work already, but they have absolutely no clue how to utilize the attachment function in an email, and for some reason they don't consider they could google very quickly for instructions or even videos.

i am not taking a shit on gen z/gen alpha here, i'm really not.

what i am is aghast that they've been so massively failed on so many levels. the education system assumed they were "native" to technology and needed to be taught nothing. their parents assumed the same, or assumed the schools would teach them, or don't know how themselves and are too intimidated to figure it out and teach their kids these skills at home.

they spend hours a day on instagram and tiktok and youtube and etc, so they surely know (this is ridiculous to assume!!!) how to draft a formal email and format the text and what part goes where and what all those damn little symbols means, right? SURELY they're already familiar with every file type under the sun and know how to make use of whatever's salient in a pinch, right???

THEY MUST CERTAINLY know, innately, as one knows how to inhale, how to type in business formatting and formal communication style, how to present themselves in a way that gets them taken seriously by formal institutions, how to appear and be competent in basic/standard digital skills. SURELY. Of course. RIGHT!!!!

it's MADDENING, it's insane, and it's frustrating from the receiving end, but even more frustrating knowing they're stumbling blind out there in the digital spaces of grown-up matters, being dismissed, being considered less intelligent, being talked down to, because every adult and system responsible for them just

ASSUMED they should "just know" or "just figure out" these important things no one ever bothered to teach them, or half the time even introduce the concepts of before asking them to do it, on the spot, with high educational or professional stakes.

kids shouldn't have to supplement their own education like this and get sneered and scoffed at if they don't.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

There Were Always Enshittifiers

I'm on a 20+ city book tour for my new novel PICKS AND SHOVELS. Catch me in DC TONIGHT (Mar 4), and in RICHMOND TOMORROW (Mar 5). More tour dates here. Mail-order signed copies from LA's Diesel Books.

My latest Locus column is "There Were Always Enshittifiers." It's a history of personal computing and networked communications that traces the earliest days of the battle for computers as tools of liberation and computers as tools for surveillance, control and extraction:

https://locusmag.com/2025/03/commentary-cory-doctorow-there-were-always-enshittifiers/

The occasion for this piece is the publication of my latest Martin Hench novel, a standalone book set in the early 1980s called "Picks and Shovels":

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865908/picksandshovels

The MacGuffin of Picks and Shovels is a "weird PC" company called Fidelity Computing, owned by a Mormon bishop, a Catholic priest, and an orthodox rabbi. It sounds like the setup for a joke, but the punchline is deadly serious: Fidelity Computing is a pyramid selling cult that preys on the trust and fellowship of faith groups to sell the dreadful Fidelity 3000 PC and its ghastly peripherals.

You see, Fidelity's products are booby-trapped. It's not merely that they ship with programs whose data-files can't be read by apps on any other system – that's just table stakes. Fidelity's got a whole bag of tricks up its sleeve – for example, it deliberately damages a specific sector on every floppy disk it ships. The drivers for its floppy drive initialize any read or write operation by checking to see if that sector can be read. If it can, the computer refuses to recognize the disk. This lets the Reverend Sirs (as Fidelity's owners style themselves) run a racket where they sell these deliberately damaged floppies at a 500% markup, because regular floppies won't work on the systems they lure their parishioners into buying.

Or take the Fidelity printer: it's just a rebadged Oki­data ML-80, the workhorse tractor feed printer that led the market for years. But before Fidelity ships this printer to its customers, they fit it with new tractor feed sprockets whose pins are slightly more widely spaced than the standard 0.5" holes on the paper you can buy in any stationery store. That way, Fidelity can force its customers to buy the custom paper that they exclusively peddle – again, at a massive markup.

Needless to say, printing with these wider sprocket holes causes frequent jams and puts a serious strain on the printer's motors, causing them to burn out at a high rate. That's great news – for Fidelity Computing. It means they get to sell you more overpriced paper so you can reprint the jobs ruined by jams, and they can also sell you their high-priced, exclusive repair services when your printer's motors quit.

Perhaps you're thinking, "OK, but I can just buy a normal Okidata printer and use regular, cheap paper, right?" Sorry, the Reverend Sirs are way ahead of you: they've reversed the pinouts on their printers' serial ports, and a normal printer won't be able to talk to your Fidelity 3000.

If all of this sounds familiar, it's because these are the paleolithic ancestors of today's high-tech lock-in scams, from HP's $10,000/gallon ink to Apple and Google's mobile app stores, which cream a 30% commission off of every dollar collected by an app maker. What's more, these ancient, weird misfeatures have their origins in the true history of computing, which was obsessed with making the elusive, copy-proof floppy disk.

This Quixotic enterprise got started in earnest with Bill Gates' notorious 1976 "open letter to hobbyists" in which the young Gates furiously scolds the community of early computer hackers for its scientific ethic of publishing, sharing and improving the code that they all wrote:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/An_Open_Letter_to_Hobbyists

Gates had recently cloned the BASIC programming language for the popular Altair computer. For Gates, his act of copying was part of the legitimate progress of technology, while the copying of his colleagues, who duplicated Gates' Altair BASIC, was a shameless act of piracy, destined to destroy the nascent computing industry:

As the majority of hobbyists must be aware, most of you steal your software. Hardware must be paid for, but software is something to share. Who cares if the people who worked on it get paid?

Needless to say, Gates didn't offer a royalty to John Kemeny and Thomas Kurtz, the programmers who'd invented BASIC at Dartmouth College in 1963. For Gates – and his intellectual progeny – the formula was simple: "When I copy you, that's progress. When you copy me, that's piracy." Every pirate wants to be an admiral.

For would-be ex-pirate admirals, Gates's ideology was seductive. There was just one fly in the ointment: computers operate by copying. The only way a computer can run a program is to copy it into memory – just as the only way your phone can stream a video is to download it to its RAM ("streaming" is a consensus hallucination – every stream is a download, and it has to be, because the internet is a data-transmission network, not a cunning system of tubes and mirrors that can make a picture appear on your screen without transmitting the file that contains that image).

Gripped by this enshittificatory impulse, the computer industry threw itself headfirst into the project of creating copy-proof data, a project about as practical as making water that's not wet. That weird gimmick where Fidelity floppy disks were deliberately damaged at the factory so the OS could distinguish between its expensive disks and the generic ones you bought at the office supply place? It's a lightly fictionalized version of the copy-protection system deployed by Visicalc, a move that was later publicly repudiated by Visicalc co-founder Dan Bricklin, who lamented that it confounded his efforts to preserve his software on modern systems and recover the millions of data-files that Visicalc users created:

http://www.bricklin.com/robfuture.htm

The copy-protection industry ran on equal parts secrecy and overblown sales claims about its products' efficacy. As a result, much of the story of this doomed effort is lost to history. But back in 2017, a redditor called Vadermeer unearthed a key trove of documents from this era, in a Goodwill Outlet store in Seattle:

https://www.reddit.com/r/VintageApple/comments/5vjsow/found_internal_apple_memos_about_copy_protection/

Vaderrmeer find was a Apple Computer binder from 1979, documenting the company's doomed "Software Security from Apple's Friends and Enemies" (SSAFE) project, an effort to make a copy-proof floppy:

https://archive.org/details/AppleSSAFEProject

The SSAFE files are an incredible read. They consist of Apple's best engineers beavering away for days, cooking up a new copy-proof floppy, which they would then hand over to Apple co-founder and legendary hardware wizard Steve Wozniak. Wozniak would then promptly destroy the copy-protection system, usually in a matter of minutes or hours. Wozniak, of course, got the seed capital for Apple by defeating AT&T's security measures, building a "blue box" that let its user make toll-free calls and peddling it around the dorms at Berkeley:

https://512pixels.net/2018/03/woz-blue-box/

Woz has stated that without blue boxes, there would never have been an Apple. Today, Apple leads the charge to restrict how you use your devices, confining you to using its official app store so it can skim a 30% vig off every dollar you spend, and corralling you into using its expensive repair depots, who love to declare your device dead and force you to buy a new one. Every pirate wants to be an admiral!

https://www.vice.com/en/article/tim-cook-to-investors-people-bought-fewer-new-iphones-because-they-repaired-their-old-ones/

Revisiting the early PC years for Picks and Shovels isn't just an excuse to bust out some PC nostalgiacore set-dressing. Picks and Shovels isn't just a face-paced crime thriller: it's a reflection on the enshittificatory impulses that were present at the birth of the modern tech industry.

But there is a nostalgic streak in Picks and Shovels, of course, represented by the other weird PC company in the tale. Computing Freedom is a scrappy PC startup founded by three women who came up as sales managers for Fidelity, before their pangs of conscience caused them to repent of their sins in luring their co-religionists into the Reverend Sirs' trap.

These women – an orthodox lesbian whose family disowned her, a nun who left her order after discovering the liberation theology movement, and a Mormon woman who has quit the church over its opposition to the Equal Rights Amendment – have set about the wozniackian project of reverse-engineering every piece of Fidelity hardware and software, to make compatible products that set Fidelity's caged victims free.

They're making floppies that work with Fidelity drives, and drives that work with Fidelity's floppies. Printers that work with Fidelity computers, and adapters so Fidelity printers will work with other PCs (as well as resprocketing kits to retrofit those printers for standard paper). They're making file converters that allow Fidelity owners to read their data in Visicalc or Lotus 1-2-3, and vice-versa.

