#compare web hosting services

[megaport-media]

Choosing the right web hosting service is critical for your website’s success, whether you’re running a blog, an e-commerce store, or a business site. The best web hosting providers deliver speed, reliability, and security, while a poor choice leads to slow load times, downtime, and frustrated visitors. In this guide, we rank the top 5 web hosting services for 2025, dive into key selection criteria, and share real user reviews to help you pick the perfect web hosting solution. Keep reading to find the best web hosting for your needs!

[wopsa]

Everything You Need to Know About Free Website Hosting - Wopsa Web Services

Considering free web hosting? Learn why it might not be ideal. Limited space, security risks, ads, and ownership issues can impact your site. For reliable web hosting solutions, explore Wopsa Web Services in Sweden. View this infographic to compare free vs. paid hosting options for your website.

[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!

[the-timewatcher]

A disgruntled Tumblrina (gender-neutral) made a website and why you should too.

Or "reject social media, return to personal websites".

PART 1: THE PART WHERE I CONVINCE YOU TO MOVE TO PERSONAL WEBSITES

So, the Web 2.0 social media infested landscape seems to be crumbling before our very eyes. Reddit's leadership is increasingly greedy, Twitter is sinking under the weight of Elon's massive, yet increasingly fragile ego, Tumblr is slowly turning into another lifeless corpo-fest, complete with the layout, Instagram continues to be vapid and soulless and Facebook seems to be going the way of MySpace.

(feel free to check the alt text on these, btw)

In these troubling times, where everything looks the same and you're expected to be milked for every dollar you're worth, what is a disgruntled Internet surfer such as yourself to do? Move to an untested alternative that's bound to get overrun by fascists thanks to poor moderation? Stay the course on the sinking ships you're used to?

Well, what if I told you that we've solved this problem way back in the 90's and early 2000's and were merely duped by the Big Zuck into forgetting our legacy? What if there was a cure for the sanitized, dull social media hellscape?

It takes a bit of work, when compared to just using a social media site, but even if your particular use case makes switching difficult (ex. an artist looking to promote their work), it's still a good secondary option to consider.

The core appeal is the ability to customize and individualize, make a corner of cyberspace unabashedly yours,

It can also be an exciting avenue of creative expression, giving whatever you want to say a unique coat of paint,

Most website hosting services are a bit more lax about what you can do on them, due to changes in the profit structure (rather than depending on advertisers and investors, they either have a premium option to give supporters perks, have another product, or, in the case of paid services, you renting that space IS the product),

If you want your website to be more accomodating and accessible, you don't have to file tons of feedback - do it yourself,

If you'd like to connect with other webmasters and promote each other's websites, we have webrings - sets of circular links that connect websites with something in common, be it a topic, aesthetic or friend group,

You're less likely to have your stuff purged by an ill-advised change in policy (especially if you have a backup of your files somewhere),

The more people do it, the less power those massive social media corpos have over the internet,

It can be a load of fun!

If I have you convinced, keep reading into part 2. If you just wanna see what I did, skip to part 3. If neither, feel free to continue scrolling. I won't hold it against you. You'll be missing out, that's all.

PART 2: SO, YOU WANNA MAKE A WEBSITE!

Good choice, here's some resources!

sadgrl's absolute beginner's guide to Neocities - what it says on the tin!

W3Schools - a more in-depth tutorial site, a learning resource so excellent it substituted for what I was supposed to learn in technical highschool (because our teacher just told us to go on W3Schools instead of teaching us shit)

A list of free layouts for your website - whether to use as a base to learn from or to simply take for yourself,

Neocities - the posterchild for free website hosting for personal websites. Doesn't allow video or audio, but you can get around that by linking those files from elsewhere. Beginner-friendly to a fault - once you have an account just drag and drop your files in,

Gitlab (& Gitlab Pages) - a more advanced option, but it has a few advantages of its own. Gitlab is a website hoster second and a version control service first - which is programmer speak for "keeps track of changes in your code and stores a backup of it online". it helps a lot when working on multiple devices or co-writing with a friend. And secondly, you can use Gitlab Actions to automate putting your website up (even on Neocities, like I do!)

My askbox - I am not joking, if you have any questions about any of this, I'd love nothing more than to help you out!

But with most of my indie web propaganda out of the way, it's time.

PART 3: Welcome to Timewatcher OS.

Of course, because I couldn't be normal when it comes to making a website, I had to turn it into a fake operating system. Each subpage is an "app", opened in a separate embed window. It has unlockable wallpapers (no pay2win, prommy). There's bideo games on it! I even made a music player for it so I can share my incongruent music tastes!

Like I said in my Tumblr bio, if I ever go radio silent for more than a month, it means I've gotten fed up with this hellsite and moved to my own homepage permamently. And I highly advise you make an option like this for yourself too! Lastly, if any of y'all would like to start a webring, do let me know in the askbox - I'm down to manage it if I'm not alone in there.

Anyways, I hope I convinced you to make a website, or at least check out some of the cool sites you've been missing out on! Hope to see you on the Old Web!

[relleytrots]

"Lingering Kiss"

Some background, before you begin.

If there is a fault in the game in which I play one Riley Halaghan, Ravnos-about-town and permanent gender crisis, it's that our sessions are short, our players many, and our plot dense - and as such, the old vampirism sometimes slips out the back for a fag. I used to be annoyed about this, and then - deciding that I needed to do something positive about my gripes - I decided to write up the impact of one Discipline usage and show-not-tell Riley's Predator Type in action.

Just over nine thousand words later, a week of staring at the Victorian Web muttering darkly about calling card etiquette, and a minor NPC having minor NPCs of her own and they have LORE and - anyway, here we are. I share this with the consent and kind permission of my Storyteller. Hope you like it.

Dividers by @diableriedoll, beta'd by @porcelainseashore. Rated M, for somewhat detached erotica.

The first time our heroine met her Fox was on a boat.

It was late January, in the year eighteen eighty-eight. A mere handful of nights after Epiphany, with the picking up and packing away of Christmas largely done, and weeks to go until the Season came anew and breathed fresh air into the ballrooms and parlours, the drawing rooms and clubs, and most crucially for our present purpose the hotels of the City. As such, one might think of our heroine as wintering in the doldrums. 

February was the shortest month, and that was a mercy, for it was also the leanest and most cruel, a fallow four weeks for Emily Trevelyan’s trade. As such, the offer of a little extra work - off-season, and off the books - from her patron was very welcome. Emily couldn’t bring herself to grumble much at working night and day, not when she was lucky to be working at all, and not when the odd weeknight at service was worth a whole week’s wages at the daytime shift. Besides, she rather liked her patron.

Lady Bowesley was, Emily thought privately, rather eccentric. She gave off the air of a thrifty spinster - a woman who knew precisely how much her hand was worth, and as such was disinclined to give it to anyone until it was far too late for anyone to want it. And yet, and yet - there was nothing frugal about her manner of dress, or the affairs she hosted in the long midwinter evenings, or the generosity with which she compensated Emily for the odd sleepless night and carriage home. In truth, Lady Bowesley was a glamorous old lady, almost regal. She was petite, as well, like Emily - although she carried it so much better, all velvet and vetiver and pearls. She had the clipped voice and the sharp profile of a queen, and her circle of friends were such fine people: lords and ladies, chancellors and eminent physicians, a general and even a prince.

It wasn’t proper, of course, to compare oneself to one’s patron. A lady’s maid, even one who was only moonlighting for the evening, belonged in her lady’s shadow, and should shine no light of her own: merely reflecting. Not that there was any danger of Emily doing that. Pale and pinched little Emily, on two meals a day between three for the gentlemen, speckled with freckles and her eyes an empty page, limpid as pond water and about as deep. Ladyship was generous with her money, but when it came to attention, only her cards and letters of instruction even addressed Emily by name. Which was, of course, as it should be.

Tonight’s affair was at the new Port of Tilbury, where Ladyship had some interests (at least, so Emily presumed). She had, along with the other girls and some chaps from the Woolwich garrison, been ferried downstream on a little launch to the dock, where the Poignant Anchovy (a silly name for a ship, Emily thought) waited at anchor. The fusiliers had gone off in winter dress to let the right sort in and keep the riff-raff out; the maids had been brought on board, relieved themselves of their coats and hats, and gone below decks to a tight close world of preparation. Bunting, on a nautical theme, was strung across the decks; there were a handful of tables, draped in deep red brocade and each hosting a single silver candelabra; there were little stoves set up in the gun-ports or wales or whatever they were called. It was, in Emily’s opinion, a bit much - but better by far than being out there in the cold with the chaps from the garrison, or Ladyship’s cadaverous butler.

