#looking at html kills

[ckret2]

Hey. I’ve been looking at your posts about posting your fic on Ao3, and I just wanted to be sure— you do know that you can post your fic without having to use HTML mode, right? Like you can post it without having to type a “<p>” and “</p>” before and after every new paragraph, or use “<em>” “</em>” to make sure something in italics is recognized by the website as italics? Just look for a button on the left right above the box you’re going to be writing in that says “Rich Text” and press that. It should be right next to the button saying “HTML,” which is the default button selected, but you only have to press Rich Text to change that.

And none of your work is lost if you switch buttons. But Rich Text mode gives you a version of the posting box where you can write normally and just press the return key for a new paragraph like normal, and there’s a little menu on the top where you can choose if you want to write in bold or italics or change the spacing or whatever. I just felt like you ought to know in case you missed it and had to write the hard way.

I can't do that because the site I write on and store my fics on strips the formatting out of the document—italics, bold, etc—if I copy/paste it anywhere I've tried (all my other word processor apps, other websites, and yes, AO3's rich text editor) EXCEPT FOR tumblr, for some bizarre reason I don't know. Copy/pasting from the site I use into tumblr and copying tumblr's text to paste into AO3's editor is the only workaround I've found for this issue aside from reformatting every italicized/bolder word by hand. And I use a lot of italics.

I could copy/paste the rich text off tumblr and paste it into AO3's rich text editor, but since tumblr's stupid-as-hell post editor only allows you to select one paragraph at a time, my options are: copy/paste one paragraph at a time; manually force past tumblr's stupid-as-hell inability to select more than one paragraph by selecting the first paragraph and manually scrolling all the way down to the bottom to select the whole thing; selecting the whole chapter by going to the finished post and scrolling down to select the whole thing (which is finicky as hell if you're on a tablet, which I am); or, using select-all in tumblr's HTML format and then just quickly deleting the author's note when I paste.

As you can see, using select-all in HTML format is the fastest and least human-error-prone way to transfer text from tumblr to AO3

Every time I post a new chapter I paste the text to AO3's HTML editor and then switch to the rich text editor to insert that chapter's art.

[radioactivejinx]

Can Someone More Experienced With Tumblr HTML Please Help Me Out?

So, I’ve been trying to add a corner image or gif onto the right-side corner of my blog, and it’s been a fucking nightmare. I’ve tried everything I can think of, and yes before you ask I did use Google, but nothing’s working for me. Nothing works no matter where I put the code, what code I use, what image I use, or what image link I use. The image never loads. All I get is an image error. Can someone please help me out here? 

[vvelegrin]

I HATE BAD UI. I HTAE BAD UI. I HATE BAD UI.

[hana-bobo-finch]

*hacker voice* I’m in

[renegadse]

kinda interested in making a secret life full recap/summary page, if anyone's interested hmu in replies!

[kermapippurisaatana]

“oh they’re not taking away chronological dashboard, well everything’s okay then” they also said in the post they’re making reblogs collapsed (like comments on twitter) so you won’t see the full conversation in a post. they also won’t get rid of tumblr live despite it being an annoying and cancerous data-miner that isn’t legal in much of the world. they won’t even let you opt out of tumblr live for more than seven days. they implemented a terrible photo viewer that mimics tiktok and makes it so you can’t zoom in on images. they took away the ability to view prev tags. they’re making it so you have to sign in with your email to view almost any thing on tumblr. they’ve already made it so you have to sign in to send asks, even on anon. they’re slowly phasing out custom blog themes.

the things that make tumblr at all usable and favored by us– the older web blog features, the anonymity– that is still being taken away. it HAS been being taken away for some time now. i am urging you people to reveiwbomb the tumblr app. force them to acknowledge that users do not like these changes.

[subjectsix]

KIP'S BIG POST OF THINGS TO MAKE THE INTERNET & TECHNOLOGY SUCK A LITTLE LESS

Post last updated November 23, 2024. Will continue to update!

Here are my favorite things to use to navigate technology my own way:

A refurbished iPod loaded with Rockbox OS (Rockbox is free, iPods range in price. I linked the site I got mine from. Note that iPods get finicky about syncing and the kind of cord it has— it may still charge but might not recognize the device to sync. Getting an original Apple cord sometimes helps). Rockbox has ports for other MP3 players as well.

This Windows debloater program (there are viable alternatives out there, this one works for me). It has a powershell script that give you a little UI and buttons to press, which I appreciate, as I'm still a bit shy with tech.

Firefox with the following extensions: - Consent-O-Matic (set your responses to ALL privacy/cookie pop-ups in the extension, and it will answer all pop-ups for you. I can see reasons to not use it, but I appreciate it) - Facebook Container ("contains" Meta on Facebook and Instagram pages to keep it from tracking you or getting third party cookies, since Meta is fairly egregious about it) - Redirect Amp to HTML (AMP is designed for mobile phones, this forces pages to go to their HTML version) - A WebP/AVIF image converter - uBlock Origin and uBlacklist, with the AI blacklist loaded in to kill any generative AI results from appearing in search engines or anywhere.

Handbrake for ripping DVDs— I haven’t used this in awhile as I haven’t been making video edits. I used this back when I had a Mac OS

VLC Media Player (ol’ reliable)

Unsplash & Pexels for free-to-use images

A password manager (these often are paid. I use Dashlane. There are many options, feel free to search around and ask for recs!). There is a lot that goes into cybersecurity— find the option you feel is best for you.

Things I suggest:

Understanding Royalty Free and the Creative Commons licenses

Familiarity with boolean operators for searching

Investing in a backup drive and external drive

A few good USBs, including one that has a backup of your OS on it

Adapter cables

Avoiding Fandom “wikias” (as in the brand “Fandom”) and supporting other, fan-run or supported wikis. Consider contributing if its something you find yourself passionate or joyful about.

Finding Forums for the things you like, or creating your own*

Create an email specifically for ads/shopping— use it to receive all promotional emails to keep your inbox clean. Upkeep it.

Stop putting so much of your personal information online— be willing to separate your personal online identity from your “online identity”. You don’t owe people your name, location, pronouns, diagnoses, or any of that. It’s your choice, but be discerning in what you give and why. I recommend avoiding providing your phone number to sites as much as possible.

Be intentional

Ask questions

Talk to people

Remember that you can lurk all you want

Things that are fun to check out:

BBSes-- here's a portal to access them.

Neocities

*Forums-- find some to join, or maybe host your own? The system I was most familiar with was vbulletin.

MMM.page

Things that have worked well for me but might work for you, YMMV:

Limit your app usage time on your smartphone if you’re prone to going back to them— this is a tangible way to “practice mindfulness”, a term I find frustratingly vague ansjdbdj

Things I’m looking into:

The “Pi Hole”— a raspberry pi set up to block all ads on a specific internet connection

VPNs-- this is one that was recommended to me.

How to use computers (I mean it): Resources on how to understand your machine and what you’re doing, even if your skill and knowledge level is currently 0:

This section I'll come back an add to. I know that messing with computers can be intimidating, especially if you feel out of your depth. HTML and regedits and especially things like dualbooting or linux feel impossible. So I want to put things here that explain exactly how the internet and your computer functions, and how you can learn and work with that. Yippee!

[yan-lorkai]

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ﾟ A/n: totally not trying to learn html (which technically isn't a programming language, for what I had read), and well, if Idia was teaching me I would learn everything so quickly tbh. Or not. He would start explaining and I would have the sudden urge to kiss him, oh well it happens ig

"Uh... I think I have an error in my code." You break the silence, tone soft as the computer screen lights up your eyes just the right way for Idia to lost himself in the reflex. He love your eyes, your concentrated face, the way you stick out your tongue without realizing.

And he loves the way you timidly look to him, as if he has all the answers to your questions - which, about this subject, he have, by the way.

"Ah~ your closing array is missing a closing slash. Here, Yuu-shi." He pointed your error with a soft tone, blue nail hitting the screen, and a surprised pout grew on your lips.