In other words, they're engaged in "adversarial interoperability" – hacking their own fire-exits into the burning building that Fidelity has locked its customers inside of:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/10/adversarial-interoperability

This was normal, back then! There were so many cool, interoperable products and services around then, from the Bell and Howell "Black Apple" clones:

https://forum.vcfed.org/index.php?threads%2Fbell-howell-apple-ii.64651%2F

to the amazing copy-protection cracking disks that traveled from hand to hand, so the people who shelled out for expensive software delivered on fragile floppies could make backups against the inevitable day that the disks stopped working:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bit_nibbler

Those were wild times, when engineers pitted their wits against one another in the spirit of Steve Wozniack and SSAFE. That era came to a close – but not because someone finally figured out how to make data that you couldn't copy. Rather, it ended because an unholy coalition of entertainment and tech industry lobbyists convinced Congress to pass the Digital Millennium Copyright Act in 1998, which made it a felony to "bypass an access control":

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2016/07/section-1201-dmca-cannot-pass-constitutional-scrutiny

That's right: at the first hint of competition, the self-described libertarians who insisted that computers would make governments obsolete went running to the government, demanding a state-backed monopoly that would put their rivals in prison for daring to interfere with their business model. Plus ça change: today, their intellectual descendants are demanding that the US government bail out their "anti-state," "independent" cryptocurrency:

https://www.citationneeded.news/issue-78/

In truth, the politics of tech has always contained a faction of "anti-government" millionaires and billionaires who – more than anything – wanted to wield the power of the state, not abolish it. This was true in the mainframe days, when companies like IBM made billions on cushy defense contracts, and it's true today, when the self-described "Technoking" of Tesla has inserted himself into government in order to steer tens of billions' worth of no-bid contracts to his Beltway Bandit companies:

https://www.reuters.com/world/us/lawmakers-question-musk-influence-over-verizon-faa-contract-2025-02-28/

The American state has always had a cozy relationship with its tech sector, seeing it as a way to project American soft power into every corner of the globe. But Big Tech isn't the only – or the most important – US tech export. Far more important is the invisible web of IP laws that ban reverse-engineering, modding, independent repair, and other activities that defend American tech exports from competitors in its trading partners.

Countries that trade with the US were arm-twisted into enacting laws like the DMCA as a condition of free trade with the USA. These laws were wildly unpopular, and had to be crammed through other countries' legislatures:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/11/15/radical-extremists/#sex-pest

That's why Europeans who are appalled by Musk's Nazi salute have to confine their protests to being loudly angry at him, selling off their Teslas, and shining lights on Tesla factories:

https://www.malaymail.com/news/money/2025/01/24/heil-tesla-activists-protest-with-light-projection-on-germany-plant-after-musks-nazi-salute-video/164398

Musk is so attention-hungry that all this is as apt to please him as anger him. You know what would really hurt Musk? Jailbreaking every Tesla in Europe so that all its subscription features – which represent the highest-margin line-item on Tesla's balance-sheet – could be unlocked by any local mechanic for €25. That would really kick Musk in the dongle.

The only problem is that in 2001, the US Trade Rep got the EU to pass the EU Copyright Directive, whose Article 6 bans that kind of reverse-engineering. The European Parliament passed that law because doing so guaranteed tariff-free access for EU goods exported to US markets.

Enter Trump, promising a 25% tariff on European exports.

The EU could retaliate here by imposing tit-for-tat tariffs on US exports to the EU, which would make everything Europeans buy from America 25% more expensive. This is a very weird way to punish the USA.

On the other hand, not that Trump has announced that the terms of US free trade deals are optional (for the US, at least), there's no reason not to delete Article 6 of the EUCD, and all the other laws that prevent European companies from jailbreaking iPhones and making their own App Stores (minus Apple's 30% commission), as well as ad-blockers for Facebook and Instagram's apps (which would zero out EU revenue for Meta), and, of course, jailbreaking tools for Xboxes, Teslas, and every make and model of every American car, so European companies could offer service, parts, apps, and add-ons for them.

When Jeff Bezos launched Amazon, his war-cry was "your margin is my opportunity." US tech companies have built up insane margins based on the IP provisions required in the free trade treaties it signed with the rest of the world.

It's time to delete those IP provisions and throw open domestic competition that attacks the margins that created the fortunes of oligarchs who sat behind Trump on the inauguration dais. It's time to bring back the indomitable hacker spirit that the Bill Gateses of the world have been trying to extinguish since the days of the "open letter to hobbyists." The tech sector built a 10 foot high wall around its business, then the US government convinced the rest of the world to ban four-metre ladders. Lift the ban, unleash the ladders, free the world!

In the same way that futuristic sf is really about the present, Picks and Shovels, an sf novel set in the 1980s, is really about this moment.

I'm on tour with the book now – if you're reading this today (Mar 4) and you're in DC, come see me tonight with Matt Stoller at 6:30PM at the Cleveland Park Library:

https://www.loyaltybookstores.com/picksnshovels

And if you're in Richmond, VA, come down to Fountain Bookshop and catch me with Lee Vinsel tomorrow (Mar 5) at 7:30PM:

https://fountainbookstore.com/events/1795820250305

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/03/04/object-permanence/#picks-and-shovels

[xvazx]

The Beauty of Our Chaos

Part 1 - Cool Girl Is Game

Introduction / Next Part

I never thought I’d be the type of girl to join a sorority, but here I was, standing in the middle of Delta Nu’s impossibly pink common room, surrounded by girls who looked like they belonged on a Vogue cover. Mariel and I had just moved into our new room at UPenn, fresh-faced freshmen, and after weeks of plotting, we had somehow made it into the most sought-after house on campus.

“Can you believe we are here?” Mariel asked, plopping onto her bed with a dramatic sigh.

“Can you believe how long it’s gonna take me to defrost my fake smile?” I shot back.

To get in, I had to fake it till I made it. I wasn’t their first choice—not even close. Delta Nu girls had a certain effortless glow, and I was… well, I was a computer science major who spent most of time trying not to collapse. But with just the right amount of preppy outfits, carefully curated small talk, and a convincingly chirpy “Oh my god, totally” at rush events, I had squeezed my way in.

Before we could even start unpacking, Missy Houghton, our sorority president, breezed in with her perfect blowout and clipboard in hand.

“Ladies, welcome to Delta Nu! Just a quick reminder of your very busy Initiation Week schedule,” she said, handing us a printed itinerary. “Tonight, we have the Ceremony & Oath, Tuesday is Welcome to Pilates, Wednesday is New Me Conference, Thursday is our Fundraiser, and of course, Friday is our Newbie Initiation Tradition—which is a total surprise, so don’t even try asking.” She winked before twirling out of the room.

Mariel and I exchanged a look. What did we get ourselves into?

After taking a short walk from the house, we went our separate ways—Mariel to her graphic design classes, and me to my Introduction to Computer Programming lecture.

The moment I walked in, I knew this class was a walk in the park. The professor started going over variables and loops, and I could barely keep my eyes open. Then, just to make it really fun, he handed out a pop quiz on basic programming concepts.

I finished mine in record time, turned it in, and went back to doodling in my iPad. A few minutes later, I caught the professor glancing at my paper, then back at his computer. After class, he called me over.

“Miss (Y/L/N), right?” He adjusted his glasses, scanning my student file. “You’re this year’s full scholarship?”

I nodded.

“Hmm. Well, judging by this quiz, this class might be too easy for you. Have you considered taking a level test to skip ahead?”

It wasn’t a bad idea.

Following his instructions, I went to Student Service’s to request a level test—and, as expected, I placed two levels above. That meant I’d be in classes with sophomores now.

That night, as Mariel and I debriefed in our dorm about our day, she threw a pillow at me.

“You just got here, and you’re already skipping classes? How do you do it?!” she groaned.

I caught the pillow and tossed it back. “I didn’t do anything. I bet everyone was gushing over your art skills today.”

“Shut up, Miss Genius.” she interjected my explanation.

TUESDAY - 7 AM

The following morning, I walked into my new classroom with a printed letter from the department in hand. The professor beamed as I handed it over.

“And here she is,” he said dramatically, turning to the class. “Our newest addition! Not only is she here on a full scholarship, but she’s also skipped two levels, meaning she’s already putting you all under pressure!”

I gave a small, awkward wave. The room was silent.

Then it hit me.

I was the only girl in the room.

Great.

I sighed, found an empty seat, and tried to ignore the stares. It wasn’t my first time being in a male-dominated space, and it wouldn’t be my last. I tuned them out and focused on the lecture.

Or at least I tried.

After class, as I packed up my stuff, three guys walked over. One of them looked… familiar.

“Hey,” the curly-haired one said, tilting his head. “This might sound bad, but where do I know you from?”

I turned fully to face him. Thick eyebrows. Curls. That annoying but weirdly cute smile.

Memories flooded back.

I smirked. “Wow. You really do have a terrible memory, Jonas Brother.”

His friends lost it. One practically doubled over laughing.

“Ohhh,” one of them wheezed. “Dude, she got you.”

Luigi blinked, then finally connected the dots. “Oh shit. Nationals.”

“Took you long enough.”

His friends were still cracking up. One of them clapped him on the back. “Dude, you always know the hotter girls.”

I rolled my eyes.

“So what, you’re in this class now?” another one asked. “Why haven’t we seen you before?”

“Freshman,” I said, shouldering my bag.

Luigi was still looking at me, amusement playing at the corners of his lips. “So, you just happened to land in a level 3 class, huh?”

“Tragic, really,” I deadpanned.

“Seriously, though,” another chimed in. “You should come to one of our frat parties. Now that you’re officially in our class, you are one of us.”

I barely held back an eye roll. Of course they were in a frat.

“Cool,” I said vaguely, already looking at my phone. “Noted.”

Then I noticed the time.

“Crap. I gotta go,” I muttered, swinging my bag over my shoulder.

“Where to?” Luigi asked.

I sighed. “Pilates.”

One of the guys perked up and whistled. “Nice.”

I cringed.

I turned to leave, but as I walked away, I heard Luigi’s voice behind me.

“See ya around.”

Without looking back, I just raised a hand in a half-hearted wave.

“Okay,” I called over my shoulder.

WELCOME TO PILATES

The air in the studio was thick with the scent of lavender-scented disinfectant and the soft hum of an upbeat playlist. Mariel and I sat on our mats, stretching, surrounded by a dozen other Delta Nu girls. Apparently, as bonding activity we had to sign up for at least one group fitness class.

Honestly? The politics of this house were exhausting. But if faking enthusiasm for Pilates was the price I had to pay to stay in Delta Nu, so be it.

Mariel groaned as we attempted another core-strength move. “This is a requirement? What kind of sorority is this?”

“The type that values toned abs over GPAs,” I muttered, wobbling slightly.

She snorted. “At least you’re suffering with me.”

We both struggled to hold our position when I casually dropped, “Oh, by the way, guess who’s in my new class?”

Mariel barely glanced at me, too focused on not collapsing. “Unless it’s the ghost of Steve Jobs here to give you a job at Apple, I don’t care.”

I smirked. “Luigi”

She blinked. “Mario?”

I chuckled quietly, my arms shaking from exertion. “The Jonas Brother.”

Mariel’s eyes went wide. She lost balance completely, flopping onto her mat. “OMG, this is destiny,” she whisper-screamed.

I shot her a look. “What?”

“Be honest,” she accused, regaining her composure. “Did you move from Cali to be close to him?”

