#Email To PDF Conversion

[senadimell]

You know, as a young ish person who's grown up in a primarily digital world, there's something really grounding about spending time with people older than my parents. Went to a Guild activity last night and it was delightful being with the older ladies there.

Someone offered to drive me home because it was over an hour back to my house by public transit. We're in a city, and she took me back to my home by driving through neighborhoods and back roads, in the dark, to a place she hasn't visited in four years, without a GPS (before I gave her a landmark to drop me off at, I gave her my exact address and she got frustrated with the search engine and said she would just use the paper map in her car).

A few weeks ago, I had dinner with a friend's parent's coworker/boss/friend, and she told me I would learn to find my way around and would know the area like a native. It strikes me that this is what she meant, but she wasn't right--if I were to live here for years and go about it as I had been doing, I wouldn't get native knowledge of the area because I would just be relying on GPS and not actually navigating. If I want to really learn the area, I have to pay attention in a way I only learned how to do (and rarely use) because I spent six months in a foreign country without a smartphone or computer.

The lady who drove me home said something to the effect of "you're new to the area so you won't criticize the route I take. I'm just going to take the way I know so I won't get lost." What I don't think she realized is that even if I had been here for years, I wouldn't criticize the route she took, because I lived in my last area for six years and didn't even learn the name of the highway I took weekly. Stupid GPS brain.

So I'm going to Guild meetings for a Formal Skill, but there's all sorts of other basic, hidden life things that I wouldn't learn on my own. It's also been striking to realize that there's a major gap in expectations about how people operate in the world. Nobody above a certain age who's talked to me about the routes I take seems to realize that I don't actually know the names of roads and exits, or that it's possible to get around. I don't want to continue in ignorance, but if I did, I could get around in a smartphone, live here for probably ten years, and only learn about four street names.

[ceausescue]

if there's one thing ive learned from my math education it's the ability to judge a textbook by it's cover:

fancy cover with actual picture, fewer than 15 years old, $300: absolute dogshit. time wasting exercises, poor exposition, that weird gloss they put on the pages probably makes it too toxic to use as kindling

title is just name of subject, referred to by author, 50 years old with like 3 editions: excellent. compact proofs, exercises good enough people refer to them by number in conversation. available for free by foraging somewhere they grow naturally

title is some shit like paul's notes, "cover" is just default latex titlepage, distributed as pdf to grad classes or by advisor: best coverage of whatever (usually niche) topic it's about in the world. crystal clear exposition. solutions to exercises available by emailing grad students working under author

[fellominaarcher]

THE DEVIL'S BRIDE — JENNIE

now I'm fucking leaning on that

SYNOPSIS

» » Desperate to revive her dying music career, burned-out producer Y/N performs a ritual to sell her soul to the devil—only to summon Jennie, the devil’s daughter. But the deal comes with a twist: her soul won’t just be sold, it’ll be married. Now bound by an unholy matrimony, Y/N must navigate a literal deal with the devil… wedding vows, rings, and all.

» » devil!Jennie x artist!fem!reader

» » genre: supernatural horror-romance, dark comedy & psychological thriller

» » warning: power imbalance, occult themes, ritualistic self-harm, blood, dubious consent within contract marriage, morally grey actions, strong language & mind games & sex (in the future)

» » inspo: Unholy Matrimony — Karina x fem!reader, I can't find the OG author account :((

Y/N used to be everywhere. A sought-after songwriter-producer with hits under her belt, awards on her shelf, and a waiting list of artists begging for a piece of her sound. But lately, the tide had turned. Newer, younger producers had flooded the scene. Labels were chasing trends, not talent. The phone didn’t ring as often. The emails came less and less.

It wasn’t that she was any older than them. It was just the way the industry worked: burn fast, fade faster. She was burned out. Inspiration had dried up. And no matter how many all-nighters she pulled or vintage synths she dusted off, nothing sounded right anymore.

Desperate to reignite the dream she built from scratch, Y/N did something she never thought she would.

She considered selling her soul.

It started as a joke—one of those late-night, half-drunk conversations with a friend who said, “You might as well summon the devil at this point.”

Y/N laughed at first. But something about the idea lingered.

She didn’t believe in anything, really. Not heaven, not hell, not even the horoscope. She wasn't raised with that kind of fear. But desperation breeds a different kind of faith. And she was running out of options.

So she researched. Dug into forums, deep web archives, dusty occult PDFs. It was ridiculous, sure but what if it worked?

Then came the night.

A full moon. Wind howling against the glass windows of her penthouse. Unlit candles lined the floor, forming a crooked path from the studio to the open balcony. Her white silk robe fluttered as she stood barefoot on the cold marble floor. A sharp knife in hand.

She sliced her palm—flinched. Blood welled and dripped.

A drop on her tongue. A few into red wine. The rest splattered onto the black marble. She muttered the words she'd memorized, her voice trembling, unsure.

The room fell silent.

Then—

“Well, my father couldn’t make it. Or as I might say: he won’t do it. So he sent me instead. His daughter. One of them.”

The voice was smooth, sultry, and amused.

Y/N turned.

Standing in the shadows of her balcony was a woman—striking, terrifying, beautiful. Catlike eyes that glinted with mischief. Crimson lips curled into a lazy smile. Black boots clicked against marble as she stepped forward, like she owned the place.

Y/N stumbled back, falling to her knees. “What the…?”

The woman, Jennie, cocked her head. “Do you know what you’re getting into? Selling your soul. Devoting yourself to Hell. Tsk. Pathetic. Desperate little dog.”

Y/N blinked up at her, breath catching. “So... slice the palm, blood, wine, creepy words then I sell my soul to the devil, right? That’s how it works?”

Jennie grinned. “Correct.”

Then she paused.

“But... you do know that ‘sell your soul to the devil’ is quite literal, right? Like, marriage literal. Vows, rings, binding contracts. Consummation. All that.”

Y/N stared, slack-jawed. “...Wait, what?”

Jennie raised a brow, her tone flat. “What do you mean ‘what?’ This is standard procedure. You want success, my family wants souls. It’s transactional. Marriage makes it binding.”

Y/N squinted. “You mean like... wedding marriage?”

“Exactly. Dress, vows, eternal damnation. Maybe a honeymoon in Hell. My father's old-fashioned that way.” Jennie waved a hand dismissively as she wandered the penthouse, inspecting the place like a realtor. “Honestly, you’re lucky. If you had summoned him, it would’ve been way worse.”

Y/N was still kneeling, mind reeling.

“A wedding?” she echoed weakly.

“With me,” Jennie added, smiling down at her. “Unless you’re having second thoughts?”

Y/N stared at the wine glass still stained with blood. She thought of her dwindling bank account. Her name slipping off playlists. Her inbox, empty.

Jennie, Satan’s daughter, held out her hand not for a handshake, but like she was offering a dance.

“So?” she said, with a smirk. “Do you want to be mine, or not?”

Y/N blinked. Her head was a cloud of disbelief and iron-scented fog. She glanced at the hand, perfectly manicured and ominously calm, and gently slapped it aside as she rose on shaky legs.

“Don't take this personally,” Y/N muttered. “I just... need a minute.”

Jennie raised a brow, amused. “Oh, honey. That was very personal. Want to hear what happened to the last girl who said ‘give me a minute’?”

“No.”

“Smart.”

Y/N exhaled sharply, ignoring the sting in her palm. This was all spiraling. She wasn’t sure if she was hallucinating, or if burnout had finally bloomed into full-on insanity. Marriage? To the devil’s daughter?

Did she not read those crusty, probably-forbidden ritual papers carefully enough? Maybe she was just too excited at the idea of not fading into irrelevance to fully process the fine print.

“Am I marrying you right now?” she asked, voice dry and tinged with panic. “Like... this second?”

Jennie had already picked up the blood-tinged wine and was sipping it casually, like it was sparkling juice at a dinner party.

“The drink’s not bad,” Jennie commented, smacking her lips before casting Y/N a sidelong glance. “Needs more blood, less Merlot.”

“Answer the question,” Y/N said, grabbing a clean towel and pressing it to her bleeding hand.

Jennie’s smile curled lazily, like a cat stretching on a pile of bones. “Well... do you want a human-style wedding? Vows, flowers, questionable music choices, drunk uncles?”

“Hard pass.”

“Then we do it our way,” Jennie said sweetly, too sweetly.

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “And how exactly do demons or whatever you are get married?”

Jennie stepped closer, her boots soundless on the marble floor. She looked up at the ceiling, humming dramatically like she was trying to remember something she absolutely wasn't.

Jennie stepped closer, her boots soundless on the marble floor. She looked up at the ceiling, humming dramatically like she was trying to remember something she absolutely wasn't.

“Oh, you know. Your soul gets dragged into Hell. You recite some ancient vow no living tongue can pronounce properly. Then we soak your body in a thick, black tar-like substance and voilà! You’re married.”

Y/N blinked. “...That’s the whole process?”

“Almost. Consummation too,” Jennie added, tone flat now. “It... binds the soul.”

Y/N looked at her. “You mean sex.”

While Jennie explained the terms of this supernatural marriage contract, Y/N's mind raced. Was it worth sacrificing herself for eternal damnation just to hear her songs on the radio again? What if she changed her mind later? What if there was no "later" to speak of?

But she'd already summoned a literal demon into her penthouse. It was too late for second thoughts.