He wanted to smother you in his arms, to pick you up and hold you till his arms fell off and his corpse rot - that was how bad he yearned for you, your skin, you smell. He breathes really hard to refrain from doing it, though. You wouldn't want that. He was just a mere R card, a lonely gamer, a-

"Thank you, Idia. You're the best." You giggle to yourself, feeling yourself warm under his eyes and lousy smile. Unbeknownst to you, the only things that were going through his head were about you.

Your smile, the way your eyes lightened up, your laughters and giggles, the messages you passed each other in class (when he was there in person), your secret handshake. Idia loved you. He loved your very dearly.

He loved you so much that he could cry.

"Uh... it's no big deal," yet his hair was getting hotter, rosey tone starting to burn brightly. "Don't forget the closing stash, and everything should work properly. This programming language is not that used anymore, but most can learn useful things learning it anyway. I think."

Idia had half of his mind to know that he was rambling again, talking so fast that he could make Eminem cry. But he couldn't stop when you looked at him with such big eyes filled with curiosity and wonder, taking notes of everything he was saying.

He noted then that you had hello kitty stickers on your page. A few drawings that Ortho made of him, Idia and you; that almost killed him right then and there.

"Ah... HTML uses elements, tags, and attributes to organize text, images, links, and other multimedia elements. It can be combined with CSS for styling and JavaScript for interactivity."

[ohnoproblems]

i'd never actually read the instruction manual for Rogue (which you can find mirrored in html form here). the game that all those other games say they're like, you know. and it turns out it opens with this first-person narration that takes every aspect of the game - the randomization on death, the name entry field, the dungeon, the bestiary - completely at face value. it weaves them all together into this brief but poignant passage about someone possessed by a consuming and painful obsession that has killed them again and again, cursed to live but for everything they know to become strange, divorced from its own context, until they can't even remember their own name.

Long before I forgot the warmth of the noonday sun or the refreshing coolness of the evening breeze, I forgot my name. Call me what you will. I am the Rogue.

that shit is what an entire genre is built on! the knowledge that you, as a player, develop of Rogue's whims of procedural generation, represents the titular Rogue's suffering as discrete dungeon chunks from countless lifetimes spent in darkness and strife reorder entirely around them. the mechanics were so raw and new that the devs had to justify it, and the way they did so beats the hell out of most stories you get with roguelikes these days - or just straight up cobbles the shoes that these newer ones walk in for their whole narratives. i didn't even know Rogue had a story before today!

anyway i've been writing this novel series called Treatise on the Peregrine Phoenix, in which Fujiwara no Mokou from the Touhou series of bullet curtain games for windows arrives in Qud, the setting of traditional roguelike Caves of Qud, roughly 5 years after the end of the main questline, because she's desperately looking for her counterpart in eternity. why do i bring this up? oh, no reason

[thevixenwitch]

Sources for Celtic History and Paganism!

So today I was reading Ancient Fire: An Introduction to Gaulish Celtic Polytheism by Segomâros Widugeni when it struck me just how many of the sources were the type of thing that wouldn't necessarily come up on a regular search, particularly some out-of-print books, a lot of which are actually available on the Internet Archive! I took some time to take note of each listed source, and tried to see if I could find the right place to request them from (in the case of a handful of articles and theses), find PDF links where they did already exist, basically whatever I could! Some books are available to buy, most secondhand, and while most are available on Amazon, I won't be linking those here. I'd encourage anyone shopping to consider an alternative option if they can! Now, I haven't read through all of these, but the moment I found at least one of them seems to be impossible to find, I was reminded of the dangers of dying media. So I wanted to put these together so anyone could use them. Not every resource listed is in English. Anyway, on to the list~

Cernunnos: Looking a Different Way

By Ceisiwr Serith

https://ceisiwrserith.com/therest/Cernunnos/cernunnospaper.htm

Cernunnos Origin and Transformation of A Celtic Divinity

By Phyllis Fray Bober

https://www.scribd.com/document/460345187/cernunnos-origin-and-transformation-of-a-celtic-divinity-phyllis-fray-bober

Basic Celtic Deity Types

by Alexei Kondratiev

https://naomh-na-tursan.livejournal.com/5752.html

Deep Ancestors: Practicing the Religion of the Proto-Indo-Europeans

Book by Ceisiwr Serith

https://www.scribd.com/document/362472999/Deep-Ancestors-Practicing-the-Religion-of-the-Proto-Indo-Europeans

The Gods of the Celts and the Indo-Europeans

Book by Garrett S. Olmsted

https://www.academia.edu/38135817/The_Gods_of_the_Celts_and_the_Indo_Europeans_revised_2019_

Dictionary of Celtic Myth and Legend

Book by Miranda Aldhouse-Green

https://www.thriftbooks.com/w/dictionary-of-celtic-myth-and-legend_miranda-aldhouse-green/543335/#edition=5215209&idiq=16154030

The Book of The Great Queen: The Many Faces of the Morrigan from Ancient Legends to Modern Devotions

Book by Morpheus Ravenna Further

to tongu do dia toinges mo thuath [“Mi a dyngaf dynged it”], &c.

By John Koch

https://www.academia.edu/7242277/Further_to_tongu_do_dia_toinges_mo_thuath_Mi_a_dyngaf_dynged_it_and_c

Goddesses in Celtic Religion Cult and Mythology: A Comparative Study of Ancient Ireland, Britain and Gaul

By Noémie Beck

http://theses.univ-lyon2.fr/documents/lyon2/2009/beck_n#p=0&a=title

The Integration of Mercury and Lugus: Myth and History in Late Iron Age and Early Roman Gaul

By Krista Ovist

https://archives.library.wales/index.php/integration-of-mercury-and-lugus

Lady with a Mead Cup: Ritual, Prophecy, and Lordship in the European Warband from La Tène to the Viking Age

Book by Michael J. Enright

How to Kill a Dragon: Aspects of Indo-European Poetics

Book by Calvert Watkins

https://ia801404.us.archive.org/view_archive.php?archive=/7/items/twain-mark-a-connecticut-yankee-in-king-arthurs-court/1-ptry.zip&file=How%20to%20Kill%20a%20Dragon%20-%20Aspects%20of%20Indo%20European%20Poetics.pdf

The Celtic Gauls: Gods, Rites and Sanctuaries

Book by Jean-Louis Brunaux

The Apple Branch: A Path to Celtic Ritual

Book by Alexei Kondratiev

https://archive.org/details/applebranchpatht0000kond

Oxford Dictionary of Celtic Mythology

Book by James Mackillop

https://archive.org/details/dictionaryofcelt0000mack

The female deities of the Celtic religion: worship and mythology: a comparative study of ancient Ireland, Great Britain and Gaul

By Noémie Beck

https://theses.fr/2009LYO20084

Celtic Curses

Book by Bernard Mees

https://www.academia.edu/1012094/Celtic_Curses_Woodbridge_Boydell_2009

Guide to Irish Mythology

Book by Daragh Smyth

https://archive.org/details/guidetoirishmyth00smyt

The Sacred Isle

Book by Dáithí Ó hÓgáin

https://archive.org/details/sacredislebelief0000ohog

The Matronae and Matres: Breathing New Life into an Old Religion

By River Devora

http://polytheist.com/the-web-of-blessings/2015/08/12/the-matronae-and-matres-breathing-new-life-into-an-old-religion/

Interpretatio Romana and Matronae Iconography

By River Devora

http://polytheist.com/the-web-of-blessings/2015/08/31/interpretatio-romana-and-matronae-iconography/#:~:text=The%20overlay%20of%20interpretatio%20Romana,and%20plaques%20and%20glean%20valuable

Celtic chiefdom, Celtic state: the evolution of complex social systems in prehistoric Europe

By Arnold, Bettina and Gibson, D. Blair

https://searchworks.stanford.edu/view/3086499

*butacos, *wossos, *geistlos, *ambactos. Celtic Socioeconomic Organisation in the European Iron Age. Studia Celtica 40, 2006: 23-41

By Raimund Karl

https://www.academia.edu/245239/_butacos_wossos_geistlos_ambactos_Celtic_Socioeconomic_Organisation_in_the_European_Iron_Age_Studia_Celtica_40_2006_23_41