Time passed. The great and the good came and went and commingled. Ladyship retired to the captain’s cabin, holding counsel with her old friend the retired General and Miss Parr - an enigmatic young miss who dressed like quite the New Woman and had arrived at one affair on a bicycle. Others came and went, summoned and dismissed by their hostess, and it was one of those - arriving in a knot of half a dozen - who caught Emily’s eye.

Rakish, but not effete; deep auburn-red hair in a ruffled, somewhat shaggy cut; a heart-shaped face dotted with freckles of his own. He walked in like he owned the place - no, like he wanted to own the place, and had just decided this - and he did it with a glossy black cane that swung in time with his right leg. Emily had not thought herself attracted to men with a limp - had not considered a limp something that could be attractive, even in the abstract - and yet she found herself thinking on it. How had he come by the injury? Far too delicate to be a soldier; far too elegant to be a scrapper. His clothes were good, though a little worn - the last season’s preceding winter, frayed somewhat at the cuffs of tailcoat and trouser. He wore them well, but he deserved more. He wanted looking after.

Emily swallowed a frown. What was that motherly thought? What kind of a thing was that for a girl of seventeen to think? And then he saw her thinking, and smiled widely, and flashed eyes the colour of aniseed. The blush rushed out and blossomed on her cheeks. Pretty little mouse, trembling as she met the Fox’s notice. Pretty little prey-thing, yearning for sharp teeth. In accordance with her duty, half-recalled, she took his coat from his high, slender shoulders, and took his name also, for relay to the cadaverous butler for announcement.

“Mister Riley Halaghan,” he said, in a soft and lilting voice, very far from Middlesex; as she blinked, that smile opened up to devour her again, and he added, “late of Dublin town, Miss?” 

“Trevelyan, sir,” she said, and curtseyed. An Irishman, then. But such lovely manners with it! He was with Ladyship for eighteen of the twenty minutes allotted by custom; he emerged, along with his coterie, looking somewhat peeved. 

Emily continued to observe him, as she criss-crossed back and forth about her duties, as she fetched the coats and hats and read the names and saw Ladyship’s visitors away. She found herself thinking quite snippily of the other gentlemen - rather older, and in comparison somehow more coarse despite the better cut of their cloth - and particularly of the one she presumed to be the husband of his more conventionally dressed companion. Emily suspected an altercation; a difference of opinion, maybe; and from the smirk on her Fox’s face she rather hoped he had come off with the upper hand.

Her Fox. How perfectly ridiculous. Her mind was wandering. Fanciful notions indeed.

The second time Emily met the Fox was at her workplace.

Claridge’s had the honour and distinction of being the first hotel in London; the first to be graced by a royal guest, to boot; and for that matter the first to employ Emily Trevelyan. If, as some might have suggested, it was a little behind the times in its decor, and if it lacked some of the modern conveniences, such opinions were more than contradicted by the qualities of its staff.

Here and now, under the coat-tails of winter, the hotel was open for professional rather than social visitors. Emily had waited on doctors and professors, officers and bankers, and the more well-heeled and well-bred captains of industry, a second generation who had assumed the manners befitting of their station. They were often a little lost by the finer points of custom in the town, but Emily could sympathise: such was the situation in which she found her own self. A girl of seventeen with a father in the merchant service, gone to sea and never returned; a mother gone up Gin Lane for missing him; an older sister with whom she shared her rooms on Pollen Street; and a trace of her grandmother’s Cornish rusticity still. 

She took the Girls’ Own Paper - took it when the last week’s issues were discarded from the ladies’ chambers, to save the pennies - and read assiduously, but still found herself in a constant state of calibration. It was easy enough to read over the rules of society between the breakfast service and the dinner, but in the moment of truth Emily always found herself learning by observation - which was to say imitating. She was, in short, self-taught in affairs of propriety, and often found herself at a loss, and never more so than on this particular night.

There was a suite of rooms on the first floor that centred on a parlour, and the suite was booked in the name of Pinsmail - reserved for the foreseeable future, a residency of several months before the Season. A note delivered the night before had explained the parlour would be needed tonight, and Emily had been asked to air, to dust, to polish and to make good for the gentleman - a doctor, she was told - and his associates, and to be present from seven until midnight.

The mysterious Pinsmail was the first to arrive. Tall, pallid, and fretful; conscious of his height and seeming to walk sideways through life, as though wishing not to be perceived. He was beyond all doubt one of the gentlemen who’d called on Lady Bowesley that night in Tilbury. It followed - dare it follow, by extension, or by wishful thinking? - that he would be there.

And there, by grace and good fortune, he was. The coat was the same, but the suit had changed; this one was of a pattern somewhat louder than the usual for evening dress, rather suggesting morning wear made hastily suitable, creative omissions and revisions allowing him to pass. That said, his cufflinks and his watch-chain were of gold, so some unfortunate circumstance had clearly befallen him and caught him short.

His coterie came along in ones and twos, and Emily found cause to remain present. Their conversation was a strange one, full of pauses and terms that seemed to have some second significance, but Emily had practiced the art of hearing without listening - the vulgar might call it eavesdropping - and caught the gist well enough. They were colleagues, drawn together from their various walks of life; they did not know each other very well, nor entirely like each other; they were about some errand they did not fully understand, a matter in which the police were involved, but had failed to perform to satisfaction.

“But wait,” she thought she heard him say - that was to say, Mr. Halaghan. She was, after all, at work. “We can’t possibly have this poor dear lass standing around here all night, listening to us prattle on, and I for one am famished. Would you mind, Miss Trevelyan,” and Emily swore her heart skipped a beat at this revelation, that he had remembered her! She had kept her eyes down, out of accustomed habit and proper behaviour, but at this direct address she looked at him, and found herself utterly unable to follow a word he was saying. The sounds were certainly passing into her ears, of that much she was sure, but they lacked significance. All that mattered was assent. Compliance. Whatever it was he was asking for; whatever it was he wanted. He rose, opening the door for her - for her, for the service - and followed her out into the hall.

Dinner was being served, and the passages were quiet; so quiet that the soft thud and click of the door closing behind them had the heartstopping weight of a cannonball. No, not even that - it was quite a particular feeling, the feeling one feels when trying to be neither seen nor heard and, having botched it, is aware of oneself as the centre of attention. That sense that the world has stopped what it is doing to watch one. That sense of being discovered. Being perceived. Being caught.

“Pretty mouse,” she said, and realised her traitor lips were framing the words, letting them slip their reins in a whisper as mortifying as any crash-bang-wallop she could imagine.

“You are, at that,” he said, in a whisper of his own, a soft and thrilling sound. He took her hand in his, brought it to his lips; did not quite make contact, but she felt his breath across her skin, surprisingly cool; like stepping out of a kitchen for fresh air. “I hadn’t expected our paths to cross again. Has her ladyship set you after us, I wonder?”

“I - I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, sir. I’m employed here. Lady Bowesley - that’s to say, I work for her upon occasions only.”

“Once a month, or so?” There was something in the way he said it; something calculated in the cock of his head and the shift of his crooked hips. He was still holding Emily’s hand, bunching her fingers together, thumb softly traversing her knuckles; first and second fingers only.

“Just so, sir,” she answered; the words, again, tumbling out of her before she quite knew what was what. It was true - and quite improper of her to say so. To admit to moonlighting (a nice-to-have, a way to put something by, more than her sister had), to a gentleman (to whom she was quite answerable, but who should have known better than to ask), with whom she was, she realised, quite alone, in this hall, for these few moments.

It was not the first improper thing Emily had done. She knew, in her secret heart, that it was hardly commonplace for a lady’s maid to be served by her lady. The same was true for all of Ladyship’s occasional employees, even the lads from the Arsenal. Their last duty done, the final requirement was that they remain aboard - or otherwise at hand, because Ladyship’s occasions were held in quite a few strange places - and take a small glass of sherry at Ladyship’s expense and from her own hand, along with their night’s wage. It made her feel special, in a way that Ladyship’s demeanour and remoteness of address did not; it was another eccentricity of privilege, of which she was privileged to be a part. More than that, it made her feel loyal - a harmless little secret, but nonetheless one that had to be kept, because it wasn’t at all the done thing.