Y/N turned to face Jennie fully, decision crystallizing like ice in her chest. "Deal. Let's get married." The words left her mouth before her brain could stop them, heart hammering against her ribs like it was trying to escape.

Jennie glided over to Y/N with predatory grace, setting the wine glass down with a soft clink before taking hold of Y/N's injured hand. The towel fell away like a discarded prayer. "From now on," Jennie murmured, fingertips brushing the open wound with surprising gentleness, "I am yours and you are... mine."

The cut sealed itself instantly, skin knitting together as if it had never been torn. Not even a scar remained but just smooth, unmarked flesh and the ghost memory of pain.

Y/N stared at her healed palm, then at Jennie's face. This was really happening. She was about to marry Satan's daughter—a being whose name she didn't even know yet. A creature with red hair that caught the candlelight like flame, eyes that held hints of red in their depths, and an expression that managed to be both devastatingly beautiful and faintly cruel.

Is this how devils were supposed to look? Hauntingly gorgeous with killer smiles and the ability to heal wounds with a touch?

"By the way," Jennie said, as if reading her thoughts, "you look absolutely pathetic standing there gaping like a fish. It's almost endearing in a deeply embarrassing way."

Y/N blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Oh, did I stutter? You summoned me with all the grace of a drunk toddler, nearly fainted at the sight of your own blood, and now you're staring at me like I'm some sort of museum exhibit." Jennie's laugh was melodic and mean. "Honestly, I'm starting to wonder if Hell has quality standards anymore."

And somehow, despite everything, Y/N found herself almost smiling. At least her future wife had personality.

Even if that personality seemed dedicated to creative insults.

Jennie didn’t wait for another word. With a palm pressed firmly between Y/N’s shoulder blades, she guided her into the dining hall. The space felt different—off. The air was heavier here, the shadows slower to retreat.

At the head of the long, obsidian dining table, Jennie pulled a velvet-cushioned chair out with a lazy grace. Then, without ceremony, she shoved Y/N by the shoulder into it.

“Let’s get married, you little puppy,” Jennie purred, brushing Y/N’s hair back with a predatory tenderness. Her eyes glinted, just for a second, with a crimson flash. She bit her bottom lip, excitement curling at the corners of her mouth.

The literal daughter of Satan was about to wed a struggling pop producer. If it weren’t happening to her, Y/N would’ve laughed at the absurdity. This sounded like internet folklore cooked up by someone high on cough syrup.

Y/N tilted her head to look up at Jennie. “This instant?”

Jennie pushed her head gently but firmly to face forward again.

“Sit still.”

Y/N blinked. “I didn’t even get your name yet. Hey…”

Jennie sighed as if this was the most inconvenient conversation she’d had all century. “Oh, shut up.”

And yet, Y/N didn’t resist. Not really. Just a small grumble. She wasn't scared, not in the traditional sense—more like disoriented, as if this was a dream dressed up in velvet and blood.

Jennie stepped closer. She cupped Y/N’s face, fingers cool against her skin. Then, with a smooth motion, she covered Y/N’s eyes with both hands.

Darkness.

Then came the whispering.

Jennie’s voice first, soft and low in her right ear. Then others—many others—joined in, layering over each other like a ghostly chorus. Y/N couldn’t understand the words, but they echoed somewhere inside her, twisting through her bones. She felt dizzy. Sleepy. Disconnected from her body.

Where does this take her?

When Jennie finally lifted her hands, Y/N gasped.

She was no longer in her penthouse.

The space stretched endlessly in all directions, an eerie void painted in shades of crimson and black. The air smelled metallic, thick. Ruby stones grew from the ground like grass. The sky above them pulsed a dark, sick red. The silence here had sound.

Hell.

“This is home, Y/N,” Jennie whispered again, her breath grazing her ear. A single claw-like nail dragged along Y/N’s jaw, sharp enough to prick but not pierce.

Y/N stood, blinking at the uncanny landscape. Her mind screamed this had to be a hallucination. A dream. But the cold under her bare feet, the thick air in her lungs—everything felt real.

She was here.

She summoned the devil. And the devil said yes.

How the hell was she supposed to back out now?

Regret was blooming, fast and uninvited.

Jennie stepped around her with a smug calmness and slipped her hand into Y/N’s. “C’mon. Let’s make us belong to each other now.”

Y/N said nothing. Wordless, like the little lost dog Jennie kept calling her, she followed.

The “venue” was horrifyingly beautiful. Dark elegance stitched into every inch. The floor was lined with polished black stone. Candles floated mid-air, their flames flickering with a purple hue. Ruby stones grew like tall grass around the ceremonial space, their surfaces catching light that seemed to come from nowhere. Contrary to traditional beliefs about Hell, there was no fire.

Before she knew it, Y/N found herself standing at an altar with Jennie holding both her hands. She glanced at their wedding guests: a group of figures with faces obscured by cloth wrapped around their heads like burial shrouds.

It was deeply unsettling.

They didn’t speak. They didn’t move. But Y/N felt them watching.

Worse, above them was beyond the fabric of this twisted sky—loomed something. A colossal presence. Watching. Breathing. Waiting.

Y/N’s stomach churned.

“The name’s Jennie, by the way,” Jennie said with a wink.

Before Y/N could respond, Jennie pressed her thumb to Y/N’s forehead.

Y/N’s body convulsed. Her head jerked back as if struck by lightning, and a deep gag rose from her throat. Her eyes rolled back, whites fully exposed. A burning pain shot down her spine.

“If you see it…” Jennie whispered, lips brushing Y/N’s ear, “read the vow.”

Y/N could suddenly see it.

Not written but etched into her mind, carved in symbols older than memory. A vow in a language not meant for mortals, vibrating against her skull, begging to be spoken.

With trembling lips, Y/N spoke the words. They felt like ash and fire pouring from her throat.

Each syllable echoed. The covered heads guests figures raised their heads. The red sky rippled. The ground beneath her feet shuddered.

And Jennie’s smile stretched wider.

This was no metaphor. This was real. This was Hell. And Y/N was marrying it.

Everything after the vow moved too quickly for Y/N to process.

One moment, she was standing on the altar, voice still echoing from an ancient vow her mouth wasn’t supposed to form. The next, shadowy creatures with tightly wrapped cloth around their heads—no eyes, no features, no humanity were dragging her somewhere deeper. Their touch was ice, their hands skeletal and firm.

She was paralyzed beneath them, limbs slack, breath shallow.

They carried her toward the black water.

It rippled like oil and stank of iron and forgotten things. No reflection. No end. Just a surface meant for swallowing. The moment she was lowered in, it enveloped her completely.

A part of the ritual.

A necessary step to marry the devil.

Y/N had thought it would be simpler. Slice your palm, spill some blood, recite a few spooky phrases—and boom. Contract signed.

But no.

It was so much more disturbing than she could’ve imagined.

Just flesh. And vows. And immersion.

All happening too fast, too surreal for her mind to latch onto.

And suddenly—

She was back.

Back in the endless red-and-black void, but seated now, shivering slightly on a velvet-cushioned chair that hadn’t been there before. Across from her sat Jennie. Red hair glowing like embers, eyes fixed on Y/N with an unreadable expression.

Not quite concern. Not quite cruelty.

Curiosity.

She tilted her head. “It’s okay. You did good,” Jennie said, voice low and eerily gentle. “Now... let’s get you home.”

Before Y/N could respond, Jennie leaned in and wrapped an arm around her. Not tight, but supportive. Y/N, exhausted beyond reason, allowed her body to lean into it. The weight of everything—ritual, vow, decision—came crashing down all at once.

Her head dropped against Jennie’s shoulder. Dizzy. Breathless. Empty. It had taken so much out of her. And yet, she hadn’t even begun to pay the price.

This was just the start.

Still... if it meant going back to what she once was—writing hit after hit, producing music that swallowed the world whole, getting her name back into every artist’s mouth and every teenager’s playlist...

Maybe it was worth it. Maybe.

Y/N’s eyes fluttered shut, her breath softening as the void around them began to melt away.

And Jennie? Jennie simply smiled.

taglist (open) — @saysirhc

[goldfades]

realising they're feeling much better when they know that the other is happy + jordan poole please!

ouuu first jordan poole request! i hope i did it justice<3

warnings: established relationship, up and down relationship stuff, um... nothing else! sweet and short<3

You’ve never loved L.A., not really. It’s fine. Too much sun, too many conversations that feel like auditions, too many people who say "let’s link soon" and mean "never unless you become more useful."

But you love Jordan. And Jordan, well, Jordan is L.A. in human form. Warm, golden, just the right amount of dramatic, so you stay.

Not for him. Not just for him. You stay because somehow, it all works.

You met three years ago at someone’s birthday dinner — someone you barely knew, someone he was probably obligated to show up for because of some overlapping Nike connection or the politics of offseason friendships. You were sitting across from him, picking at some overpriced truffle risotto and he’d caught you staring. Not in the flirty way, in the judgy way because he was wearing sunglasses. Indoors.

"You good?" he asked, grinning like he already knew he was being annoying.

You said, "Do you think your corneas are more sensitive than the rest of ours or is it, like, an aesthetic thing?"

He laughed. Like really laughed. The loud, joyful kind that makes other people turn around.

You didn’t know it then, but that was it. The moment. The start.