I rolled my eyes. “Callatee.. you know why I chose UPenn over UCLA. And you came with me, remember?” (Shut up)

She laughed. “I’m kidding.” Then she tilted her head. “Wait… what’s his actual name again?”

I paused. “Luigi… I don’t know his last name.”

From my right, another girl—blonde, toned, and effortlessly balanced in the Pilates pose I had given up on—leaned in slightly and whispered, “Sorry, are you talking about Luigi Mangione?”

I turned to her. “Not sure.”

“Curly hair? Italian? STEM guy?”

Mariel and I exchanged a look. “Yeah,” I said.

She grinned knowingly. “Ohhh.”

I frowned. “What does that mean?”

She giggled, lowering herself gracefully into the next pose. “Just don’t let Missy stop you. She’s been trying for a year.”

I nearly dropped my balance again. “Stop me? From what?”

Mariel and the girl—who I now realized was named Kaylee—both gave me the same amused look.

I blinked. “What?”

Kaylee just shook her head, still smirking. “Nothing.”

Mariel’s smirk was even worse.

Between boys and core training, I wasn’t sure which task I sucked at more.

WEDNESDAY - NEW ME

Blah blah blah

THURSDAY- FUNDRAISER BOOTH

Pink. So much pink.

I glanced around at the Delta Nu booth, which looked like a sorority version of Mean Girls—pink banners, white ribbons, pastel decorations. It was all very on brand, and all very not me.

The only thing remotely acceptable in my wardrobe was a pair of white shorts and a band tee. Missy was not pleased.

“Don’t you have anything pink that is actually cute?” she asked, looking at me like I’d personally insulted her ancestors.

Mariel, clapped a hand on my shoulder. “She can borrow something of mine!”

I shot her a look. “Girl, where is my ass gonna fit in your clothes?”

She grinned. “Don’t insult your Latina hips.”

I laughed, but it didn’t change the fact that I was still stuck in a Blondie tee while everyone else looked like they’d walked out of a Tampon commercial. Whatever. It wasn’t like I’d chosen this sorority for the aesthetic.

We finally made it to the booth, where Missy explained the actual reason we were here—raising money for charity.

Noble. Love that.

Then came the catch.

Next month, Delta Nu was hosting a fashion show, and each of us had to raise money. The girl who raised the most money would win the ability to keep her own outfit from a designer catalog. Meanwhile, the rest of us? Our outfits would be chosen for us by our highest donor.

I blinked. “What the hell?” I muttered under my breath.

Did I accidentally join a brothel?

Mariel choked on a laugh next to me.

Students stopped by our booth throughout the afternoon, reading about the charity and looking at the fashion show details. Most were supportive. Some donated out of actual generosity. Others… not so much.

Cue Gym Bro.

This dude—overly tan, protein shake in hand, and all biceps—strolled up and made a significant donation. Not for charity, of course. No, he had one goal.

“To see her in lingerie,” he said with a smirk, nodding in my direction.

If looks could kill, Gym Bro wouldn’t just be dead—he’d be erased from history.

Before I could tell him exactly where he could shove his donation, a familiar voice interrupted.

“Well, well, not only is she smart, but she’s into the crazy life.”

I turned to see frat bros approaching the booth, all smug grins and easy confidence. Damien, was the one who spoke, looking at me like I’d just confirmed a long-standing theory about my secret double life.

“Surprise,” I deadpanned. “Delta Nu.”

Luigi smirked. “I should’ve predicted it from the Barbie Dreamhouse.”

I raised an eyebrow. “That Barbie Dreamhouse kicked your ass.”

He tilted his head, amused. “Now you’re coming for my reputation?”

Before the tension could build further, Mariel cut in.

“Damn, Jonas Brother, you got tall.”

Luigi glanced at her, clearly recognizing her face but not placing the name.

He snapped his fingers. “St. Trinity. Right?”

Bingo.

His friends took the opportunity to introduce themselves, wanting to get ahead of the game. Gross.

They asked about the charity, and we explained.

Of course, their intrigue had nothing to do with charity and everything to do with the fashion show. Free sorority girls on a runway? Predictable.

I sighed. “You’re late. Jerk-face over there already donated a lot to see me in lingerie.”

The guys gushed among themselves, clearly entertained.

Damien grinned. “Damn, we can’t surpass that.”

“You could’ve saved me,” I said dramatically.

“Too late now.”

“At least I can mentally prepare.”

Before they could continue their antics, Missy appeared out of nowhere, her signature flirty smile locked in on Luigi.

“Hey stranger” she greeted, voice a little too smooth.

He responded politely, but I could tell he wasn’t particularly invested.

“What brings you here?” she asked, brushing her hair over her shoulder.

“Oh, just saying hi,” he said, nodding at me.

Missy’s eyes narrowed slightly as she turned to me. “Ohhh, you guys know each other?”

I shrugged. “Old foes. And we have the same coding class.”

Missy blinked. “Right. So, are you coming to the show?”

He hesitated. “I think I have lab hours.”

Missy pouted slightly but played it cool. “No prob, we can talk later.”

Mariel and I barely held in our laughter.

Missy got called away, leaving the rest of us in her wake. The moment she was gone, Mariel and I mocked her voice in unison.

“So nice to see you,” we mimicked, fluttering our eyelashes.

The guys chuckled, clearly enjoying the show.

But then, Luigi checked his phone. “We should head back to our booth.”

As they started walking away, he turned back, smirking at me.

“I guess next class, we’ll see who’s the better coder.”

I smirked right back.

Yeah, you better run.

FRIDAY - INITIATION

By the time sun sets, I was already regretting my life choices.

Mariel and I sat cross-legged on our beds, nerves sitting like lead in our stomachs. We were under strict orders to come straight back to the sorority house after classes, no questions asked.

At 6:50 p.m., the call came.

“Newbies, to the living room!”

Mariel shot me a wide-eyed look. “This is it. We’re either going to become legends or complete social pariahs.”

“Maybe both,” I muttered, standing and smoothing down my jeans.

We shuffled into the living room where the superior sisters, Missy, and the house mother were lined up in matching black caped robes, holding envelopes like they were about to announce a Hunger Games death match.

Missy’s smile was almost predatory. “Welcome to your Initiation.”

A nervous murmur rippled through the room.

Missy stepped forward. “This is a scavenger hunt. You will each have five hours to complete a series of tasks. Some will be… challenging.”

That should’ve been the first red flag.

She continued, “For proof, you’ll need to take pictures and submit them before midnight. Fail to complete the list, and you risk losing your spot at Delta Nu.”

The room collectively stiffened.

“The prize?” Missy’s smile sharpened. “You stay and earn the respect of your sisters.”

I didn’t care about the “respect” part. I did care about my scholarship. I needed to stay in Delta Nu to keep it.

She handed out envelopes. “Good luck, girls.”

I opened mine and scanned the list.

Some were easy. Others? Not so much:

• Collect a pair of boxers from a frat president and have him sign it

“What the hell?” I whispered to Mariel.

“I’m not touching any guy’s used underwear,” she hissed.

“Me neither,” I said. But we both knew that wasn’t true. I had to complete this.

When the timer started, we all scattered.

I powered through the easy ones first:

✅ Apply a full face of makeup to a campus statue? Done.

✅ Selfie with a Professor? Easy.

✅ Steal a traffic cone? On my arm.

Then I hit the wall: the boxer situation.

I sat on a campus bench, scrolling through my phone, looking up the frat presidents. Maybe this was my end. Not knowing how to seduce a guy out of his panties.

And there it was.

Luigi Mangione - Phi Kappa Psi.

Of course he was president. Because the universe hated me.

I opened Instagram to look him up. Luckily for me his profile was public and his latest story showed he was at the school gym.

“Great,” I muttered. “Guess I’m about to enter my villain era.”

I took a breath and ran to the gym, showing my student ID to the desk clerk, who barely glanced up before waving me through. Apparently, they were used to sorority girls losing their minds during initiation week.

I spotted him almost immediately, walking toward the showers with a towel over his shoulder.

I froze. My heart pounded.

I could leave. I could figure something else out.

But the timer was ticking.

Nope. I’m doing this.

I marched toward the men’s locker room. A couple of guys gave me side-eyes as I walked in.

“Sorry! Emergency!” I said, which only made it more suspicious.

My heart was practically pounding out of my chest as I stopped outside the shower stall. I knocked on the wall.

“Kinda busy, man,” Luigi’s voice called. “There are other showers.”

I took a deep breath. “Oh, I know that.”

There was a long pause. Then:

“…hi?”

Luigi’s head peeked out from the stall, water dripping from his curls. He blinked. “What the hell are you doing in here?”

I turned my face toward the wall, covering my eyes. “I know this looks like the setup for a cheap porno, but I swear it’s not what it looks like.”

He smirked. “It looks pretty compromising.”

“Trust me, it’ll get worse.” I sighed. “I need a favor.”

He rinsed his face and wiped his hands down his chest.

“Let me get the shampoo out of my eyes, and then we’ll talk.”

“Okay.” I stood there, face still covered.

A minute later, the shower stopped. A damp hand brushed my shoulder.

“You can look now.”

I peeked through my fingers and saw him standing there in a towel, hair dripping. Men’s Health prepared me for moments like this.

“Initiations have gotten cheeky,” he joked.

“I need your underwear,” I blurted.

He raised his brows. “Come again?”

I forced myself to explain the task. He listened, expression somewhere between amused and shocked.

When I finished, he shook his head. “You’re serious?”

“Dead serious.”

“You realize you’re asking me to walk home commando, right?”

I shrugged. “I’ll be disgusted if that’s your only clean pair.”

He laughed and pulled a pair of blue boxers from his gym bag. “You got a Sharpie?”

I pulled one from my pocket. “Here.”

He grinned and signed them. “So you need a picture, too?”

“Yep.”

He handed me the boxers. “Let’s get this over with.”

I held the boxers up in one hand, stood next to him, and snapped a photo. He smiled—a relaxed, easy smile.

“Be nice to them,” he teased.

“Thanks,” I said, tucking the boxers into my bag.

I bolted out of the locker room, the list and my bag on one hand and the traffic cone on the other, heart hammering in my chest.

I was halfway across campus when I heard someone shout my name.

“(Y/N) wait!”

I turned

Luigi—now dressed—was jogging toward me.

“What else is on your list?”

I showed him the list.

He frowned. “These are easy.”