In that one moment, Emily became aware of two things. Firstly, she had committed a small betrayal of her Ladyship, that she had transgressed some unwritten, unspoken rule that had never before made itself apparent. Secondly, Mr. Halaghan, the Fox, her Fox, had one hand on her hip and one hand bringing hers up, nestled together in the soft spot beneath her jaw, and his lips - cool as his breath, crimson as hawthorn - were on her lips, and before she could so much as utter a protest, she was kissing him back, feeling strong sharp teeth against her lower lip, and then? Then, to her shame, she did utter something, a high and muted squeak of surprise and pain and delight, and for the life of her when the moment had passed and she came to herself again, she could not recall why.

Her lips were a little sore, and a little flushed, and they ached to be kissed again. He did not kiss her. He released her hand, stepped back, and bowed as though this were a commonplace evening call and he was seeing himself out, after his lady - whoever she might be, if only she might be she!

“Thank you, Miss Trevelyan, and goodnight. It was a pleasure to meet you again; one I hope we shall repeat.”

Emily couldn’t answer. She felt light-headed; felt like she was about to have a fainting fit right here, in the doorway to the opposite suite. He was already leaving, trotting down the corridor, the limp in his left leg alleviated somehow: not gone, but not troubling him half as much. Weary down to her bones of a sudden, Emily touched the tip of her tongue to her lips in wonderment, and felt nothing out of the ordinary at all, and wondered why she’d done that.

For that matter, she wondered what on Earth they had ordered to drink. It must have been coffee, or perhaps tea, or was it port wine? They must have ordered something, or Emily would have been at her post, and - she couldn’t possibly go back in there and ask them - neither could she be found loafing here, lounging at her ease. What the devil was the matter with her? She’d have to find one of the other girls, send them in - anything but lose face.

Emily swayed, half-turned out of the doorway, and fell to her knees in a swoon.

It was unusual for Emily and Vivian to break their fast together. The younger sister was often up and doing before the sunrise, on her way to bring the off-season guests and all-year residents their toast and tea. The older was blessed with a different line of work - clerical, with an architectural firm - and had the luxury of taking tea before the office opened. It was, in Emily’s opinion, quite unfair: particularly since Vivian seemed not to acknowledge the privilege in the slightest. To share one’s room and board, flesh and blood, and every day with someone so deaf to the significance of her position in society was maddening. 

Perhaps it was to do with her age: Vivian was ever such an older sister, and still unmarried, and unlikely to ever be so. She was where she was, and she lived how she lived, and this was in all probability as good as she would ever have it. Perhaps Emily was just a little pettish - a little too sure that she would not end up like Vivian. That she would learn the ropes, and adopt the rules, and better herself, and not be waiting and serving forever, and acquire a little polish from the ladies and the gentlemen - and on and on it went between them.

It gave them something to talk about, at least: on those rare mornings when Emily was not at work and Vivian was not immersed in the newspaper. On such mornings as these, when Emily had time off - not for want of work, but time off sick - it would normally have preoccupied them. As it was, however, Emily had been sent home - a funny turn in the corridor, she’d insisted, all was perfectly well, and no, Mrs. Harrison had told her, it was about time she took a proper day off and that was that - and since Emily had been sent home sick, she didn’t feel she had a leg to stand on in their usual argument.

In any case, she had other things on her mind.

“I can tell you what happened, Viv,” she was saying, “but you mustn’t be mean about it. You mustn’t make faces, or tut, or cast aspersions. What happened was,” she went on to say, without waiting for Vivian to agree to any of that, “the last thing I remember was the gentleman showing me out, and he remembered me from Lady Bowesley’s affair on the boat, do you recall?”

Vivian tutted, exactly as she had been exhorted not to do, and Emily rolled her eyes to the heavens. It was perfectly all right to do so, since Vivian had started it. At least Vivian was paying attention, though, because she said: “I do wish you’d not talk about those affairs as if they were yours, Em - as if you were a guest and not a maid at hire. You give yourself the most terrible airs sometimes.”

Emily refused to let herself be distracted, or fall into the usual rut, not now when she had something desperately important to relate, and so she ignored the jibe and went on regardless. “In any case, Viv, and you mustn’t make faces, please, but in any case, he kissed me.”

Vivian looked at Emily, then. Turned her head three-quarter-ways and let her eyes settle for a minute. They did look alike: Vivian was a little warmer, a little ruddier, a little more worn-in about the cheeks and eyes, and her eyes were a little darker. They were also, currently, quite wide, because while Emily might have given herself airs, she had never been one to make things up. All of her gossip was quite genuine, as best as she could follow it.

“Did he now?” Vivian asked, and it wasn’t the usual way she asked questions like that, as if she was determined to catch Emily out. She was being quite sincere: speaking slowly, almost kindly. “And was that all he did, Em?”

“I think so. That’s the trouble. He kissed me, and he said goodnight, and when I went to go back to - then it all went - and I didn’t wake up until Geraldine found me. It was a quarter to eleven by then, and I’d been missed, and - I don’t think he did anything? Anything untoward?” Emily didn’t need to add the obvious - how would she know? There were things gentlemen who were no gentlemen got up to with ladies who were no ladies. There was taking advantage, of course, and the problem was the Girls’ Own Paper was quite mum as to what that meant, and so was Miss Hartley’s manual. 

All Emily knew was she ached. Whatever that kiss had done to her, she wanted it done again, and again, and again and more and more besides. She felt quite out of sorts. Not sick at all, but restless and fidgety in a way she normally only felt the day or two before her time: only worse than that, because it was in her lips, and in her hips. Tingling, and tense, and wanting to stretch right down to her toes, but not knowing how to do it properly. If that was a sign that advantage had been taken, she was quite sure that she could sort herself out, and she said as much to Vivian.

What Vivian said was that it would doubtless sort itself out, and it was probably best she talked to other girls of her age about it, and she had to go to work in any case - but not to go letting herself daydream, because gentlemen who stayed in the oldest hotel in Mayfair didn’t marry girls who worked there, not outside of the serials in any case. And life, Vivian was always keen to remind her, was not a serial. She knew what it was to be disappointed by a gentleman, she said, and said it in that same slow, kind way that wasn’t quite like her at all.

So Emily did what had been suggested, and she went to talk to other girls of her age. Specifically, she went to talk to Katherine in the laundry, who was known to share all sorts of secrets about what she found in the bedclothes for tuppence or thruppence a time, and for tuppence or thruppence more would drop her skirts while she shared it - or so Geraldine had said, and tapped her long nose while she said it, and trusted Emily to know what all of that meant. At the present moment in time, Emily very much wanted to know what all of that meant, and more than that, she felt that restlessness reaching down into her feet and sending her to the double doors of the laundry - battered at the tops and bottoms, and soaked through with steam - and knocking for Katherine right when she took her break at a quarter to eleven.

“Surprised you’ve not been down to see me before,” said Katherine to Emily, and winked. “Surprised it took you this long to have your head turned. Always thought you’d be a looker, if you looked up once in a while and got seen.” And Katherine said she didn’t have the time to explain all manner of everything to Emily, but for sixpence she’d loan Emily a volume of literature on the topic and Emily could keep it for a shilling, if it sorted her out good and proper. Emily said sixpence was sixpence and she’d give it back, and Katherine said “wait and see, and call me Kitty, eh?”

Dirty Kitty’s dirty book did not, in fact, help Emily much. The pictures were informative, and quite stirring in their way, but the accompanying print assumed you already knew the meaning of some words Emily was quite sure she didn’t exactly know the meaning of already. They were quite coarse - she knew that from when she’d heard them said - but apart from being the sort of words Mark the odd-job-man said when he’d tripped over the bootscratcher, she didn’t know them. And boot-scratchers - anything to do with boots in fact - were nothing to do with the goings-on in Kitty’s dog-eared little pamphlet. It certainly made her all hot and bothered, and gave some detail to the thoughts she was thinking, and she would see if she owed Kitty another fourpence later on.