Now, years later, you live together in a downtown condo that overlooks just enough of the skyline to feel cinematic but not so high up that you can’t hear the city at night. It’s not always peaceful. You fight, sometimes. About the dishwasher. About his tendency to ghost plans until the last minute. About your inability to let a grudge go quietly. But it’s real. It’s yours.

And lately, it’s been better. Quieter, in the right ways. Easier, not because the problems disappeared but because they stopped being the center of everything.

You’ve both been busy. Jordan’s been on the road a lot and you’ve been deep in a pitch cycle at work which basically means your whole personality’s been replaced with coffee and PDFs but even with the distance, even with the missed calls and the delayed sorry, I just saw this texts, you feel solid. Like the foundation’s there, like even on different schedules, you're still moving in parallel.

The funny part is, you didn’t notice the shift at first. You were too buried in your own routine. You wake up, you check your phone, you answer twenty emails before your second cup of coffee and you try to remember to eat before 2pm. That’s the loop.

Then last week, he FaceTimed you from the team bus. He looked tired but good — soft hoodie, head leaned against the window, sleepy eyes blinking slow.

"Yo," he said, smiling like your face was the best part of his day.

You smiled back, sleepy too. "Hey."

There was a pause. The kind that would’ve felt awkward with anyone else.

"You look better," he said finally, quietly. "Like... lighter."

You didn’t say anything for a second, blinking. "I... do?"

He nodded. "Yeah. I don’t know. Just, it’s nice. Seeing you like that."

And you didn’t realize it until hours later but you’d felt the same way about him. The week before, he’d sent you a picture from a dinner he went to after the game. Someone else had taken it, he was laughing at something off-camera, hand mid-gesture, eyes bright.

And you’d stared at it for too long. Not because he looked good (he did) but because he looked happy. The unbothered kind, the kind that only shows up when you’re truly okay.

There was something beautiful in that. Something that made your chest feel full in a way that had nothing to do with possessiveness or need. You weren’t just glad he was thinking of you. You were glad he was good. That he was enjoying himself, that he felt light, too.

That’s where it started.

This feeling. This quiet realization that somewhere along the way, your happiness had gotten tangled up in his — not in the codependent, weird way, but instead in the quiet, grounding way. The way that makes you pause before answering a text to make sure you’re not just reacting, but seeing. The way that makes you root for each other not because it reflects well on you, but because it just... matters.

That night, you fell asleep thinking about it. Not in a big, dramatic monologue kind of way. Just a hum beneath everything. A comfort. A truth.

You love him. You love this.

Even when it’s messy. Even when he forgets to take the trash out. Even when he leaves his socks in the living room and swears he didn’t. Even when you yell and he shuts down and you both sit on opposite sides of the couch in silence until someone eventually breaks and mumbles an apology.

You love him in a way that feels like exhale. Like return. Like remembering something soft in the middle of a sharp day.

You just hadn’t realized how much of your own peace had started to echo his.

It’s a Saturday now. He’s back from a three-game road trip, sprawled across the couch with one leg flung over the armrest, watching some anime with the volume low. You’re on the other end, laptop open, pretending to work but really just scrolling.

He’s half-watching you.

You can feel it.

"What?" you ask, not looking up.

He shrugs. "Nothing. You just look nice right now."

You huff a small laugh. "I’m in sweats."

"Yeah," he says, like that’s the point.

He gets up a minute later to get something from the kitchen, and on his way back, he drops a kiss on your forehead. Light, thoughtless. Like breathing.

And you feel it again, that hum. That gentle thing.

You’re good. He’s good. And that’s enough.

[czteryd]

My guide to Internet warfare and taking back control

By which I mean minimizing screen time and wasting your life on making Zuckerber rich. Scrolling Instagram doesn't seem to be dangerous, but there is probably nothing less hurtful than wasting time of milliards of people on things they don't care about. Using willpower to work on this is a lie — you will need real weapons, technologies and strategy.

^this is the lost future you are fighting for. Technology can be good.

Remember, that wars are rarely won in a week, I am in trenches since last summer when i ditched my phone, when i say "It takes time" i mean 5–10 months. It is still hard, but the improvement is amazing.

This is a list of things I have been doing for more than a year that improved my life. Ranked with ease (EAS) + effectiveness (EFF) from 1 to 10.

It is still not perfect, but this is a warzone and you will adapt and not be allowed to surrender, soldier!

Remove the smartphone – 5 eas + 15 eff

Sorry. This is a military grade weapon that milliards of dollars are put into to make you waste your time as easily as you can. You can move forward with your phone, but nothing is as effective in taking control back during your commutes, breaks, walks and free time etc. and it is a very important part of learning to deal with stress without mindless scrolling and games. There is no real phone hacks to help you. We and the enemy know that timers don't work. If you can enable all enemy weapons with one switch it is not enough.

You will need a dumbphone or a custom rom to use this technique and stay in society.

It is not as hard as it sounds, actually you don't need it that much. Check out #dumbphone or r/dumbphones for inspiration and support. Me and many of my friends who done it as well don't look back.

Buuut i can't – 9 eas + 5 eff

Yes you can. But if you insist, still, buy a dumbphone or find one in the drawers and put your sim card there; carry them both. Now you can use the Internet only when you have wifi, but you can use offline maps, listen to downloaded music and watch downloaded movies, read pdfs etc. Check your email, bank, messages, memes at work or at home. You will regain control over walks, commutes and socialising. But if you still have any social apps, at home or during breaks, you are still cooked. It is still a very good first step to moving away from phone dependence.

Smartphone substitutes

Email, socials, work, school – all will now be done on a pc or a laptop. This is good. It allows you to distance yourself from stress, tiring family members, school, work and problems of others and engage with them only when you want to. It allows you to take a break. It is not your duty, to engage all the time and the ability to do so at your own pace is the biggest advantage you can get on the battlefield. If something important is going on — someone will call you, don't worry. Just inform others that WhatsApp is not a place to discuss emergencies.

Fun, music, reading – you will need to get a dumbphone that supports some music, pdf viewing, photos and maybe light web browsing, they do exist. Or just buy an mp3 player, some books and a notepad. An e-reader and a camera for the high tech soldiers. Y2K is back in fashion anyway, and you will be much cooler and people will start conversations. Having everything in one place was convenient, but, if it means having time–wasting hazards in your pocket, it is not worth it.

Libraries are here to support you on your journey.

Block the feed — 10 eas + 4 eff

Hopefully you got rid of your phone, the biggest danger now is your web browser.

Use LeechBlock to block or regulate access to the biggest dangers – youtube, instagram, fb, reddit. On the weak side it is no better than the timer in your phone, supportive, but not really effective and fills you with guilt. Guilt is bad.

On the strong side you will block all access, allow very rare and short usage, put as many defenses as you can, put blockades on your blockades. Your brain is very effective at overcoming barriers, but they need to be put in place.

It is the first step, but it is not enough to win the war. Real psychological effects will show only after months of usage and well adjusted settings that acknowledge how your brain works and as you adapt your barriers will need to adapt as well. On the flip-side it requires no real conscious work or wasting your willpower if your filters are good.

You will sometimes need to bend the rules, to fix something or watch a lecture or a tutorial or just for some well deserved Forgotten Vines Compilation. Remember to put them back in place later and spot the times where you never did — and do it then.

Warning: nerd shit! (3-6) eas + (7-10) eff

If your friends sent you a funny video — don't unlock the site to watch it. Use external software like MPV or VLC to watch this video using only the link, without getting rid of your defense line. This is easiest on a linux machine.

You also have the nuke – block websites on your router and gate settings. You will need the support of the rest of the war room members in your house to use it and it will cut access to actually useful things. But this is a war for your life and every sacrifice is worth it.

Block the biggest hazards — 6 eas + 9 eff

Sorry, but you will need to use some nerd tactics.

Shorts, reels, tik toks, explore, for you pages. They need to be blocked immediately and for good. No access, no overrides, no fiddling in options. LeechBlock browser addon will allow you to block specific pages with harder barriers. Do it and never change them.

They are the biggest danger and you know it. Your brain will not be mad if it won't get dopamine this way, it knows you would never find the perfect 1 minute video that would make you happy. The urge to scroll some shorts will go away real fast.

This will allow you to fight only the easier fights — against the normal infinite feeds.

UblockOrigin

Is a double edged sword. Removing ads makes your life on the internet easy and fun. It is only a good thing to a certain extent – our fight is to make some parts of the internet as hard and painful to use – but it will help you keep your sanity.

Use it to block the feed! Click on Ublock icon and use the little pipette to add a rule that blocks the infinite feed on webpages of your choice.

Select the area and click the blue button to create a rule on the main page. Now you will not be distracted with algorithmic content, but you are free to not block groups important for you or your work or still see notifications, messages and other functions.

Cons: sometimes your rules will break with time, you will need to make many of them. Removing ads from youtube is dangerous as the reward is easier to obtain, thus making the boobytrap more effective.

Don't use apps and don't use the browser. 10 eas + 6 eff

Minimize a chance of getting distracted while doing something else.

For messages, school and work remove the browser from the equation. Use desktop clients for messaging, microsoft office, Teams, email etc. They have exactly what you need and are often more convenient to use. No chance of opening Instagram in excel.

For social media and online entertainment use the browser, don't use the apps! You are going into the warzone, you will need the armor – Leechblock and other addons are here to help you. Time wasting apps are engineered to remove your personal defense – never use them.