“Not when you’re under pressure.” I interjected.

“Let me help you.”

“You’re not supposed to help.”

“I don’t see a rule against it.” He smirked. “C’mon.”

I didn’t argue.

We made quick work of the rest:

✅ Try on the campus mascot costume? It stinks.

✅ Steal a UPenn banner? Done.

✅ Buy a random guy a drink at the closest bar? Luigi handled that part.

We talked as we walked between tasks. He told me about his frat initiation—doors locked, food and alcohol flowing, and seniors throwing impossible tasks at them.

“Deadly,” he joked.

“You survived.”

“Barely.” He grinned.

By the time we finished, I had enough minutes to spare.

Luigi walked me back to the sorority house.

“Well, I guess this means you’re officially Delta Nu,” he said, stopping at the steps.

“Yeah.”

“See you in class?”

I smiled. “Unless I skip to recover from this trauma.”

He laughed. “You’ll survive.”

I ran inside, dumped my evidence on the table, and collapsed onto the couch.

Missy’s eyes narrowed. “You got everything?”

“Everything,” I confirmed.

Her gaze shifted from Luigi’s face on the picture to his signature. Her smile tightened.

“So?”

Missy’s smile sharpened. “Alright.”

I just rolled my eyes.

I was safe. That’s all that mattered.

@nosebeers

hi i’m Vaz, this was just a product of my active imagination, free time and the need for a better outcome. Hope u enjoy xxx

I’m not American and most of my knowledge is from movies and some research. Sorry if it sounds inaccurate to real greek life. But hey it’s fiction .

[mrghostrat]

since we’re on the topic of bookbinding, i’ve been wanting to get into it but i haven’t actually done any research (yet) other than vibes, so do u have any tips for complete beginners?? :)

@geminibookbinding is who inspired me to finally look up the whole process and figure out where to start! this is the super helpful tutorial i got from them

i had dabbled with binding before though, using Sea Lemon's tutorials to make blank sketchbooks yearsss ago. i still use her text block and diy hardcover videos as a refresher/reminder while i bind!

the biggest thing that stopped me from learning to bind printed fiction was not understanding how to print the text from home, specifically how to get the pages in the right order for signatures. it's actually so easy with some very simple to use programs: QuantumElephant for PC users (free), and I use BookletCreator on Mac ($20)

i want to go into more detail about my process and supplies from a beginner perspective, i hope this helps:

format the text in a word processor

export your document as a single page PDF

enter that PDF file into Quantum Elephant or BookletCreator, to rearrange the pages for your signatures. your program will give you a new PDF file that you can then print.

4. double sided printing: i was so so scared of this at first, but it's incredibly simple. no matter what printer you have, somewhere in your print settings will be an option to print even or odd pages.

print all the even pages first, then when the stack is finished printing, flip them over, insert them back into the paper feed, and print the odd pages.

5. fold the signatures together so you have a stack of little booklets, then mark on the spine where your sewing holes need to be. manually punch the holes using an awl, or diy an awl by stuffing a cork on the end of a straight needle.

6. sewing: take regular sewing thread and run it over a block of beeswax. this makes the thread easier to manage and holds it in place better while you sew. a curved needle is also much easier to use than a straight one, especially for a kettle stitch (using Sea Lemon's tutorial)

7. gluing: glue decorative pages (or plain, but thicker paper) to the front and back to create your end pages, then press the book flat to apply PVA glue to the spine. press it overnight so the glue dries flat. (optional: glue a ribbon to the top of the spine, then sew on headbands) finally glue an additional piece of paper (or mull) around the spine to strengthen it.

8. optional: trim the edges of your book down to create a smooth edge. this one's given me the most trouble because it's very hard to get right with a knife, and the proper supplies are expensive. check your local stationery shop (i.e. Officeworks, Staples) for an industrial guillotine service

9. cover: once you have the final measurements of your text block you can start making the cover. this is essentially gluing cardboard, binders board, or plywood etc to a sheet of fabric. the fabric either needs to be bookcloth, or have some kind of non-porous back so the glue doesn't seep through. you can diy bookcloth from any fabric with tissue paper. then glue the decorate end pages to your cover to attach the textblock!

[rabbit-dance]

Alternatives to Sticker Mule

Artist Friends - In case you haven't heard, Sticker Mule sent out an incredibly gross email supporting Trump.

Ew.

Now, a quick search will reveal plenty of great alternatives to Sticker Mule who do not support a political party hell-bent on taking away your fundamental human rights, which is great!

But Chilchuck here has a suggestion that probably won't be in the first page of your search.

Chances are good there's a Union-run print shop in your area.

Seeing as how Unions are why we have worker protection laws and other great things like weekends and a minimum wage, unions, for the most part, are cool. The Right does not like unions, because those politicians and their corporate masters don't like paying overtime, and are actively trying to get rid of child labor laws. *sigh* I wish I was making this up.

Anyhoo, not only will you be supporting your neighbors, you'll probably get your stickers (or whatever else you want to print) a lot faster than online. I needed an emergency print done QUICK before a con, and I got my stickers next day!

If you can physically travel there, most places have paper samples you can handle so you can pick the GSM that you want, check the gloss, see how writable surfaces are if you want something you can sign, etc. And there will be a human there who knows what they're talking about, and can answer your questions. If you're not sure what to get, they can make suggestions. Even if you can't afford their minumums, it doesn't hurt to walk in and ask. They might be able to cut you some sort of deal.

Hell, I have a friend who got a proof made and approved minutes after she walked in because she happened to have the file in Dropbox. The printer the shop used for stickers wasn't running at that moment, so the worker just got the file and made a proof real fast.

Listen to Chilchuck, our favorite Union Man. Search for union print shops (and other services) near you!

[foreverlogical]

Wednesday brought new allegations from the Department of Justice on Donald Trump’s attempts to subvert the 2020 election, and Thursday’s print edition of The New York Times wedged its story on them into one skinny column that appeared mostly below the fold. This stands in stark contrast with the paper’s treatment of Hillary Clinton’s emails in 2016. 

On Wednesday, a federal court filing from special counsel Jack Smith’s team was unsealed. In the document, the Justice Department alleges that Trump “used deceit to target every stage of the electoral process” in 2020. The filing notes that after an aide told Trump about the threat that the Jan. 6, 2021, riot at the U.S. Capitol posed to then-Vice President Mike Pence, who refused to subvert the 2020 election results, Trump replied, “So what?”

The document also lays out evidence bolstering the charge that Trump knew his claims of election fraud were false, even as his campaign pushed to undermine vote counts.

In the paper’s Oct. 29, 2016, print edition, the lead photo was of Clinton and aide Huma Abedin, and the lead all-caps headline of the day read “New Emails Jolt Clinton Campaign In Race’s Last Days.”

The New York Times, frequently described as the “newspaper of record” for the United States, has come under criticism for the tone of its election coverage.

According to a study published in June by Media Matters for America, the Times published 32 articles about the ages of Trump and President Joe Biden, but 78% of those stories focused on Biden’s age alone, while only 6% (two articles) focused on just Trump.

The paper has also underplayed June’s positive inflation report, which was released as the Trump campaign attacked the Biden administration over the issue. The Times also provided scant coverage of a policy proposal by Trump that experts have said would raise food costs.

In his Sept. 10 presidential debate against Democratic nominee Kamala Harris, Trump pushed the racist “great replacement” conspiracy theory, which falsely claims that immigrants are being brought to the U.S. to replace white people. In a fact-check of Trump’s statement, the Times merely noted that his claim “lacks evidence” and did not connect it to its roots in the white supremacist movement.

There are also issues with the Times’ coverage of Ohio Sen. JD Vance, Trump’s running mate. The paper reported on Vance’s false claim that Harris' running mate, Minnesota Gov. Tim Walz, left military service because his unit had been ordered into service in Iraq, but it did not inform readers that this was a lie.

In a July 15 report on Vance’s stance on abortion, the paper edited a quote from the candidate to make it appear as if he opposes a federal abortion ban. However, the full context makes clear Vance backs a “minimum national standard” on the issue—which is a ban.

The Times’ influential reporting has historically had a significant effect on world events. Possibly the most negative episode of this occurred in the case of the paper’s amplification of false claims by the George W. Bush administration that Iraq possessed weapons of mass destruction.

[blueskittlesart]

hey so i’m really wanting to make a book/field guide of my art and i was wondering what your process is from creating an art piece all the way to getting a zine-style physical copy of your work? i was inspired by your zines so i thought i’d ask you about it. what websites do you use? how do you like,,, talk to a business to get stuff from the digital illustration into a (relatively small) book?

also this is a personal project to fuel my hyperfixation so i’m not looking to like,,, produce in bulk or anything lol.

thanks :)

for my larger-quantity zines I used mixam.com! they're a print company that specializes in booklets and catalogs, and everything on the production side can be dealt with online. I've had very good experiences with their customer service (I was put through to a real person on their chat function almost instantly when i needed an answer to a more in-depth question) and their prices are really good imo, especially for bigger quantities! They also have pretty high customization options--you can choose the weight and type of your paper, multiple types of binding, etc.

if you go that route, though, all of the graphic design and layout is on you. I'd recommend getting indesign or a similar program to help you lay out your booklet, so you can keep all your pages in one easily-accessible, editable file. (and remember that in order to be printed as a booklet your page count MUST be a multiple of 4!) mixam (or whatever printer you use) will usually give you a template that lets you know exactly how much bleed and gutter space you're working with, and you can then input those numbers into indesign. (If you do this, make sure you export your final pdf WITHOUT CROP MARKS, because your printer will add their own crop marks later on.) once you've arranged your booklet the way you like in indesign, export it as a pdf (in single pages, not spreads, and make sure your pages are in sequential order rather than optimized for booklet printing; it's on your printer to do that step for you!) and upload that pdf to your printer. Mixam gives you a few days to check over your work and either confirm it's correct or cancel the order, and then once you've confirmed it goes into production. more pages and more complex printing will be more expensive, but i've had nothing but good experiences buying from mixam and if i ever selfpub again i'm definitely going to be using them!

[zineovator]

HOW I PERSONALLY ORGANIZE MY DIGITAL ZINE MASTERCOPIES!