It was at that moment, feeling terribly bold and quite unlike herself, that Emily decided to take matters into her own hands. She had her gentleman’s name. She worked at an establishment he had visited. She had, therefore, access to his calling card, and could at least find out a little about him from the residence he kept. Defying all attempts to deter her - or even to ask what on Earth she was doing here when she was supposed to be off sick - Emily made her way to the entrance hall, and to the pigeonholes behind the desk, in which the cards and the post and the messages for residents were kept, and she snatched a look. Mr. Riley Halaghan on the front, as was only right and proper, and handwritten on the back in the weekend doorman’s hand was added ℅ Blennerhassett’s, Black Prince Road, Lambeth.

Lambeth; that was a surprise. Emily had felt sure he was a gentleman. This “Blennerhassett’s” sounded less like a club and more like a common lodging-house, and south of the river to boot. People resident in common lodging-houses did not attend suppers on a schooner at Tilbury or meet in the drawing-rooms of Mayfair. Except - her gentleman, the Fox, clearly did do these things, and therefore he couldn’t possibly be resident in a common lodging-house. It was only a care-of address. Going between. And he’d been on police business - beyond the police, even - with the doctor and the officer and that lot - that must be it!

This still left her with the problem of how to pay a call. It was not right, nor proper, for a young lady to call on a gentleman, announced or unannounced, accompanied or otherwise. It was not hers to initiate. Not unless he was very terribly ill, and they were already acquainted, and of a common rank and standing in Society. If only he had been a common sort of fellow, in a common sort of lodging-house - oh, but then they would never have met at all, and would he be half as dashing? Would Emily want him half as much?

As Emily slipped the card back into the pigeonhole, she became aware that her lips were aching again.

Her lips were aching again. Every heartbeat that moved her blood through them; every breath that she drew over them; every moment of her existence, Miss Trevelyan yearned to be kissed again. Yet she did not have long to wait, long to yearn, for she languished both on the finest sheets of the Grand Terrace Suite and within the arms of her beloved. His lips - his hair - his brilliant eyes - at her beck and call, and fastening eagerly onto hers, as his hands roved, as she writhed. She took a shaky breath, in the intervals between, and felt the tension in her thighs as she crossed her ankles and held him tight and begged him please, oh please, frig her or fuck her or whatever it was -

A rattle of keys. Footsteps on the staircase. The tell-tale creak of the fourth step and the clunk of the hallway door swinging shut behind - oh, God, Vivian! Was it a half-day? What on Earth?

Emily bit her lip, stifling the squeak of alarm. She was in a state of deshabille, all a-quiver, exposed to the dim February light and oh God, what were her hands doing there? She fumbled, and shivered, and rolled around in her bedclothes, rummaging herself back under the quilts - turning them over and realising how damp they felt against her - had she even closed her bedroom door? It was just a kick away from the foot of her bed, and she squirmed to reach it and kick it closed just as the apartment door swung open, and Vivian came in.

“Oh, you’re awake?” said Vivian, through the business of hat and scarf and coat. “I did call, but I thought you must have been asleep.”

“I felt a little feverish after breakfast,” Emily answered, herself preoccupied with tidying away the pamphlet, stowing it away inside her pillowcase, crossing to the washstand and dabbling her hands in a rush of cold water, splashing her face and neck and, still distractedly tense, her thighs. “I’m glad you’re home. I’d like to take the air - I think it would be good for me. Just an hour or two. Bracing walk. I could hardly go wandering about alone…”

“Of course not,” said Vivian, and though Emily couldn’t see her sister’s face, she knew her eyes were rolling. “Not even around Hyde Park, or the Green.”

“Oh, don’t be beastly, Viv. I meant in case I had another turn, that’s all.” Now she knew Vivian was frowning; she always took longer to say something when she’d decided she was wrong.

“Of course. I’m sorry. Where would you like to go?”

“I wondered if we might go across the river?” said Emily, as innocently as she dared. “It’s only - I have a card I should like to return.”

“This is about your gentleman, isn’t it?”

Emily blushed, again, and splashed her face again, with an abrupt and grumpy flutter of her palms that was not at all becoming. “You know perfectly well I can’t lie to you, Viv. Yes, it is, and in fact you were quite right about me not having notions of my standing, and it’s perfectly all right because I don’t think he can be all that far above me at all, given his address - “

“Does your Miss Hartley not have something to say about young ladies calling on gentlemen of their most passing acquaintance?” Vivian was moving about the hallway still. “And should I bother to take off my boots, or are we going out right away?”

The walk across Green Park, and skirting the outer fringe of Westminster, and across the Lambeth Bridge, gave Emily plenty of time to explain exactly what she had concluded from Miss Hartley’s advice, which she had in fact consulted. If a young lady lacking parents to effect introductions on her behalf were accompanied, if she only left her card and allowed the gentleman to make any engagement that was to be made, in a proper and public place of course, it was appropriate for that young lady to be introduced to eligible gentlemen by her own efforts. After all, it had to happen somehow.

Vivian was delighted to be informed of this, as Emily had expected, and her bleary-eyed gaze downriver toward the Palace of Westminster was of course an admission of defeat. Emily’s victory would, however, be short-lived, once they reached the far side of the bridge.

Thus far, the sisters had walked arm in arm through the heart of Empire; though the air was a little heavy today, their surroundings were green and pleasant parkland, high and respectable buildings: the outer extremities of the State. Across the river, things were different. Rows of cramped houses, as narrow as their own apartments; the rattle and hiss of the railway cutting off the southern horizon, carried over the streets on its high arched viaduct. There was a penetrating, sticky sort of smell in the air, wafting from something further out than Emily could see. Above all, however, there was a sense of grottiness. The tall buildings were unclad brick, all the way down to the ground, and if Emily looked up at windows, she saw ragged curtains, more akin to bedsheets than anything that should be hung up to face the street. She saw bottles of beer on the sills, roundels of grease on the panes, and her tongue tasted like limsecale in her mouth at the thought of what those houses must be like inside.

Vivian was kind enough not to say anything, at either of the two pubs at which they stopped to ask directions, and not to laugh too much when Emily couldn’t understand a word one fellow was saying. Perhaps she knew the value of silent judgment, considering how Emily’s heart had sunk through her stomach and was currently making its way further down, and how Emily squirmed when they arrived at the head of Black Prince Road and saw the packed-in tenements facing the chinaworks across the street. That artificial, sticky scent was becoming ever stronger, and seemed to peak as - following the directions from the gentleman of leisure who’d been smoking outside the Jolly Gardeners - the sisters came to a halt outside Blennerhassett’s Boarding House. 

It didn’t look all that unpleasant. The curtains had an actual pattern. There was, at least, a painted sign above the door, and a list of rates down the inside where bells or boxes might have been. Nowhere to simply leave a card, and Emily was forced to take a deep breath, regret taking it, and rap the doorknocker. At first she was furtive, then more brazen, then absolutely insistent, and on the third knock there emerged what Emily presumed to be a Blennerhassett of some variety.

He was a portly fellow, in a housecoat of deep brown over corduroys and carpet slippers, and to judge from his blinking, he was somewhat unaccustomed to the light of the early afternoon. He peered at her, jowlishly, and bade her good day, informing her this was a boarding house for the male sex alone, and the ladies were advised to pursue accommodation elsewhere.

“It is about a gentleman that I wish to speak with you,” said Emily, stumbling over her words a little. “That is to say, one of your gentlemen. Are you host to Mr. Halaghan, sir?”

“Halaghan? I am that, or at least, I am supposed to be. Rum cove. Comes and goes as he pleases, never see him out after dawn. Not seen a penny’s rent out of him since Christmas, either.”

He must be in some sort of trouble. There must be some misunderstanding with the police. He must have been robbed, or swindled, or some such. Emily ticked her tongue against her teeth, and took another breath of the clammy, silty air. She looked across at the board, and frowned, making the calculation. Six shillings a week, six weeks - or call it seven - 

“Two pound, two bob, miss, and tuppence for the inconvenience. Exactly, miss,” he added, mistaking her expression for contempt. “I am not running a doss-house here, you understand: these are rooms, occupancy singular, for working gentlemen. I’d have the blighter’s effects out on the street if there was cock-all in the room to throw out, pardon my French of course, and if he hadn’t always made good in the end beforehand, and paid full price for the breakfast he don’t eat.”