No Screentime before coffee – 1 eas + 10 eff

This one is behavioral and requires actual brain work, but give yourself some time and it will give you great effects.

Do not check memes, messages, mail etc. before waking up. Easier said than done.

Going to school or work will be easier, waking up will be easier, you will start to eat and have more energy during the day.

It will require you to plan your day in advance, check the calendar and your plan for the day the night before. I never learned it as a child and it is very hard to work on it, but the effects on my psyche are immense.

If you got rid of your phone, you are halfway there. If you can remove your laptop from proximity of your bed — do it. If you have an ability to put your pc in a seperate room — it would be perfect, but not many are able to, including me.

Separate your working, from sleeping, from entertainment spaces, we worked on it during COVID soldier, don't forget your training.

Remove the noise — 1 eas + 4 eff

somewhat. You probably don't actually need podcasts and music to work, walk or sleep and regaining your ability to focus there is also important. Maybe substitute them with white/pink/brown noise at least sometimes, especially for brain heavy tasks this is very helpful to get work done in a reasonable amount of time. Blanket app is a good desktop noise generator that won't require the browser.

But I will not blame you if you won't, this is the least problematic part and humans have always met to do menial tasks while hearing others talk and many conditions are easier to live with some background noise.

Pick your allies

Internet is a meadow and a minefield. Place for art and support and knowledge filled with weapons designed to use you as an revenue generator. Watch content only from curated, quality places and people you follow. Never look at the algorithmic feed. Tumblr is a prime example of a site that can be your ally, but don't trust it – block the For You page.

don't lose your steam

Do not engage emotionally with things beyond your control. This was the twitter's weapon of choice. If you do not have the money or time to support a cause, you know about it and you know all your mutuals already support it – don't let the algorithm put it down your throat against your will.

Do not follow war hashtags, do not look at pages when you can see hate and violence against your will. Educate yourself, do as much as you can, follow people who inspire you and do real work, but allow yourself to move on if it is beyond your abilities or strength. Your local anarchist group will do more good in a month, than you reading political posts for years. If you honestly care – join them and focus on real work. If you can't contribute, just learn about it and move on. There will be more opportunities in the future and then we will need all your strength. This is the sad part of winning the war. Some sacrifices have to be made.

^you soon

Wish you luck soldiers. This is a fight worth fighting.

share your weapons of choice if you can and tell me about your experiences.

[copperbadge]

What do you mean by digital cleaning?

It's something I've been working on more this year because I had a bit more travel than usual so couldn't do actual home cleaning, but I always take a couple of days in the Month Of Cleaning where I'm focused on my digital life. It's good to make your physical home a comfortable place for yourself, but it's also good to recognize that we have "digital" homes that need attention. And often this is at least less physically demanding, so it's good to keep it in your back pocket for days when you're mentally okay but physically too tired or sore to do more of that kind of work.

In the shortest possible terms, digital cleaning is just making sure that your phone, computer, socials, and other digital "presences" are organized in a way that you find helpful, and that you take a moment to either answer those messages you've been putting off or give yourself amnesty on doing so.

This tends to make a lot of people extremely anxious in a way ordinary physical space cleaning doesn't, so I'm going to put the rest of it behind a cut...

So when I say digital cleaning, I refer to stuff like going through my likes on Tumblr and clearing them out, going through my drafts and turning them into queued posts, answering my asks. I spend time in my email inboxes, either responding to messages or removing them. I am not an "inbox zero" kind of guy, but I like to keep the read-but-not-answered messages to a minimum, and towards the end of the year that usually means a clear-out and amnesty. I clean my Google Drive -- delete old files I uploaded for others, move documents I'm no longer using into an archive, move documents I want to work on into a central work folder. I go through my catch-all folder on my hard drive and organize it; I sort through the year's photos and organize those, partly to archive them and partly because I make a scrapbook from them each year. I don't usually have a ton of tabs open but often have more than I'd like, so I go through them all and either read, bookmark, or get rid of them.

I look in my phone's file tree to make sure I delete files I don't need (mostly menu downloads, Restaurants Stop Making Your Menus PDFs Challenge 2K24) and I sometimes go through each app on my phone, make sure I still use it, and make sure it's set how I want it. If this sounds like a nightmare, bear in mind that I very rarely put apps on my phone to start with -- I think my mother has more apps open at any given time than I have apps on my phone ever.

Everywhere I clean, I look for files named things like "notes" or "deal with" or "random" and move them all into one place so that whatever is in them, I can sort through it and make sure it goes somewhere permanent. Logins go in the login/password spreadsheet I keep, addresses go into my contacts, story notes go into a "fiction scraps" file, random thoughts either get moved into a journal file or put into drafts to become Tumblr posts, etc.

If this sounds like I might have some kind of compulsion disorder, I get that; when I explain my digital hygiene systems a lot of people look at me like I'm spouting a mad but harmless conspiracy theory. But it's something I used to have to do periodically even before I created National Clean Your Home Month, because otherwise I could never find anything, and everything was just...harder. As I once told a boss who admired my organizational skills, "It was this or endless chaos."

Putting addresses into my contacts list means I always know that the addresses I have for my friends are up to date. Putting logins into a spreadsheet means that five minutes spent now will not result in five weeks of procrastination later because I can't find the login and can't do anything else until I do that. Going through my email and archiving old conversations means not only can I find them easily when needed, I don't have to look at them the rest of the time. Sometimes I even go through my various wish lists and remove old/purchased items, or clear out all my "save for later" carts.

There's no doubt this is stressful, but like every part of NaClYoHo, it's broken down into smaller tasks; I don't have to look at my computer and organize everything on it all in one day. I can answer a few asks, then sort photos (something I find very soothing up until the moment I Don't), then read and delete some emails, then I'm done for the day. I can spread "answer or file all your work emails" out over a couple of days. I can maybe empty out my Likes but just turn the ones I actually want to reblog into drafts for now and deal with them later in the "drafts" phase of cleaning. And if I don't manage to empty out my inboxes, at least they're emptier than they were.

I'm struggling this morning with having put a bunch of physical cleaning on the to-do list but not feeling physically up for it, so I did what I felt capable of doing (measuring cabinets for new shelf liners mainly) and later today I might sit down and start building this year's photobook. Or not -- I have to code Radio Free Monday, sort out a prescription and possibly go pick it up, plus a very full day of work and a couple of afternoon appointments I can't shirk, so today may simply be a "get through the day" kind of day. That's okay too; some days the spirit is willing but the schedule is full.

[home-sweet-hive]

ALTERNATE HUMANITY

A Field Guide to "Humanity Removal Therapy"

Part 2: Facade (ft. @dawning-mars )

This is a complimentary series to this system's other Animal HRT series; Black Arms HRT

Letter from your "Penpal":

Hey, very sorry about this part taking a while to come out. It's one thing for a comic to take a while, but I feel a little pathetic that it took me over a month to write this part out. Yeah yeah, "self deprecation isn't gonna get you anywhere", I know. Let me do things wrong sometimes. But hey, I did get it complete in time for the big Dragon HRT send off, so that's something I guess. Aik did a lot of being poetic and stuff yesterday with his Fish HRT fanart, I don't wanna bore you by doing the same. (Not like I have anything of the sort to say, anyways.)

Let's get on with the show. Thanks for reading and making the community what it is or whatever, I like writing about y'all.

WARNING: This part still has the Swearing, Mentions of Death, and the Untrustworthy Narrator/Main Character from last time, but also there are now Mentions of Cults and Violent Threats. Also just a general horror vibe, especially towards the end. Reader Beware.

Prev | Next (COMING SOON. HOPEFULLY.)

8:00am, February 9th, 2025

The following is an audio recording from Doctor Theodore H. Erian, transcripted into text;

“Eight in the morning, February the 9th. … Is that necessary? I’ll admit, I’ve never done something like this. I’ve had some patients of mine send in audio tapes for their transition journals before, for one reason or another, sure, but I’ve never made one myself. I… I just want to be vigilant.”

“That journal that I read a week ago… It still haunts me a little. I know, I know, I contort human bodies into resembling animals for a living, and a simple PDF sent to me via email is what keeps me up at night.”

“But in the days that have passed since I conversed with Doctor Fortune, I’ve been rereading those journal entries in between working with patients. I’ve been picking up on… Details. Unsettling details. The one that gets at me the worst is when the author mentions how the technology behind Animal HRT would ‘go to a much more important use’ if in their hands… Just what do they even mean by that? Furthermore, the author seems to work for a news station, but their descriptions in certain places throughout their entries suggests their workplace has responsibilities far beyond the scope of such a profession. They also seem rather close with and even have some authority over a pair of researchers from a laboratory, as if the two businesses are subsidiaries of another organization. The greater organization both the station and laboratory are under is probably the one Doctor Fortune mentioned in her emails, come to think of it.”

“But back to the point. The reason why I’m recording myself right now. The day that the journal suggested its author would come for me has arrived, and I indeed have several appointments on my schedule today. One of them being for a L. Black. I… feel like it’d be a breach of privacy to give their full name in this recording. But that patient does have the same first initial as the author of the journal, which is arguably the most important detail. I do have the full first name now, mind you, though I’m sure you’re not surprised to hear that the name was generic enough for me to get flooded with results from all sorts of different dimensions when I tried to look them up. In the end, I wasn’t able to get much information on them.” 