Hey zineovators, hello every'all. I am here to note down how I (PERSONALLY) fix around and assign my digitally-made zine mastercopies for easy access. This isn't meant to be a guide and it surely isn't the "correct" way to file zines, nor is this necessary, it might even be redundant for a lot of people, but this is just the way I do it. I have some really crappy guides throughout my yap session, BUT I will provide a REAL example using my own zine at the end! anyhow, let us begin! WHY DO I BOTHER?

because it makes my personal zine creation process more manageable

organization makes it less daunting for me to actually go through with the creation process

It tickles my fish brain to file and sort things, and it makes me happy to do so

so yeah, it all boils down to personal preference. I like making my digital process cleaner and a bit more streamlined, but you really don't have to follow me or use me as a standard. I just do what I do best.

That aside... TERMS I COINED AND WILL BE USING AND EXPLAINING (LIST) (yes this is based off of A/B/O but also coding)

ALPHA Mastercopy (A-Copy, Alpha copy)

BETA Mastercopy (B-Copy, Beta Copy, Physical Mastercopy)

OMEGA Mastercopy (O-Copy, Omega Copy, Assembled Mastercopy)

PRELIMINARIES!

A master copy in my own words is the original mother version of your zine that you can use to duplicate or create more copies for distribution purposes. You usually do not give a master copy away especially if you plan to make more prints of a specific zine design in the future! Also, I'm using the classic 8-page mini-zine format as an example here because...I specialize in mini-zines, lol. With that in mind, here is the portion you are waiting for.

ALPHA MASTER COPY (i.e.. RAW DIGITAL FILE)

The Alpha copy is the version of your zine that you made/scanned into a digital format. Typically I would use a PDF along with the zine design that I pre-formatted for this due to the clarity and easy access of PDF files. I avoid .png or .jpg because flattening my zine files tends to crush the text quality, by a LOT.

The Alpha copy doesn't have to just be the formatted version already. It can be individual panels, single pages, artwork or scanned pages, etc. That's also an alpha copy, but in its own way. The version I'm talking above is print-ready copy that is already prepared.

^ THIS counts as an alpha copy as well.

Now down below is an example of my own alpha copy in PDF format, featuring my DAVID SYLVIAN zine (I'll try to upload it on an archive soon, it will be completely free! Pls tell me in advance if you'd like to reproduce and distribute it irl since I dont want to get sued </3)

btw the tagline "be seen, make a zine" was taken from brattyxbre on YouTube. I would gladly recommend her for zine resources, discussions and zine-related topics, especially if you are a beginner!

BETA MASTER COPY (i.e.. PRINTED TEMPLATE)

Your Beta copy is a version of your zine that is printed on paper with the proper formatting for folding/cutting already. The only difference with this version and omega copy is, well, you DON'T fold or cut this copy.

The primary purpose of a B-Copy is to check:

print quality (text visibility, color vibrance, ink bleeding, etc.)

graphic size and an overview of your zine's general physical appearance.

And the other, marginally vital role of your B-Copy is to serve as:

the physical print that you can use for XEROX (photocopying) or other copying services and tools

scannable output that you can scan/copy for distribution, especially if the person who wants your zine would like to assemble it themselves, if you do not have a final version of your zine on hand to share, or you yourself do not have your A-Copy for reproduction.

A printed copy that you can catalogue or archive, especially if you are the sort of person who retires zines, or are just deeply sentimental (like me, lol!).

Down below is the B-Copy of my example zine. Ignore the fact that this is literally my omega copy that I just dismantled because I don't have my Beta in hand lol. But approximately this is how it looks like.

I personally store B-copies (alongside O-copies) inside a dedicated clearbook or binder to safeguard against weathering or chemical ink deterioration, alongside some information and stuff about the zine itself. This is useful especially if you want to showcase zines and zine content to others, apart from safekeeping purposes.

I might make another longform infodump about digital and physical zine storage and archiving processes (because as an aspiring librarian I feel it is my duty to rant about that) but that will be for another time.

OMEGA MASTER COPY (i.e., FINAL EXAMPLE PRINT)

Okay this is kind-of self explanatory, but I will elaborate regardless.

If you are the sort of person who handcrafts zines (aka make, draw, write or assemble them traditionally) you likely know what the O-Copy is, because your original finished zine is what I am referring to as the Omega copy. That is, the ACTUAL "Master Copy" itself.

Omega Master Copy is what most zinesters and zine creators refer to as just the master copy. But seeing from this post, you KNOW I had to make it fancier (read: unnecessarily complicated)

The Omega copy serves as your first official print, and you can use this version to store or show around. The only difference is, if you end up using my organizing format (good luck!), you'll end up using the O-Copy more as a finished product display to show how it looks when finished as an assembled copy, and the B-Copy as the actual thing you use to reproduce or duplicate your zines for distribution.

Here is the example of my O-copy for my example zine. (again you will be able to access this through an archive soon, maybe I will announce it later on or just post about where I store them digitally.)

I used the software development jargon ALPHA, BETA & OMEGA because it kind of fits(?) lol. I am not a coding aficionado but I know loosely enough to utilize the words. But also, live laugh omegaverse. hopefully this helps(?) but also if you reached to this point, hi. I'm glad you indulged in my little rant. EDIT: here's the Internet Archive Link for the specific zine featured in this post! Have fun! Communicate, create, zineovate! Until next time.

[canonkiller]

✨ "Your online print store is broken?" FAQ

Yeah I did that: A Summary

Q: Why did you remove everything from your Redbubble / INPRNT / etc?

A: A bunch of reasons. I made the choice for myself after thinking about it for a long time and not liking it. Some of these reasons include:

I don't like not knowing the workplace conditions or compensation given to the people actually manufacturing physical goods of my work through these services

I don't like the waste of easy-to-buy, easy-to-break manufacturing or the shipping process

I personally stopped giving a shit about the potential for theft-by-loss-of-potential-profit because it made me feel like a corporation and that sucked

There is no way in hell Redbubble will ever be profitable enough to get me to overlook this, and I don't think I should try to make it so.

The ones that haven't been emptied are having login issues. I'll be killing them as soon as I am able.

Q: So what's the alternative? How can I get prints now?

A: Anyone interested in prints can just ask me for the full resolution files of whatever piece you want and I'll send them over. Then you can either use your own printer or order something from a local store / chain and tada, print made.

In the future, I'll have the files up on Ko-fi (like the Avex body pillow) as pay what you want, so you don't even have to ask. I'd still prefer if you didn't make extras to sell for your own profit, but I can't stop you.

Q: But isn't that going to lose you money?

Probably, but the $20-odd I was making across all of my merch sites was not enough to overpower my concerns listed above. Someone tossing me $5 through PWYW is already paying me more than any of those sites would per sale (Redbubble can be adjusted higher, but the price is already so inflated), and the end result is still more affordable for the buyer.

I also want my art to be more accessible to people like me: ones who can't casually spend $30 getting a piece of paper shipped internationally, but enjoy being able to experience shapes and colors. Differences between currency conversions, payment platform options and mail access are things I don't think should create a barrier in enjoying and adding art to your space.

Q: What about the other types of merch? Like clothing?

I've been keeping an eye on secondhand gadgets and would like to one day offer on-demand items with thrifted or secondhand base materials, but this is not a priority for me at this time. You'll live without a shirt, and if you won't, try an iron on transfer or whatever the modernized equivalent is. Anything I can't find a way to make, nobody needs to buy, simple as that.

The pin-back button press calls to me like a beautiful siren but I have yet to find one that is both affordable and close to me. The grind never stops.

Q: I also have concerns about the things you mentioned and want to try and be more accessible and sustainable with my art. Is it okay if I also do this?

I don't own the concept of sending people PNGs CMYK JPGs when they ask for them and even if I did I'm sure as hell not gonna charge people for doing it. The more people turning away from mass manufacturing the better, imo.

[mariacallous]

Genetic testing company 23andMe, once a Silicon Valley darling valued at $6 billion, filed for Chapter 11 bankruptcy protection late Sunday as it prepares for a sale of the business. CEO Anne Wojcicki, who cofounded the company in 2006, has also stepped down after months of failed attempts to take the firm private.

As uncertainty about the company’s future reaches its peak, all eyes are on the trove of deeply personal—and potentially valuable—genetic data that 23andMe holds. Privacy advocates have long warned that the risk of entrusting genetic data to any institution is twofold—the organization could fail to protect it, but it could also hand over customer data to a new entity that they may not trust and didn’t choose.

California attorney general Rob Bonta reminded consumers in an alert on Friday that Californians have a legal right to ask that an organization delete their data. 23andMe customers in other states and countries largely do not have the same protections, though there is also a right to deletion for health data in Washington state’s My Health My Data Act and the European Union’s General Data Protection Regulation. Regardless of residency, all 23andMe customers should consider downloading anything they want to keep from the service and should then attempt to delete their information.

“This situation really brings home the point that there is still no national health privacy law in the US protecting your rights unless you live in California or Washington,” says Andrea Downing, an independent security researcher and cofounder of the patient-led digital rights nonprofit The Light Collective. “Meanwhile, we continue to evolve our understanding of how genetic information has value, but also has unique vulnerability.”

John Verdi, senior vice president of policy at the Future of Privacy Forum, says 23andMe’s new owner could revise the company’s privacy policies for new customers and new data collection, but the data it has already collected from current customers is subject to existing terms. “The company has legal obligations regarding information collected under the current policies,” he says.

Still, researchers emphasize that in practice, such a large transition will create real data exposure that is outside of 23andMe customers’ control. “In my opinion, these privacy policies—especially in the context of acquisitions in the venture capital and private equity space—aren't worth the paper they're printed on,” says longtime security researcher and data privacy advocate Kenn White. “For regular people out there who use these services, you're pretty much on your own. My advice is to request your data get deleted as soon as possible"

To delete your genetic data through 23andMe’s website, log in and then go to Settings in your profile. Scroll to 23andMe Data and then click View. At this point, you can choose to download a copy of your genetic information. Then scroll to Delete Data and click Permanently Delete Data. Once you initiate the process, you’ll receive an email from 23andMe to confirm. Click the link in the email to complete the deletion process. Additionally, you can direct 23andMe to destroy the biological sample it used to extract your DNA data if you previously authorized the company to keep it. Go to Settings and then Preferences.

You can also opt in to and out of participating in research at any time by updating your consent status in your account settings. If you opt out, 23andMe will stop using your information for research going forward and will discontinue use of your data within 30 days. This does not affect studies that have already been completed.