The Ancient Celts

Book by Barry Cunliffe

https://archive.org/details/ancientcelts00cunl_0

Sengoidelc: Old Irish for Beginners

Book by David Stifter

https://archive.org/details/sengoidelcoldiri0000stif

Greek Kελτóς and Γαλάτης, Latin Gallus ‘Gaul’

By Kim McCone

https://spr.harrassowitz-library.com/article/spr/2006/1/6

Celtic Heritage: Ancient Tradition in Ireland and Wales

Book by Alwyn and Brinley Rees

https://archive.org/details/in.gov.ignca.36494

Celtic Reconstructionist Paganism

By Erynn Rowan Laurie, Kathryn Price NicDhàna, Aedh Rua Ó Mórríghan, Kym Lambert ní Dhoireann and John Machate, ed. by Erynn Rowan Laurie

https://web.archive.org/web/20080418025755/http://www.witchvox.com/va/dt_va.html?a=usma&c=trads&id=6645

Which witch is which? : a concise guide to Wiccan and Neo-Pagan paths and traditions

Book Compiled and Edited by Patricia Telesco

Sources for the Three Realms

By Annie Loughlin - original source link is dead, need help to locate!

Dictionnaire de la Langue Gauloise

Book by Xavier Delmarre

https://archive.org/details/dictionnairedelal00dela (referred to as “Essential for Gaulish Language study)

The Settling of the Manor of Tara

By R.I. Best

https://www.ucd.ie/tlh/trans/rib.eriu.4.001.t.text.html

The court of law in Iron Age ‚Celtic’ societies. In R. Karl & J. Leskovar (eds.), Interpretierte Eisenzeiten 3. Fallstudien, Methoden, Theorie. Tagungsbeiträge der 3. Linzer Gespräche zur interpretativen Eisenzeitarchäologie. Studien zur Kulturgeschichte von Oberösterreich Folge 22, Linz: Oberösterreichisches Landesmuseum 2009: 135-60.

By Raimund Karl

https://www.academia.edu/245221/The_court_of_law_in_Iron_Age_Celtic_societies_In_R_Karl_and_J_Leskovar_eds_Interpretierte_Eisenzeiten_3_Fallstudien_Methoden_Theorie_Tagungsbeitr%C3%A4ge_der_3_Linzer_Gespr%C3%A4che_zur_interpretativen_Eisenzeitarch%C3%A4ologie_Studien_zur_Kulturgeschichte_von_Ober%C3%B6sterreich_Folge_22_Linz_Ober%C3%B6sterreichisches_Landesmuseum_2009_135_60

Matasović Etymological Dictionary Of Proto Celtic

By Ranko Matasović

https://archive.org/details/matasovic-etymological-dictionary-of-proto-celtic

Hammer of the Gods: Anglo-Saxon Paganism in Modern Times Second Edition

Book by Swain Wodening

https://archive.org/details/hammerofgodsangl0000swai

Various Works by Christopher Scott Thompson - recommended re: honor in Gaulish society

https://cateransociety.wordpress.com/books/

A Handbook of the Scottish Gaelic World

Book by Michael Newton and Michael Steven Newton

Celtic Values

By Alexei Kondratiev

http://dagdacelt.freehostia.com/values.html

European paganism : the realities of cult from antiquity to the Middle Ages

By Ken Dowden

https://archive.org/details/europeanpaganism0000dowd

A Definitive Reconstructed Text of the Coligny Calendar

By Garrett Olmsted

https://www.academia.edu/62011364/A_Definitive_Reconstructed_Text_of_the_Coligny_Calendar

New Calendar of Gaulish Polytheism

By Jess via Nemeton Nigromanitcos

https://thebloodybones.wordpress.com/2015/07/10/new-calendar-of-gaulish-polytheism/#more-265

Calendar of Feast-Days of Deities

Via the blog Deo Mercutio

https://deomercurio.wordpress.com/calendar-of-feast-days-of-deities/

Altkeltische Sozialstrukturen

By Raimund Karl

https://homepage.univie.ac.at/Raimund.Karl/Sozialstrukturen.pdf

La Langue Gauloise

Book by Pierre-Yves Lambert

https://www.scribd.com/document/782869557/Lambert-1994-La-langue-gauloise-description-linguistique-commentaire-d-inscriptions-choisies

Death, War, and Sacrifice: Studies in Ideology & Practice

Book by Bruce Lincoln

The Gods of the Celts

Book by Miranda Aldhouse-Green

https://archive.org/details/godsofceltsar00mira

War Goddess The Morrigan And Her Germano Celtic Counterparts

Book by Angelique Gulermovich Epstein

https://archive.org/details/WarGoddessTheMorriganAndHerGermanoCelticCounterparts

Epigraphik-Datenbank Clauss/Slaby

- Database of “almost all inscriptions ever recorded”

https://db.edcs.eu/epigr/hinweise/hinweis-en.html

A website on Gallo-Roman religion:

http://www.deomercurio.be/en/

A scholarly website with information on Epona:

https://epona.net/

[cup1drul3z]

★ — Thats MY girl | CH 6

4.0ᴋ ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ | ᴄᴇᴏ!ꜱᴇᴠɪᴋᴀ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

CW : Age gap if you squint, PLUS SIZED READER, power kink, cheating, modern au, new york, assistant reader, readers a little awkward but we love her anyway, sugar mommy, SMUT, fingering, cunninglings, strap, bondage, lingerie, angst, pregnancy

A/N : I did the number wrong in the html maker so now its a different color

The message still lingers on your phone screen.

You’re not alone.

Your fingers tremble as you lock it and shove it deep into your bag like burying it might make it disappear.

But your pulse doesn’t slow.

Across the office, Sevika’s still walking toward you. Casual. Calm. Like she doesn’t know anything’s wrong.

Because she doesn’t.

Not yet.

You push out of the chair so fast it skids back with a loud scrape.

“Hey,” she calls, her voice low and curious. “You good?”

You nod too fast. “Yeah��I just—bathroom.”

Before she can say anything else, you turn and walk off, not too fast, but fast enough that you can feel her eyes on your back the whole way.

You duck into the bathroom, lock the door, and brace your hands against the sink.

You don’t even look at yourself in the mirror.

You just breathe.

Try to, anyway.

You squeeze your eyes shut, jaw clenched, chest tight.

You weren’t hallucinating.

That was your apartment door.

That was you in that photo.

Someone was there.

Watching.

And now they know more than they should.

You turn on the sink and splash cold water on your face, biting the inside of your cheek until you taste blood.

You don’t cry.

You can’t.

Instead, you whisper to yourself—

“I’m okay. I’m okay. I’m okay.”

But deep down?

You’re not.

Because this isn’t a random message.

This isn’t a prank.

This is someone who knows exactly what they’re doing.

There’s a knock on the bathroom door.

“Hey,” Jinx calls, her voice muffled but concerned. “You okay in there? You kinda stormed off like–.”

You take a shaky breath.

Then unlock the door and yank her inside before she can finish the joke.

“Whoa—” she stumbles in, startled. “Okay, wow. Ambush therapy session?”

You lock the door behind her.

She immediately sobers.

“...You’re not okay,” she says, tone dropping. “What happened?”

You grab your phone, hands still shaking, and pull up the photo messages. Your thumb hovers for a second—like showing her will make it real.

Then you hand it to her.

She scrolls through slowly.

The café photo. Your apartment door.

Then the message.

You’re not alone.

Jinx doesn’t say anything for a second.

Then: “...Okay, I’m not gonna lie. That’s fucked up.”

You nod, hugging your arms.

“How long ago did you get these?”

“Right before you came over.”

“And you haven’t told Sevika?”

Your silence answers for you.

Jinx stares at you like you’ve grown another head. “What the hell are you waiting for? You don’t just not tell your hot crime boss girlfriend when you’re getting stalked—!”

“I’m not telling her,” you cut in sharply.

Jinx blinks. “...Why the hell not?”

