#Printer Technical Support

[froidefille]

Bound: Recursion by @tessacrowley

This is my very first bind. As in, the very first thing I have bound EVER. (!!!)

📇 Typeset, cheerleading and priceless technical support: @phoenixortheflame

🎨 Unreal, stunning art: @itsphantasmagoria

📔 Gorgeous front cover design: @cheriecherishchen

📚Bind: me!! #froidefillebinds is just one of those hashtags I am just SO proud of 😅

Thank you for the blanket permission Tessa!

Story time under the cut 🤍

Guys 😭😭😭

I've honestly dreamt of the experience of reading-fanfic-as-a-book for SO LONG. And when I saw Phoenix’s bind of this fic I just decided - yep, that’s it. I’m fucking binding that and reading it like a book that I bought at local bookstore because it fucking deserves to have this form and physically being on my shelf.

Why have I decided to choose a 100k+ work as my first project ? See, I didn’t ! It was stronger than me ! I just had to have it!

Counting the pages and figuring out how to print and (what’s the word for putting the pages in right order? Anyway, doing that) imposing has taken me days. Once I figured it out my printer has rebelled and the ink run out. OBVIOUSLY. But once I figured it out… The printing became totally addicting. Just one more signature 😅

Why did I think that 5 pages per signature would be perfect amount which resulted in 20+ signatures to be sewn in the very first binding project? I don’t know, okay. Mistakes were made 😅

Turns out I love the sewing and hate the fucking knots. Wax threads only from now on.

Glueing the spine was nerve-wrecking bc I hate the permanence of the glue in general. But I made it!

Designing the cover took me ages and I was this close to buying a circuit or whatever this fancy equipment for making gold cover titles is named. Thankfully, Phoenix helped me out with suggestion of a half bind and soon after that the case was done!

Glueing in the case… I miscalculated the spine height. And had one of the endpapers glued in totally all over the place so I had to rip it off and find a new one (ended up even prettier hihi). The case is still pretty uneven but hey, now I know, right? 😁

And then… I could take my book, which I made with my own hands, in my own living room. Which was actually gay time travelling love story and read it in a train. And by the sea on vacation.

I am hooked. Watch this space bc I am now addicted to buying all sorts of termoactive foils and pretty canvases and new pretty threads. And seeing fics come to live obviously 🤍🤍🤍

[uglypastels]

Ridlington Park | II | Eddie Munson regency!au

Dear reader, my sincerest apologies for the delay in the upcoming chapter. It seems that there had been some technical problems at the printer's shop and some terrible time management on this writer's part. Before we resume this tale of love, however, I would also like to thank all who have read the first chapter and shared their thoughts on it with not only me but others. Know that your support does not go unnoticed, and I cherish it with all my heart.

Word Count: 8.1k

Do be warned, Dear Reader, for this story in its entirety may contain:

female!reader. slow burn. forbidden romance. jealousy. pining. smut. alcohol consumption. swearing. OC family. family disputes. horses. talks of arranged marriage. historical facts as well as trivial inaccuracies.

Due to the adult nature of the story, this author also kindly but sternly requires underage readers to pursue other works. 

The Ridlington Park Collection | Correspondence | Join the Taglist - Read Chapter 1 here -

Chapter Two: A Time for Scandal

“At a private ball, no lady will refuse an introduction to a gentleman. It is an insult to her hostess, implying that her guests are not gentlemen. It is optional with the lady whether to continue to drop the acquaintance after the ball is over, but for that evening, however disagreeable, etiquette requires her to accept him for one dance, if she is disengaged, and her hostess requests it.” - The Ladies' Book of Etiquette, 1873

The Royal family's return to London brings a new life to the city each year as its elite congregates fervently for all possible occasions. The notable number of balls, soirees, and other social gatherings mark a particularly eventful point in the year that no eager lady or gentleman would want to miss. And whilst the matchmakings occupy most thoughts, this motivation somewhat overshadows the mere social aspect of the season. The parties offer the perfect meeting ground for all ton members, as they can indulge in all the niceties the hosts provide. Whether it be the music, magnificent foods and drinks, or simply pleasant conversation. To miss a social event, especially for a debutante such as yourself, Dear Reader, is to miss an opportunity to present oneself to her suitors and the entire town. It is to miss the happenings that drive the whole court forward. 

Thus, you were obligated to accept every single invitation presented to you and your family. And as spectacular as they all were, weariness settled deep in your bones with each new event. No matter how lavish, it all began to blur together into one repetitive pattern.

Each time, you would find yourself atop a grand staircase, your family trailing behind, as the earlier arrivals looked up in awe and envy. With a shaky breath and a tremble to the hand holding your skirt, you descended the steps onto the dancefloor, where a wonderful yet pesky gentleman awaited to greet you. If fortune were in their favour, they would even gather in a pack, making you the bearer of choice who to greet first, whose offer for refreshment to accept, and whose signature to claim on your dance card in which order. Meanwhile, your mother gawked in a nearby distance with a smile stretching for miles, already planning what cakes to ask the chef about for the next morning’s calling hour. 

The lights around you sparkled wonderfully, and you could not deny that Lord and Lady Parsnell had outdone themselves for their annual ball. Theirs was a particularly beautiful ballroom, with windows covering the entirety of the large west wall. It overlooked the gardens illuminated with lanterns of all colours, and the room was in an everlasting golden glow. The music played from the far right corner, where the musicians were located on their platform, all dressed in elaborate costumes and wigs, completely painted in bronze to imitate the likeness of statues and as the bypassing guests were gawking up at them, you felt a twinge of a connection between yourself and the talent across the room.

‘Would you care to dance, miss?’ one of the gentlemen asked, and as you could not find a single polite response in your entire vocabulary, you opted for a kind smile as you extended your hand in agreement. 

As with all the others, this was making itself out to be a long and dreadful evening.

On your way to the centre of the floor to join all the other couples, you caught a glimpse of your oldest brother, Nicholas. To no one’s surprise, he had found himself in deep conversation with a young lady dressed in a gorgeous sea-blue dress, a fan to match fluttering purposefully over her bosom. For the entirety of the dance, you kept your eyes on the two of them. No matter how lacking intellectual stimulation your brother’s endeavours may be, they forever remained more fascinating than anything your dance partner had to offer. You only turned your attention to the man at the harsh sound of his laugh. It appeared he had been entertaining himself with his jokes for the duration of the waltz. This and how he slurred you around the room, practically dragging your limbs behind him, made you doubt you were very needed at that moment. 

Finally, the music slowed, and you were released from Lord Bramley's harsh hold on your hands. You bid him farewell with a respectable curtsy and walked away before the man could utter another word, let alone request another dance. As you walked off the floor, a most horrid apparition revealed itself in the corner of your eye in the shape of another available man in conversation with your mama. Too occupied by the gentleman, she had not noticed you to have finished your dance, and so you saw the opportunity to make yourself scarce in the crowd, at least for the moment.

‘You cannot hide forever.’ A hum more irritating than a critter tickled at your ear as your second brother, Christopher, appeared by your side at the confectionery table. 

‘I certainly can try, can I not?’ you grinned, tasting the icing on a strawberry cake. 

‘Because we know how well that turned out for you the last time,’ he reminded you. All you could do was grin at him maliciously as you thought back to the day when— 

❀❀❀

Your mother had lovingly retrieved you from the stables as you had attempted to escape one of your family’s countless matchmaking attempts. And while the man you had met, Mr Steve Harrington, had turned out to be quite pleasant, you still struggled to relive the embarrassment of being hunted down by your mother through the garden. Not to mention the judgment of your siblings the very next day at breakfast as you learned they had been told all of what had occurred the day prior.

You walked into the room with an appetite that disappeared as soon as you saw the amusement on your family’s faces and heard the hushed tones with which they spoke as you found your seat. Perhaps if they had been more straightforward, you could have endured it, but they all remained silent as they watched you take your pick of the food, portioning it onto your plate at your own pace. Only as you took your first bite did the first words erupt, nearly leading you to choke. 

‘Your lunch with Harrington went well, I take it?’ Nicholas asked, much to his amusement.

‘What makes you say that?’ you asked, answering with your own question, with no intention of looking your family in the eye as you did. 

‘Mother has just caught us up with the events of yesterday afternoon,’ your brother stated, his enthusiasm in stark contrast to your discomfort at the moment. 

‘I cannot see how there was much to speak of.’ You tore off another piece of the toast with your teeth. ‘It was dreadful.’

‘Dreadful, you say,’ Christopher snickered, barging into the conversation, as unwelcome as the rest, ‘it is not the word I would use, given what we have heard.’

‘Please enlighten me, then, brother? What do you deem an appropriate summary given what I can only assume was mother’s thoroughly accurate recount of what happened?’ You could imagine that she had embellished aspects of the day to fit her narrative; one that most definitely would not suit your future objectives in any way. Truly, since when had the breakfast meal also become the time for your entire family to torture you? It seemed that any moment you all found yourselves in one place, it was deemed the designated time for inquiries regarding your prospects. 

‘I had only told them that you seemed to have rather enjoyed yourself with Mr Harrington,' your mother said nonchalantly as if she had not just struck you with a verbal mallet over the head. 

‘Mother!’ you said with a frozen-in-shock expression, but your mother only blinked slowly in bewilderment. You blinked slowly as well. ‘How could you?’

‘Is that an offence to say these days?’ She replied, chuckling, underestimating the damage she had caused with that simple phrase. You had rather enjoyed yourself with Mr Harrington. The string of simple words opened the floodgates that until then kept back the unwanted commentary of your siblings, in particular, the vaunting of Nicholas, who had pridefully acclaimed the matchmaking between you and Mr Harrington to himself and would not let anyone forget that for the rest of the meal or the hours, even days, after—

❀❀❀

But you were happy to put all this far behind you. No matter how keen your siblings or parents were to return to that day, you were not one to dwell in the past. You looked forward. More specifically, right ahead of you, where there seemed to be a clear exit route in the form of a pair of large oaken doors—like a gleaming, delicious yet forbidden fruit tormenting you from a distance. You shook the silly thought out of your mind, returning your attention to Christopher, who indulged himself in a puff pastry delicacy.

‘Can you blame me, brother, for acting out after having endured an entire day of the most monotonous, unspirited, and, dare I say, upright dull conversation a man has to offer?’ You watched Christopher pick up a glass of wine, quickly grabbing it out of his hands to consume the drink yourself, leaving him, in turn, in a slightly shocked state of confusion.  

He blinked slowly and sighed. ‘You do not have to explain yourself to me, and I hope you do recognise that,’ he said as he watched you finish the last drops of his wine. ‘I am merely suggesting that if you know what is good for you, you will open yourself up to these opportunities, as by defying, you will only end up causing yourself more harm.’

Now it was your turn to heave out a heavy and tired breath. You put the glass down, perhaps a bit too harshly, as the thud against the table spurred on a few looks from the ladies around you, but you were too occupied with your brother’s words. He was right, of course, on both accounts. Of all your siblings, Christopher was most like yourself, never entirely understanding the need for marriage. Of course, as a male and a second-born son, he had no such obligation or needs to fulfil. It was perfectly well for him to remain a bachelor for as long as he pleased, not to mention pursue any interests he might have.