This grumble came out of the Blennerhassett in one well-rehearsed go, observations and clarifications clattering along like a typewriter. The man had teeth missing either side of his mouth, and sucked at the gaps disagreeably when he paused for breath, which (mercifully) he did not do often.

“Well, Mr. Blennerhassett,” said Emily, “I can’t say a word for Mr. Halaghan’s whereabouts, or for his bill, but if you should see him - before you have him or his effects out in the street, would you kindly let him know Miss Trelawney called for him, and that he knows where to find her? And I can, at the very least, offer you a florin for your trouble there, and leave the two pounds on account.”

“It’ll be three bob by dawn, Miss Trelawney, so I shan’t take your money to settle up on his behalf. Instead I shall say: hold on to your purse around that one, and keep an eye on him. I shall keep my eye out for him, and I shall do as you ask, and if he should come knocking on your door after accommodations, well. I hope you was born wealthy, Miss Trelawney, that’s all.”

“Thank you, Mr. Blennerhassett,” said Emily, and “goodbye,” as she turned away from the door, and “blast!” once it had closed and she had taken two steps down and six forward, and was back in the street. Vivian was frowning, and expressed her concern that the discussion had not gone well, and Emily told her that no it had not, and asked could they please leave now, and say no more about it? And so they said no more about it, all the way across Lambeth Bridge, at the northern end of which they took the Westminster omnibus back home, because Vivian’s silence had become too damning.

Upon her return to work, at breakfast-time the morning after, Emily passed the florin to Kitty in the laundry instead, and took her final and most desperate step. When she had a moment to herself, she slipped into the drawing-room on the first floor, and wrote out a note in the hotel’s ink on the hotel’s paper, slipped it into one of the hotel’s envelopes, and left it in Doctor Pinsmail’s pigeonhole.

For the attention of Mr. Riley Halaghan,

Sir,

If I may make so bold, I have become concerned about a crisis in your affairs. I am anxious that you retain possession of your property, and I urgently require your forwarding address in order to convey to you what is yours.

E. T.

The envelope remained there for three nights and two days; for five frustrating shifts of wanting and not having. Indeed, it was still there when Emily next found the front desk unattended, and had the opportunity to slip back and rifle through the pigeonhole. By that time, however, it had been opened, without use of a knife, and tucked closed again without being sealed, and where Emily’s note had been there was only another plain calling card. Mr. Riley Halaghan was printed across the front, and in a hasty handwritten scribble across the back she read: Single Storks’ Nest, Chance Corner, Old Nichol Street - after Dark.

She had him. Please, God, say she had him.

The third time Emily met her Fox, it was in his very lair.

In her bones, she knew she should not be there. Propriety was one concern, and safety another: she was unescorted, unchaperoned, and going about a part of the town where “escort” and “chaperone” may as well have meant “bodyguard.” This was a far cry from Mayfair, or even Lambeth. This was among the meanest and most meagre boroughs of the East End, a place for which nothing in the Girls’ Own Paper could have prepared Emily, and at which everything in the guilty little pamphlet stuffed under her mattress could only hint. She skirted the depths of the rookery, circling around the wider and more-peopled streets - although the people were no comfort, lounging or staring or laughing gin-pickled laughs. Only when she was sure this was Old Nichol Street itself did she take the plunge.

Everything was old, and crabbed, and crooked: buildings leaning together, jostling across the narrow streets with long spikes on which trailing rags of linen hung. Everything smelt: there was a disagreeably mealy, meaty aroma, and behind it a heady, tinny clamminess that assailed Emily in a way that went beyond the nose, the lips, the tongue and the breath. Every footfall seemed to impress her presence into the rot and the ruin, and every step forward left more of it lingering about her person. Every sound seemed to jar and jostle with every other: even a whistle took on discordant menace when it seemed to come out of nowhere and echo round everywhere before crossing Emily’s awareness. She was a matter of yards from the Shoreditch high street station, and yet everything she saw and heard and smelt was telling her this is not your world.

It was quieter here. Darker. Candles winked in the occasional window that was not shuttered or blocked or boarded up; winked, and went out, as she pressed on. Emily knew that to draw further attention to herself was madness. A girl from the West End in her one good dress, pale green, high collar and tight sleeves and very difficult to run in - she might have been a lowly hotel maid in Mayfair, but on the corner of Old Nichol and Chance Streets, she was a mark, and she knew it without knowing it. Another whistle. Another stirring in a building nearby. She turned, and saw it - there, with lights burning in the third and fourth storeys from the ground, was the Nest.

From the outside, it looked decrepit. Deep dents and rents in the brickwork, standing out even through layers of soot and grime. Inside, things were different.  It was rather like a large, dishevelled parlour occupying the general shape of a public house. It was - quiet. Watchful. Not uncomfortable, and more well appointed than the grim exterior had indicated. There were rugs on the floor, not spit and sawdust; there were mismatched but not dirty or defective settees and armchairs. It had been wallpapered, at some point, in deep pine-tree green. There was a dog: a black mastiff of the Italian type, far better kept than the ragged creatures Emily had glimpsed in the surrounding streets. It sat up a little way, twitched its ears, and settled, not making a sound, and the women coming and going about the place settled too.

They were all women. Old and young, pinched and peach-full. Most had the hard-luck or hang-dog demeanour of the rookery’s other denizens: most of the faces were worn by cares, restless and alert at her intrusion. Most were clearly poor: their attire was unfashionable, much mended, but clean. It was as though the foul and filthy atmosphere of Old Nichol Street was checked at the door, and only the poverty let through, admitted reluctantly as a fact of life. And now here was Emily, on fifteen pounds and ten shillings a year, plus a guinea a month from her Ladyship, aware of a sudden that she was better off than any two or three of them.

“Beg pardon, miss,” said a voice by her side, “but you’re looking quite baffled. I don’t think it’s sanctuary you’re after, nor charity, nor a chinwag. So! I’m Vogel. What can we do for you?”

The speaker was petite, a little shorter even than Emily. Her age was impossible to guess; a spry fifty, or a worn-out thirty, or anywhere in between. An observer’s eye was drawn away from any wrinkle or grey streak by the prevailing feature of her face; the whorled, puckered scars that covered it from hairline to collar. From there down, she was dressed quite well; burgundy velvet that brushed the rugs at her well-concealed feet. Quite taken aback by the sight of her, Emily let all thoughts of cards and conventions go hang, and spoke from the heart:

“I - think I must have come to the wrong - I am looking for a Mr. Halaghan?”

“Oh, no, we know Mr. Halaghan very well. Mr. Halaghan has a suite on the third floor, at the back. Yellow door, opposite the window what’s blocked up. He’s at home this evening; I reckon he was expecting you.”

Suite was somehow the last word Emily had expected to hear. Apartment, perhaps, or worse: she had heard tell of such terrible conditions, four families to one room, houses hollowed out to fit forty people at a time. It was strange to hear suite in a place like this; stranger still to imagine her Fox here; strangest of all that she was here herself. Yet here she was, and where else was she to go but onward and upward?

So Emily climbed the narrow stairs, and turned and climbed and turned and climbed again, and walked down the corridor until she found the shuttered window with the yellow-painted door opposite, and knocked three times.

“Come in,” said a soft and lilting voice, and in she came.

The Fox kept an unlikely parlour. The windows faced inwards, overlooking an inner courtyard; ivy crawled over the sills and frames and even through a broken pane or two, although none was permitted to touch the runners of the sliding shutters. Though there were signs of damp, bulging through the corners of the ceiling, there was also limewash of a pale violet upon the walls, and it was very fresh: the room had a newness that surprised her, and an order beside.

For furniture there was a battered writing-desk, that seemed to serve also as a dresser given the presence of a shaving-mirror and several watches, rings and cufflinks thereupon; a large bed with heavy blue damask curtains, turned down with unexpected neatness; a small round table on a single high leg, with the accoutrements of the smoker laying across it; and a quartet’s worth of mismatched armchairs. In the tallest of these, with a high back and deep seat - there he was.