You rub your eyes with the heel of your hand, jaw tight. “Because if I do… she’ll kill them.”

Jinx stares at you, lips parting like she wants to argue—but then slowly closes her mouth.

You continue, voice low. “I’ve never seen her like that, but I’ve seen enough. She’d lose it. She wouldn’t stop. And I’m not trying to drag her into something that’ll ruin her life just to protect mine.”

Jinx leans against the sink, arms crossed.

“So you’re protecting her… by keeping yourself in danger?”

“I’m not in danger. Yet.”

“That’s a really optimistic ‘yet,’ babe.”

You both fall quiet.

Then Jinx exhales and mutters, ��Sevika’s gonna explode when she finds out you didn’t tell her.”

You nod once. “I know.”

You look at her, eyes burning.

“But if this gets worse—I mean really worse—you’re the one I’m calling first.”

Jinx stares at you.

Then nods.

“Deal.”

The rest of the day crawls.

You keep your head down, fingers glued to the keyboard, pretending every email you send is more urgent than the thoughts crawling around in your skull.

You try to breathe normally. Try not to look at your phone. Try to tell yourself the cameras in the ceiling aren’t pointed at you.

No one notices.

Or so you think.

You make it through a meeting, half a spreadsheet, and a painfully long slideshow review. Everything feels too loud, too bright, too exposed.

But you keep going.

Because working feels better than thinking.

You’re in the middle of reviewing vendor receipts when a shadow falls over your desk.

You don’t register it.

Not until a hand gently touches your shoulder.

You flinch hard.

You spin around, eyes wide, heart in your throat—

It’s Sevika.

She pulls her hand back immediately, eyes narrowing. “Hey—whoa. It’s just me.”

You’re already standing, taking a shaky breath. “Sorry. I didn’t… I didn’t hear you.”

Her brows knit.

“You okay?”

You nod too fast. “Yeah, just… focused. Didn’t sleep great.”

She studies you, gaze dropping briefly to your hands—shaking slightly where they grip the back of your chair.

“You sure?”

You force a smile.

“Positive.”

She doesn’t look convinced.

But she doesn’t push—yet.

“Alright,” she says finally. “Let me know if you need to step out or something.”

“Thanks,” you say, voice barely above a whisper.

She walks off, slow and still watching you from the corner of her eye.

And when she’s gone, you sit back down.

Hands still trembling.

Chest still tight.

And you realize—

This isn’t going away.

You’re curled up on the couch, lights dimmed, TV playing something you’ve already stopped paying attention to. The screen flickers across your face in soft, disconnected colors.

You’re trying to relax.

Trying to breathe.

You keep checking the time.

Sevika’s supposed to stop by soon—said she’d bring takeout. Said you could “pretend to be normal together.”

And for a few minutes, it feels like that might be possible.

Until your phone buzzes.

Your stomach drops before you even look at it.

You know.

Unknown number.

You hesitate.

Then swipe.

It’s another photo.

This one’s taken from just outside your window.

Through the curtain.

You’re in it—blurry, grainy, but it’s you on the couch, phone in hand, legs pulled up under you.

Taken tonight.

Taken minutes ago.

Your blood runs cold.

Another message follows:

You look better when you’re alone.

You shoot to your feet, heart hammering so loud you can barely hear the TV anymore.

Your hands are shaking as you back away from the window—just a few inches. Like that’ll help.

You fumble for your phone, heart thudding in your ears.

You want to call Jinx.

You want to scream.

But before you can decide—

There’s a knock at the door.

You freeze.

Stare at it.

One beat.

Then another.

“Hey,” Sevika’s voice calls, muffled through the wood. Calm. Normal. “It’s me.”

You don’t move.

You look at the phone in your hand.

Then the door.

Then the window.

You take a deep breath.

Then another.

And unlock the door with trembling fingers.

Sevika stands there, takeout bag in hand, dressed in dark slacks and a jacket she probably hasn’t taken off since she left the office. Her brows lift the moment she sees your face.

“You okay?”

You nod. “Yeah,” you lie. “Just tired.”

She eyes you a second longer, lips parting like she’s about to question it—but then she steps inside.

You shut the door quickly behind her. Lock it.

One, two clicks.

You feel her gaze on your back.

When you turn around, you’re already moving closer to her—too close, maybe. Not quite touching, but close enough that she pauses mid-step.

You don’t explain.

You just… need to be near her.

The scent of her cologne grounds you.

The soft rustle of her jacket as she shifts her weight makes your breath come easier.

Sevika watches you carefully.

“You sure you’re okay?”

You look up at her.

And your voice comes out softer than you expect. “Can we just… sit for a bit?”

She doesn’t ask questions.

She sets the food down on the counter without looking away from you and nods. “Yeah. Course.”

You follow her to the couch, closer than usual, and when she sits, you slide right beside her—your thigh pressed against hers, your hand barely brushing her knee.

She glances at the contact.

Then at you.

But she doesn’t pull away.

She just leans back.

Arm stretching over the back of the couch—right behind your shoulders.

“I’m here,” she says, not loud. Not soft.

Just true.

And you nod, staring at your phone face-down on the coffee table.

Still silent.

But still watched.

The sunlight streaming through the window is soft and golden, warm against your bare legs as you stretch under the blanket. Sevika is still asleep next to you, her arm slung lazily across your stomach, her breathing steady.

For a moment, everything is quiet.

Still.

Safe.

Your phone buzzes on the nightstand.

You flinch.

Sevika stirs slightly but doesn’t wake.

You lean over and grab the phone.

Unknown Number Voicemail: 1 New Missed Call: Westview Mental Health

Your stomach turns.

You slip out of bed quietly, heart pounding as you answer the number when it buzzes again.

A nurse answers. Gentle. Professional.

“Hi, this is Meredith from Westview. I’m calling about your mother—Marie.”

You sigh, already rubbing your forehead. “Yeah, no. Look, I’ve told you people before—I want nothing to do with her. She made her choices—”

“She’s dying,” the nurse cuts in softly.

You freeze.

“I—what?”

“Her long-term addiction’s taken a toll on her body and brain,” she explains. “There’s cognitive decline. Organ damage. Her body’s shutting down. We don’t know how long she has.”

You swallow hard, suddenly cold.

“She’s been asking about you,” the nurse adds after a pause. “Every day. Keeps asking when you’ll come. She keeps calling it her ‘final visit.’”

You say nothing.

You can’t.

“She doesn’t have many moments of clarity left,” the nurse says gently. “But when she does, it’s you. Over and over.”

There’s a long silence.

You barely whisper your next words. “...Why now?”

“I don’t think she knows what time means anymore,” the nurse replies. “But I think she knows she doesn’t have much of it left.”

You don’t even realize your hands are shaking until the phone slips a little in your grip.

You end the call.

You stand there in the doorway to the kitchen, sunlight still brushing your shoulder like nothing’s changed.

But everything has.

Behind you, you hear the rustle of sheets.

Then Sevika’s voice—still groggy, half-asleep.

“Babe?”

You don’t answer.

You just stare at the wall.

And feel like you’re seventeen again.

You stay standing in the kitchen for a long moment, back turned to the bedroom, the phone still in your hand.

You hear the creak of the mattress as Sevika sits up.

“Babe?” she calls again, more alert now.

You turn slowly.

She’s there in the doorway, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, her hair a mess

She sees your face.

And everything in her softens.

You take a shaky breath.

“My mom’s dying.”

The words fall out flat. Numb. Like they’ve already been said a thousand times in your head.

Sevika doesn’t rush toward you. Doesn’t say “I’m sorry” or “What happened?”

She just watches. Waits.

Your voice cracks on the next part.

“She’s in the mental institution still. They called this morning.”

Sevika nods once. “What do you need?”

That question almost breaks you.

You look down, lip trembling.

Then back at her.

“Can you come with me?” you ask quietly. “I just… I don’t want to be alone.”

There’s a pause.

But only because Sevika’s already crossing the room, closing the distance, taking your hand in hers.

“Of course,” she says, no hesitation. “You’re not going through that alone. Not ever.”