Meanwhile, all of these “opportunities” you had that he spoke of were in matters of either matchmaking or to enhance your appeal for such exact situations. Yes, you had a more than fortunate education. You spoke various languages, understood maths and geography, could play the pianoforte prettily, perform any dance in your sleep, and occupy yourself with perfectly fine needlework. But it was disheartening, as at the end of the day, all these accomplishments were meant as nothing more than to advertise yourself to men who could not care one bit for any of it as long as your face and body were adequate for their tastes.

But you also knew, through your assumptions and fair warnings from others, that if you were not to find a husband yourself, someone else would do so for you, and a last resort comes to be just that for apparent reasons but ones you would rather not familiarise yourself with. 

‘Do not tell me I have managed actually to silence you and put a stop to your wit.’ Christopher chuckled. 

‘You wish,’ you responded, possibly proving his point. Meanwhile, another song began to play as more couples took to the floor. Your eyes immediately examined the room for any threats of men reaching for your hand for a dance, particularly a certain Mr Bridgerton, who you read to have claimed a spot on your dance card. 

‘Rules are rules,’ Christopher sang teasingly as he saw you check the card tied around your wrist. ‘You cannot deny a gentleman’s—’ but he never entirely managed to finish his sentence as he watched you tug at the ribbon connecting you to the list of men waiting for a dance. The material tightened, most likely leaving a nasty red line across your arm as you pulled and pulled until—snap—you broke free. The piece of paper fell to the floor. 

‘Oh my!’ You covered your mouth in faux-wide-eyed perplexity as you kicked the discarded card behind a large potted plant, far into the forgotten shadows of the room. ‘How can I remember the gentlemen’s names whom I have promised a dance now?’

Against his better judgement, your brother cracked a smile, ‘I can tell you now, you will regret doing that.’

‘Somehow, I rather doubt that,’ you twirled your wrist, enjoying how freeing it felt not to be tied up any longer. 

‘The second that mother finds you without that silly little thing around your hand, you will sing a different tune, sister.’ He finally took another glass of wine, cheering you on, ‘And do not come crying to me about it when that happens.’ The large chug he took was anything but galant. Still, it was his final act before he bid you farewell and left you at the confectionary table to fend for yourself. You had not expected the doubt to settle as quickly as it did, but perhaps the lack of a big brother-shaped guard dog by your side made you feel abnormally self-conscious. For a moment, you considered running after Christopher, but from what you could see through the crowd, he had quickly crossed the room and was already entertaining his friends—each of them a gentleman you were attempting to ignore. 

Things only seemed to be taking a turn for the worse when you picked up a foreign accent which deafened all others around you. 

Harrington. 

You cursed to yourself, quickly turning around to face the tables. What on earth was this man doing here? The Parsnell family was ever the charitable one, but never in the matters of their parties. You could not imagine what would make them want to invite some foreign merchant’s son. 

Well, the answer was simple. It was the same as any other question regarding Steve Harrington and his actions towards you. It must have been your eldest brother’s doing, of course. It was all Nicholas from the very beginning, and he would not let you forget it ever since that breakfast the day after you met with the American—-

❀❀❀

‘I knew it from the moment I met the good man; you would make a perfect pair.’ He said as he sat across from you in the drawing room, feet hanging over the couch’s armrest. 

‘And how, pray tell, could you predict this exactly?’ You rolled your eyes. While most often, it was Nicholas who attempted to drown out your voice through the words on a page, it was your turn that day to try to ignore his rambling.

‘As much as you would like to think better of yourself,’ Nicholas leaned forward, more than happy to keep talking about the subject, mainly if it covered a topic that could humble you: ‘the truth is that you are as shallow as the rest of us, sister, not to mention as easy to read on the subject of these matters as everyone else.’ 

‘Even if I had such biases, I would not share them with you,’ you scoffed, flipping an unread page. 

‘There was no need for that explicitly, I have conducted my research and come to the right conclusions, have I not?’ It was impossible to wipe the smug smile off his face; you knew that by now, and yet…

‘If you do not shut your mouth this instant, I swear, I will throw this book at you,’ you threatened, putting the book you had occupied yourself with over your head. 

‘You are only this upset because you know I am right.’ Nicholas gloated, but you were happy to see him tense up in the shoulders as you began aiming the book in his direction. Not that you would actually throw it… just yet. A lady can do heinous things if pushed far enough, and you felt yourself standing on the edge. 

‘I know that you are being completely maddening.’ You dropped the book in your lap. ‘And must be mad if you think I am in love with this man. He was a pleasant conversation partner, that is all. I assume mother has been deprived of social engagements for far too long, if she thinks me laughing at this man’s jests is enough for there to be an engagement already.’ Harrington’s jokes had been funny, you had to admit, but it must have been a joke from the powers above that sent the following footman into the room in that instance, announcing a gift had been left for you at the door. 

Before you could say anything, Nicholas requested it to be brought into the room. From the irrepressible smirk on his face, he seemed to have an edge of knowledge on you on what was about to be presented through that door in the following moments.

And indeed, not much later, the man returned holding an oversized vase filled with flowers—a bouquet of colours combined into a lovely smell overpowering your senses. 

You said nothing as you walked up to the table where the heavy gift was set, but your lips could not help but part in surprise. You noticed the paper sticking out from between the buds and gently pulled it out. 

See these flowers as a token of my appreciation for thy hospitality and benignity. 

Sincerest greetings, 

S.H. 

You groaned out, reading the words. ‘You are despicable, brother!’ Nicholas, who had been reading along with you from behind your shoulder, quickly stepped aside as you turned his way, ‘You set him up to do this.’ the accusation came out of your mouth like venom. 

‘I did no such thing.’ But his smile remained easy to read. Although… was it a remnant of his earlier pride, or did he see the flowers as yet another gratification for his unbearable attitude? 

‘But you did! It has your grimy hands written all over it.’ You flicked the paper in his face. How many times had you seen your brother write notes to the ladies he attempted to court or send out servants to pick flowers from the garden? ‘Did you scheme this whole thing out on the boat on your way home?’ You could already see it all so clearly. The two of them standing in a corner of the ship, your brother acting like a snake charmer, teaching Harrington everything for him to win you over. It all left a rather sour taste in your mouth.

‘I promise you, I had nothing to do with this.’ He glanced at the flowers, ‘but you must admit that the man has a great taste.’

‘Yes, I am sure his servant has great botanical knowledge. Do you think me to be so dense that I would expect the man to do this all by himself?’

‘You cannot make me believe you were not impressed for even a moment?’ Nicholas argued. You glared at him, eyes formed into narrow poisonous slits, but in the end, all you could emanate from your mouth was another angry groan. Feeling hopeless, you let your body guide you back to the chaise across the drawing room. The smell of the flowers seemed to linger on despite your effort to distance yourself.

‘So you are to say that you have no feelings for Harrington? What so ever?’ Nicholas trotted behind you, taking the seat next to you.

‘No more than I have for you at the moment,’ you said with gritted teeth.

‘Ah, so you do love him!’

‘Ugh,’ you exclaimed—

❀❀❀

 Much as you did when you suddenly felt a presence behind you calling your name. To compose yourself in the crowd and avoid further embarrassment for anyone, you quickly turned back around to face the man approaching you. However, by doing so, your sudden movement caused a chain reaction in the glass you had just reached for, spilling all its content on your person.

‘Mr Harrington!’ You gasped. However, any possible enthusiasm you might have felt for the man’s presence was overtaken by the shock as your bodice soaked in the cold beverage, knowing that the material of your dress was gaining more damage with each passing second. Of course, a handful of people nearby stopped what they were doing to gawk at what surely must be a rather embarrassing moment between a young lady and a suitor she was attempting to seduce. 

‘Miss Byrnwick,’  Harrington jumped into action, ‘let me find you a maid.’ Within another second, he had disappeared into the crowd, leaving you to cry in shame at your brother’s side—your brother, Nicholas, who did not seem one ounce affected by your dramatics.

‘Have you no shame?’ he asked between tight lips, leaning in your direction to avoid the eager ears of the nearby audience.

‘Oh, brother, I have only begun.’ You smiled with a whisper before taking a step back, and another, until your back was met with the soft texture of the cake placed directly behind you. How ridiculous of you to have forgotten. 

You cried out.

‘There there, sister,’ Nicholas failed to find a single sincere vocal cord from what it seemed. ‘Let us get you cleaned up.’ He reached for your arm, smiling at a hoard of ladies standing a few feet away, but you quickly pulled away.

‘Do not be ridiculous, my dress is in ruins!’ You did anything but shout. Anyone paying attention, and by this point, this had included the majority of the gathering, would be no fool to expect your eyes to be on the verge of tears as you attempted to cover yourself up to no avail. Why, after this fiasco, no one could blame you for making a swift departure out of the ballroom.

That is nearly nobody, for your mother caught you just as you were about to exit. 

‘Dearest, what has happened to your dress?’ Her face showed an awkward smile filled with concern, but you knew that not that deep inside, she was raging with fury as she took in your state.

‘It was an accident, mama.’ You sniffed, wiping at your dry cheeks. ‘Now, will you excuse me? I would like to go home, please.’ 

In this instance, with more and more people collecting around you to look at and their whispered words making their rounds around the room faster than the country dance performed just moments ago, there was very little your mother could do. After a final look around the room in hopes of finding a suitable reason for you to stay, yet failing to do so, she had no choice but to let you go.

‘Let me at least find one of your brothers to escort you,’ your mother sighed in defeat.

‘I am perfectly capable of going home by myself, mother.’ You resumed taking steps toward the doors, their appeal practically pulling at your feet eagerly. ‘And besides, I will not be alone. I will have the carriage driver for company.’ This did not make your mother any more confident in the situation, but both your brothers also appeared to have vanished into thin air, and the gossip was only growing more potent the longer you stood there in your stained ensemble.

‘Alright then,’ Mother gave in, ‘just… be careful.’

‘Of course.’ You reached for her hand and squeezed it tightly. ‘Thank you.’ With this farewell, you ran out of the room as politely as it was possible in good society. There had not been many occasions in which you had visited Lord Parsnell’s estate, so it took a moment before you found the main entrance. 

‘Everything alright, miss?’ a footman standing by the door called out, clearly having noticed your distress. 

‘Perfectly well,’ you caught your breath. I simply require my carriage.’ To this, the man nodded and disappeared into a corridor to call for your transport. The music seeped through the main hallway from across the other side of the large house. Mindlessly, you let your body move in sync with the violins. You took small but correct steps over the marble flooring until the man returned, announcing your carriage would be ready momentarily.

‘I shall wait outside,’ you explained, and just like that, the grand doors opened to reveal the late night. Crickets chirped across the fields nearby as the moon and stars illuminated the gravel at the entrance. With nobody around and the cool night air pleasing to your heated skin, you took a deep breath and let your legs give in.

‘Danced too hard, miss?’ a familiar voice called over the sound of horses’ hooves and carriage wheels rolling. ‘You look like you have just walked through a storm.’

‘Balls have that effect on a lady.’

‘They sure do,’ Eddie chuckled, for a reason unclear to you.

‘Did I say something funny?’

‘No, it’s nothing,’ he shook his head, changing the subject, ‘Will your family be long?’