He sat with an ease that was almost insolent, at odds with the squalor of the street below. His hair was more tousled than on either of the last occasions; his right hand held a cigarette in a blackwood stem holder; and his shirt (oh God, save her) was open at collar and cuffs, open to an indecent extent. He revealed fine collarbones, a pale and slender chest, and (oh God, help him) a wrap of bandages circling around and around. He closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, and blew a plume of smoke up at the ceiling, before he set the cigarette down and rose to greet her. His cane, she observed, was still of use to him even in this short and simple movement, but it found itself bereft and nestled against an empty chair as he bowed to her.

“Pray, come in all the way, Miss Trevelyan. I hardly think you need to flutter on my threshold now. It’s a delight to see you, truly it is; I had hoped you’d attend on me yourself.”

The door closed behind her, and Emily took a deep breath, tapping the tips of her stained boots upon the carpet.

“I - had no idea what to expect, sir. Lambeth was surprise enough, but this - I had thought you a gentleman of leisure, and - oh, I don’t mean to scold. I don’t know what I mean at all. I have thought and thought about our meeting once again all week; now I’m here I’m - “

Softly, slowly, he hushed her, taking both her hands in his and bringing them to his lips. Nip, nip, on each of her fourth fingers, and she blushed at the mere touch - the kiss.

“I am, not to boast, an extraordinary gentleman. These circumstances in which I find myself - they’re new to me, and not those to which I’d hoped I’d find myself accustomed. From Trinity to Bethnal Green; how are the mighty fallen.”

“Was there some accident?” Emily asked, keeping her hold on his hands. “I mean - your leg. Your chest. It isn’t - the white death?”

The Fox closed his eyes, and sighed. When he spoke it was airily reflective, with a melancholy hesitation, as though he wished to spare her the worst of a sad story. “Something very like that. I had already been sent down, but… this finished me. It was London, for the proper… circumstances needed for my care, or oblivion.” His eyes flickered open again, and his fingers flushed in Emily’s gloves, seeming warmer than they had been a moment ago. There was a little colour in those pale cheeks; rose-petal pink. A blusher? Like she was? Too, too charming. “Enough of the past, though,” he said. “You have something that belongs to me. Something you had to deliver in person. I wonder what it might be?”

“Can you not tell?” It was most unlike Emily - the outburst, and the movement, the boldness of it, the step forward into intimate closeness. Almost touching. It was so unlike her, and yet in this moment, it was all she could do. “It is - I am - yours. I have thought of you day and night since - our encounter. At Claridge’s. I have been unable to put you from my mind. I came to put myself at your mercy. All I have wanted is for you to kiss me again, and again, and more - “

Now they were touching, and most improperly. His hands slid her cape from her shoulders and alighted upon her hips, holding them against his; breast to breast, as Emily’s heart fluttered; his lips devoured the half-formed wish as it stumbled out of hers. This time the experience was… prolonged. No stolen moment, no snatched instant of crystalline time before either of them was called away. The taste of him - something rich and tinny, blended in with the dusty flavour of his tobacco. Fingers curled against her curves, pressing through her dress. It was wonderful, but not the same.

“I see,” he said. Tongue against his teeth. Side to side. To and fro. Eyes as wide with hunger as hers were, now. “Then I think, Miss Mouse, you had best stay with me awhile.”

Emily was in a whirl, in a spin, her eyes uplifted as he unlaced her dress. Faille in pale nile green pooled around her feet, atop the heavy and sensible serge of her winter cloak and gloves. Another kiss, and another; she leaned in, palms on his wrapped chest, trusting him with all of her. If she was to fall, let her fall into him, and never return. A nip at her lips - his teeth were so sharp - and those fingers of his darted down the length of her to work at her boots. She wriggled as he unlaced them, kicked them off quite indecorously - nothing about this was decorous any more - and stepped free. Were her eyes fluttering in some foolish, girlish attempt at charm, or because she was weeping for delighted anticipation? She swayed, swooned, stood as she found her footing, chilly and bare as a winter willow, stripped down to bustier and chemise.

Her own two hands and her own ten fingers and thumbs fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, and found their way inside it, untucking it - hesitant at first, then tugging it free, caressing the  lean and cool and surprisingly smooth lines of him as he writhed free of it. Then, in a sudden movement, he leant around her, coiled and clutched about her shoulders, and they tumbled back together, onto - into the bed.

Oh, sweet Fox - this, this was what had been missing from your Mouse’s reveries. Your hands, still so cool to touch against the blossoming heat of her. Inside her chemise, over her heart and between her thighs, where she burned the brightest and beat the hardest. Every breath a labour, every beat a hammerblow, and her only sounds so soft, so high, so timorous. Pretty little prey-thing, in your den, in your arbour, in your lair at last and longing - kissing you again, in the curves and hollows of your collar, baring you to the night.

“I want to see you,” Emily whispered.

“Later,” he replied, and the very tips of his slim, clever fingers grazed, parted, tested, lifted - tenderly, so tenderly, teased at some secret sacred centre she hadn’t even known was there. All the aching, all the taut tension, all the wanting that was in her turned upon that single fulcrum; on the tips of three fingers running through her fine and hidden hair.

Then - and then - oh rapture, oh bliss - there were two. Those lips on her collar roved, into the soft hollow at the base of her throat, and those teeth grazed, scraped, and pierced. There was no time to think, no time to react, no time at all: Emily, in that instant, was a human harpstring, stretched between two sublime points. Pale little Emily, wet little Emily, empty little Emily - to think, a fortnight ago, that she had thought such things about herself. Had she only known that she could endure such ecstasy, she would have thought. Herself. So much. 

“More.”

The Fox looked up; caught a glimpse of their own face in the mirror. Good grief - what a bleeder! They’d been hungrier than they’d thought they were, too, after that fiasco at the club. A good thing the mouse had arrived when she had; a better one that they’d kept some self-control and hadn’t killed her. No point in stealing something you can’t sell on, after all. She was a pretty one, and there was some fellow-feeling there: a girl from below stairs with aspirations, fanciful notions, hopes and dreams, call them what you like. It was a familiar yarn.

Still, though: she was stolen. The Kiss that Keeps had been a moment’s spiteful fancy: a decision taken on the fly, the moment Riley realised who the pretty maid belonged to. Lady Anne had checked Riley, cheeked Riley, and had the gall to order Riley. High-and-mighty English Roundhead. Ever since that first night at Tilbury, the thing in Riley that ate-bit-scratched-fled had bridled and been restless. Assembling their little collection of home truths for Lady Anne - the truth about the General, the West End, the warehouse in Camden - that was a good start. Pilfering the Rebel diva’s necklace from around her throat and handing it to the Madam of this fine establishment, the bitter lover of the Lady’s love - that was a task much more to Riley’s liking than an order. Seducing Lady Anne’s little maid - that was a petty crime, and yet -

It occurred to Riley then, as they licked the tips of their fingers, the Blush still lingering and giving them the taste for it, that this little mouse might be more than a diversion. Divided loyalties. The Blood from her patron, the Kiss from her lover; there’d be something to work with there. Another crack in Seneschal Londinium’s ironclad authority; another crevice in which Riley Halaghan could drive the lever, plant their feet and push.

And in any case, there were plenty of hours left in the night. Sweet Emily would come to, soon - listless, light-headed, but sated, for now. It was Riley’s turn to come, and what was forever without a little risk and degradation? See if the girl was smart enough to guess the secret, and let her think she had him in her power.

Good thing Riley hadn’t killed her, indeed.

[timeclonemike]

Before the spread of the World Wide Web, the closest analogue in cultural terms was the collection of Computer Bulletin Board Systems or BBS services. Individual computers would connect directly to other computers via phone line in order to exchange information. These systems were limited by the technology of their era; client and service computers often had limited space, dial up modems had bandwidth so low as to be laughable by modern standards, and portable storage was limited primarily to magnetic floppy disks that could not even hold 2 MB of data. There were also issues of competing file formats and a lack of standardization, with ASCII being the lowest-common-denominator choice. Images were usually limited to ASCII art representations, as a lot of the file compression algorithms that turned large bitmap files into more nimble JPEGs, GIFs, and PNGs were just a gleam in some programmers eye.