You let out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding.

She squeezes your hand.

And for the first time in years—maybe your whole life—

You’re not walking into your mother’s world alone.

You stay standing in the kitchen for a long moment, back turned to the bedroom, the phone still in your hand.

You hear the creak of the mattress as Sevika sits up.

“Babe?” she calls again, more alert now.

You turn slowly.

She’s there in the doorway, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, her hair a mess, one of your oversized T-shirts clinging loose to her frame.

She sees your face.

And everything in her softens.

You take a shaky breath.

“My mom’s dying.”

The words fall out flat. Numb. Like they’ve already been said a thousand times in your head.

Sevika doesn’t rush toward you. Doesn’t say “I’m sorry” or “What happened?”

She just watches. Waits.

Your voice cracks on the next part.

“She’s in the mental institution still. They called this morning.”

Sevika nods once. “What do you need?”

That question almost breaks you.

You look down, lip trembling.

Then back at her.

“Can you come with me?” you ask quietly. “I just… I don’t want to be alone.”

There’s a pause.

But only because Sevika’s already crossing the room, closing the distance, taking your hand in hers.

“Of course,” she says, no hesitation. “You’re not going through that alone. Not ever.”

You let out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding.

She squeezes your hand.

And for the first time in years—maybe your whole life—

You’re not walking into your mother’s world alone.

The nurse leads you and Sevika down a quiet hallway. The walls are pale blue, the air sterile, humming faintly with the buzz of too many fluorescent lights.

Your stomach flips with every step.

Room 213.

You hesitate at the door.

Sevika touches your back—light, steady.

You nod once.

And push it open.

The room smells like lavender air freshener and something faintly metallic. It’s dim. Peaceful in the most unsettling way.

And it’s filled with porcelain bunnies.

Dozens of them.

Lined on the windowsill. The nightstand. A few stacked awkwardly on the edge of a bookshelf. Some are chipped. One is missing an eye. All of them stare with those glossy, painted-on eyes like they know something.

You freeze in the doorway.

She’s in a wheelchair by the window.

Thin.

Pale.

But sitting up straight, cardigan wrapped around her narrow shoulders like armor.

She turns when she hears the door.

And smiles.

“There’s my girl,” she says, voice raspy, too bright.

You swallow, stepping inside.

Sevika stays right behind you.

Your mother’s eyes scan your face, then trail to Sevika—lingering.

Then she frowns slightly. “Where’s your boyfriend? The soft one.”

You pause.

Then clear your throat.

“We… broke up.”

“Oh.”

You glance at Sevika, then back at your mom.

“I’m with her now,” you say, quiet but firm.

Your mom doesn’t react at first.

Then—

“Good.”

You blink.

“What?”

She shifts in the wheelchair slightly, fingers fidgeting with the corner of her blanket.

“That boy always reminded me of William,” she says. “When we were teenagers.”

You feel your stomach drop.

Her tone is offhand. Nostalgic, even. Like she’s remembering an old movie—not your father.

You glance at Sevika. Her jaw is tight, but she says nothing.

Your mom keeps staring out the window.

“He was sweet, at first,” she adds. “Always wanted to touch. Always wanted to control. Thought he was in love. He only hit me after we moved in together.”

You stand frozen.

Silent.

“She never talks like this,” the nurse whispers from behind you. “This is the clearest she’s been in weeks.”

Your mom looks at you again.

Smile too small. Too calm.

“I’m glad he’s gone,” she says. “I wouldn’t want you ending up like me.”

You force yourself to speak.

“...I’m not.”

But your voice trembles.

Because you’re not sure who she’s talking about anymore—your dad, your ex...

Or herself.

Your mother shifts in her chair again, her fingers fumbling with a folder tucked into the pocket of her blanket.

“I’ve been waiting to give you this,” she says, her voice suddenly clearer than it has any right to be. “Didn’t want the nurses to mail it.”

She pulls out a worn envelope—yellowed at the edges, creased like it’s been opened and resealed a dozen times. She holds it out to you with shaking fingers.

You hesitate.

Then take it.

The paper feels heavier than it should.

You open it slowly.

Inside: a will. Signed. Dated. Official.

And your name—typed cleanly in all caps under the words SOLE BENEFICIARY.

Your heart pounds as your eyes scan the document.

“Wait…” you whisper.

“She left you the house,” Sevika says beside you, reading over your shoulder.

You swallow hard. “The house?”

Your mother nods. “It’s yours now. I had the deed transferred.”

Your hands start to tremble again.

“That house is…” you trail off, unable to finish the sentence.

A graveyard of memories.

Fist-shaped dents in drywall. Screams behind closed doors. A gunshot in the middle of the night that rewired your entire life.

You stare at the will like it might disappear if you blink hard enough.

“I don’t want it,” you whisper.

“It’s still yours,” your mother says simply.

Like it’s a kindness.

Like it’s a gift.

You’re still staring at the will when your mother speaks again.

Her voice is lower now. Slower. Like she knows she’s dragging you somewhere you don’t want to go.

“It hasn’t been emptied.”

Your head lifts.

“What?”

“The house,” she clarifies, turning her gaze back to the window. “No one’s lived there since that night. The police cleared the body… but no one touched anything else.”

Your throat goes dry.

She keeps going, like she’s telling you what groceries she forgot to buy.

“Your room’s still the way you left it. Posters. Clothes. The crack in the mirror. It’s all there.”

You feel like the floor might drop out from under you.

“All of it?” you whisper.

She nods slowly. “All of it.”

You can’t breathe.

“I couldn’t go back,” she continues, as if that explains everything. “And no one else would. So it just… stayed like that.”

You glance down at the will again.

That house.

That night.

Every scream etched into the drywall.

And now it’s yours.

Like a haunted time capsule no one else was willing to open.

Your mother looks back at you.

“I thought maybe you’d want it.”

You don’t answer.

Because you don’t know what’s worse—

That she kept it for you.

Or that part of you does want to see what’s still there.

You don’t say anything.

Not right away.

You just hold the will in your lap and stare down at it, the weight of her words crashing into your chest like a slow, rising tide.

The silence stretches.

Sevika shifts beside you, her voice low. “Hey…”

You look at her.

Your eyes are too still. Too wide.

She studies your face. “You okay?”

You swallow thickly, and then—smile.

It’s small, too polished, too practiced.

“I’m fine.”

It’s a lie.

She knows it.

But she doesn’t call you out—not here. Not now.

Your mom doesn’t seem to notice. Or maybe she just doesn’t care.

Instead, she reaches again into the pouch tucked beneath the blanket on her lap, and pulls out another envelope—this one sealed neatly with handwriting scrawled across the front in looping cursive.

“From your father’s side,” she says simply. “They sent it here a couple weeks ago. I didn’t want to open it.”

Your breath catches.

You take it with careful fingers.

The envelope smells faintly of dust and old perfume. Like it came from someone who still irons their Sunday shirts and keeps photos in albums.

You open it slowly.

Inside: a typed letter.

You scan it.

“We’d love to see you, sweetheart. It’s been too long. The family reunion is this july, and you’re more than welcome. We miss you. Your cousins still talk about that Fourth of July in the backyard. You’re always part of this family, no matter what happened.”

And then—

At the bottom, in smaller print:

“Please understand, we’re keeping this invitation between us. We don’t want your mother involved.”

Your hands tighten around the page.

The words blur for a moment before you blink them back into focus.

Sevika watches you closely, waiting for something—anything.

But you just smile again.

Same hollow curve of your lips.

You fold the letter. Slide it back into the envelope.

And say nothing.

Because somehow, this hurts more than anything your mother’s said today.

The drive home is quiet.

At first.

Sevika tries.

She talks about a board meeting being pushed, some new intern that almost accidentally deleted half the HR server, and how Mel’s been on her ass about quarterly reports like she doesn’t already handle half the company blindfolded.

You don’t respond.

You nod occasionally.

Maybe give a hum in the right places.

But you're not hearing her.

The letter still sits in your bag like a bomb waiting to go off.

The will.

The bunnies.

The smell of your mom’s room.