23andMe has never been profitable and has struggled to revamp its business model since it went public in 2021. Demand for its ancestry and health testing kits has been declining for years. And data privacy has had a role to play in the company’s dwindling fortunes after the company was hit with a major data breach in December 2023 that affected millions of customers. The incident led to a class action lawsuit, which 23andMe agreed to settle for $30 million.

Last summer, Wojcicki filed a proposal to take the company private, which was rejected by 23andMe’s board of directors. Shortly after, the company shuttered its in-house drug discovery unit, and its board members resigned en masse over Wojcicki’s strategic direction.

23andMe says it intends to continue operating as usual throughout the sale process and that there are no immediate changes to the way it stores, manages, or protects customer data. In an open letter to customers, the company said it will “seek to find a partner who shares our commitment to customer data privacy and allows our mission of helping people access, understand and benefit from the human genome to live on.” But the direction of 23andMe will ultimately be in the hands of whoever takes over the company.

“If there is a new owner that comes out of the bankruptcy process, that new owner steps into the shoes of 23andMe and takes over those assets,” says Jennifer Wagner, an assistant professor of law, policy, and engineering and anthropology at Penn State University.

“They would still be bound by the complex web of contractual agreements that are in place right now with users,” Wagner adds. “But I think it does give rise to some uncertainty in terms of whether or not a new player would have the same values or that same kind of culture that 23andMe was trying to cultivate.”

[astralwhat]

small shop update!

tl;dr version:

"all well" and "make history or die trying" shirts are now available print-on-demand through my etsy

"ship and aurora" postcard restocked

mini zines and other printables are being added to my ko-fi

explanations and ramblings:

as mentioned, due to print social closing and etsy getting mad when i talk about redbubble in dms, i decided to start using a print-on-demand service that integrates with etsy in order to offer shirts through my own shop.

i got a couple samples from printful and was satisfied with the results, so now you can get the "all well" shirt as well as "make history or die trying" (and also north up and south up versions of my polar wildlife design) through my etsy.

they're direct-to-garment printed (like redbubble) on comfort colors shirts. not quite as soft as the bella+canvas that i'd used for the locally printed shirts, but i think they're a bit more durable (and maybe slightly less of a lint magnet)

i also listed the medium-sized "make history" sample that's on a b+c shirt in case anyone wants it! (has "astralwhat" in small print beneath the banner like the redbubble version)

the "ship and aurora" postcard is restocked finally. it's on uncoated recycled heavy cardstock this time and looks a little different -- there's some speckles in the paper and it's a slightly "noisier" and lower contrast print than the matte and satin finish prints i've had previously. in this case, that actually makes it a little truer to the charcoal-y look of the original drawing, but i wanted to give you a head's up in case you've seen the old ones!

i'm trying to put more downloadables on my ko-fi -- mini zines, prints, etc. anything i'm charging for and/or that's multiple files is in the shop section, but single file free stuff is in the gallery with high-res downloads enabled. just boat/polar stuff for now, but i promise there's other things on the way!

[simp-ly-writes]

Betting on Hearts (pt.2)

Cross-over: Contemporary! Peaky Blinders x The Gentlemen (2024)

Pairing: Edward "Eddie" Horniman x afab!Shelby!Reader,

Summary: It has been some time since you had last seen the Duke of Halstead and his business partner, Susie Glass. With the help of your family, you invite yourself to a surprise meeting, striking up a potential deal while dealing with the aftermath of your's and Eddie's earlier encounter. What will result from it all?

Warnings: 4000~ words, mentions of drinking, drugs, and anxiety.

A/N: Thank you for the ask and messages @kyros420! :)

Masterlist | Taglist Request | un-edited.

You wear a blue double-breasted blazer, the fabric is wool to match the pants of your suit; the articles fighting against the crisp English weather in early spring. A breeze gusts down an alleyway, crashing into your side as you huff out in annoyance, heels picking up their pace as you navigate the city streets.

Red light. Tapping your foot against the pavement as you look at your watch, still making good time if you don't get stopped at another intersection. Feeling around your handbag, your fingers slip past the cool metal of your gun, locked and loaded- ready for a misadvernture. You sigh out in relief once feeling the double-stapled papers, and with that, a green light flickers above your head as you shove through the crowd and towards the newest "Garrison" location.

Arthur is already making his rounds around the bar, the late lunch crowd has the space filled to the brim. The bell rings above the door as you step inside, smiling at a few of the employees who greet you and point towards your brother currently leaning over a table. Suit a bit wrinkled but his leather shoes freshly polished as he claps an officer on the shoulder, setting down another shot before he spins around your way to the sound of your voice.

"Arthur!" you shout, walking towards him, dodging various bar-goers already drunk on a late Tuesday afternoon.

"No need to shout now, haven't lost my hearing yet," he retorts, loosening his bowtie while tipping his head up the stairs towards his office and the staff break-room. You nod, gripping the banister as you make your way up the uneven stairs. "You really must get these fixed, Arthur. I have no clue how these got approved by the health inspector."

"Says the smuggler," your eldest brother fires back, pausing on the stairs as you crash into his back. He sends you a toothy smile, leg rising backwards as if to kick you down the stairs, "you wouldn't dare-"

"-or would I?' he voices back childishly, leg extending back further as you start to lean back with a grimace.

"Arthur," you strain his name in a tight tone, "I can't believe you are the eldest at times," telling him off like mother used to as his hands come up, leg falling back to the stair before he more swiftly continues the climb. Shaking your head you enter his office, locking the door behind you both. Arthur moves towards the bar cart, "Gin, Whiskey, or lukewarm wine?"

"Do you have tea?" Taking a seat in one of the leather chairs positioned in front of his desk. You cross your legs, a tea cup almost shattering with the force it gets slammed down with into your hands. "Wonderful service," you sarcastically comment, ripping one of the sugar bags placed on the saucer before delicately stirring it into your drink.

"Only the best for family, now why come to me and not fuck off to Tommy like you usually do?" You take a long drink of your tea before setting it on the desk, disregarding his comment and throwing the files onto the table. Arthur leans forward, squinting at the papers before you shove his glasses in front of him.

You watch as he nods along to the printed text, skipping a few pages before falling down to the empty signature line. He taps the dots in a row, eyes looking over the white pages as you level his stare. "You want me to sign this or somethin'?"

"No. Just... need some help is all," you mumble the rest, eyes falling to your lap as you pick at your nail-polish.

"Come again?" Arthur asks, hiding his grin behind the papers as he taps his ear, faking not being able to hear you. "Fucking hell, Arthur, I need your help! There," you huff out, falling back into your chair, gripping your tea as you choke down the rest of it.

"Then help is what you shall receive." Arthur drops the papers on the desk, standing before crouching down beside you. "Happy you came to me for this," he states in a softer voice, head tilted- awaiting your response.

"Don't let it get to your head now," you say back, hating the way the his soft words crack through your anxious-feelings. "What can I do?"

"Can you fit into your old uniform?"

--

And to think Tommy's house was outrageous- was an understatement, you say to yourself while walking up to the Halstead estate. The gravel crunches under each step of Arthurs boots as you held onto his arm- doing your best not to break an ankle. A swift three hard knocks across the wooden door sounded in the countryside as you took a step back to the sounds of footsteps approaching.

Plastering a smile, you tipped your head towards the member of staff as Arthur removed his hat in greeting. "Good afternoon, sir."

"Afternoon, ma'am, officer. Is there a reason for your appearance here today?" The butler's eyes furrow, examining Arthurs uniform with a raised brow before scanning over your designer handbag, meeting your eyes as you flash him another smile as he quickly adverts his gaze.

You tap your brothers arm thoughtfully, casting your head down, smiling fading. "Yes, we are some of Eddie's friends when he was deployed, is he in today? We would love to see him before my brother here gets called back and my vacation time gets used up."

"Ah, I see. I hate to report to you but-"

"What guests do we have here today?" An older woman comes down the stairs, practically gliding across the tile floors as the staff member prompt bows their head and moves to the side of the door. "Your grace, they are here to see the Duke- friends from overseas."

The woman looks over you both, clapping her hands together before inviting you inside the home. Your shoulders drop once hearing the door close behind you both. "Eddie never told me of his friends from deployment, it is a great pleasure to meet you both, I am Sabrina, Edward's mother. I'm sure you have many stories to share but please, is there anything we can serve you?"

"Thank you for your kindness and for allowing us into your home, your grace," eyes casting down to the waiting chairs in the foyer yet you stay standing. "I'm alright, Is there something you would like brother?"

"No, I'm fine," Arthur comments, eyes distracted over viewing every rare collectable and hand-crafted accent in the home. "Is there any where my brother and I could sit and wait for Eddie? I hate to intrude on such short notice, your grace, but-"

"Oh! Yes, I do apologies, you both must be tired from your travels, Edward always went straight to his room after coming back home. If you will follow me, the study is just up the stairs here." Sabrina leads you both further inside the house as you admire the wainscoting and rich-wood's of the hall. The group stops to a pair of heavy oak doors that groan to open.

The space if further divided into a desk room with a bay-window looking towards the pond as a small waiting space is already prepared with tea and lunch, hot on the coffee table before you. You crinkle yours eyes in confusion, wondering how quickly the staff were able to prepare everything before your arrival. Eyeing the room, a bookshelf is offset against the wall answering your question as you and Arthur take your seats.

Pouring out the teapot, Lady Sabrina leaves you both, the oak doors softly closing behind her as you lean back into the leather sofa, it creaks as you shit your weight, placing one leg on top of the other. Arthur stands, already restless as he unbuttons the top of his uniform and rolls up his sleeves. "Fuckin' puts Tom's office to shame," he comments, moving to stand in front of the window.

You shake your head, opening your handbag as move towards the desk room, settling the papers across its surface and un-caping your pen atop the stack. Seating yourself into the nearby chair, Arthur walks over to you, leaning on its arm- observing your precise actions. Next you place your gun in your lap, safety is on, the weight of the metal in your lap helping to ease your nerves as Arthur sniffles, feeling into the various pockets of his jacket.

"I am fine now, brother. If you need powder, smokes, or whatever-" your hand circling in his face, "you can leave through the staff-halls to outside, just don't take the car."

"You sure, I can stay-"

"I am fine, Arthur. Thank you for serving your role," you say with a smile, reaching up to tussle his hair as he huffs out, mockingly reaching out to mess with your own. The glare you send has him standing straight, casting you a playful wave goodbye as he exits the space. The newfound silence of the room catches you off-guard, the ticking of the clock getting on your nerves as you fix your appearance in your phones camera.