This meant that, leaving aside variations in style and formatting, these files had to condense a considerable amount of information into a very small package, both in computer terms and human terms; it might take a while to download a particularly large file from a bulletin board, which might not prove to be useful or informative or entertaining compared to multiple smaller files that could be accessed in the same time frame. In a way it presaged the push towards small-form video content in the present day, but motivated purely by cost-benefit analysis on the part of writers, readers, and hosts rather than advertising engagement; it was naturally organic, not algorithmically enforced. To a lesser extent this also impacted the specific content of the files; according to the Wadsworth Constant, the first 30% of every YouTube video can be skipped while not losing any information content, something only possible because our computing and telecommunications technology has undergone multiple revolutions in the past three decades, while our precursors didn't have the luxury of "filler" content.

While I personally believe we have gained more than we have lost through the adoption of the World Wide Web and its various protocols, and indeed I cannot see the BBS era through rose-colored glasses because I did not experience it personally, only read about it after the fact through historical and personal accounts, the topic of condensing the maximum information into the smallest possible footprint is definitely on my mind a lot these days.

[monetizeme]

Proton, the secure-minded email and productivity suite, is becoming a nonprofit foundation, but it doesn't want you to think about it in the way you think about other notable privacy and web foundations.

"We believe that if we want to bring about large-scale change, Proton can’t be billionaire-subsidized (like Signal), Google-subsidized (like Mozilla), government-subsidized (like Tor), donation-subsidized (like Wikipedia), or even speculation-subsidized (like the plethora of crypto “foundations”)," Proton CEO Andy Yen wrote in a blog post announcing the transition. "Instead, Proton must have a profitable and healthy business at its core."

The announcement comes exactly 10 years to the day after a crowdfunding campaign saw 10,000 people give more than $500,000 to launch Proton Mail. To make it happen, Yen, along with co-founder Jason Stockman and first employee Dingchao Lu, endowed the Proton Foundation with some of their shares. The Proton Foundation is now the primary shareholder of the business Proton, which Yen states will "make irrevocable our wish that Proton remains in perpetuity an organization that places people ahead of profits." Among other members of the Foundation's board is Sir Tim Berners-Lee, inventor of HTML, HTTP, and almost everything else about the web.

Of particular importance is where Proton and the Proton Foundation are located: Switzerland. As Yen noted, Swiss foundations do not have shareholders and are instead obligated to act "in accordance with the purpose for which they were established." While the for-profit entity Proton AG can still do things like offer stock options to recruits and even raise its own capital on private markets, the Foundation serves as a backstop against moving too far from Proton's founding mission, Yen wrote.

There’s a lot more Proton to protect these days

Proton has gone from a single email offering to a wide range of services, many of which specifically target the often invasive offerings of other companies (read, mostly: Google). You can now take your cloud files, passwords, and calendars over to Proton and use its VPN services, most of which offer end-to-end encryption and open source core software hosted in Switzerland, with its notably strong privacy laws.

None of that guarantees that a Swiss court can't compel some forms of compliance from Proton, as happened in 2021. But compared to most service providers, Proton offers a far clearer and easier-to-grasp privacy model: It can't see your stuff, and it only makes money from subscriptions.

[mothmanssweetsucculentass]

Homicidal Liu Headcanons

I’m gonna be so real with y’all, I hate that he’s called that. Early Creepypasta naming conventions were so dumb. Not even delving into the character aspect itself, it was all just [violent adjective] [character’s name] or [character’s name] the killer/butcher/slayer/balltwister/etc.

Also for the sake of my own sanity I’m going to clarify this right now, my Liu does NOT have DID. Sully does exist, but not in the way most people think. I don’t have anything wrong with DID Liu as long as it’s done correctly, I personally will not be going that route for my Liu.

Anyways here’s Liu headcanons have fun

Expect canon typical dark topics

Died when he was 22, is now somewhere in his late 20s

Not as buff as Jane is, but still has some heft to him. About 5”8 when he’s not slouched over a laptop

Plot twist, he’s NOT Jeff’s brother

No I’m being so serious they aren’t related biologically or through step-sibling stuff. They have zero familial connection

However. They were college roommates

Speaking of, Liu was a computer science major. He’s nowhere near the level of skill that Ben has (granted, Ben basically is a computer) but he’s still pretty damn good at it.

I mean, how else is he able to single handedly run a dark web redroom with an untraceable bank account that deals with heavy traffic on a daily basis? He knows what he’s doing and he does it well

He honestly feels kinda bad for not hanging out with Jeff more. They weren’t exactly friends in college, but Liu never hated the guy. Though sometimes he did find Jeff annoying

He just has a lot of complex feelings about Jeff now considering. Well, everything

Took way longer than Jane to get over his grudge with Jeff

He eventually relented after Jane got annoyed with his bitching talked some sense into him

And compared to Jane, he actually hangs around Jeff in his free time

When he has free time. Which is rare

The red room and hitman service him and Jane run take up almost all of his waking moments.

And when he’s not going out and ripping a guy’s spine out or monitoring the payments while Jane eviscerates a guy, he’s usually too drained to do anything besides hole himself up in his room

But in the very exceedingly rare moments that he’s feeling social and has the time, he’s found around Jeff

Jeff is deeply fascinated by the red room service and often asks Liu questions about it. Most of the time Liu would rather not talk about the work he just got done doing, so he forces Jeff to change the subject

Him and Jane definitely have chronic pain, Liu has chronic tired on top of it

Bro hasn’t had a full 8 hours in like a decade

Somebody get this man a fucking nap

Honestly even if someone did convince Liu to step away from his work. He still wouldn’t sleep. On account of the nightmares

And his sort of uninvited body guest

Compared to Jane’s possessions (thanks to the botched resurrection from the [REDACTED] cult touched on in Jane’s post), Liu’s are not only much more frequent, but much longer

I’m talking he’s got some wayward ghost in his body more often than not

While Jane is more susceptible to full possessions that take over her entire being, Liu mainly deals with having too many consciousness inside his body at any given time

The upside: he’s still able to be in control of his own actions and body most of the time. The downside? They won’t shut up

Screaming, crying, generally horrible things yelled at him from inside his own mind. Y’know, cause pretty much every ghost within a 50 yard radius is a murder victim. Probably even one of his victims

He never gets the same ghost more than twice

Except for one bitch

Yeah. That guy

Liu’s not even entirely sure that this guy was murdered on the property, certainly not in the timeframe he’s been here

It calls itself Sully

Sully, compared to every other ghost Liu has had the displeasure of hosting, keeps fucking coming back, and way overstaying its welcome

The other thing: Sully likes being along for the ride whenever Liu is working

Sully’s fully capable of taking over Liu’s body whenever it wants, and it does so pretty often whenever Liu has to go out and do the hitman shit

At first, Liu hated it. Mainly because he was worried Sully would get him caught or do something that jeopardized Liu and Jane’s safety

But the more Sully took over, the more Liu noticed that it seemed like Sully knew what it was doing. Like it’d done this before. Like it was just as if not a more skilled killer than he and Jane were.

Sully was also one of the first ghosts to show up when both he and Jane started experiencing the possessions

Liu is far more used to having Sully around now that whenever a different ghost is around, Liu misses it. Mainly because he’d rather hear Sully’s mocking and fuckery over the same shit murder victims scream at him

Sully’s personality leaves much to be desired. Compared to Liu’s more calm and calculated demeanor, Sully is brash, loud, and vulgar.

Sully often suggests depraved things Liu could be doing to victims, and when Liu has a set of specifications from a client he should be following, he has to remind Sully that they can’t do shit like that on the job

But when there’s no specifications or rules or anything of the sort? Sully decides to take over itself and do all the nasty and depraved things Liu doesn’t want to do

Whenever this happens, Liu zones the fuck out. He’s had his fair share of violence and can stomach just about anything, so that’s not the issue. Nah he zones out because it gives his brain a chance to rest

He zones back in immediately once Sully gives him back control over his body

Liu wouldn’t exactly describe his relationship with Sully as a friendship considering besides its name, Sully hasn’t told him jack shit about itself

But Liu find’s Sully’s presence morbidly comforting. Especially when he’s gotta sit there bored as hell as he works on the techy logistics part of the job

And ok yeah he admits it, sometimes the shit Sully says is funny

So much so that he’ll repeat some of the things Sully says in his mind to people like Jeff and Ben, who both find it absolutely hilarious

Unlike Jane, Liu doesn’t give a shit about his appearance. He never did to be honest. He was a computer science major, what’re you expecting?