Your hands are folded in your lap, nails digging into your palm with every turn of the wheel.

Sevika glances at you, notices the way your eyes stay glued to the window, unfocused.

You haven’t said a word since you left.

Then—

At the next intersection, she slows at the stop sign.

And your voice breaks the silence.

“Take a left.”

Sevika glances over. “What?”

You don’t look at her. “Just take it.”

She hesitates.

Then makes the turn.

The road narrows, lined with trees now, familiar but suffocating. The sun’s starting to dip, casting long shadows that stretch across the hood of the car.

Another few moments pass.

And then she asks—cautious, like she already knows she won’t like the answer:

“Uh… where are we going?”

You finally turn to look at her.

Your voice is low.

Even.

“A place I should’ve burned down a long time ago.”

comment to be added to the taglist!

@gaptoothedlesbo @magnificentmilkshakearbiter @half-of-a-gay @vkumi @kazimakozu @aiden-slayyyys @loreensdarling @tsubiki @h0n3yf0rlif3 @h2pinky @emmasjxlian @sevikasprincesss

[betterinvienna]

but even though you're killing me | childe x gen!reader

chapter 1: prologue

prev / masterlist / next

synopsis: Ajax is most attracted to the things that hurt him: combat, heartbreak, and you. Inspired by Chainsaw Man’s Angel, reader possesses deadly, unwanted power; to touch reader’s skin is to shorten your lifespan by an unspecified, varying amount. For this reason, reader resides in a secluded spot of Dragonspine and wears heavy, impenetrable clothing – well, up until reader’s life is impeded by a moment of weakness. Luckily for the lovestruck redhead, he’s here for a good time — not a long time.

[ 1.7k words — fluff, slow burn & angst — no warnings ]

ac: rainsword01 on twt

author's note:

testing the waters here with a prologue. getting kind of busy, so i'm trying to put aside more time to write. definitely going to continue this story because i like the plot, but i just wanted to see if anyone else would like to follow the story as it goes along :') i've also discovered the art of using rich text instead of html on ao3. let's hope this goes well. find me on ao3 under the same user!

He found you in a tent, far away from Liyue’s main city. You laid there, tense and cold, fading in and out of consciousness under the biting wind and freezing temperatures. You were but a couple miles away from Dragonspine, your destination, when you fell victim to a forgotten trap that mangled your foot, ultimately incapacitating you.

“Hey,” he pushes your shoulder around, as if you were a doll. “Are you awake?”

You feel a hand on your shoulder. If not for your thick jacket, your adrenaline would have you up and running, away from him. Yet there must be a way to warn him either way?

Mustering up the last bit of energy anyone could get from braving these conditions, you manage to strain a weak “no.” You hate that he found you in this state, but your head is throbbing, and it feels like it’s about to roll clean off of your neck.

The ginger misunderstands and tilts his head to get a better look at you. “Oh. You’re not awake?” Your thumbnail digs into the plush of your upper palm, cursing him – or yourself – out in your head for your vague statement. He chuckles, not realizing the severity of the situation. “Apologies for getting in the way of your naptime, then.” You massage the crescent you left, controlling your breathing.

He pats you on the shoulder as a farewell, and you push out a meek “stop” mingled with “help.” You manage to move enough of your foot to call attention to it. His eyes dart to the crimson painted sheets covering your foot and he tears the film away, the blood glistening in the moonlight.

“Oh,” he mutters. He curses under his breath before backing out of the tent, his hand motioning a “wait”, and craning his neck to call for someone else, maybe a friend.

The rest that is memorable fades, and your foot still aches in a cardiac rhythm…

• • • 

“Did I tell you to pick up extra luggage on the way there?” 

“I don’t have to be told to do anything.” 

Your head has quieted, but your foot burns with the same momentum as before.

“Insufferable.” The man says it through his teeth – you can hear the air seethe through.

“It’s unfortunate you’re heartless.” The man from last night. “You weren’t raised right.”

“Mmm.” The other man clicks his tongue, possibly in faux agreement. “I wasn’t raised at all.”

Sun peeks through the blinds, and your eyes finally open from the illumination. When they do, you find yourself under scratchy, quilted covers in a wooden cabin, a fireplace lit in the near distance. Two men – one tall, one short – are standing in the common room.

You recognize the tall man’s fiery hair, and your memories begin to rush back. They stutter and cloud your mind, the air feeling funnily cloyed with a heavy steam.

Tent. Touch. Awake. No. Help. Foot. Touch. Touch.

Touch. That’s right. Your foot…

The situation begins to become more urgent now. Your neck snaps towards the icy window, in an effort to recognize your surroundings, and your headache returns. You choose to ignore it, feeling around the bed before tearing the warm cover from your body and examining your injury.

Bare and bandaged. Bare and bandaged.

Your headache is booming now. Your breath turns heavy, and you stumble to regain balance on your foot, rushing to pull on your thick clothes and get out of here.

“Hey – calm down.” The taller man rushes into the room, a firm hand on the doorframe. You now get a good look at his face. Freckled, sun kissed, and luminant. Scars litter certain parts of his face, but it only piques your curiosity momentarily. Even in those few seconds, you could tell his personality was merely a facade. Maybe he was left behind like you were. Maybe he's seen in a different light like you are. Maybe he's different - like you are. To be fair, he's gone out of his way to aid you. Why not give him the benefit of the doubt? Some leniency? Unfortunately, he’s handsome, but he’s dead if you don’t get out of here. He reaches for you, but you shriek and step back erratically. 

“Stop! Don’t – get away from me, please. Just. Stop.” You put a hand up. This is a familiar situation – always feeling like you’re an ungrateful bully to those who only wish you well. Like the monster on the hill - literally. “Thank you for helping me.” 

The shorter one appears now, glaring at you. His lips form unintelligible, probably condemning, words in the other man’s ear. He swats him away.

If he knew, he’d know better than to call this anything but heroic.

You wince at the ache of your foot, and he reaches for you again, but this time you launch yourself further back, onto the wall. Your back bones slam against the hardwood, the pain burning as it spreads through your back, reminiscent of a dull flame.

Not again. It won’t happen again. 

The shorter man rolls his eyes at you from behind the ginger and turns his back, walking off.

You slide down the wall, watching the man from before through your eyebrows. You dig your heels into the creaky wooden floors and anticipate his every move like a cornered animal. It’s annoying to feel that way. To be that way.

“Can you chill out?”

Okay. That caught you off guard. Chill out? 

You grit your teeth and hold up your hand to his face again, as if to say “stop.” If you’re going to leave him vulnerable to you, maybe you should tell him – or at least, give him a quick overview – about your full-time position as walking poison.

“Let me explain.” You sputter out, quickly, hopefully keeping him mentally preoccupied enough to not make any moves while you lay the groundwork. “Listen. I’m only going to tell you once. Don’t touch me. It’s something I don’t want to get into. Just don’t touch my bare skin. Please – trust me.”

He nods. Good. It doesn't matter what he thinks the reason behind it is. “That’s fine with me. Are you good to stand?” He holds out a hand and then glances at it. He retracts the hand with quickness and offers an apologetic smile instead. Awkward.

“I’m fine. I just need to get to this guy I know up the mountain.” Hand up again. “It’s none of your business, so I’ll be able to go myself.” You plant your palms flat against the wall and maneuver yourself up, careful to not place too much pressure on the plush of your foot. He seems to be looking at you more carefully now, like he wants to say something. For a cabin in the middle of Dragonspine, it smells awfully smoky in here.

“I’m Childe, by the way.”

You nod, being sure to keep surveillance on him tight as you trace the edges of the bedroom, collecting your belongings. You don’t really care for him – or his name. 

It’s whatever, anyway. He doesn’t have to know your name. Actually, he’d be better not knowing it. Or anything about you. From… continuous research, you’ve found that a person most often has 4 moments of contact with your bare skin before it’s wraps for them. Of course, the amount can be way higher – or way lower – than that, but as a child, you saw your fair share of destruction caused by doe eyes and an underdeveloped frontal lobe. Keeping your distance from everyone is something you’ve gotten used to. You make human contact here and there – like now, unfortunately – but it’s not like you’re a townie conversing with your favorite vendor every day and hopping off to tend to your humble, centenarian family restaurant bustling with the chattiest neighbors around.