Yet that silence is swiftly broken as horridly-somewhat-hushed voice and footsteps cast down the hall, making their way into the room. You keep fixing yourself up, smirking at the hitching of a breath as your phone clicks closed, falling back into your bag by your foot. "Hello, your grace, Susan," you greet them both, not bothering to stand as they both still in the doorframe.

The Duke is dressed in a three piece suit, a brown with blue plaid running through it. His neck-tie is delicately patterned around his neck, complimenting his handkerchief and light blue dress-shirt. Your smile only grows seeing the distant mark of all those night ago just barley visible underneath the left side of his jaw that current clenches and unclenching, drinking in the appearance of you.

To ensure he remembers your last meeting with one another, you lean your body towards the arm of the chair. Your suit flexing more skin down your chest, his eyes trail upwards, seeing that all-too familiar mark against your skin. He shifts his necktie, eyes refusing to meet you own as he makes his way around the desk, the sun casting an outline of his broad shoulders. Your fingers begin tracing the chairs carvings, your head tipped towards him, you bite your lower lip, letting it fall slowly just as your hand moves from the chair, down to your thighs.

Eddie gulps, eyes now trained on the black metal settled in your lap, pointing outwards in a crude manor as you caress the weapon, circling your finger muzzle. You emit a few soft laughs through your nose, enjoying the attention of the room being casted upon you.

Susie walks up to the desk, footsteps never faltering in precise movements before leaning against the wood. Her hands settled in front of her body, eyes watching your own as you cast her a wink. Enjoying the way her eyes snap away from your own only to return a split-second later, darkly glaring as you lick your lips in delight.

Her grey pin-stripped suit does wonders for her long legs as your foot shifts closer to her own, heels barley touching each other. You hold one another's gaze, searching each others eyes for who would be the first to dare speak. Yet Edward beats you both to the trigger, "I see you have brought forward the contract we discussed during out last... meeting. I hope that your presence also allows for Miss. Glass and I to offer a proposition?"

Your tone loses humour as your sentence progresses, "I am not one to break my word, your grace. Now speak."

--

Arthur would be lying if he was not relieved to be out of the walls and greeted by the crisp English air. His cigarette smoke floated out of his mouth as his fingertips relished the burn of the bud before stomping out the remaining sparks with his boot. Starting to reach into his jacket pocket, looking for phone a cough makes him fumble with the device, flicking his head upwards- his hair flipping back into place as he glares towards a dishevelled man, cigarette unlit in his hands.

"Mid if I borrow your lighter?" Freddy asks, already beginning to walk over to Arthur, standing at full height as he adjusts his uniform, eyeing the other eldest son from head to toe. "Here," Arthur holds out the metal lighter, a gift from his wife that holds an engraving of their wedding day. Freddy hums out, pressing his cigarette closer to the flame, blowing his smoke away from the two.

"So..." Freddy takes another drag, cigarette dancing between his fingers as he swashes it near Arthur. "...What are you doing here? I didn't think Eddie hired any new staff recently, nor mum."

"M'not staff, here with my sister who is currently speaking to your brother," Arthur clarify, attention now drawn back to his phone, checking it over for any cracks before sorting through his emails and text messages. John had sent yet another cryptic message of emojis and phrases that he couldn't quite grasp.

"I'm Freddy," the robed-man introduces himself, not bothering to stop out the remainder of his cigarette once dropped to the floor. He extends his hand as Arthur looks it over, "Arthur." His hand is smooth, hardly a callus or scar to displace the skin the Shelby notes, yet holds a firm few shakes.

Freddy proceeds to open and close his mouth, trying to start conversation as Arthur turns back to his work, absent-mindedly nodding along to whatever he says before walking away to take a call through the stables. Freddy walks behind him, continuing his one-sided conversation about his newest investment idea that was sure to work this time.

--

You pick up your gun, going to stand just as Susie straightens beside you, stepping closer to interfere as Eddie raises his hand, the room in a pause to your chuckle. You place the gun in the back waistband of your pants, wiggling your hands in a playful gesture. "A pity, how much trust you lack in me, I did patch you up, your grace," you tease, now walking around the office, hands drifting over the various collectables before setting on a record to fill the remaining space in the room.

You lean against the bookshelves, looking between the pair and then the table where fresh ink stains the papers with the Duke's signature. "So, you wish to give me a undisclosed share of your... medical business for me to manage your import/export AND get you a meeting with the rest of the Shelby clan. My oh my, Edward I know you are new to this business but Susie-darling, I expected better of you. But! I respect your father, I am willing to be lenient with your brothers antics in my industry yet you surely must understand that your side does not hold enough for me to accept this deal. I already have given you my presence for no added cost but this, this is rather silly, for lack of a better word."

Susie flings herself off the desk as she walks across the room to stand in front of you. Her eyes squinted into slits, cutting through your words as you swallow down the rest of your speech. Her mouth is tipped in a rehearsed smirk as you stand up straight, head tilting upwards to look at her. Leaning forwards, you watch as her shoulders tense, foreheads nocking against one another before shifting your head closer to her ear. You bathe in her ruining composure, her manicured hands pulling into fists at her side, you are fed by the chaos of it all as Eddie rounds the desk, watching in need to separate the both of you if necessary.

You lift up your hand, her breath hitching in wait as you place a hand on her shoulder, your lips part as she takes a sharp breath inwards. "Don't make me have to talk to your father about this deal, Susie. I know you can figure something out. You both can, but until then my time has been served here."

You drop your touch from the woman, moving around her towards your bag to pack the contract away yet you are stopped by her voice, commanding you to turn back around to face her. "I will go up to 15% of revenue share and will take the tax of any operations cost for our product's travel."

"20%," you counter-offer with a knowing smile, watching as her eyes flick up towards the ceiling before closing, working out the details in her head. You can imagine the words and numbers floating around her head as Eddie comes to your side, bag and contract in hand. You press a kiss to his cheek in thanks.

"The highest I can go is 18-"

"25% then," you state, making your way towards the door, hand starting to turn the door handle. You can hear their posh mumblings behind you. Eddie fixes the watch on his wrist as Miss. Glass's tone strains, fabric shifting before the room stills once more. "23%, taxes paid, and product for your brother's."

The door clicks open, you can see the hall, the sun dipping through the windows as evening nears. The downstairs lobby is pattering with house staff preparing for dinner, you can her the Lady of the House ordering things around and the familiar gruff tones of your brother conversing with another. Yet you turn around, both of your hands clasped around the handle of your bag.

You allow the suspense to build, the song slowly fading to an end and just as the last note falls. Eddie takes a long blink, Susie grips the back of the couch, "offer taken," you smile at them both and with that, the double doors slam behind you, heels clicking against the wood down the hall as your car dings open. "Lets go Arthur!" you shout into the lobby, his hurried footsteps follow after you as he voices his thanks to the house before closing the passengers door.

"We got ourselves a deal?" He questions, looking at the side of your face for an indicator as you hold solid, turning the car into drive, the gravel crunching underneath your wheels once more.

You don't give him an answer right away, "Put everyone on call for me please." His hand move across the dash, a series of three rings before a Birmingham accent allows you to release a held in breath. A smile coating your lips as you lean back into your seat. "Give me news, sister," Tommy demands, you can hear his children running rampant in the background. "No bath, no!"

"I think you should help your lovely wife before I-"

Johns voice squashes your conversation as he enters the call, "Who's dead, married, or havin' a child? I sure hope its you Arthur, your wife has been looking at Tom's kids with those eyes again..."

Arthur groans beside you, "Fuck off John."

"I don't think this family needs anymore children, we already have three boys," Ada pops up.

"Hey Ada," you greet her.

"Don't you 'Hey Ada' me now, how did the meeting go?" she asks, you can hear the giggle in her voice, the underlying tone that you both would be having another wine-filled event in your living room later tonight.

"Yes, how did the meeting go," Tommy asks, his tone rigid before he mutes himself, probably telling the children off. You can hear the banging of metal in the back of the call, John still at work, you shake your head knowing his wife was already preparing yet another speech about sharing enough time together, 'as a family,' just the same way that Arthurs wife did.

"I got us a deal Tom, yet Bobby wants to see you again. Didn't specify to me no matter how much I pried," you comment with annoyance, fingers tapping against the steering wheel as you wait at the lights, the streets empty yet you had been in your fare share of accidents to know not to cross the lights without a signal.

"Good," Tommy simply says back, "Now go home."

"Already on it," you answer sweetly just as he jumps off the call.

"Hey- I got a few last meetings, we still doing dinner at your place sis?" John asks Ada as you turn down the next street, dropping Arthur off as he shouts his goodnights to everyone before slamming your car door close. You wince, worrying the damage to the body of your car before backing out of the driveway and back towards your place.

"Yes, remember 4pm sharp everyone!" Ada announces and with that, you end the call, sighing to yourself, eyes casting heavy as you exit the vehicle and enter your near silent home. Your pets greet you at the door, their feet tapping against the floor, tails wagging back in forth within your presence.

--

Coming out of the shower, towel wrapped around your body and head you startle seeing a delicately placed box at the foot of your bed. Cautiously looking around the room, no signs of forced entrance or violence appear. You examine the box, checking each side without touching in case it was a placed bomb yet you feel or hear nothing coming from it.

Slowly you pull the bow away, letting it fall onto your covers as you gently lift the top off and your breath hitches. You see Eddies signature once more, your fingers trace over the dried ink with thoughtfulness as you take in every handwritten letter pressed into the card-stock.

Miss. (Name) Shelby, I owe you many thanks in recent times, for helping to mend on old soldiers wounds, for accepting Miss. Glass's and I's deal, and for reigniting a part of myself I haven't felt in such time. I hope that it is not too selfish of me in asking for more of your time and in requesting for you to join me for dinner within my social circle. Within this box, you will find the dress I owe as I await your answer. Your Grace, Edward Horniman.

You read over the note a few dozen times, a smile only growing as your cheeks warm. Pressing the card to your chest, you catch the faintest scent of his cologne coming off the card as you chuckle through your nose at the detail. Setting it delicately on your bedside table, you pull off the paper to find an elegant dress. You pull it out, letting it unravel to your feet as you spin around to the mirror, inspecting it over your body.