“The surname suggests a possible connection to the Black Arms, at least in my opinion. Soon before Doctor Fortune had approached me, I had been given a ‘notice of investigation’ by the Guardian Units of Nations. They’re trying to deter me from ever making or distributing an HRT for the Black Arms, and it honestly does seem similar to what Doctor Fortune is doing. In fact, I did try asking her a few days ago if she was affiliated with G.U.N.”

“She seemed rather offended by the question, chastising me for ‘comparing this situation to a video game plot’... Can she blame me? I work in and for a land between dimensions, for fucks sake…”

“But aside from that, I suppose all I can do now is… wait. Wait and see what Mr. Black does. What they… want.”

--

9:20am, February 9th, 2025

>Real time transcription from audio recording.

>Any typos or mistakes made are either L████’s or another ████████████████████████████████’s responsibility to detect and correct.

>Reminder: I am not a grammar checker, and my knowledge unfortunately relies on what is given to me.

[sound description: door opening, followed by a bell ringing, and the door then closing]

“Welcome to the TOHC Primary Care Center. Let me guess, you’re here for Doctor Erian?”

“Yep. I have an appointment.” 

“Do you now? Heh, most just waltz in here without so much as a 15 minute notice call…” “What’s your name?”

“L████ ████.’

“Thank you.”

[sound description: Tapping of keyboard keys]

“I see. You do indeed have an appointment with Doctor Erian, but you’re quite early, don’t you think?” 

“Am I now?”

“Yes. Your appointment is at noon. Did you mean to schedule it earlier in the day or…?”

“Noon is fine.”

“Good, ‘cause you wouldn’t be able to reschedule your appointment unless you changed the day outright.”

“Tch. Of course not.”

“You can go sit down in the waiting area now.”

--

9:30-10:30am, February 9th, 2025

Removed the recording of this section of time and the subsequent transcript made for it. Nothing of importance really occurred during this time, just people coming in and out of the building without much coming from that. Keeping it around was just unnecessary in my opinion.

--

10:40am, February 9th, 2025

Okay, here’s where things get interesting again~

[sound description: door opening, followed by a bell ringing, and the door then closing]

[sound description: distant talking, sound too far for accurate transcription]

[sound description: someone sitting down in a chair nearby]

“Oh, hello.”

“Oh! Sorry, I didn’t notice you there, hun!”

“Don’t sweat it, I don’t mind having someone to talk to while I wait.”

“Ah, alright…” “So… What is it that you’re waiting for?”

“I have an appointment with Doctor Erian at noon.”

“Really? I have an appointment with him too!”

“Heh. Doesn’t sound much like ‘waltzing in here with no notice’ to me.”

“Huh?”

“Oh right, sorry. When I got here the receptionist made a remark about most people treating the place like a walk-in and I found it funny how you’re proving her wrong.” “But it didn’t quite click in time that you wouldn’t have been able to know that context.”

“I see!” “That’s… comforting? Maybe?”

“Hmm?”

“It seems like Erian isn’t the only one around here that’s got a sharp tongue…”

“Is he… known for being harsh?” 

“From what I’ve heard, yeah…”

“That explains some things, then.”

“But anyways, what kind of Animal HRT are you hoping to get on?” 

“Oh, I’m not here to get myself a prescription.” “My friend tried to get on Cat HRT through him but was denied. I’m trying to find out why.”

“Oh…”

“... Sorry if I made you uncomfortable, I-”

“No, you’re fine, hun.” 

“... If you insist.” “Can I assume you ARE looking to get a prescription, then?”

“Yeah.”

“May I ask for what?��

“A-ah, well… I know it sounds crazy, but-”

“No judgement from me, you’re in crazed company.”

“... I want to go on Eldritch HRT.” 

“Eldritch?”

“Y-Yeah. That’s… That’s what I want!”

“How interesting! Do you have a specific entity you want to be like? A cult you want to curate or join? Just how many so-called ‘eldritch entities’ across the realms are you aware of? Are… Are you-”

“I… Haven’t given it all that much thought, to be honest…”

“That’s fine! That just means you’re up for anything, right?” 

“U-Uhm… I guess so?” “You seem… really excited by all this. Are you a fan of eldritch horror too?”

“I guess you could say that~” “Oh-! Where have my manners been? I don’t think I got your name!”

“Did I not give it? Sorry about that, hun!” “Mars ████.”

“Nice to meet you, Mars! My name’s L████. L████ ████.”

“Nice to meet you too, L████!” 

“But back to the Eldritch HRT thing of yours – how many entities are you aware of?”

“Well, I do know a good bit of the writings of HP Lovecraft…”

“Is that it?”

“Is there more I should know?”

“Yes! But that’s alright, I can teach you everything you need to know. Let me just-”

“Mars?”

“That’s me!”

“Shit, is it time for your appointment already? Well maybe we can keep talking after you-”

[sound description: Mars walks off with Doctor Erian to his office]

–

She didn’t come back to talk to me after her appointment. It seemed that she was pretty upset as she left the building. Did she get rejected too? 

I hope to meet up with Mars again soon. 

I sensed some hesitation in her voice as we talked, but I just know she’d be a perfect fit for us once she learns about us and what we are.

But anyways, nothing of interest occurred in the hour after my conversation with Mars, so I deleted that section of recording as well.

Which takes us right to my meeting with Doctor Erian. 

What a mess that was…

--

12:00pm, February 9th, 2025

The following is a written recounting by Doctor Theodore H. Erian.

I had originally intended to audio record my meeting with Mr. Black, just like the recording I had made this morning.

However, the moment I saw him, I knew that I would have to get on his level, so to speak. Audio wasn’t going to cut it when it came to conveying the full picture of my experience. 

So here we are.

As I mentioned in my emails to Doctor Fortune, I had gotten many, many results when I looked his name up, but despite all that, he managed to look nothing like any of them in person.

I could sense I was being deceived, or perhaps even toyed with in some way. But I wasn’t sure in what way it was.

After having noticed that, I then took notice of a rather large bag they had slung around their shoulders. Looked to be a laptop bag, by my best guess. I of course remembered what Doctor Fortune had said to me about not allowing him to show me anything on his laptop if they offer, and so I readied myself to refuse anything of that sort.

But to my surprise, he didn’t even do so much as open the bag. 

Instead, when he entered my office, he just… stood there, looking around at the place. This went on for about a minute or two – I wasn’t keeping exact notice of the time.

At first, I had thought that they were eyeing the various types of medication I had stored. But once he opened his mouth, it became apparent that it was something else entirely that had caught their eye…

“Is that an RCA RP3503 shoebox cassette recorder and player you have back there?” 

My recorder, the one I had used to record my personal record from this morning, the one that I had intended to use to document this meeting… That had been what he noticed first.

It's a bit impressive that they identified the exact model, I must admit. Didn’t help with how much they intimidated me in the slightest, though.

“... Yes? Why do you ask?” 

I had responded. I didn’t want to come off as suspicious to him, but rather, just genuinely interested in the conversation. I couldn’t let them know I had seen their journal.

“It’s not often I see a cassette player in the wild these days. Damn shame, I know that phones and mp3 players are more modern and in ways more convenient, and the typical ‘retro throwback’ audio playing format of choice is vinyl, but I really do have such a soft spot for cassettes.”

Really, I was surprised with just how normal this starting conversation was. If I was to be conspiratory, I could even say that it was too normal, as if he was luring me into some sort of false sense of security with this mundane discussion.

“Do you now?”

I replied, allowing the conversation to carry on.

“Yes! Though, I’d rather not get too sidetracked with all that!”

I remember it felt like a pit had dropped into my stomach when they said that. Here I was thinking I could give myself some time to formulate how I was going to respond to him trying to get answers out of me by fueling this clear interest of his. But it seems that they had caught on to that plan of mine.

“The real reason I pointed it out was to ask… You’re not going to use it to record this meeting of ours… are you?” 

He then asked me.

I wish I had been able to somehow record this meeting on video, because I don’t know if words alone can describe the bone chilling aura that the look Mr. Black had given me as they said those words carried. Somehow, his face managed to darken in real time, a shadow cast over the top half of it that made it look as if his eyes were glowing at that very moment. They had tilted their head ever so slightly as they spoke, their face adorned with a subtle, yet noticeable grin, despite the seeming worry that the question carried with it. 

Considering my line of work, I’m quite familiar with the inhuman, and let me tell you – I saw that inhumanness in this man in that fleeting moment.

Despite wearing what looked to be colored contacts of some kind, I could see in his eyes a wildness that was inherently animalistic. 

I know what Mr. Black is here for, and I know it isn’t treatment. But if I hadn’t known better, I may just have been convinced to hand him a prescription right then and there.

Or maybe he is already something other than human. 

I said no, of course not.

“Good, good.”

I don’t know what came over me, but I responded to that remark by asking him if he didn’t like his life being documented. 

“What an odd question…”

As if I hadn’t already regretted my words the moment they came out of my mouth, I certainly would have after that reaction from him.

I was like Icarus in that moment, my wings equipped as I set myself straight towards the sun. I had pushed my luck too far, and they were catching on that I knew more than I should. Surely.

“But to answer it, I do actually like to document my life. But I much prefer it when I’m the one doing the documentation. I’m sure you wouldn’t be too fond of me if I took your chair right there and started giving people prescriptions and check ups, would you?” 

I’ll admit, I’m not entirely sure what they meant by that comparison. He’s a news reporter, isn’t he? I do suppose in a way that is documenting lives, but that’s much more about others’ lives rather than their own, no? 