‘They shall take the second carriage. I will be making my return alone.’ With your numbers, one carriage would have called for a relatively tight, possibly hazardous fit. So you and your brothers had taken the larger coach—steered by your family’s coachmen—whilst your parents drove in the smaller hansom that Mr Munson had kindly offered to operate for the other regular driver had coincidentally fallen ill. 

Thus, now that you were returning alone, you had the smaller carriage all to yourself. 

‘No chaperone?’ Eddie asked, somewhat apprehensively.

‘I have you, have I not?’ you said as you hiked up your dress to climb aboard. The footman that had so generously opened the coach door looked reasonably stunned as, instead, you took your seat next to Eddie in the driver’s seat. He looked at you with just as much surprise. ‘I’d like to enjoy the mid-night air, if that is alright with you,’ you explained.

‘You won’t hear me complain, miss,’ he smiled, pulling the reigns and setting the horses into motion. As you drove off, you dared to take a peak behind you. The footman remained confused in his place, trying to comprehend what exactly he had just witnessed and whether or not to call it a scandal or not. But, in your modest opinion, you could not find anything scandalous in a young lady who was seeking comfort from one of her family’s employees and one you had, above all, learned to trust a great deal in the last weeks.

As you know, you have always found comfort in the gardens surrounding your house, yet after your first meeting with Mr Munson, you found yourself seeking refuge on the grounds even more often than before. Especially as the arguments regarding your prospects grew more heated and the tensions between you and your family became more tiresome by the day. It became an almost daily routine for someone to shout out obscenities and slam a door in protest, and nearly every fight ended in you needing to catch a breath amongst the flora. And more often than not, you wandered around until you found yourself at the stables. But unlike in your childhood when it was the horses’ company you were looking for, it was now a person’s attention you were hoping to catch—

❀❀❀

You certainly had no intentions of returning to the stables the first time you did so. Initially, you had planned to visit the orangery, but the gardeners were currently occupying it, and in your need for solitude, it did not feel like the right place to be, which is why you surprised yourself as you called out into the empty aisle. 

‘Hello?’

No response came. Nobody was around except the stallions and mares, who were comfortably munching away at their hay, unaware of anything happening outside the building. 

You stood in front of the entrance, looking ahead of you, unsure of what to do next and still not entirely certain why you had come here in the first place. You listened to the soft, unbothered noises of the horses and fiddled with the fabric of your dress for a moment or two until the silence became unbearable. It could not have been longer than a minute that you stood there, but to you, it felt like an eternity, and with each passing second and no plan on what to do next, you only felt sillier and sillier. You had to leave here before someone caught you standing and waiting like a statue. And as you turned around, you slammed into the arms of the one person you had hoped would not catch you this way. 

‘We must stop meeting this way,’ Eddie smiled, but the grin quickly disappeared as he caught a glimpse of your expression. ‘Everything alright, ma’am?’ 

‘Yes, of course,’ you wiped the folds in your dress nervously. Something about his gaze made it impossible for you to return it. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘You look as if you’d just seen a ghost.’ 

‘Well, you did just scare me half to death, Mr Munson.’ It was true. You felt your heart leap up into your throat as your bodies collided. ‘You are far too stealthy, you know.’ 

‘Apologies. I have learned to be quiet around the horses so as not to startle them—’ 

‘Which has the exact opposite effect on humans, does it not? ' you said, pushing the corners of your mouth into a smile. 

‘It appears so, miss.’ He returned the gesture. 

It took far too long for you to realise that, according to the general rules of conversation, you were expected to say something next; however, before you could remedy that misstep, Eddie spoke up once more. 

‘Are you sure you’re alright?’ 

‘Yes,’ you shook your head, ‘perfectly so. Is the weather not lovely?’ You looked up, just anywhere but at him, to see the cloudless sky. ‘I er— I thought of taking Barley Sugar out for a ride.’ Suddenly, your intentions of finding yourself in front of the stableman were perfectly clear. 

‘Of course, ma’am. Which horse will your chaperone be taking?’ The question stumped you, which must have been clear to the man looking so intently at you, for he quickly asked: ‘You do have a chaperone, do you not?’ 

‘I do not. I am more than capable of riding the horse on my own, thank you. I have been doing so since I was 5 years old.’ 

Eddie hovered over his words briefly. ‘I did not intend to question your skills, ma’am; it is only that it had been made clear to me upon my employment that you are required to have someone accompany you when you leave the residence—for the horse’s safety, if anything.’ He quickly added, sensing that it might soften the blow of your horse-riding chastising.

‘I did not think you to be such a stickler for the rules, Mr Munson,’ you found yourself to tease the man. Where the nerve to do so came from, you did not know, but it looked to be appreciated. Eddie shook his head, possibly already regretting his following words.

‘May I at least ask where you will be headed then?’ 

‘I have not thought of that yet,’ you responded honestly. ‘I might just see where Barley takes me.’ At this, however, the stableman visibly winced. You raised a brow. ‘Is something the matter?’

Eddie shook his head in disappointment.  ‘I only wish you had not said that, miss. I cannot, in good conscience, let Barley Sugar go out unprepared like that. The old thing could get lost or, even worse, hurt. To even think of such a thing happening—’ he looked away, reminding you of how the actors moved in the many plays you had visited at the theatre. ‘Well, it is simply too painful even to consider.’  

‘I am sure Barley can manage such a venture… and she is certainly not old.’

‘Of course,’ he corrected, ‘But we must consider the risks and wouldn’t want anything to happen to Barley, now, would we?’ As he spoke, you made the grave mistake of finding his eyes and the stare he greeted you with, while warm, was intense and rather dizzying. 

You cleared your throat, suppressing a smile, ‘Well, perhaps, if you insist, you should be the one to accompany me on this ride… for Barley’s sake.’

‘For Barley’s sake.’ He echoed your words softer, and just like that, any protocol that should have been considered was thrown out the window. As a newly acquired help, Eddie had no right to accompany you on outings as a chaperone, not without senior permission, at the least. And yet, it was not even ten minutes later that you were both seated on your horses— you upon Barley Sugar and Eddie on the back of a dark brown stallion named Marzipan—and briskly making your way out of the enclosed grounds of the estate.

Ever since, as if by a magnet, you felt yourself pulled towards that particular side of the garden at the sight of any inconvenience. You knew that there was not only an ear always eager to listen but a voice happy to speak to you freely and happily. And though most days, there would be the excuse of a horse or carriage ride for your visit, other times, you would plainly sit by as Eddie worked, chatting away for hours on end or however much time you had to offer. 

‘Are you quite sure that it is alright for you to be here, miss?’ Eddie asked after a week’s worth of your visits. You watched him pick up a large sack of feed as if it weighed nothing at all and put it across the stable room. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing that however strainless the carrying of the weight might seem, he had certainly put his muscles to work.

‘I may not own this house directly,’ you answered, ‘but I am the lord’s daughter, and I am free to do as I please… to a certain extent.’ No one could tell you not to roam through the grounds or converse with the groom in your free time, but total freedom you had not. 

 ‘Well, with risk or not,’ Eddie threw another sack on top of the previous, ‘I consider it a great honour to be the recipient of your company.’

‘I am surprised none of the gentlemen have attempted to use such a phrase to charm me.’ You could not help but roll your eyes. ‘And besides, Mr Munson, the honour is all mine. It is rare for me to find a person that finds me agreeable enough to talk to me at such length as you do.’ And one I find as agreeable too, you considered adding but decided against it. 

That smile peeked out over his lips again as he walked up to you. ‘Well, I have hardly any choice, I mean, when you come here to my place of work, it’s not like I can just walk away.’

‘Oh, you,’ you pushed at him lightly. But with him having squatted down to meet you at eye level, the slight push was enough to topple him over onto the ground. And to think I wanted to ask you to escort me on another horse ride.’

‘In these clothes?’ Eddie looked at the both of you, him covered in mud and dust, and your dress was much the same. ‘What will people think?’ 

You got off your makeshift seat to help him back on his feet. 

‘Then let us hope there will be no one to see us.’

❀❀❀

The carriage wobbled over the uneven ground as you distanced yourselves from the Parsnell estate, and the quiet of the night was filled with your retelling of the evening.

‘So I am to understand that this,’ Eddie cocked his head your way, referring to your dress, ‘was your own doing?’

‘I thought it quite ingenious,’ you shrugged.

‘And what of this Mr… Harrington? He must still be looking for you with that maid of his I imagine.’ 

‘No.’ But the image of a disappointed Mr Harrington walking through the room, a maid in tow, with you nowhere to be seen, did sting at your heart a little with guilt. ‘Do you really think he is still looking for me?’ A giggle burst through against your better judgment despite your attempts to suppress it with the hand you covered your mouth with. ‘I am quite cruel, aren’t I?’

‘Absolutely wicked,’ Eddie commented with a weirdly proud smile. As the road went on straight, he took his eyes off it from time to time to glance your way—just briefly and only a handful of times, but enough for you to notice. You could only hope he was not as observant towards your actions.

‘What is it?’ you asked after several more glances directed towards you as a sweet silence fell between you. 

‘It is nothing,’ Eddie smiled it off.

‘Which means it is certainly something. Go on, enlighten me.’

He shook his head. ‘I suppose it is just that, from how you described the night, I do not see what must be so awful about it— you speak of delicious food, drinking and dancing. I don’t necessarily see a problem in this.’

‘Because that is not the problem. It is not the dancing, it is who I am to dance with.’ You sighed. ‘Night after night, it is an endless rotation of the same men I am as uninterested in as the very first day I met them. They corner me to ask me a million questions, each shallower than the last, only to then try and coax me into a dance where they will surely trample my feet.’

‘I see,’ Eddie nodded, but perhaps it was only the vibrations caused by the carriage’s movement that made him agree with your ramblings. 

‘I apologise. I do not mean to talk of my problems constantly.’ Indeed, the man must have his own issues, and ones that most likely outweighed your marital prospects severely. 

‘You have nothing to be sorry for, miss. I am happy to listen,’ he said earnestly.

‘Very well,’ you contemplated your words for a moment until you quickly blurted out with curiosity, ‘but how was your evening?’ 

‘Mine?’ To your surprise, your question had caused Eddie to chuckle.

‘Yes. I assume you must have done something to fulfil the last hours. Or do carriage drivers freeze up when unattended, only to thaw at their master’s command?’

‘I would say that is partly true.’ He quickly looked your way with a smile before explaining himself. ‘For the most part, when on duty, you have to keep your mind on the job, so I cannot exactly indulge in things and have to be ready in case a lady’s dress is ruined and she is in dire need of her getaway carriage.’ Your eyes met briefly. ‘But that does not mean that I am to sit still in an empty room until you come to call, no.’

‘So? What is it that you do in the meantime?’ 

‘Card games, for the most part.’ He shrugged, not seeing your interest in the topic, too focused on the road ahead to notice how you eagerly looked at him, awaiting his following words. 

You had to admit, until that night, you had never put much thought behind the private lives of those who waited on you. Yes, you understood that not all their day revolved around you or your family, but you also never considered it to be any of your business to follow theirs. You listened whenever your maid, Claire, told you stories about her family, storing the basic information of the names and so on in the back of your mind, but at the end of the day, these were nothing more than anecdotes amid polite conversation. Yet, with Eddie, you were eager to know everything about him. The longer you spoke, the more questions filled your mind, and the less adequate you felt to ask them. You were, after all, friendly, or so you hoped, but you knew there was a thick line in society when it came to friendships such as this one, and you were not sure where that line would be crossed and if to be scared of what would happen once it happened. But now and then, curiosity got the better of you, and you managed to trickle in a question for Eddie to open up to you.