It’s a life you’d like to live, not one you can live. That’s why the image is so detailed. You learned that very early on, albeit the hard way. Now, your life is one best spent with snowflakes, papers and pens, books, and the occasional trips around the snowy beast of a mountain. Solitude is nice. Solitude is yours. It’s not living or tangible, and it won’t put you in a box and leave you on a dingy Liyuean street during your most crucial developmental years.

“I get that you don’t want to talk.”

“Then why do you keep speaking?” At this, he winces.

Childe opens his mouth, then closes it again. His tongue darts out as makeshift chapstick, and you warily follow every movement. You begin to back out of the doorframe, into the living room, and it seems like Childe has finally given up on reconciliation – up until he seems to remember something. Here it comes.

“A guy up the mountain?” This is so annoying. You hate explaining. From years of isolation and people-watching, it’s painfully obvious when someone is trying to strike up further, unwanted, conversation with you. 

You decide it won’t hurt to humor him. Toss him a bone. They always run out of questions and mull over a fresh batch long enough for you to slip the other way. After a certain point, predictability gets irritating. “Albedo,” you breathe. “His name is Albedo.”

Childe’s eyes light up – but minimally. He’s lacking a fundamental "human" aspect, and you notice. Just like you noticed those hardened, deep scars. “I know him,” he backs up. Thank God. “I can take you to him.” Oh. 

This is the first time anticipating another’s steps has shot you in the foot. The atmosphere turns clammy and tense, and you want to get out of here, but Childe is persistent. It doesn’t seem that “I can take you to him” was formatted as an offer. He’s going on about leaving room for you in the carriage and apologizing for something, but you tune him out in interest of a more pressing matter.

Your foot burns, and you hobble towards the bed, grabbing the pin of the footboard. It’s an unnatural pain – you’ve dealt with pain before, it’s nothing new. But this feels different. It’s as if something is trying to crawl out your foot, making it a point to touch every single functional nerve on the way. It’ll likely be fine once you get to Albedo, but you’re starting to rethink travelling solo. 

Childe pops his head in the door, fine snow decorating his hair. “Are you coming?” 

You huff and tighten your iron grip on the pin. Think. How far would you make it before you fall over and become frozen food for the birds?

“I’m coming.”

[smellslikebot]

"how do I keep my art from being scraped for AI from now on?"

if you post images online, there's no 100% guaranteed way to prevent this, and you can probably assume that there's no need to remove/edit existing content. you might contest this as a matter of data privacy and workers' rights, but you might also be looking for smaller, more immediate actions to take.

...so I made this list! I can't vouch for the effectiveness of all of these, but I wanted to compile as many options as possible so you can decide what's best for you.

Discouraging data scraping and "opting out"

robots.txt - This is a file placed in a website's home directory to "ask" web crawlers not to access certain parts of a site. If you have your own website, you can edit this yourself, or you can check which crawlers a site disallows by adding /robots.txt at the end of the URL. This article has instructions for blocking some bots that scrape data for AI.

HTML metadata - DeviantArt (i know) has proposed the "noai" and "noimageai" meta tags for opting images out of machine learning datasets, while Mojeek proposed "noml". To use all three, you'd put the following in your webpages' headers:

<meta name="robots" content="noai, noimageai, noml">

Have I Been Trained? - A tool by Spawning to search for images in the LAION-5B and LAION-400M datasets and opt your images and web domain out of future model training. Spawning claims that Stability AI and Hugging Face have agreed to respect these opt-outs. Try searching for usernames!

Kudurru - A tool by Spawning (currently a Wordpress plugin) in closed beta that purportedly blocks/redirects AI scrapers from your website. I don't know much about how this one works.

ai.txt - Similar to robots.txt. A new type of permissions file for AI training proposed by Spawning.

ArtShield Watermarker - Web-based tool to add Stable Diffusion's "invisible watermark" to images, which may cause an image to be recognized as AI-generated and excluded from data scraping and/or model training. Source available on GitHub. Doesn't seem to have updated/posted on social media since last year.

Image processing... things

these are popular now, but there seems to be some confusion regarding the goal of these tools; these aren't meant to "kill" AI art, and they won't affect existing models. they won't magically guarantee full protection, so you probably shouldn't loudly announce that you're using them to try to bait AI users into responding

Glaze - UChicago's tool to add "adversarial noise" to art to disrupt style mimicry. Devs recommend glazing pictures last. Runs on Windows and Mac (Nvidia GPU required)

WebGlaze - Free browser-based Glaze service for those who can't run Glaze locally. Request an invite by following their instructions.

Mist - Another adversarial noise tool, by Psyker Group. Runs on Windows and Linux (Nvidia GPU required) or on web with a Google Colab Notebook.

Nightshade - UChicago's tool to distort AI's recognition of features and "poison" datasets, with the goal of making it inconvenient to use images scraped without consent. The guide recommends that you do not disclose whether your art is nightshaded. Nightshade chooses a tag that's relevant to your image. You should use this word in the image's caption/alt text when you post the image online. This means the alt text will accurately describe what's in the image-- there is no reason to ever write false/mismatched alt text!!! Runs on Windows and Mac (Nvidia GPU required)

Sanative AI - Web-based "anti-AI watermark"-- maybe comparable to Glaze and Mist. I can't find much about this one except that they won a "Responsible AI Challenge" hosted by Mozilla last year.

Just Add A Regular Watermark - It doesn't take a lot of processing power to add a watermark, so why not? Try adding complexities like warping, changes in color/opacity, and blurring to make it more annoying for an AI (or human) to remove. You could even try testing your watermark against an AI watermark remover. (the privacy policy claims that they don't keep or otherwise use your images, but use your own judgment)

given that energy consumption was the focus of some AI art criticism, I'm not sure if the benefits of these GPU-intensive tools outweigh the cost, and I'd like to know more about that. in any case, I thought that people writing alt text/image descriptions more often would've been a neat side effect of Nightshade being used, so I hope to see more of that in the future, at least!

[menlove]

now i'm curious .. why do you think john was gay?

disclaimer: this is not bi erasure & if anyone tries to start discourse w me about that i do not careeeee sorry. i care deeply abt bi erasure but he never labeled his own sexuality & as a figure of the past it's more than fair to speculate that when he talked abt his attraction to women it was from the pov of a gay man dealing w comphet. if he were alive today and saying he was bisexual i'd leave it alone but he's not so i'm not. sexuality can absolutely be fluid! and he very well may have been bisexual! this is just my personal theory & interpretation of things he's said through the lens of viewing him as a gay man. MOVING ON.

i need you to imagine all of this to the benny hill theme. let's go

with the beatles by alistair taylor pg. 98 (at least in the pdf copy i have- there's no actual page numbers so it might not match up exactly if you have the print copy)

and from the same book like a paragraph down- this one is not AS crazy bc there's a million explanations but also not being able to get it up for the one woman you've fantasized about forever...... oh brother

in a description of an auctioned off audio tape:

this :|

this from JOOOOAN BAEZ. JOAN BAEZ.

(source)

"It’s a plus, it’s not a minus. The plus is that your best friend, also, can hold you without… I mean, I’m not a homosexual, or we could have had a homosexual relationship and maybe that would have satisfied it, with working with other male artists."

this infamous quote (source from the wonderful @amoralto who is a great resource for beatles archiving)

"He was completely open and uninhibited with her, as she learned to be with him, owning up to his deepest sexual fantasies—like one of making love to a woman in her eighties, or even older, whose veined and wrinkled hands would be covered in diamonds. Over time, she became accustomed to his particular style of backhanded compliment. 'Do you know why I like you?' he remarked on one occasion. 'It’s because you look like a bloke in drag. You’re like a mate.' Yoko laughingly replied that she thought he must be 'a closet fag.'"

john lennon: the life by philip norman (take him w a grain of salt. also the doc i have for this one is html so i truly would have 0 clue on what page number this would be) BUT this is also corroborated by a yoko quote herself in a 1981 new york magazine interview

no, no, no by yoko ono which. what do i even need to say.