Either way, I shook my head no.

“That’s what I thought.” 

I really can’t tell why he was so surprised that “B” kiddo and Serena were intimidated by him. He has to be doing this shit on purpose to get a rise out of people.

“Can we get to the point of this meeting, please?” 

I requested. Maybe if I act just as intimidating, I’ll manage to evade ending up in whatever position he wants me to be in.

“Hmph. We may.”

He seemed unimpressed by my shift in attitude, his grin folding into something of a snarl. But he did oblige. 

“It is to my knowledge that a friend of mine, Serena Holmes, came by your office a little bit under a month ago seeking a Cat HRT prescription from you. You rejected her. Why so?”

Perhaps it was the frown they already had from their reaction to me making demands at him, but I could both see and hear the anger coming off of him that I had seen before in that journal of his as they spoke. 

No matter his motives, it does seem he cares about their friend.

“I had gotten a questionable result when I had run a-”

I answered. I knew it wasn’t the answer he wanted to hear, but I couldn’t let them know I knew that.

As expected, they cut me off mid-sentence.

“No. I want the real reason.” 

Despite my patience being worn quite thin by this point, I took a deep breath in and began to formulate a response to Mr. Black. 

My goal, at least at first, had not been to actually tell him the truth. Rather, it was to make up a lie that was believable enough for them to take it as if it was the truth. 

As I did such, they spoke again, unknowingly giving me a hint as to what route I could go down with this lie of mine. 

“And if you are telling the truth, what was the ‘questionable result' you speak of?” 

Looking back, I should have made use of that hint in my response.

“Okay, fine! You want the real reason? I’ll give you the real reason! I turned Serena away because it was clear to me that she didn’t truly know what it was that she wanted!” 

He had raised an eyebrow at my response, clearly skeptical.

“How… interesting. She seemed pretty dead set on being a cat to me.” 

I honestly couldn’t tell if they believed me or not, but they did act as if they did.

“But I suppose my perspective was skewed.”

In a way, that did give me relief. 

Even if it was a ruse on his end, I could also go along with it and feel confident in my responses, at least for a little while.

“But tell me, Doctor Erian… If that is the true reason you turned Serena away… Then why did you tell her it was due to a background check?”

It was a valid question, honestly, and a hole in the plot I was constructing. Hence why I had said earlier that I wished I had just gone down that background check route he had given me.

“I… I didn’t want her to believe I did not believe she was truly therian.” 

With a bit of hesitation, I sputtered out that excuse.

He wasn’t buying it. I could tell by the glare he had given me.

“Then why not be honest with her? You could have explained that they had simply seemed too unsure of kitself to go through with the procedure. You could have given it advice as to how to do some soul searching so that she could come to find her true self. All these things you didn’t do… Why is that, Doctor Erian?”

Their eyes almost seemed to lock onto me as they questioned me. I was a target for them, lined up for slaughter.

Before I could even try to plead my case, he continued.

“To me, there are only two explanations for this. Either you are bad at your job, or…

You’re lying to me.”

With that final explanation – or rather, accusation, he stood up from where I had him sit and slammed his hands on my desk. To be honest, it shook me quite badly. It wasn’t just the delivery, either, the words cut terribly deep as well.

“So, which is it?”

Deep enough to cause me to make perhaps the stupidest decision I’ve ever made in my entire life.

For I had let my ego and reputation get the best of me.

“... I lied to you.” 

I so stupidly confessed. 

Mr. Black grinned, grinning wider than he ever had by that point of the appointment, as he let out a truly evil cackle.

“I knew it.” 

And with that remark, they pushed aside the chair that was behind them, and walked over to behind my desk.

I yelled out to him that he’s not supposed to be back there, but he completely ignored me as he rummaged through my personal cabinets.

They quickly found exactly what I was hoping they wouldn’t. 

“How curious…!” 

He exclaimed, holding the note Doctor Fortune had given me during my first ever encounter with her in his hands.

I felt like I could have died right then and there.

“Looks to me you know a bit too much for your own good, eh, Erian?” 

He then turned to me, a sinister grin still stretched wide across their face while they held up the note, turned over to the backside where she had drawn that blasted symbol.

I wanted to say something at the time, I really did. But I must admit, I was petrified. It really is embarrassing to look back on. 

“Hmmm… one could argue that I should kill you right about now, make sure you don’t go spreading the good word unmanaged.”

They continued to speak as they crept up behind me.

“I don’t even know what that symbol IS!! All she told me was that it was the symbol of your organization!! She didn’t even tell me what it’s called!!” 

I cried out in desperation. As most people do, I didn’t want to die.

Mr. Black paused. His face softened, somewhat. 

He seemed to have realized that I, for once, was being honest with him.

“Who’s ‘she’?” 

He asked me quite plainly.

“D-Doctor Mirai Fortune… She had come into my office a couple months ago and left this warning for me… We’ve… We’ve been talking over email ever since, but she’s very vague about a lot of things…!” 

I confessed. I confessed all of it. I was convinced that I needed to do so in order to live.

“Is she the reason why you turned Serena away?” 

They looked at me with a look of certainty in what he expected the answer to be. But I answered anyway.

“Yes.”

Mr. Black finally sat back down in the chair across from my desk.

“See, was that really so hard?” 

I did not respond. Really, I am terribly repulsed by his sarcastic demeanor. It tends to come off more as patronizing than anything else. 

“I’d love to see those emails, if you’d be so kind.”

I wordlessly turned around my computer monitor for him to look through. I had the thought to warn them not to go into any patient files, but I didn’t act upon it.

“Hah! She really was as vague as you said, huh?” 

He remarked as he read through the emails. I did not react.

“Though, I do see that she let you get a sneak peek at my notes, hmm?”

An arrow of fear shot through my chest, making me worry that they would be angered by this. But much to my surprise, they had simply laughed it off.

“Hey, how about we make a deal, old man?” 

He offered. 

I looked at them, cueing them to continue. 

“I can give you not just these notes of mine, but ALL of my notes, completely uncensored. Any information on that symbol and what it represents you could possibly desire. A brand new market for your Humanity Removal Therapy… All of it, for one simple little price…~” 

I was skeptical. That was a big claim, a big offer. But I pressed further.

“What’s the price?” 

I asked him.

“Yes, yes… All you need to do to start this new chapter in your life… Is to give Serena her Cat HRT prescription.” 

That… couldn’t possibly be all there was to it. 

That was the singular thought in my mind.

It was too simple. There had to be more to it. 

He mentioned “a new market for Humanity Removal Therapy” – for all I could know, that could mean that they would steal my formula right from under me.

It would put me out of a job!

And I can only imagine what Iris would think…

“No. I’m sorry Mr. Black, but I just can’t do that.” 

I responded to him, knowing fully that it could get me killed.

I couldn’t betray my patients like that, though.

I can’t betray Iris like that.

Sure, we butt heads many times, but I would be nothing without any of them.

And above all, I want to see each and every one of them live their happiest lives.

I saw Mr. Black frown in response to my answer. It was surprisingly genuine. He looked… disappointed.

But as he prepared to talk to me, he smiled ever so slightly.

“So that’s why so many read you as a hardass… You’re a stubborn bastard.” 

He remarked.

Again, without waiting for a response from me, they continued.

“I know the feeling.”

After that, he stood back up, grabbed his things, and left. 

--

February 18th, 2025

The following is an email. 

To: Doctor Theodore H. Erian

From: Doctor Mirai Fortune

Subject: Final Email

Hello, Doctor Erian.

I have both listened to the early morning recording of yourself and the journal entry of later in the day that you provided in your previous email.

I am deeply disappointed in how you have handled the situation.

For your trouble in dealing with them and with me, I have provided you with the documentation our adversary made on that day. Consider it a sense of closure, as this is the last time I will ever be contacting you.

While I am glad you resisted the offer to join them, I cannot afford to have cowardice such as yours weighing me down in my fight against them.

I hope you understand.

Mirai

[sol1loqu1st]

(edited so this isnt a wall of text)

im gonna be honest with you guys. i think that if an artist uses ai to prompt concept art and then draws their ocs using the ai generated images as inspiration, thats fine. or if a busy student plugs a bunch of jstor pdfs in and asks for summaries to help them figure out which sources are most relevant to their research to read more in depth, thats also fine. (note: i have done neither of those, i just know that those are potential use cases)

we can and should talk about the environmental concerns, and how it's scraping real art without the artist's permission, but i think we need to stop pretending it's never a useful tool and that no one can ever be creative with it, because that's just not a productive conversation. your opinions on what counts as creativity genuinely should not factor into the conversation here

this is the piss on the poor website so to reiterate: i am not defending ai, i do not use ai, i do not have a pro-ai agenda, and i don't care if you disagree with me on whether or not the cases i mentioned should count as plagiarism or not because this post is about how that's an argument that is impossible to define and impossible to convince people of. instead of making arguments that can be countered by someone saying "actually i use it to write boring work emails so i don't burn out during the day," maybe focus on the environmental damage or the harm to real people. who cares if people use it for their personal convenience. focus on the real problems ffs

[theskeletonprior]

Commissions Open!