‘What er– kind of card games?’ You nudged on in your questioning. 

‘The regular kind, the ones nobody mentions by name, but everyone simply knows the rules of.’

‘I do not think I am familiar with any of such kind,’ you admitted. In the meantime, the carriage drew to a slow halt at the crossing of two roads. ‘You take the left here,’ you told Eddie, who looked at you in surprise. 

‘I cannot say my navigational skills are perfect,’ you said, ‘but I pay attention, and I remember going past the large boulder on our way to the party. There.’ You pointed towards the rock some meters away from the crossing in the left direction.

‘You are quite observant, I’ll give you that.’ He brought the horses back to action, and the rattling of hooves and wheels on the uneven ground resumed. As you passed the large boulder once more, Eddie then resumed your conversation. ‘You do not play any card games, then?’

‘I will admit, I prefer chess, but I do often play Cribbage with my siblings—or Brag. My brother Nicholas is also very fond of Piquet, and as I am the only one in the house that can stand his unsportsmanlike antics, he often forces me to play it with him.’

‘Very well,’ Eddie listened, then asked, ‘Do you know Trischaken?’

‘Pardon?’ you barely understood what he had said. 

‘Trischaken. It’s a Prussian card game, or perhaps Austrian; you’ll have to excuse my awful memory for geography.’ At this, you both laughed politely,

‘No, I do not think I have heard of it.’

‘Oh, it’s great, I must teach how to play one day.’ Only once his enthusiasm unfogged his mind a second later did Eddie pull back the excitement of his invitation to a polite suggestion, ‘If that is something that would interest you… ma’am.’

‘I would like that very much.’ You smiled, showing a bigger and more authentic smile than you had the entirety of the passing night. And barely did that smile fade for the remaining hours as you drove back home and listened to Eddie talk, trying to explain the rules of the intricate foreign game or tell you about his life outside of work. 

‘I did not take you for a music fanatic.’ You admitted as you approached the vicinity of Ridlington Park, its gates already glowing from the lights around it in the near distance. 

‘It must be a very sour sort of man that does not enjoy music. Are there really such types?’

‘And he is more common than you’d imagine, I am afraid, and it seems to be the type that my parents see me to marry one day.’

‘I am beginning to understand your problem,’ Eddie said, ‘but yes, music has always had a special place in my heart. My father had taught me how to play when I was a young boy and since then, it’s always brought me a great comfort. It was actually one of the very few things I brought with me from America.’

‘Is it hard? being so far away from your family?’ You asked softly, unable to imagine how you would feel if you were to leave everything and everyone you had ever known to work in some foreign land on the opposite side of the world. 

‘There are many things that I am still growing accustomed to, but I cherish the change.’

‘That is a very diplomatic mindset. I for one could not bear a day without the possibility of seeing my family, I think, no matter how meddlesome they are.’

Eddie’s eyes shimmered with kindness for your words. ‘I suppose I have grown used to it. I have been travelling for years now and have not seen my family for an even longer time, so it is actually the lack of independence and presence of…. this closeness of others that I am attempting to grow used to now.’

‘Ah.’ You blinked, not having expected that kind of response. Immediately, as the door of Eddie’s past unlocked, even if just for a moment, a mountain of questions spilt inside you, but you pushed those urges back. ‘I see. Well, if you ever require solitude and wish me to leave you alone, please be not afraid to just tell me so. I shall respect your wishes.’ Had you been too eager to sit beside him for the entirety of the ride, talking his ear off? Or all those other days when you bothered him at work. Oh, the embarrassment. If it was not for the fact that you were already coming through the Ridlington Park gates, you would have jumped off the carriage and walked the rest of the way home.

‘No, I did not mean it like that.’ Eddie quickly recovered his words. ‘Please, do not think I do not greatly appreciate and enjoy our conversations. They— they have been the highlight of my days.’

‘Really?’ Your proud smile was too strong to keep at bay. 

‘Yes, really.’ Eddie’s words pushed out a breathy laugh. ‘I see it as a welcome escape from the work.’

‘So do I,’ you noticed the wrong fit of your phrasing, ‘I mean, I enjoy our conversations as well.’ Would it be too much to call them an escape from reality? To him, perhaps. The entire night had already been a far breach of that line of what is proper or not for a lady to do. You knew you were awaiting a scolding the second your mother returned from the Parsnell ball. Now, the territory your and Eddie’s exchange was heading into felt anxiously foreign, somewhere you realised you had never gone to with any of your friends or acquaintances. Your heart picked up its pace as the carriage slowed down for the final time that night, arriving at its destination. 

Before you could do or say anything, Eddie had jumped out of the driver’s seat and ran across the back of the hansom to assist your exit. He extended his hand for you to take, and the moment your fingertips met, you knew it had been a mistake. Your hold tightened around his hand as you took the steps onto the ground, and though you found your footing perfectly well, you did not find the power to let go of Eddie.

And neither did he of you.

The two of you stood in front of each other, eyes locked into a deep gaze, only broken by his glances to the point where you were connected. Your hand was in his and burning like a fire between you; for the brief seconds as they pulled you closer together, your fingertips felt like the centre of the entire universe.

A fire that surely would burn and scar if you were to touch it.

It was dangerous. You knew it.

But what was life without a bit of risk?

‘My apologies,’ Eddie cleared his throat, taking a step back, letting your hand fall through the cold air.

‘There is no need for that.’ You shook your head out of all thoughts, or at least attempted to do so. ‘It is I who should apologise. If you will excuse me, I must change into something less… cakey. Good night, Mr Munson.’ You looked down at your dress, which was still, very much, covered in remnants of wine and cake. You were to leave, but Eddie quickly called to you, almost as if the words were faster than his mouth.

‘How many times must I ask you just to call me Eddie?’ His eyes were those of a pleading man, pleading for something you did not quite comprehend, but at the same time, you knew the consequences of giving in to his request.

You looked back at the windows of Ridlington Park. The building was enveloped in darkness, as no one was there to occupy the rooms or to see you. All you could do was remind yourself that there was nothing wrong with you being alone with a carriage driver or any other member of staff, but it certainly did not feel that way. There was undoubtedly something dangerous going on in that instance.

You took a deep breath as he held it in. The line you were scared to cross was getting thinner, and you grasped for something to hold onto as you felt your feet slip away. 

‘Good night, Eddie.’

And just like that, with only the hope there was no one around to see it, you both fell.

To be continued...

Thank you so much for reading!! I really do hope you enjoyed this chapter. Remember the best way to support writers is to reblog and share. I love to hear what people think of my stories so feel free to leave a comment or an ask or message. And don't forget to join the taglist if you want to be kept up to date on the chapters [yes, I promise, more will be coming]

[lillified]

Can I ask how you first opened your shop? I’m currently opening my own to sell artwork but I need a bit of advice if you don’t mind? Such as how do I sell my artwork as prints? Any tips or advice would be greatly appreciated, thank you so much ! : D

hi! thank you for the question :)

this is going to be long so I’m putting everything under the cut:

before anything else my first piece of advice would be don’t run before you can walk—any form of selling art, whether that’s client commissions or merchandising, is something I would only recommend to an artist with confidence. Think about whether you’re confident about your technical knowledge and output, and be confident, above all, that if something doesn’t sell then it doesn’t demoralize you. There will always be a market for high-quality art, but something selling doesn’t necessarily make it high quality, and likewise for the opposite. If you love the craft of drawing more than the feedback then you’ll be equipped to understand why some things succeed and some don’t, without taking offense from failure. there is ALWAYS room to grow and learn. Insecurity will prevent you from being objective!

The next thing I’d advise is that prints are a bit of a difficult commodity. High-quality prints can be very profitable and a great way to stock your shop, but they can also be harder to sell. A lot of the indie art market is young people who don’t have the wall space for posters, and prints are so accessible that most artists have them. Show your potential customers respect by printing high-quality pieces that speak for themselves.

With things like charms and stationary you can get away with less polished artwork that maximizes direct, fundamental appeal, but prints are all your artwork, without frills or gimmicks. Do people like looking at your artwork? More importantly, do YOU like looking at your artwork? If you would hang your own artwork on your wall, then that’s a sign you’re doing something right.

another thing I’d advise: having an audience helps A LOT. I can’t pretend it doesn’t, lol. but specifically, an audience that follows you for your artwork. you probably follow artists you wouldn’t buy a print from, and there’s nothing wrong with that—not every artist makes illustrations that translate well to print, and some artists use social media to talk about being an artist instead of sharing their art. A following doesn’t mean you’ll have success, but it absolutely is a huge factor in what I’d consider my success, and it takes a lot of the burden of marketing off of me so I can just be casual and focus on making art. I’m extremely grateful for that support! but a majority of people don’t have that privilege, and I know plenty artists who don’t want to have to be on social media. It’s a lot harder to get that initial push and get eyeballs on your work when you don’t have it, and in that case you’ve got to be aware of how much market minding goes into running a shop. Don’t get out of your depth trying to branch out and adding new designs when you don’t even know what works yet—take it slow, and be willing to learn.

that’s all really dense and abstract stuff and I’m pretty sure you meant like, what supplies to buy and stuff like that, so uh. Here’s a bit of what’s helped me! Starting off, if you have a good art printer already then you can print stuff at home, but when you’re just starting out I’d recommend outsourcing to a print service. Getting your own printer and ink probably isn’t worth it unless you’re printing and selling a high volume of things, and you’re an artist, not a printer—there’s no shame in working with a shop if you know you’re getting professional, high-quality stuff. also, If you’re in college and your school has a print lab, use it! they usually have lots of really cool equipment and can introduce you to techniques you never even knew existed.

as with anything, remember to start smaller than you think you’ll need. You might get starry eyed and think you need 40 posters of one design, but you’ll be amazed at how far just 10 will go. also, 40 posters take up way more space than you think! I always go for a medium variety with low individual stock, and it’s led to a healthy traffic where less popular prints still move over time because people check out my shop for a new item, look at my backlog, and find something they like. The only thing you should be getting extra of are postcards! my go-to printer usually gives me bonus of my smallest sizes and I use them for freebies and stuff like that. don’t dismiss the value of postcard prints, they’re a great way to introduce people to your art and they might end up coming back for the full size (plus, as mentioned, a lot of people don’t have wall space, and little postcards are a great option!)

one downside of shipping paper products is that it’s harder than you think. For supplies, I recommend looking up what other people do before committing the first thing that comes up when you look up “poster mailing supplies.” Some people use bubble mailers with corrugated cardboard inserts, some people use stiff mailers—personally, I gravitate to mailing tubes. Flat mailers are more fragile and also prone to getting wet and nasty in the winter. While mailing tubes are harder to pack and open up more room for handling damage, I’m more comfortable with that risk because I ship a lot of orders to a lot of different places. I’ve had consistent luck with mailing tubes and I recommend them as a secure alternative, but it really depends on your needs and strengths.

lastly I just want to reiterate—be proud of what you make! When you’re insecure in your art it’s easy to rely on what you see works for other people, but without being them you’ll never be able to walk on your own. You can copy what they do exactly, but you’ll be handicapped by the fact that you’ll never be able to make the decisions that made those people successful in the first place. The same goes for chasing market trends, appealing to algorithms, etc. Study success stories, listen to feedback, and respect your audience, but don’t make things that you think other people will love—make things that YOU love. Make a poster you would put on your wall even if it wasn’t yours.

phew, that was really long lol—sorry, believe it or not I wanted to keep this succinct and readable but I just kept thinking of new things. I hope this is helpful! Thank you!!