"I remember it, vaguely. I was out of me mind with drink – when you get down to the point where you drink all the empty glasses, that drunk. And he was saying, 'Well, come on, John, tell us,' something like that, 'Tell me about you and Brian, we all know,' like that. And obviously, I must have been un– uh, f– frightened of the fag in me to get so angry at that. You know, when you’re twenty-one, you want to be a man, and all that. And for the first time I thought, 'I could kill this guy.' I just saw it, like on a screen, that if I hit him once more, I – that’s gonna be it."

this other infamous quote uploaded in an audio by @amoralto (source)

"John believed in my work as an artist wasn’t accepted in part because I am a woman. He got angry when people said about me, 'She’s not a woman, she’s a female impersonator.' John said to me, 'If I had been gay and gotten together with a guy who was talented like you, after ten years that guy would have become famous as an artist in his own right. Maybe we should come out and say, 'Actually, Yoko is a guy.' Maybe that will do it!' That made him laugh a lot. John learned about women’s oppression from me, but I learned a lot about men’s vulnerability from him. He expressed his vulnerability, unlike a lot of other men. I learned that it’s not just men oppressing women. Men also suffer, they feel fear and guilt. For example, I thought the fact that men buy prostitutes was terrible. It filled me with indignation. But John explained it differently. 'It’s humiliating for a guy to buy a whore,' he told me. 'It’s proof that he’s rejected, he’s just so desperate.' I had never thought of that: for me who go to prostitutes, sex is connected to being rejected and humiliated. I always hated people who committed sex crimes, but through John I tuned in to their pain. John told me that it was unfortunate for the poor guy whose sexual preference was a crime and something to be feared. John’s perspective was, 'I’m lucky I’m normal.'"

yoko interview with jon wiener in come together: john lennon in his time. just..... whatever the hell is going on here.

interview w lisa robinson in hit parader "a conversation with john lennon" 1975

"With his four months’ greater experience, Sheridan was an ideal guide to the Reeperbahn’s more exotic diversions, like the Schwülen laden. Stu Sutcliffe later wrote home in amazement that the transvestites were 'all harmless and very young' and it was actually possible to speak to one 'without shuddering.' Though raised amid the same homophobia as his companions, John seemed totally unshocked by St. Pauli’s abundant drag scene; indeed, he often seemed actively to seek it out. 'There was one particular club he used to like,' Tony Sheridan remembers, 'full of these big guys with hairy hands, deep voices—and breasts. But they used to make an effort to talk English. There was something about the place that seemed to make John feel at home.'"

another from john lennon: the life so take it w a grain of salt

so many excerpts from skywriting by word of mouth

and more!

and thats all i'm hunting down for now but he also like Continuously went on and on and and on and ON about how his relationship w yoko worked bc she was so much like a man/mate/what have you

[hydrangea-shelters]

Another stamp batch with a lot of stuff: Greek goth and punk bands (that I know).

Sorry for some band logos ended up looking crusty (pun unintended) or crispy because of the small quality. I try to make the band name look recognizable + some have associated pictures from their album covers.

feel free to use it to your personal page, carrd, neocities, strawpage, toyhouse, sheezy, deviantart, etc. No need to credit when using it (like putting html embeds and stuff) but linking it is appreciated when reposted, reblog, or reupload on different places.

Bands (order based on picture arrangement):

Πανικος (crust/hardcore punk)

Σκοτοδινη (anarcho post punk)

Στρυχνο (post punk/deathrock)

Χαοτικο Τελος (crust)

Χασμα (punk)

Χειμερια Ναρκι (crust)

Χωρις Περιδεραιο (electronic)

Chain Cult (post punk/deathrock)

Cold I (darkwave/post punk)

Era of Fear (post punk/deathrock)

Kill the Cat (ska punk)

Metro Decay (post punk)

Selofan/Σελοφαν (darkwave)

South of No North (darkwave/postpunk)

Αντιδραση (hardcore punk)

Αρνακια (punk/post punk)

Γενια του Χαους (anarcho post punk/deathrock/hardcore punk/punk)

Ερεβος (post punk)

Λευκη Συμφωνια (post punk)

Ξεχασμενη Προφητεια (crust)

Ομιχλη (punk)

[galaxymagitech]

hiiii ⭐️ and ❤️ for the “jason writes fic” fic??

Thank you so much for the ask! I am really excited to share stuff about this fic.

Really Cool Ask Game (anyone can ask questions for any fic if you want! or reblog it and then people can ask you questions!) | Jason Todd vs. The AO3 Curse

♡ SMALL THINGS: pick a fic and I’ll tell you my favorite minor detail from it!

I think my favorite minor detail is the fic titles. I didn’t explain them anywhere, so they probably went unnoticed, but I’m very proud of them:

“No Net Ensnares Me” comes from a Jane Eyre quote: “I am no bird; and no net ensnares me: I am a free human being with an independent will.” I think this quote fits Jason perfectly, from his rejection of his time as Robin to his refusal to be constrained by Bruce’s code to his desire for independence and power over his own story.

“Don’t Fly Too Low” refers to Icarus. Perhaps Jason flew too close to the sun as Robin, but this emphasizes that there was pressure from both ends—I think that Jason firmly believes he would be kicked out if he wasn’t Robin.

The last two titles are lyrics (or modified lyrics) from Poison Idea songs. Jason is canonically a fan—he has a Poison Idea poster in his Crime Alley hideout. I know nothing about Poison Idea, but I looked up some of their songs to find ones that fit.

“started with nothing (ended with less)” — This is from “Feel the Darkness” and I think encapsulates quite a lot of Bruce and Jason’s fraught relationship from an older Jason’s POV. Highlights include “Meet a man who'll make your dreams come true / Your worst nightmare has just begun for you.” Bruce made Jason Robin, gave him a home, gave him magic…but it ended with a nightmarish death. And later “I can't think about running back to (you) / You started with nothing, but you ended up with less.” And this is basically Jason screaming “you’ve lost me” at the top of his lungs. “You’ve lost me, and you’re never getting your son back.” Jason starts this fic while things with Bruce are still good, but it carries him into the darkness and beyond his death.

“Soul of a Washrag” — This one’s from Taken by Surprise. At first glance, the song’s lyrics fit Jason and Bruce again (references to an “imperious aura” and lack of emotion). But I think parts of it also match up really well with “I just wanted to believe we could be family again.” Highlights include: “For a moment, I thought I saw something in your eyes / That's when I was taken by surprise.” Like, Jason genuinely believed for a moment that he and Dick could be Nightwing together, as crazy as it was. “You said, ‘it takes two to start a war.’” This line just kills me. Because Jason is reaching out, but he’s also partially at fault for burning all his bridges, and it’s tragic all around. And “soul of a washrag” refers to just feeling wrung-out, and could refer to any of the three characters.

So yeah I put waaaay too much effort into something with very little chance of being noticed, but I love these details.

✰ NEW SHAPES: send me a fic and I’ll give you an alternate direction the fic could have gone!

Well, to start off, this fic was originally supposed to be a Tumblr post. And then I thought, well, maybe it’ll be multiple Tumblr posts and I’ll make a master list of Jason’s A/Ns. And then I remembered I could do HTML formatting in AP3 to make it actually look vaguely like actual AO3 notes, and my programmer brain was hooked. A couple things I considered as well:

Canon divergence—I was seriously considering having the Batfamily find his author’s notes while he was just starting out as Red Hood and then have the story play out secondhand.

Focus on comments—I wanted to have a comment section, which would have involved Tim’s account and eventually other characters as well. But I couldn’t figure out the HTML. I prefer it with just the notes, though, because I like the flow from note to note.

I was originally going to not include half the Red Hood stuff I did and instead focus on Jason’s responses to commenters and random (non-canon) anecdotes. I eventually chose to follow canon pretty closely to make us all “in on the joke.”