With November coming to an end, I'm pleased to announce that my writing commissions are OPEN! With the work I do, I have a dreadful gap of four weeks where there won't be any pay except for from gigs like this, so I need help making ends meet until my next work opportunities in January. That's where my good old brainrot cure comes in. If you've ever wondered why a story won't write itself, well... There's a way! Just hire a dead guy to do it for you. <3 I’m especially good at nailing character voices, hurt/comfort, polyamory, and subtle moments of intimacy. While I don’t mind writing intimate scenes, I don’t accept graphic NSFW requests, non-con, or underage. When in doubt, just check in with me first! You can message me here on Tumblr, or email me at theskeletonprior@gmail.com.

The hellsite, as I’m sure you know, does eat asks and such sometimes, so if you don’t hear back, don’t be afraid to reach out again! I also do cute little pdf layouts, so if you have a story you love and that you'd like to have a nice version of for your phone, I'm happy to put one together for you for a fee.

Price List (CAD)

1000 words for $20 1500 words for $35 2000 words for $45 Pro rate for writers these days is $0.08 per word, so my commission rates are an absolute steal. Our dollar is also a little bit trash here in the land of maple syrup and poutine or whatever, so if you happen to trade in eagle bux, even better for you! My commissions help me pay for things like sertraline, funding for my ongoing effort to be reunited with my beloved husband, the occasional good meal, and resources for my work as a professional Dungeon Master (I can’t believe that one either). So hire a dead guy, and help support a queer creative. I also donate any tips to Gaza Funds.

If you’re looking for a longer work, feel free shoot me an email at theskeletonprior@gmail.com and we’ll chat. Words are what I do.

Work Samples

You can read all my Tav Tales to date here on AO3, but here are some of the highlights.

To Live in Infamy (2k Durgetash)

The morning, Enver is lucky enough to have pants on. The Slayer snaps his chains as it comes screaming into the daylight, barrelling out of the bed. The force of Infamy’s awakening sends Enver rolling onto the floor, narrowly missing being crushed by the bedframe. He’s tangled in their sheets, and already lamenting that they’ll need to be replaced. This silk had come all the way from Waterdeep. That’s his first thought, even with his heart pounding in his ears. He struggles to free himself, but the Slayer isn’t coming for him. There’s the acrid smell of half-cast sorcery, and then the screaming starts. When something warm and wet splashes onto him, soaking through the sheets, Enver hopes it’s blood. The crunching of bones and the smell of bright copper gives him a little hope that it’s not something worse. It wouldn’t be the first time a would be assassin emptied their stomach or their bowels in terror before the Slayer. Enver unrolls himself at last, leaning back on his elbows to enjoy the show, even as the blood—and thank goodness it is blood—soaks through his nice sheets. The mess quite nearly defies description.

Callus (2k Tav/Astarion/Halsin)

“Oh, my dear, what a miserable turn of events.” Astarion kisses Lukan’s hair gently. “I could probably catch up with him, you know. Plenty of good alleyways in this end of town to drag him into, get him acquainted with my nice new boots. Sturdy enough to kick a man entirely to death.” “You got new boots?” Lukan can’t help a watery smile, desperate to redirect the conversation. He doesn’t want Thindulion killed. It had been bad enough to bury his mother, and as much as he wants to hate his father for abandoning them, he hates the thought of being orphaned even more. And now he knows he has a sister, and he couldn’t put her through that. “That’s beside the point,” Astarion says. “I’m asking if a little spot of patricide might cheer you up.” Lukan shakes his head. “It’s not like that,” he says. He wants to try to make light, to play along with Astarion’s flippant turn of phrase, but it’s just too heavy. It doesn’t go unnoticed. “I might have another idea, in that case,” Astarion tells him. “Why don’t you have a sit on the bed, get those boots off, and I’ll be back, having done precisely no murders, I promise.”

In the Spider’s Parlor (3.5k Tav/Kar'niss)

She peers over her shoulder at him and then rolls her head, exposing more of her neck. Suddenly his need, that wretched appetite, is not as hideous as it has been, he feels no disgust for what he wants, for the curse that makes him want it. There’s only this moment. He nips lightly, slipping his arms around her, embracing the warmth. He reaches out with his forelegs, feeling her, holding her securely as he had done that first time. He’s heard the sound she makes when letting blood, and now he knows it for what it is. Pleasure. His purr rumbles low in his chest, but he never bites, lapping softly at the thin rivulet of blood that wells from where he’s nipped her, one delectable drop at a time. Solinore reaches up, one hand tangling in his hair, relaxing in his grip. “What you ask of me, is yours,” Kar’niss says, applying pressure to the nick he’d made to stop what little bleeding he’d caused. “You sure?” she asks, playfully. “I could ask for another ride on your back. Or…” He knows what that smirk implies. “What you ask of me,” he says again, “is yours.”

[bylerjournal]

Official Submission Rules and Guidelines

Please be sure to look over all of the submission guidelines if you are planning on submitting work to the journal.

Type of work allowed

We are looking for well crafted fanart, fanfiction, fanscripts, web weavings, theories, analyses, or critiques of the show that showcase thought provoking and unique ideas within the fandom, promoting healthy conversation and debate and pushing the boundaries of fan creations. If you have a piece of work that you would like to submit but does not fit into any of the previously listed categories, please DM the fandom journal tumblr account, send an ask, or email us. 

Maximum of 3 entries per person

This helps create less work for our team, but also helps the journal feel balanced and fair, rather than being taken up by one creator. 

We will not accept work made before 2022

You will not need to make anything new for the journal, however we do ask that all work submitted be made during or after 2022. This is to ensure that the work within the journal is up to date on the show and is a commentary and reflection of relevant information. 

Collaborations are allowed, but this will count as an entry for each creator involved

For example, you cannot submit three solo works and then one collaboration, but you can post two solo works and one collaboration. Only one collaborator needs to submit this work, but must include bios for each person involved. We understand that sometimes with theory or analysis posts, other creators will occasionally be cited or linked. This does not count as a collaboration, and will not take up one of their submission spots.

Work must focus on Mike and/or Will and should be made through a Byler lens

Since this is a Byler fandom journal, I would like to keep the work Byler related in order to keep it cohesive. The work does not need to focus solely on their relationship, and can focus on just Mike or Will and include other characters, but should be at least through the lens of Byler. For example, you could submit an analysis that is solely about Mike, as long as it is made through the understanding that his story arc will lead him to be with Will in the end. Work will be evaluated on a case-by-case basis for relevancy. 

Dark/sensitive work will receive a content warning label

Since our goal with the journal is to share work that promotes unique ideas and debate, we will not be barring work that includes discussion or depiction of content that is considered dark or sensitive. However, if these works are selected, they will be presented along with a content warning label. The journal team will decide which works receive this label and what warnings to include.

We will not accept work that targets another creator

With this journal, we aim to showcase a healthy conversation within the fandom, which oftentimes include different viewpoints and opinions. However, we will not condone any work/posts that intend to target another creator to harass or disparage them. We understand that with theory/analysis work, some posts are made that aim to argue against a general idea within the fandom. These posts are acceptable, so long as they do not single out any individuals. 

You may not submit on another creators behalf

The only work that is submitted should be your own, or a collaboration between you and another creator. You may not submit work that was created entirely by someone else. If you are submitting a collaboration, please be sure that you have consent from all other artists involved.

Moving image work is not allowed 

The final version of this journal will be published in the form of an online PDF. As such, moving images such as video edits and gifs are not allowed, as the format we are using cannot support this type of work.

No work is guaranteed to be selected

We aim to create a cohesive journal of work that is well crafted, thought provoking, and unique. If we feel that a work does not belong in our journal, we are entitled to reject it. Do not feel that a rejection is a reflection of your skill as a creator. Your work may just not be what we are looking for right now. 

Please be patient!

This is the first run of the journal, so we expect that there will be things we will be learning along the way. Since this is a small time working in their free time, the turnaround for the final product will take some time, and while we can give a loose framework for when we believe the final journal will be available, we will not have a definitive date until later in the process. We thank you for your patience. 

Submission Guidelines

Each work that is accepted will be formatted by our editors in a way we believe supports the integrity of the work. For written work, we will proofread for any spelling errors. Proofs will be sent to the original creator to be approved before going into the final journal. We will accept any edits the creator would like to make, within reason. Please include a title for each work, even if not originally titled.

Fanfiction: One-shots, single chapters or excerpts only, with a maximum of ~3,000 words. If you have a few short chapters of a fanfiction you would like to edit into a single chapter, this is acceptable so long as it stays within the word limit. The work submitted should be able to stand on its own. Please submit a link to the tumblr/ao3 respective work or upload a google doc. If this work is accompanied by any illustrations, please upload files for the images separately. 

Fanart: Link to your original post, as well as a high quality upload of your artwork in .jpg or .png format. Be sure to include a title for your piece.

Comics/multi-page art: You may submit comics or other multipage art pieces with a maximum of 5 pages, or be able to be formatted into 5 pages. If you have any questions about if your work would qualify, please reach out to us via email or in DMs. 

Fanscripts: Similar to comics, these should be a maximum of 5 pages. The text from the scripts will be transcribed onto the page. 

Web Weavings: Web weavings are in a unique category of fan creation, but we would still like to open our journal to these works. We are looking for web weavings that are able to format neatly onto one or two pages. We recommend transferring the images from the web weaving onto a google doc. 

Theories/Analyses/Critiques: These entries are limited to ~5,000 words. If the original is too long, or you would like to edit or change part of the original post, you may move it into a google document and upload it that way. If the post was made answering an ask, please be sure to include the original question and who asked it, as these will be included in the journal. 