[ducksaredead]

Hello, how are you? I think your drawing is one of the most beautiful I've ever seen, and I think the textures you create in your drawings are so pretty. Could you give me some tips on how to create the textures? What materials do you use to draw? 🙏🏻🥹🥹

Thank you for your kind words. ♥️ I'll try to sum up my experiences from last couple of months. - I came back to drawing after a veeeery long brake and I see first-hand how everyday sketching helps with improving technical skills. To do that I need something I will fixate on and will have the motivation to draw daily (it's creek yay!) -With textures I'm using a lot of photo references, especially when it comes to fabrics and clothes. -Automatic pencil was a real revolution for me - I'm unable to draw details with traditional pencil, it requires non stop sharpening. -If the initial sketch is bad I just abandon it and try to do it once again, fixing poor sketch takes a lot of time and the result is often poor anyway -When I'm drawing textures I'm drawing with my hand supported on paper and mostly moving fingers - it helps with precision, especially when you're going for parallel lines.

-I switched to draw much bigger sketches (using whole a4 paper now) - it allows to draw a lot of details, especially good for realistic textures.

Materials: I'm mostly using very cheap/basic materials to draw: -pencil - most of my drawings were made with one automatic pencil - 0.5 HB but right now I wanna buy more of them from 0.2 to 0.7 (hb to 4b) and experiment a little bit. I'm using a 3b normal pencil for details but wanna exchange it for automatic one. -printer paper (cause it's really smooth) -eraser in a pencil (you can erase small parts, it's very precise compared to normal eraser) + very soft eraser for bigger parts (the only things that I would buy from more expensive materials as I'm erasing A LOT and don't want to tear the paper) -clipboard so the paper won't move

Let me know if you've got any questions :)

[sergiosimptellitto]

Stars are meant to burn

Chapter 2: A complete idiot

There were three kinds of people in the world: Those who fought for power, those who begged for scraps— And Toti Bellastella, who stole the entire table, drank the wine, and seduced the caterer.

The espresso machine wheezed like a dying priest. He ignored it.

He reclined, shirt half-unbuttoned, his bare feet scandalously propped on the thousand-euro marble table in his office-slash-penthouse-slash-courtroom-of-chaos. The city of Naples writhed below like a living myth. Somewhere, someone was cursing his name. Someone else was toasting it.

Balance.

"Latin is a dying language," he muttered to himself, stirring honey into his coffee with the tip of a Montblanc pen. "So are manners. And look which one I still speak fluently."

Across from him, Riccardo—the long-suffering junior partner and moral barometer of the firm—sighed in exhaustion. "Sir, we need someone to handle the Rome archive files. The partner wants three weeks of coverage. Legal admin support, coffee runs, filing, that kind of thing. We offered travel and housing."

Bellastella winced. “So, basically, a dogwalker for the interns?”

“No,” Riccardo said, rubbing his forehead, “more like an unpaid intern for the printer. It’s a short contract.”

“God.” Toti stretched like a bored cat. “Imagine being such a hopeless idiot that you’d take that job.”

He laughed. A rich, baritone sound, echoing off the grand windows.

Then he blinked.

“Wait. We actually posted that?”

“Yes. Yesterday.”

Bellastella grinned. “And has anyone bit?”

Riccardo scrolled his tablet. “One applicant.”

“Poor soul,” he whispered theatrically. “We should send condolences. Maybe a fruit basket. They’ll be chewed alive.”

He stood, clapped his hands once.

“Well then. Let’s go ruin someone’s life for the better.”

Toti laughed, as he could not even dare imagine the complete idiot that had signed up for martyrdom.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

You had three euros, a dead phone, and the growing suspicion that you might have accidentally cursed herself.

Rome was louder than she thought. Hotter, too. The air had weight—like soup left on a windowsill too long. Your tote bag strap bit into your shoulder, digging over the curve of her neck as she dragged her suitcase down the cobbled street, wheels catching every ancient crack like she’d offended Julius Caesar personally.

The address was scrawled on the back of an old receipt—sweaty, crumpled, nearly illegible now. You'd copied it in a rush, while your parents yelled at each other over the living room speakerphone, the parrot shouting “WHERE’S MY LAWYER?!” on loop.

You had no data and had no coins for a public phone.

You had, somehow, forgotten your wallet. Again.

But you had Rome.

Sort of.

The apartment was up four flights of stairs and smelled like old soap and wet towels. Your new room had a window, technically. Also a sink that gurgled in its sleep.

The mattress was thin. Your knees touched the mini fridge. But it was yours, for three to four weeks.

You sat on the bed, sweating through your shirt. Reached for your dictionary.

“Mi chiamo…” “Io cerco… lavoro… alla firma?” No. “Nella firma.” No! “Nello studio legale.” Maybe.

You practiced for twenty minutes, then burned her tongue on a plastic cup of stovetop espresso you'd made wrong.

You couldn’t afford Rome. You didn’t belong in Rome. But you'd gotten the job. Somehow.

And tomorrow you were going to meet Toti Bellastella—the man who'd once been called the best legal mind in Italy, and also "a charming but incurable disaster" by the newspaper stuck under your parrot’s cage.

You would not mess this up. You would not.

You would—hopefully—remember your wallet this time.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

It started with a door she couldn’t open.

You pushed. Pulled. Pushed again. “Is it—locked?”

The secretary didn’t even look up from her nail file. “Slide.”

You slid. The door glided silently. Of course it did.

Inside, the law firm of Bellastella & Partners looked like an exhibit in a modern art museum: marble floors, steel lines, sunlight slicing across glass walls that had no business being that clean.

You stepped in, hoping no one could hear the squish of her cheap shoes or the desperate flutter of her stomach.

Your desk was in a hallway. Technically.

A hallway between two meeting rooms, near the espresso machine that screamed every four minutes like it was in labor. This job, apparently, included taking notes, translating documents she barely understood, and printing things for people who wouldn’t look at her face.

Underpaid was generous.

You had a folder. A passcode. A metal water bottle the intern before her had left behind. You liked to believe it was a parting gift. Or a warning.

And then—he arrived.

Toti Bellastella, Professor. Legal giant. National headline. Local disaster.

Bellastella is not beautiful, not exactly. Too sharp around the edges. His nose looks broken once or twice in his youth. But his eyes crinkle when he smiles, and his shirt is rolled to the elbows in a way that suggests he didn’t mean to look this charming. Which means he absolutely did.

He strolled through the doors late, no tie, curls a little too long for formality, sunglasses still on inside. His coat swept behind him like it belonged to someone wealthier.

“Bellissima giornata,” he announced to no one in particular, then leaned dramatically against the reception desk. “Did anyone miss me?”

A chorus of “no” and “always” floated back. He laughed.

Then he spotted you.

He removed his sunglasses slowly, like peeling off a mask. “And who’s this vision of undercompensated genius?”

You stared. “I… I’m the new assistant.”

“Of course you are.” He extended his hand, grinning. “Toti. Or Your Grace, if you’re feeling formal.”

You took it, unsure whether to laugh or slap him. He kissed the air near her cheek, then did the same to the intern, and the paralegal, and—was that the janitor?

He was a walking HR complaint with a philosophy degree.

By 6 p.m., the office had started to thin out—like rats abandoning a ship that was on fire but also somehow hosting a gala.

You were still there. Hair a mess. Shoes off. Typing with one hand while holding an outdated Italian legal dictionary in the other.

You hadn’t eaten. And your stomach was making passive-aggressive noises. Again.

A folder slammed on her desk.

“New case. Needs a memo by tomorrow,” said a junior associate, without stopping. “Bellastella said you’d handle it.”

You blinked. “What?”

The associate was already gone.

Then you opened the folder.

She stood up, clutching the folder like a life raft. “Excuse me—where’s Professor Bellastella?”

“Out,” someone replied. “Milan. Or maybe Madrid. Depends on which mistress he’s lying to.”

There was a laugh. It didn’t help.

Your phone buzzed. A message from a cousin: “My Mariella just got engaged to that engineer, can you believe it? And you? How’s the big career?”

You stared at the message until the screen dimmed.

Then she returned to the French folder and the sea of legal jargon.

A note fell out from the back. Sloppily written. Smelled like cologne and ego.

“Intern, If this ends up in flames, blame the French. You’ll figure it out. —T.”

You closed her eyes and muttered a prayer to every language god known to mankind. Then she dug up Google Translate, a mug half-filled with cold espresso, and got to work.

By midnight, the janitor nodded at you like you were war buddies.

By 2 a.m., you had a working draft.

And by 3 a.m., you realized—that you were too tired to cry.

But you'd figured it out. Somehow. Sort of.

You mostly did.

[materialsscienceandengineering]

Empa researchers are working on artificial muscles that can keep up with the real thing. They have now developed a method of producing the soft and elastic, yet powerful structures using 3D printing. One day, these could be used in medicine or robotics -- and anywhere else where things need to move at the touch of a button. Artificial muscles don't just get robots moving: One day, they could support people at work or when walking, or replace injured muscle tissue. However, developing artificial muscles that can compare to the real thing is a major technical challenge. In order to keep up with their biological counterparts, artificial muscles must not only be powerful, but also elastic and soft. At their core, artificial muscles are so-called actuators: Components that convert electrical impulses into movement. Actuators are used wherever something moves at the push of a button, whether at home, in a car engine or in highly developed industrial plants. However, these hard mechanical components do not have much in common with muscles just yet.

Read more.

[justhereforeskel]

Christmas Dino V1

Okay so there was this post and my brain latched onto the idea.

Christmas Dino! Way cooler than a tree, easier to store and no stupid pine needles everywhere.

We're super close the holidays so this year will be V1 - with plans for embedding lights and possibly engraving designs next year with more time.

So with like -2 planning skills and +5 to ADHD hyperfocus, off we go. The goal is if I chronicle this, maybe it'll keep me from getting distracted. HA.

Day 1:

Okay so the plan is to pick a dino, find a basic pattern, and then figure out how big to size it up so it fits on our tree table (aka the dining room table because we don't use it).

As much as I really wanted to do a Stegosaurus, the issue is that with the restriction of the table size, I'd be looking at a fairly small dino. Also, we want to keep our tree topper - a modified Heroes of the Storm Tyreal figure - and an bipedal dino allows for more hilarious possibilities for how to mount him on top.

So t-rex it is. I found a pattern online after a bit of Googling - it's low rez as hell, but I'm going to have to redraw it anyway to properly size the joints so no big deal.

Next step - Measure the table, and then maths to figure out how big to scale it Naw, we're going by vibes. Slap the pattern into MS Paint, scale it 300%, print it, reassemble, cut it out of cardboard and test the size.