Stepping back you curse out, picking up your foot abruptly with a hiss. Looking down a small pin, a set of two birds looks up at you, gleaming in the warm lighting of the room. You settle down on your knees, picking up the accessory while looking back towards your closet where the original dress hung, freshly washed yet still stained and you didn't have the heart to rid yourself of it.

Looking back towards the nightstand, your smile only grows before you are dressing yourself and darting to find your handbag. A small business card poking out between the papers. Oh Edward, you sigh out to yourself, already pressing the numbers into your device.

The phone rings, anxiety starts to overtake you as you walk up and down the halls before moving back into your room- worried to waking any of the staff within the residence. "This is Edward," his baritone voice fills your ears as you look out your window, fingers playing with the bottom of your shirt.

"Hello, your grace," you tease out, doing your best to hide the growing giggles overcoming your anxiety, filling up with excitement as you bite your lip.

"Hello, Miss. Shelby. I do hope this call means well..." His voice trails off just as yours starts once more, "It will if you can answer something for me?"

"Anything."

"Can you take the dress off me too?"

↳ Taglist: @daffodilstark @leavemeslowly @iamasimpingh0e @kneelarmhstrung @surazim @milllieeee

↳ A/N: Hope you all enjoyed this!!! I am running out of ideas, I have a few sentences for different ideas but cannot come up with something I am happy with for an episode-by-episode series... always open for ideas like usual!

[ryeallytired]

Its finally done!!!

After getting back into BBC's Merlin recently (read: a couple months ago) I realized I no longer trusted streaming services to still have it available long term and managed to buy a complete DVD box set.

But because the slip case had quite a bit of wear to it (and due to some minor scopophobia) I made it a box that looks like a book!

(More rambling info & video under cut)

Materials:

The base construction is cardboard and paper (used to cover the exposed cut edges and strengthen corners). The box's faux paper edge is a printed texture on cardstock that was then waxed. The interior is black cardstock with silver vinyl. The 'book case' is that same cardboard construction with faux raised bands (made with some scrap foam I had) wrapped in Cialux's night blue bookcloth (hence the minor wrinkles) with Cricut HTV in metallic gold and 'reflective rainbow'.

Design:

Cover: Obviously Pendragon logo had to go front and center, no argument on that one. (Also partially cause Merlin doesn't really have his own symbol to him? The triskelion just doesn't make sense to me because although Emyrs is a symbol for the druids, Merlin himself isn't a druid and I'd imagine would instead choose icons of Camelot and Arthur to represent himself besides.) ANYWAY- Behind the crest, filligree containing a blade and the sidhe staff in that subtle reflective HTV that blends into the bookcloth exactly how I wanted until it catches the light (something something, hidden magic in the background something something).

(Appologies for the unsteady hands)

Spine: Mortaeus flower! Because it really felt like a turning point for the two (you've known each other... what a week? and you're going against your father to travel to some far off cave to get a flower?? that's some good as dnd-adventuring-party type shit I love it). Minor detail are the top and bottom shapes: pulled from some cool windows we see a lot in season one (I just think there' neat, okay?)

Back Cover: Excalibur with two butterflies cut from the blue-toned area of the rainbow HTV :)

And finally the Inside!: The cup of life! Because it felt just a little empty. I'm still tempted to put something small on the bottom left corner of the inside cover... maybe a crown? not sure yet

And that's everything! Thanks for reading! If anyone wants to make something similar for their own dvd set I'd be happy to share the .svg or .png file of the cut outs, just shoot me a message 👍 Before you go, wanna know the worst part about this project???

.

.

It doesn't even fit on my DVDs shelf :)))) It sticks out by about an inch and a half 😭So we maaay have to be relegated to the 'actual books' bookshelf...

[hetalianhistorian]

New illustrations and merchandise for the Hetalia "Black Formal Party Fair" collaboration!

Source links: 1 2 3 Interestingly enough, this merch line will be hosted by both Animate and Movic, with both companies having their own details in regards to the collaboration events and merch!

For those interested in attending the event in person, the fair will be running from December 7th to January 5th across Animate and Movic stores nationwide! For every ¥1,100 yen spent, you will receive an invitation styled bromide! For those interested in ordering online, preorders are ongoing from September 20th until October 6th! For every ¥3,300 yen spent for the Animate online store, you will receive a bromide print! I am unsure if this bonus also applies to the Movic online store.

Goods List

Character badges - ¥1,440 yen each (¥3,250 yen for whole set)

Mini-papers - ¥550 yen each (¥4,400 yen for whole set)

Clear files - ¥440 yen each

Acrylic stands - ¥1,650 yen each

Tapestry - ¥3,850 yen each

ID photos - ¥275 yen each (¥12,200 yen for whole set)

Chibi acrylic stands - ¥770 yen each

Source link: https://twitter.com/movic_pr/status/1837076865623920810

And interestingly enough, there will be USB adapters and air humidifiers up for sale as well! The humidifier costs ¥5,500 yen each and the USBs adapters will cost ¥5,500 yen each. Preorders for these will close on October 14th, 11:59 PM JST. You can purchase here through the Animate and Movic online stores!

Note: Not all stores ship internationally. A proxy or forwarding service may have to be utilized. Please keep this in mind and do your own research when buying Hetalia goods from Japan!

[chiefdirector]

Talking | Tim Bradford | The Rookie

Act One | Chapter 16

I’m in a&e (er for my American friends) so y’all are getting a chapter early

"So, Detective Bradford, what evidence led to the arrest of my client." Wesley asked, pacing back and forth, arms crossed behind his back. He looked at (Y/N) expectedly.

They had been going over trial preparation for the last hour or so. In exchange for his services, (Y/N) brought a take out for them, as well as Tim and Angela. The other two had retreated into the kitchen to have some beers so as to not bore themselves to death.

"The operating detective arrested Mr. Smith of the claim of him being found holding the murder weapon over his dead fiancé."

"That proves nothing. Could he not have just picked it up in the heat of the moment? It must have been pretty traumatic for him. People act irrationally in moments of crisis."

"He could've but he didn't." (Y/N) rebutted, leaning further into the couch. "He practically confessed."

"There's no "practically" about it, detective. Either there is hard evidence that my client did this or you have arrested an innocent man going through one of the most terrifying things that one could experience."

(Y/N) flicked through the case file she had been given to build her testimony around. The acting detective hadn't been all too thorough as they were sure it was a clean cut case. Letting out a small "ha!" She smugly presented Wesley with a sheet of paper. "Here you will find the prints we ran on the gun. Only one set, belonging to Mr Smith. Any more questions?"

"No more questions at this time," he said, finally sitting down and reaching for the beer Angela had brought through to him a little while back. "You did good. Just keep that energy up and you'll be fine."

(Y/N) sighed, "You think? Court was never my strong suit."

"Yeah. I'd challenge you in the courtroom any day."

"No thanks. This was hard enough." (Y/N) laughed, leaning her head back to look into the kitchen, watching Tim and Angela bicker about something. "You wanna call them through or should I?"

"Actually," Wesley stood up, "I should probably get her home before something stronger comes out. You know how those too get."

"Oh god, don't remind me."

It didn't take long for Wesley to gather Angela up and make a quick departure. Once Tim had closed the door behind them, he made his way back into the kitchen where (Y/N) had begun to clear up. Dishes were stacked up high in the sink and bottles littered the counters.

"God, how much did you drink," she said, turning to face her husband. "It looks like the remnants of a brewery made a home here."

"Hardly any and not nearly as much as Angela, I always forget how much that woman can drink." Tim moved forwards, pacing his hands on (Y/N)'s hips, bringing her body into his. Softly he kissed her, "Leave all this for tomorrow."

"And what will we do now," she said, leaning in to kiss him again.

Quickly, he moved his grip on to hold her waist. Swinging one arm under her legs, he picked her up bridal style, moving towards the bedroom. "I can think of something."

- - - - -

"You look happy," Angela teased as she walked over to (Y/N)'s desk. "Too happy."

(Y/N) didn't look up to respond to her, knowing the direction Angela wanted this conversation to go. She didn't want to humour her friend but she also knew that if Angela wanted to do something, it would happen. "Can I not be happy? Is that against the rules?"

"Not at this time in the morning you can't." She said moving round the desk to lean over (Y/N)'s shoulder, now whispering. "Somebody got laid."

(Y/N) let out a breathy laugh. Shaking her head, (Y/N) continued to type. "And someone's trying to live vicariously through me. Having a dry spell, are we?"

"Not at all. But as much as I like talking to you about this, I have a suspect on the store robbery; his name is Damian Barrett. I'm sending Harper and Nolan to bring them in..."

"Right, okay? What do you need from me?"

Angela smiled,  "Nothing. I just wanted to say 'hi.'"

"Bullshit," (Y/N) leaned back in her chair, finally turning to face Angela who had decided to perch on the surface, "Also, that isn't a chair."

Lopez rolled her eyes as she got down. "I do have a reason for coming here though. Patrice is on my case about this wedding."

"And Patrice is...?

"Wesley's mom." She took out her phone, scrolling through her messages to show (Y/N) "This is just from last week. I need help."

"Don't ask me, Tim and I almost eloped. A lot less fuss and mess." (Y/N) smiled as she absently played with her rings, "I say go to the courthouse and throw a party or something after."

"You're wedding was lovely. How did you do it?"

"I didn't have much to do with it. It was all Grey and Tim."

Angela raised her eyebrow, "Sargent Grey? Sargent Grey as in the Sargent Grey who works here and was your boss helped plan your wedding?"

"Yeah," (Y/N) said, smiling as the memory came back to her.  "Grey nearly lost his head when I mentioned eloping. Something about how it would be a 'tragedy' and that it would happen over his dead body."

"Great," Lopez sighed, moving back towards her desk. "You are no help."

"Hey," she laughed, "You asked me!"

- - - - -

It was only mere moments after Angela had returned to her own desk did she approach (Y/N) again, this time her easy-going demeanour had hardened into something more serious. She had their shared case file tucked under her arm. 

"Harper and Nolan found our friend and put in interrogation. He's waiting on us. Seems like bad news, but like I said, he's only a suspect and we have got nothing concrete. We're going to try for a confession," Angela said, taking off, not leaving (Y/N) to question her any further.

With a small sigh, she got up to follow Angela to the interrogation room. She was going to let her take the lead, it was her case after all, she only came onto the case as a consulting detective. Besides, by the looks of the case, (Y/N) thought it may be an easy win.

Act One | Chapter 16 | Chapter 18

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