Note about external links: We understand that theories, analyses, or any other post may include links to other posts or outside sources. Luckily, the online PDF format is able to support these types of links, so we will be able to include them within the journal.

Note about screenshots: We know that with analyses and theories, screenshots are often used. For the purpose of design and formatting, the original screenshots in your post may be replaced with higher quality screenshots, although we will try to keep the message and integrity of your original work intact. We also advise against work that relies too heavily on screenshots over words, as these will be difficult to format in the journal. All theories, critiques and analyses should be text based and use images to supplement the text.  

Submissions open November 1st and close January 17th

The limited submission window is to give our team enough time to sort through submissions and make selections before we begin the design process. A google form will be created and linked in our bio for submissions.

[semperintrepida]

Update Regarding My Work on AO3

Hey everyone, just wanted to let you know that a few weeks ago, I hid my work on AO3. I originally intended this to be a temporary pause, but after giving it some time to see how I felt about it, I'm at peace with keeping the majority of my work limited to a private audience.

As for the why, let me provide a summary of the shit ficwriters have to deal with these days, in addition to the ever-present threat of plagiarism:

Thieves stealing fic, changing the names, and selling it as ebooks on Kindle Unlimited

Thieves printing fic to make bound books and selling it on etsy and ebay

Thieves stealing fic, changing the names, and posting it on Wattpad as a "conversion," then arguing when the work is taken down that it's a "remix" and thus another kind of fanwork

Thieves stealing fic to create podfics on YouTube to—you guessed it—make money from ad impressions

Thieves sending ficwriters constant spam comments offering to create art on paid commission. These are scams, folks!

Assholes spamming fics with "this was written by AI" comments

Assholes scraping AO3 to create datasets to train LLMs

Readers copying fic and inputting it into ChatGPT or other LLMs in order to create "new chapters"

Readers copying fic as input to create AI chatbots

And last, but perhaps most demoralizing, watching the hits go up and up and up on a story I spent thousands of hours writing and not getting a kudos or comment in months

Fanfic is a gift provided to the community for the community's enjoyment. But these days, the public internet is no longer a community I want to serve.

This doesn't mean that I'm not writing. I've actually written more in the past few weeks, working on projects for a very limited audience of one or two people, and have had more fun doing so than I've had in a very long time.

If there's a story of mine you'd like to read and you don't already have a copy of it saved for personal use, I'll be happy to send you a PDF or epub. You can drop me a line here or via email at my tumblr blogname at protonmail dot com.

[sealiio]

Price sheet + TOS PDF Trello Commission Form

Failure to follow TOS will result in ban of service.

I have the right to refuse or cancel a request.

The client may cancel their request at any point before the artwork has proceeded past the sketch.

In the event of a cancellation, any payments made will be refunded.

Cancelled artwork may be repurposed.

Payment process via PayPal or Ko-Fi; - I will not accept split payments--payments should be upfront and sent in full. - The client may choose to send payment when their request is accepted or after the initial sketch is seen. - When using PayPal, use the Goods and Services payment option. - PayPal merchant fees are NOT the client's responsibility. The client is not required to leave a tip. - My home currency is the Australian Dollar (AUD). PayPal conversion fees are NOT my responsibility.

Full payment must be completed before proceeding past the sketch phase.

Additional WIPs and updates past the initial sketch may be sent at the client's request.

Changes, edits and fixes may be made at the client's request, within reason.

Unwatermarked artwork, including transparent cutouts of characters, will be sent via email or Discord.

The client may edit, draw over, and/or post the artwork to their socials, with credit.

The client will not resell or directly profit from the artwork in any way.

The client will not claim the artwork as their own work.

When engaging with me via DMs; - Do not ask me personal questions. - Do not try to start small talk or overshare personal details. - Do not talk to me about politics. - Unwanted interactions will not be tolerated and will result in a warning or a block.

🍦Cropping

🍦Backgrounds

[starboye]

Okay context first:

So I’m on crutches and all that BS with my broken foot right right. Well I emailed my professors and was like “hey btw I broke my foot I’m not commuting with a broken foot” just to let them know that I’m not gonna be in class for the next few weeks.

ANYWAYS there was a situation where I needed a really specfic book for research for professor 1 that no library in my state had a copy of, I couldn’t find a pdf on pirate sites, and the buyable copies were like 3 digit prices.

So I was complaining in earshot of professor 2, and professor 2 is like hey I know the author, I could probably get you a copy and I was like PLZ so today professor 2 emailed me and was like “I know you broke your foot but if you can manage to get to campus I have that book for you”

Now the story:

So I drag my ass on a 40 minute commute to campus, get there and thank every god in existence that whoever designed it was up the ass anal about accessibility and upkeep of accessibility. Hobble all the way across campus, and when I get into the building Professor’s office is in, I hit the elevator call button bc of course his office is on the third floor.

And when the doors open, who do I see? No one other than Mr Hot himself. (I know his actual name but I’m not doxxing him) but he sees me and is like omg!! and tells me he was worried about me because he normally sees me around campus and I haven’t been there and I’m like 🥺🥺🥺

So I hobble on into the elevator and on the ride up we chat, and I would detail the conversation but this is already a long ask. Anyways he comes with me to the office and my prof was like Hey!! Glad to see you’re not dead and gives me the book, and OF XOURSE in print it’s the biggest, bulkiest, heaviest fucking book possible (I thought it would be smaller)

So unprompted Mr Hot takes it, and is like, I’ll walk you back to your bus! All cheerful. And I was too flustered to try and deny the help bc I knew I’d probably break my other foot trying to hobble back down with it myself.

So Mr Hot and I go all the way back down and across campus together, and talked the whole time and he’s really sweet. And we get to the bus station, and I’m thinking this is where he gives me the book and leaves, right?

WRONG. He stayed and waited with me till my bus came then when it came he followed me on, helped me get to a seat (crowded bus 😞) gave me my book and then just smiled and hopped right back off (bless the bus driver for being patient)

- university

PS my prof that got me the book is actually the nicest fucking person ever

oh that man so wants you like yall need to go out

[digitalsoftwareproductreviews]

👉👉👉QuizzAI: The No-Code Solution for Lead Generation

QuizzAI is a smart quiz-building platform powered by artificial intelligence. It makes creating quizzes super easy and helps businesses, educators, and content creators grow their email lists, boost conversions, and connect better with their audience.

QuizzAI is an AI-powered tool that helps you create lead-generating quizzes instantly. Whether you have a PDF, a website link, or just plain text, QuizzAI turns it into a quiz with no coding or design skills needed. It’s simple, fast, and perfect for entrepreneurs, marketers, and educators.

>>>Read More

[afroflowerr]

Crochet Tapestry Raffle Giveaway to support a 🍉 family!

Hey Y'all, it's Afro Flower! I've been communicating with a member of the AlBalawi family over on my game dev account @bloomzeye, and I'm well enough (I was sick for a few days) to start my art-raising for them!

CLICKABLE INFO GRAPHIC PDF LINK HERE

ALL LINKS HERE

If you wanna help a family and be one of the two people a chance to win one of my handmade crochet tapestries, keep reading on how to enter! (Atl text version coming soon)

Quick overview:

The raffle will last until August 31st, EST.

Enter by donating at least $5 to the GFM. But the conversion rate is like $1 = $0.75!

You can also PP me at AyyAvv!

Email me proof!

One prize per winner

Details may changes as the situation does.

Family vetting proof: They have been vetted by 90-ghost here and here.

They are also a part of Gaza Champions on IG, as the organizer for their new GFM has said in the GFM description.

AlBalawi Family @bisanalbalawi18 They have started a NEW GFM with a smaller goal for immediate survival funds. They also received the additional displacement orders 💔, which they shared about in their original GFM here.

Please donate and share this, as my family contact has said one of the children is in dire need to immediate medical supplies!

Tagging accounts under the read-more for reach (I haven’t used this account in a while, and I’ve only been following people on my game dev page, so I don’t think I can directly link them right now?):

@el-shab-hussein @northgazaupdates2

@nabulsi @90-ghost @fairuzfan

[miss-tilney-tarot]

Email misstilneytarot@gmail.com with the name of the spread as your subject line, and your question in the body of the email. Please include your name and pronouns! I will respond with an invoice and any clarifying questions. You will receive your reading two weeks after the invoice is paid, or of course when your in-person reading is scheduled.

I do not do third party readings, answer medical or legal questions, and do not do mediumship readings.

Issue - Influence - Outcome $25

a three card spread thats a take on the classic  past-present-future, but cuts a little more quickly to the heart of the issue. You recieve a pdf with a photo of your reading, about a paragraph describing each card, and a paragraph summary answering your specific question.

Celtic Cross $44

a ten card spread giving an overview of your life at this moment or looking at a specific issue very in-depth. You will recieve a pdf with a photo of your reading, about a paragraph per card, and aproximately a page summarizing your reading and answering your specific question.

In Person 30 Minute Reading $65

a flexible reading using any spread or a conversational style reading. We go back and forth getting deeper, following threads, and truly answering your questions in a specific way. Usually I end up pulling 10+ cards, and have time for one to two questions.

My readings are gentle but empowering, focusing on what you can do to influence outcomes. I love reading for personal growth, career, and relationship questions, but almost any question is welcome :) I cannot wait to read for you!