(Just FYI in case someone isn't aware, because I wasn't - if you ever need to print something over multiple pages, MS Paint does it for freeeeeeee. Otherwise the only other option I know of that actual works decently well is Adobe Acrobat but you need the stupid CC sub for that feature. So to hell with Adobe, MS Paint ftw!)

This is gonna be so much easier than maths. Yup.

There were two pages of pattern pieces, each page ended up being 16 pages once pushed to 300%. Yay for laser printer speeds (seriously so happy we finally bit the bullet on one - this would have been objectively painful on an inkjet)

Popped Fantasia on in the background to began assembly!

Once assembled, cutting begins and a few songs later, we've got a pile of pattern pieces!

Luckily my ADHD brain has forgetten to put out the cardboard for the last like month and half on recycle day, so I've got a solid IKEA box to cut (most) of the pattern out.

(There's a few ribs that had to be done on another box, but they're not technically structurally significant so that's okay.)

Traced and numbered everything (mostly), and then we cut out!

I would like to note two things at this point:

This is all taking place in my living room, on my coffee table and my floor. I have a decently sized full on craft room and table JUST FOR THIS KIND OF THING but no. On the floor we go. At almost 40. My lower back has not forgiven me yet.

Since the IKEA cardboard is thick, I figure using my flip out utility knife is going to be the easiest tool for cutting. This is both correct and wrong. The knife is sharp and gets through the layers no problem HOWEVER it is a utility knife designed for more single quick use on a work site. It's got a rough texture and bolts and a belt hook. (Google Milwaukee utility knife and you'll see...) So by the end of this I've got a blister at the bottom of my middle finger that's popped, and several more on my finger tips that I notice as soon as I start typing.

TL;DR I'm dumb and injured myself in ENTIRELY PREVENTABLE WAYS.

But! I've got t-rex bones now!

It's assembly tiiiiiiiime!

Okay so cardboard isn't the most sturdy, and my boy cannot hold himself up on his spindly little cardboard legs. But still! He's the perfect size! A little wall for support and he's all set! Aiden really didn't want cooperate with requests to be used as a scale model, so Tali jumped in because she's the goodest girl 💜

Alright, so we've got our size (sort of) and a pattern. Success! Next steps:

Figure out if we need to modify the head in any way to accommodate Tyreal

Determine the best pattern layout for the sizes of wood sheets available

Make an actual file of the pattern that isn't a blurry PNG so we can pull it into Lightburn

ONWARD!

For reference, here's our Tyreal - he deserves an epic t-rex to ride

Part 2

[boin-de-bindery]

PAPER DOLL by Mel Calero

If Borrasca was unusual, then this one is niche. Shout out to alumni of the Sims 2 Story Exchange, for whom this will be a blast from the past 💚 If you had a popular fantasy or legacy series on that platform, I probably signed your guestbook or gave you benes on the forum at some point. God, I'm getting old.

PAPER DOLL was one of the works of fiction published on the official Sims 2 website, which was shut down in 2009 by EA causing the loss of thousands of uploads. Unless authors were particularly diligent in backing up their story uploads on other platforms, most published stories died with the website and are no longer available.

Thankfully, some forward-thinking souls had the sense to back up a selection of the uploads before the website went down for good. These can be accessed here. It's where I rediscovered PAPER DOLL, which was peak fiction to me when it was uploaded c. 2007-2008.

The beauty of the Sims 2 Story Exchange was that text uploads were accompanied by illustrative screenshots from the game. PAPER DOLL was one of the more stylised uploads to the platform. The custom content might seem crunchy now, but at the time it looked premium (given we were all on XP or Vista graphics). Realistic skins, eyes, hair and outfits were very much the trend back then. The author (melcalero) had a eye for aesthetic and style that holds up.

Anyway, it's a reading experience I hold dear and a story I wanted to archive physically. I made the decision not to include any of the game screenshots, out of consideration for my printer cartridges, but I included all published text with some editorial changes (spell checking, consistency revisions etc). It's technically unfinished (was a part 7 shared off the Exchange?? I could be misremembering) but part 6 rounds off the story nicely enough.

PAPER DOLL is a dark romance set in Japan, featuring both American and Japanese characters and a marriage of convenience/fake dating plotline. It's of its time, but I remain fond of it. There's depth to the network of relationships between the two leads and supporting characters.

My decision to pursue borderless printing for the sake of style near broke me. I had to print single sided because my printer can't handle duplex and borderless printing. Between that and a series of misprints, there were more discarded pages than properly printed sheets overall. The edge-to-edge background graphics turned out well, but I'd be wary of doing it for another project.

Garamond 10pt for the body text, and the iconic BLEEDING COWBOYS for all title and heading text. The finished typeset is about 260 pages long and in the ballpark of 60,000 words. I went a bit nuts on vector graphics as you can see, but it's in keeping with the original version's aesthetic. Cover is bound in uncoated viscose bookcloth, while the textblock is printed on "cream" A4 printer paper. I'd hoped before purchasing this would be closer to an off white colour. I now have too much of this paper, so it'll likely feature in future binds despite being A Vibe 🍊

I made a few mistakes on this bind, but I think an improvement in skill is noticeable too. Most conspicuous is a rip right at the edge of the front cover, which I can't do much to address. It kinda works with the grungy title font so I'm not that pressed about it.

The bookmark ribbon was an afterthought and added after the headbands, which I don't think is industry standard. I quite like my scene kid pink 'n' black headbands, plus the vinyl layering I did for the cover titles and illustration. I was still chugging along with adhesive vinyl but the application went better than previous attempts.

Lastly, I attempted to trim the textblock with a chisel. The chisel was in no way sharp enough when I started out, and even subsequent sharpening couldn't rescue the edges. They are even, but remain decked in places. I don't hate the result, but it took wayy too long and left me with repetitive strain which took days to heal. I might try again on my next novel-length bind, but I'm considering investigating if a local print shop will trim text blocks for a nominal price.

Anyway, 'scuse the long post. I was enthusiastic about revisiting an old favourite of mine. Plus it's worth talking about old, dead websites that evoke nostalgia. On the off chance melcalero sees this, I'm more than happy to provide them with an author copy if they reach out 🌸

[miumiumanzo]

I'm gonna say this in every account I have. Sure you have great traditional painting skills but if what you do is just copying an AI generated image, you are nothing but a printer to an image that is build by stolen data -- meaning you support the act of these data being stolen from another artists. The point of being a human artists is that process and conceptualizing are the part of what makes human art invaluable. You cannot use a shortcut from this because the point of human art is that every step and process have stories to tell. They have a purpose. This is the thing that AI tries to emulate and fails anyway, again not to mention that this is done by analysing and studying stolen data from various artists who create art completely from scratch. If you "conceptualize" your "ideas" through stolen labour no matter how great you are in technicality, you are still supporting that unethical practice human artists are trying to reject. Again, you're reducing yourself as a printer. The fact that you glorify AI as the better human brain and reducing, YOU -- THE HUMAN into nothing but the printer is already very wrong in itself.

And apart from AI being unethically sourced, stealing data from artists, unethically used also by corporates, AI image generators are proven to be environmentally harmful. There is so many wrong things for using AI in general. Just because you have great painting skills and able to copy them does not make it a more "human" work. You still omit out the important process of the human work and enabling stealing from actual human labour.

[stuarttechnologybob]

What types of issues does technical support handle?

Technical Support Services

Technical Supporting services serve a vital role and prospect, by keeping businesses and organizations running efficiently & active by resolving their IT-related problems and issues. From minor glitches to major disruptions errors, technical support teams and professional experts help to ensure that systems remain up and running while in use, allowing the users to stay productive and alert. But what exactly do they handle? Let's take a closer look at what to look for and they assist with.

Hardware and Device Issues:

Technical supporting teams and professional experts assist with problems related to desktops, laptops, printers, scanners, and other hardware. As this includes and consists of deliverables fixing hardware failures, replacing parts, configuring devices, and troubleshooting connectivity or performance issues. Whether it's a malfunctioning keyboard or a slow-loading workstation, Technical Support is there to help.

Software Installation and Troubleshooting:

From installing and implementing the applications to resolving and assisting the software errors and glitches, technical Support guides various software-related and applications concerns and points at a time. They help and assist with updating programs, fixing bugs, assuring the overall compatibility within the operating systems, and restoring the performance if an app crashes or freezes.

Network and Connectivity Problems:

A strong network and support is the backbone of modern businesses and companies. Technical Supporting officials handle and maintain the internet issues, router configuration, VPN access, slow connection speeds, and network outages. Whether it's a minor or impactful Wi-Fi issue or a more significant server connectivity problem, the support team works to restore communication quickly.

Email and Communication Tools:

Email downtime can affect the business continuity and its proceedings. The technical supporting team manages email configuration, syncing errors, spam filters, and login issues and errors across multiple devices and platforms, including Outlook and Gmail. They also handle collaboration tools like Teams, Slack, or Zoom when they don't function as expected.

Security & Access Management:

Working professionals play an essential role in managing the IT security measures and operating parameters. While they also assist to reset passwords settings, also help to manage the user accounts, set up two-factor authentication, and address down the ongoing suspicious activity.

Personalized Help and Guidance:

From onboarding and completing setup for the new users to answering tech-related questions, technical Support assures that employees use systems efficiently. Their goal is to minimize downtime and boost productivity. Companies like Suma Soft, IBM, Cyntexa, and Cignex offer dependable technical support services tailored to your specific business needs. Their expertise helps resolve issues faster and keeps your systems up and running at all times.

[newstfionline]

Saturday, October 26, 2024

Canada to cut immigration levels in major reversal, Trudeau says (Washington Post) Canada is set to slash the number of immigrants that it welcomes, Prime Minister Justin Trudeau announced Thursday, in a sharp reversal for a country that bet big on immigration to boost economic prosperity and that has long cast itself as open to newcomers. The about-face comes as public opinion polls show waning support for immigration amid concerns that it is exacerbating long-standing housing shortages, pushing up rents and deepening stresses on an already overburdened health-care system. Canada is to admit 395,000 new permanent residents in 2025, a 21 percent drop from the target of 500,000 it set last year. That number will fall further to 380,000 in 2026 and 365,000 in 2027. All are below the goal of 485,000 set for this year.

Asheville Has Tap Water, but No One Knows When It Will Be Drinkable (NYT) Nearly a month after the remnants of Hurricane Helene ravaged western North Carolina, running water has now been restored to most of the region around Asheville—but you can’t drink it yet. What comes out of the tap is often yellow or brown, and while it can be used to flush toilets and take showers, it is still unsafe for human consumption. Officials have given no indication of when the water will be safe to drink again, and the reservoir that feeds the system still looks like it is filled with chocolate milk rather than pristine water. Obtaining clean water remains a daily concern for many residents, who head to disaster relief sites to bathe, do their laundry and pick up bottles of drinking water. Large canisters stocked with well water dot some neighborhoods. Many restaurants and breweries that lack a clean water source remain closed. “It’s the new normal, going around to find places to do everyday stuff,” said Lisa Nowell of Swannanoa, N.C., after she did laundry with her daughter at a disaster relief site. “It has changed life so instantly.”

Thousands of adoptees live in limbo without citizenship (AP) The 50-year-old newspaper was turning yellow and its edges fraying, so she had it laminated, not as a memento but as proof—America made a promise to her, and did not keep it. She pointed to the picture in the corner of her as a little girl in the rural Midwest, hugging the family Yorkshire terrier, with dark pigtails and brown eyes so round people called her Buttons. Next to her sit smiling, proud parents—her father an Air Force veteran who had survived a German prison camp in World War II and found her in an orphanage in Iran. She was a skinny, sickly 2-year-old; he and his wife decided in 1972 to take her home and make her their American daughter. They brought her to the United States on a tourist visa, which in the eyes of the government she soon overstayed as a toddler—and that is an offense that cannot be rectified. She is one of thousands of children adopted from abroad by American parents—many of them military service members—who were left without citizenship by loopholes in American law that Congress has been aware of for decades, yet remains unwilling to fix. She is technically living here illegally, and eligible for deportation. “My dad died thinking, ‘I raised my daughter. I did my part,’ but not knowing it put me on a path of instability and fear,” she said. “Adoption tells you: You’re an American, this is your home. But the United States doesn’t see me as an American.”

Billionaire Esteves Sounds Alarm on US Deficit, Money ‘Printer’ (Bloomberg) Billionaire Andre Esteves, the chairman of Banco BTG Pactual SA, said he’s worried about the lack of debate over the ballooning US deficit and what he sees as the excessive printing of money. The Brazilian banker compared investor concern about his own country’s fiscal situation, which has been whipsawing financial markets, with relative quiet around the situation at the US Federal Reserve. The “reality is, even if you are the owner of the printer, there is a limit to print,” he said. While the fiscal situation [in Brazil] is being discussed daily by newspapers, politicians and investors, there’s been no similar talk in the US, he said. “The difference is that we don’t own a printer and need to be more rigorous.”

Molotov cocktail explodes in a Chilean high school, injuring at least 35 (AP) A homemade firebomb exploded inside a public high school in Chile on Wednesday, igniting a blaze that injured at least 34 students and one teacher, with several in serious condition, firefighters said. A group of students ages 15 to 18 at the school in central Santiago, the capital, were making Molotov cocktails in a bathroom to be thrown at a protest later when one exploded, said police Lt. Col. Fernando Albornoz. It was not clear what caused the blast. Police said they found bottles and fuel cans likely to make the explosives.

A loneliness epidemic is spreading worldwide. Seoul is spending $327 million to stop it (CNN) In South Korea, the city authorities of Seoul have announced they will spend 451.3 billion won (around $327 million) in the next five years to “create a city where no-one is lonely.” Every year, thousands of South Koreans die alone every year, a phenomenon known as “lonely deaths” and part of a larger problem of isolation from society. The initiative will include counselors, in-person visits and consultations, more green spaces and activities to encourage people to connect. “Loneliness and isolation are not just individual problems, but tasks that society must solve together,” Seoul mayor Oh Se-hoon said in a news release. The problem of loneliness has gained national attention over the past decade as the number of related issues increased—such as young people who withdraw from the world and spend their days isolated at home, often for months at a time. The phenomenon, known by the Japanese term “hikikomori,” has become increasingly common; South Korea had up to 244,000 such recluses in 2022 by one estimate. The number of lonely deaths has also been rising—reaching 3,661 last year.

Japan’s ruling party may struggle in Sunday’s vote, but its decades of dominance won’t end (AP) Japanese Prime Minister Shigeru Ishiba ‘s ruling party, dogged by corruption scandals and plunging support, faces its toughest challenge in more than a decade in Sunday’s parliamentary election. This could set up a very short-lived time in office for Ishiba, who only took power earlier this month. But even if he may have to take responsibility and step down as head of the party and prime minister, it won’t cause his Liberal Democratic Party to fall from power. That’s because the party, which has had a stranglehold on power since 1955, easily dominates a fractured, weak opposition, which has only ruled twice, and briefly, during that time. The LDP has built its juggernaut of support through a network of bureaucrats, businesses and regional leaders. While opposition parties have made inroads in cities, the LDP controls the countryside, funneling huge government subsidies to rural areas.

Storm blows away from northern Philippines leaving 65 dead but forecasters warn it may do a U-turn (AP) Tropical Storm Trami blew away from the northwestern Philippines on Friday, leaving at least 65 people dead in landslides and extensive flooding that forced authorities to scramble for more rescue boats to save thousands of terrified people, who were trapped, some on their roofs. But the onslaught may not be over: State forecasters raised the rare possibility that the storm—the 11th and one of the deadliest to hit the Philippines this year—could make a U-turn next week as it is pushed back by high-pressure winds in the South China Sea.

Israel attacks Iran in series of pre-dawn airstrikes targeting military infrastructure (AP) Israel attacked Iran with a series of pre-dawn airstrikes Saturday in what it said was a response to the barrage of ballistic missiles the Islamic Republic fired upon Israel earlier in the month. The Israeli military said its aircraft targeted facilities that Iran used to make missiles fired at Israel as well as surface-to-air missile sites. There was no immediate indication that oil or missile sites were hit—strikes that would have marked a much more serious escalation—and Israel offered no immediate damage assessment. Explosions could be heard in the Iranian capital, Tehran, though the Islamic Republic insisted they caused only “limited damage” and Iranian state-run media downplayed the attacks. Still, the strikes risk pushing the archenemies closer to all-out war at a time of spiraling violence across the Middle East, where militant groups backed by Iran—including Hamas in Gaza and Hezbollah in Lebanon—are already at war with Israel. The strikes filled the air for hours until sunrise in Iran. They marked the first time Israel’s military has openly attacked Iran, which hasn’t faced a sustained barrage of fire from a foreign enemy since its 1980s war with Iraq.

Hezbollah proving a formidable foe against Israeli forces in Lebanon (Washington Post) After a series of staggering losses, Hezbollah is putting up a stiff fight against Israeli forces in Lebanon’s south while continuing to rain down rockets across the border, underscoring the group’s resilience and the limitations of Israel’s ground campaign. When Israel sent troops across the border on Oct. 1, officials estimated military operations would last for a few weeks. More than three weeks later, officials have said they will likely need a few weeks longer, raising concerns over the kind of mission creep that has defined Israel’s past wars in Lebanon. The militant group has bounced back from its unprecedented setbacks—including the penetration of its electronic devices and the assassination of most of its senior leadership—thanks to a flexible command structure, help from Iran and years of planning for an Israeli invasion, current and former Lebanese officials said. “They are a formidable foe,” said an official with the Israel Defense Forces. The official said Hezbollah militants are better trained, more experienced after fighting in Syria and armed with more advanced weaponry than in 2006, during their last war with Israel.

In Gaza Camps Where Tents Are Now a Luxury, a Harsh Winter Looms (NYT) A year into the war in Gaza, the prices of ready-made tents and supplies to build even flimsy shelters are soaring. Warm blankets, clothes and firewood are hard to get or prohibitively expensive. Finding a vacant apartment is out of the question for most displaced civilians. And many have no income at all. So people eking out an existence in tattered tents and makeshift shelters across the enclave are bracing for a tough, rainy winter. This one, many expect, will be worse than the last. Most of the roughly two million people in Gaza have been displaced at least once by the war, compounding the hardships of a population enduring waves of Israeli bombardment and widespread lawlessness.

[marginal-liminality]

Chimaera Gallery

3502 Scotts Lane #2113

Philadelphia, PA 19129

“Sky Bound as Titans”

March 8th-29th 2025

Opening March 8th 6-9

Closing March 29 with artist talks and performance by Megan Bridge and Max Kline 2-5

“The heaventree of stars hung with humid nightblue fruit.”

― James Joyce, Ulysses

Transmedia artist Tyler Kline’s exhibition Skybound as Titans is the result of searching, error, iteration, mistakes, endurance, failure, folly, and vision. The artist collaborates with AI to build space ships; the hubris, arrogance, faith, and audacity to undergo such an endeavor is propellent towards a destination.

Sky Bound as Titans unfolds as a multi-dimensional epic, melding mythology, speculative science, and interspecies communion into a compelling meditation on the liminal moment in which we exist—a pivot between collapse and rebirth, the Anthropocene, Chthulucene, and the Sednacene. Channeling a hybrid sequential art narrative that traverses Earth’s environmental crises, Martian industrialization, and telepathic communion with hyper-sentient beings called the Kai-Sawn, Kline crafts a speculative cosmology that invites viewers to consider humanity’s fragile position within an interconnected universe.

AI-assisted portrait paintings serve as one of the sequential narrative currents.The portraits—bearing intricate, biomorphic distortions and vapor-wave growths—represent individuals transformed by their contact with the Kai-Sawn, a telepathic species of cephalopods trapped beneath Europa’s icy crust. These images evoke a narrative of mutual evolution, where humans and other beings merge minds, unlocking interstellar potential through shared consciousness (Geistdenkenheit).

The technique folds into the conceptual framework of the exhibition, braiding technology, biology, and spiritual mythologies. The technical journey of the portraits consists first of photographing the sitters. The digital photographs are entered into Midjourney, coupled with text prompts, the AI bot responds with forms that are printed out on an inkjet printer. These prints are then transferred to board using a gesso printing method, and the image becomes a support for an oil portrait painting that becomes a soft-machine communion between sitter and painter. Photographs of the end results create the next image iteration in a positive feedback loop. In conversation with Western art history, Kline nods to the Baroque tradition of dramatic yet personal portraiture while subverting it with surreal, hybrid-sapien aesthetics. The meticulous attention to detail in the painted faces recalls German New Objectivity, particularly the movement’s focus on clarity, precision, and subjective psychological intensity. Yet, Kline tempers this mediated objectivity with layers of emotional vulnerability, reflected in the expressive eyes and gestural brushstrokes surrounding the figures.

CAD-aided, 3d print modeled, lost wax cast bronze sculptures embody Kline’s conceptual framework of materializing myth, craft, and science, acting as artifacts and figures from a speculative future cosmology. The sculptures, such as abstracted heads of mythical entities and speculative technological forms, function as relics of a not-yet-realized epoch. The intricate latticework and alien materiality of the cast bronze is a poetic metaphor, forming the architecture of the Iron Cities of Mars and shaping the organic complexity of the Kai-Sawn themselves. The inclusion of braided, human hair in some sculptures heightens the tension between the signatures of human DNA and the post-human, creating a dance between carbon based life, silicon based life, and polymer entities.

Kline’s visual language oscillates between the ancient and the speculative, evoking a synthesis of mythos, theoretical physics, and contemporary technology. The turquoise patinas and intricate textures of the sculptures suggest an otherworldly membrane, as if these forms were artifacts excavated from a distant future. Meanwhile, the portraits’ luminous skin tones and textural disruptions point toward beings in flux, undergoing a profound transformation, the materiality of their being indistinguishable from the theoretical aesthetics. The forms carry the weight of a digital and visceral journey, resulting in palimpsest that speak of cyphers and sigils.

This aesthetic duality reflects the exhibition’s conceptual narrative: the emergence of the Sednacene, an epoch where humanity transcends its destructive tendencies and collaborates with other species to explore the cosmos. Kline draws on post-humanism and fluid identities, suggesting that survival in the Sednacene depends not on dominance but on interspecies kinship and adaptability—a far cry from the colonial ambitions that underlie humanity’s historical conquests. Issues of post-colonialism are critiqued, satired, and meditated upon; the Iron Cities of Mars is both utopic and a mirror into humanities hunger, raising questions about the ethics of planetary colonization and the persistence of extractive ideologies.

The narrative emphasizes the necessity of communion with other beings, reflecting a growing recognition of non-human intelligence and its implications for science, ethics, and spirituality ; probing humanity’s role in the cosmic order and using the concept of autopoiesis through an interactive journey transforming new media into intuitive viscera. The experience invites viewers to step into a world of flux, where humanity’s destination is arrived at not by domination but on the wings of symbiosis, adaptability, and radical imagination. In doing so, Kline offers a glimpse of a future where the shadows of our present crises are cultivated in service to the boundless potential of collective transformation.

…Philosophy has an affinity with despotism, due to its predilection for Platonic-fascist top-down solutions that always screw up viciously. Schizoanalysis works differently. It avoids Ideas, and sticks to diagrams. Networking software for accessing bodies without organs BwOs, machine singularities, or tractor fields emerging through the combination of parts(rather than into) their whole: arranging composite individuations in virtual/actual circuit, They are additive rather than substitutive, an immanent rather that transcendent: executed by functional complexes of currents, switches, and loops, caught in scaling reverberations, and fleeing through intercommunication, from the level of the integrated planetary systems ti that of atomic assemblages. Multiplicities captured by singularities interconnect as desiring-machines: dissipating entropy by dissociating flows, and recycling their mechanisms as self assembling chronogenic circuitry…nothing human makes it out of the near future. - Nick Land, Meltdown, Fanged Noumena

[midlandscomputerrepair]

Halesowen Computer repair

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Link- https://midlandscomputerrepair.wordpress.com/2024/08/18/halesowen-computer-repair/

[northwest-cryptid]

We continue our 3D printing with even more Goddess Statues, we are trying to fix the major breaking points like her wings and ironically enough the base that she's meant to sit on.

The third iteration is by far the best so far, which it should be given that we're correcting mistakes every time. We are actually able to remove all the supports this time around but it's not without flaws, so I still have to fix up some issues with the sword and the base. However that being said it looks great so far!

In related news my partner painted one of our Far Darrig prints to be similar to a galaxy/Milky Way pet, so now we have an iridescent axolotl.

Our prints have been improving a lot thanks to this resin printer but we've already spent way too much money on resin just to not go through our whole supply lol.

If this is the first you've heard of this and are curious what we're doing, we've been working on making figures and models for Mabinogi that can be printed since the official game shop refuses to sell merch like that in the modern day, we collect a lot of Mabinogi merch and wanted some figures and models that weren't just Nao or Rua and that weren't super expensive just because they don't make them anymore so you have to buy them from some dude on eBay for way too much. Plus we already have most of those :P

Prior to the resin printer these used to take anywhere from 7 hours to entire days to print, so it's very nice to have something that not only prints faster but can also print details without issue,

We've not created too much just yet but what we have worked on has been really exciting. I hope to eventually make figma sized character models with interchangable parts so I could technically make anyone's character into a "figma" but we're a way off from that still.

[shadowglitch90]

Retro computer emulation/virtualization resources

Not too long ago, it was one of my hobbies to recreate and emulate old machines and try to use them in a somewhat 'legit' way in order to experience how using them in an accurate time-period might have felt like. While it's always better to use a real machine, it's also important to note that time-accurate machines are essentially a 'ticking bomb'. Some of the electronics inside can go bad at any given time, like capacitors, and other critical components might also go bad due to humidity, moisture in the air, changes in temperature, etc. Plus, they are not always cheap and they take space that you might not have.

This is why I prefer using emulators and virtualization software in order to virtualize a time-period accurate machine that I can use. This is the software I found that I like the most, and what systems I use them for.

DOSbox-X

This is a modified version of DOSBox that includes support for multiple video devices including 3dfx emulation (Voodoo), networking, and even printer support (emulated, but AFAIK it only prints in black and white). It's perfect for MS-DOS and Windows (1-3.11) emulation. Technically you could even install Windows 95 in it.

86-box

This is the way to go if you want to emulate old retro systems. No questions. The best part of it is how flexible it is. You can select the motherboard, the processor you want to emulate, the video card, you can also enable 3dfx support up to the Voodoo 2 (but it also emulates a Voodoo3 and the Banshee), sound card, literally every detail. It's like building a PC, but virtually. And it has hardware from the old 8086 IBM PCs to more modern Pentium 2 machines. It also has network and printer support.

The downside is that since it's low-level emulation, you need a 'beefy' CPU with very good single thread performance in order for more modern systems like Windows 9x and ME to run more smoothly. Another flaw is that for some reason the FP emulation for older processors doesn't work properly for some reason, so you might prefer to use DOSBox-X if you want DOS emulation. The 3dfx emulation is also 'so-so' and not very great, but it works.

It also requires valid ROMs, but you can search for a valid ROMset online (check Github) if you want to use it. For legal reasons, I can't provide links to them, but they are not hard to find.

VMWare Workstation Player

I choose VMWare over other virtualization solutions because of it's graphic drivers capable of running relatively new games from the mid 2000s, and because unlike VirtualBox (since version 6) it still supports old Windows versions, including XP, 9x, ME and old NT systems.

Broadcom wants you to buy a license for the Pro version so they hide the links to the free Workstation Player version. But they are still available and they even release updates once in a while (yes, it's free of charge).

In the link I'm providing, go to the 'player' folder and select the latest version (higher number, now it's 17.6.1) and your system to download VMWare Workstation Player. Then go to the 'ws' folder and select the same version and system, but then select 'packages' to download a matching copy of vmware tools.

Finding software

If you need software, there are three places you need to look for. One is archive.org, the other is WinWorld PC, and the other is Vetusware (requires an account). I can't provide links so search for them on your own. I also browse sites like oldversion.com, but I don't trust these too much, so go at your own risk (or better yet, don't). Naturally you should always buy the software you use, whenever it's possible, and use backups of your legally owned software.

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I will make more posts in the future about how to set up these emulated machines and how I work with them.

[xtrablak674]

1/8/93

Hi, I am the Editor, Producer, and Main writer for Fashion Fag Magazine® I do not want to be the only contributor to this magazine. I want and love your input and support to make this magazine, that you can rely on for good articles, poetry, reviews, fashion tips etc. Use this magazine as an outlet for your feelings and emotions. I will try to have in depth interviews with prominent gay figures and the ordinary fag. Unlike other magazine this magazine will not be, Gay white male oriented.

This magazine will be inclusive of everyone, lesbians, bi-sexuals and supporters. People of all races, colors and socio-economical backgrounds will be represented within these pages. If you see us falling short on any of these promises let us know because we are here to serve your needs. With all of this said enjoy your first issue of Fashion Fag Magazine®

Peace, Love + Hair Grease

Miss Trevor

Nineteen Ninety-Three, thirty-one years ago, three decades, a quarter of a century, seriously a lifetime ago, but one thing is consistent I have used the written word to express my feelings, values, failures and loves for a long damned time. Mind you, this was the furthest thing from a magazine, the first issue basically being double-sided text on colored office paper, it was all about the aspiration!

I would love to say my starting this zine/newsletter was an original idea but that would a fine piece of creative retelling of history. My college friend Matthew Carlin had a newsletter called TMCM, The Matt Carlin Mirror where he talked about his life, love, school and anything else that came to mind. It was his post-college way of keeping in touch with the friends made back in Ithaca, and like him I thought I could do the same and grow the fan-base I thought I had, in my head.

Desktop publishing was a new idea in the early nineties, albeit Quark Xpress was started in 1981, it didn't become more widely used until the early nineties on Macintosh and Windows dominating the market share of the time. I wouldn't start using it myself until '95 somehow coping a bootleg version for my Mac SE. Previously I was using AppleWorks which later became ClarisWorks, this was basically just a word processing application, and I remember to create just one page I would have to create a text box in different positions and put them together when I printed it.

Below is one of the template pages from issue #2, there are three parts of this page, the find-a-word with its description below, Miss Moody Herself and the bits below it, and the three columns on the lower half. I didn't know how to make ClarisWork split up a page into different areas. I could easily make columns, but having something on the upper half of the page that was different than the content on the lower page had to be done by passing the document through the printer multiple times my Apple StyleWriter II.

So in my digital files for one page I would sometimes have three or four ClarisWord docs. It made for a slightly confusing organizing of an issue because one four page issue could easily have twelve to sixteen files. Quark Xpress which I taught myself, would get rid of the need for multiple documents and multiple passes through the printer. It had become the standard for desktop publishing and it was appropriate that I should utilize the industry standard for my own mass-read publication.

Sorry, I went off into a technical rabbit hole, but I think part of understanding who I am is to understand my technical proficiency throughout my adult life, and even now, its one of the things that I seriously think gave me the edge when I went to work in the corporate world, the fact that I had dabbled in so many applications and technology made me hit the ground running faster than a lot of my contemporaries.

I wish I still had that old SE, I gave it back to the friend who I purchased it from as a payment for his ripping out the old red carpet in my new apartment, the same one I am living in today. The reason I would love to have it, is I know there was a special app I used to create the type for Fashion Fag Magazine, my initial logo, which would change by my third issue.

Looking back at this production this was truly the first manifestation of my artistic voice as an adult. As I am learning of my childhood where I attempted to draw, sing, perform and write a little bit, but here I was now taking writing to the forefront as a means of expression. Albeit untrained I was designing a newsletter about my life and my experiences, I was seeking to give a voice to my identities and the struggles faced there within.

For all the wonderful things I learned at college, in this post-college queer world I was attempting to be seen for all the many aspects of my personhood, not just a body part, skin color or general aesthetic appeal. One of the backlashes of attending a primarily white educational institution, no matter had well-intentioned folks were, I was repeatedly othered. Sometimes by the people who looked like like me and had similar social-economic backgrounds, and others who loved the way I did with varying economic backgrounds but also failed to see the entire me.

Just a brief moment about the title, I have alway had a thing for fashion albeit my vision for myself and what was actually executed in the real-world wouldn't align until much later. I still felt I had the potential for a personal style that would surpass that of my peers.

Albeit the whyte queers weren't necessarily always the most fashion-forward of folks, particularly the ones I knew, I envisioned personal style being able to push the envelope and announce something more nuanced about my personality other than just being Black and queer. This voice would come to full fruition later, but Fashion Fag Magazine was precognition of what I knew would come in time.

Through my observations about my world I wanted folks to see the world in the way that I did. And through my nine issues published from nineteen ninety-three through nineteen ninety-six I attempted just that, sometimes successful other-times failing miserable, but still trying to make myself seen and heard in a world that wasn't really checking it for people like me, dark-skinned, femme, gender non-conforming, queer, well-spoken, nerdy, comic book reading, dance the house down folk.

I am going to try to translate this classic text for a new audience, who am I fooling with my twelve followers here, but I look at this mini-blog as a digital obituary for my life, and its important to include all the bits and pieces of a life, so you're are not just broken down to legal document or a one-hundred and fifty word summary. For as long as Tumblr is around which may be less than the span of my life, I at least want to make an attempt to record my thoughts and feelings about the breadth of the experiences of Trevor A. Brown.

[Photos by Brown Estate]