Therefore he doesn’t cover up his many scars from the violent and brutal death he suffered at the hands of Jeff

At first, Jeff thought Liu was doing it on purpose, as some sort of passive aggressive thing or some shit. But nope, Liu is just that unbothered about how others perceive him

Wears the green striped scarf because this motherfucker runs COLD

Like he’s constantly wanting to crank up the heat. He asked Eyeless Jack about it once and they theorized it has something to do with Liu constantly being possessed by ghosts

With that logic, he’s also constantly wearing jackets, hoodies, coats, anything that’ll cover as much skin as possible. He’s so cold

Not necessarily corpse cold though. Though he is definitely undead like Jane and some of the others

He’s very uptight about his schedule and work

If something even hints at going wrong he’s on top of that shit asap

He’s gotta run a tight ship for the line of work he does. Even minor slip ups are the difference to being caught or living to kill another day

Is also too prideful to ask Ben for help. Ben probably would if Liu would just ask, but they’re not gonna go out of their way to help Liu out of the goodness of their heart

Is friends/close with: EJ, Ben, Masky, and Hoody

Is neutral/has a tolerable relationship with: Jeff, Nina, Ann, Sally, Kagekao, Clockwork, LJ, and Helen

Hates: Slenderman, Puppeteer, and Jason

Jane is something beyond close to him. Sure, the two did briefly date, but beyond that, the two practically have a found sibling bond. They’d both give their lives for the other

Liu wants nothing more than for the both of them to be able to find peace, which is why both he and Jane haven’t stopped searching for a way to get out from under Slenderman’s control.

Sully has alluded to being able to help, but Liu has yet to make any progress on getting it to give up any information it has

Him and Ben have bonded over being tech guys. Liu isn’t super into video games though, which bums Ben out, but they’re still able to talk about other tech related things

He likes EJ, Masky, and Hoody for more simple reasons: they don’t talk much and are generally pleasant to be around whenever Liu runs into them in common areas. But all of them are so busy they barely see each other. Despite that, they all respect the hell out of each other. It’s like a guy thing or something

Puppeteer and Jason clash with his personality too much for Liu to stomach being around them. He already deals with Sully, he doesn’t need carbon copies of it walking around in his life

[mariacallous]

For the past two years, millions of people searching for child abuse videos on Pornhub’s UK website have been interrupted. Each of the 4.4 million times someone has typed in words or phrases linked to abuse, a warning message has blocked the page, saying that kind of content is illegal. And in half the cases, a chatbot has also pointed people to where they can seek help.

The warning message and chatbot were deployed by Pornhub as part of a trial program, conducted with two UK-based child protection organizations, to find out whether people could be nudged away from looking for illegal material with small interventions. A new report analyzing the test, shared exclusively with WIRED, says the pop-ups led to a decrease in the number of searches for child sexual abuse material (CSAM) and saw scores of people seek support for their behavior.

“The actual raw numbers of searches, it’s actually quite scary high,” says Joel Scanlan, a senior lecturer at the University of Tasmania, who led the evaluation of the reThink Chatbot. During the multiyear trial, there were 4,400,960 warnings in response to CSAM-linked searches on Pornhub’s UK website—99 percent of all searches during the trial did not trigger a warning. “There’s a significant reduction over the length of the intervention in numbers of searches,” Scanlan says. “So the deterrence messages do work.”

Millions of images and videos of CSAM are found and removed from the web every year. They are shared on social media, traded in private chats, sold on the dark web, or in some cases uploaded to legal pornography websites. Tech companies and porn companies don’t allow illegal content on their platforms, although they remove it with different levels of effectiveness. Pornhub removed around 10 million videos in 2020 in an attempt to eradicate child abuse material and other problematic content from its website following a damning New York Times report.

Pornhub, which is owned by parent company Aylo (formerly MindGeek), uses a list of 34,000 banned terms, across multiple languages and with millions of combinations, to block searches for child abuse material, a spokesperson for the company says. It is one way Pornhub tries to combat illegal material, the spokesperson says, and is part of the company’s efforts aimed at user safety, after years of allegations it has hosted child exploitation and nonconsensual videos. When people in the UK have searched for any of the terms on Pornhub’s list, the warning message and chatbot have appeared.

The chatbot was designed and created by the Internet Watch Foundation (IWF), a nonprofit which removes CSAM from the web, and the Lucy Faithfull Foundation, a charity which works to precent child sexual abuse. It appeared alongside the warning messages a total of 2.8 million times. The trial counted the number of sessions on Pornhub, which could mean people are counted multiple times, and it did not look to identify individuals. The report says there was a “meaningful decrease” in searches for CSAM on Pornhub and that at least “in part” the chatbot and warning messages appear to have played a role.

The chatbot was relatively simple: It asked people a series of questions, allowing them to click buttons to answer or type out a response. Ultimately, it explained that the material people were searching for may be illegal and pointed them toward the Lucy Faithfull Foundation’s help services. There were 1,656 requests for more information made through the chatbot, while 490 people clicked through to the charity’s Stop It Now website. Around 68 people called or chatted with Lucy Faithfull’s confidential helpline, the report says.

Donald Findlater, the director of the Stop It Now helpline, says that while the numbers are “relatively modest” compared to the overall number of warnings displayed, they are still seen as a “big success” as it’s a sign that people may want to get help. “If people have been doing something dodgy on a site, clicking through is quite a bold step to make,” Findlater says.

The vast majority of people who received the warning message and chatbot did so only once, the report says. Around 1.7 million people saw a warning before leaving Pornhub or making other searches related to legal material. “They didn't just disappear. They typically remained on the site and looked for other stuff,” Findlater says. “The influence for the millions of people that actually did a dubious search and then stopped doing that dubious search is a big win.” Not everyone was deterred, however. In the most persistent cases, around 400 people made 10 searches that triggered the message.

Cynthia Najdowski, an associate professor of psychology at the State University of New York at Albany, who was not involved in the research, says the chatbot appears to show promise for interrupting some people’s efforts to access CSAM. Warning messages and small behavioral nudges have been used in multiple ways to change people’s behavior online, from piracy and copyright infringement to gambling. Google has used some deterrence messages around child abuse searches since 2013, and other studies have found decreases in searches and millions of views or warnings.

Najdowski says there are three things known about deterring people from engaging in criminal behavior: People must know what they’re doing is illegal; they need to apply that “legal knowledge” to their own behavior; and they need to believe the cost of the behavior may outweigh any benefits they expect. “A chatbot that delivers notice of the potential illegality of certain searches can certainly accomplish the first step in the deterrence process, and that alone is a significant contribution,” Najdowski says. It may struggle to help cases where people are more persistent in their behavior or more complex scenarios though.

Scanlan, who conducted the analysis into the chatbot trial, says there were some complexities with the work. The data provided by Pornhub, the IWF, and the Lucy Faithfull Foundation wasn’t always complete, and there weren’t any figures from before the warnings were introduced to compare the results against. However, Scanlan says the results show the method could be one part of broader education and deterrence efforts against people finding CSAM online. “If someone's doing that sort out of curiosity, you want to nudge them away from it before they get involved in it, because we can't arrest our way out of the problem,” Scanlan says.

Scanlan’s findings say that over time, the web traffic being referred to the Stop It Now website appeared to decrease, perhaps as people who continued to search became used to the messaging. However, helpline calls, emails, and online chats showed an increase over the duration of the trial. The report says that in the future, a variety of messages could be used—potentially including existing deterrence videos—and the chatbot could directly connect people to a live chat session with Lucy Faithfull’s helpline.

The chatbot itself could also be improved. Since it was initially designed and created, says Dan Sexton, the chief technology officer at the IWF, generative AI has changed people’s perceptions of what chatbots are and how they interact with people. The reThink Chatbot could respond to only a limited number of queries. Sexton says there may be ways to make the chatbot more approachable and better handle questions it was not programmed to deal with.

While the trial period has ended, the chatbot and warnings are still in place on Pornhub’s UK website. “There's certainly no plans to turn it off. It is in production. It was a pilot project, but it is having an effect right now,” Sexton says. Those involved in the study say that other porn companies could look to introduce similar nudges across their services and deter people from looking for child abuse content. “They all should be doing this; it should become the norm,” Scanlan says. “This report and technology are significant steps forward in identifying, removing, and reporting harmful and illegal content,” a spokesperson for Pornhub says. “We feel all other major tech and social media platforms should explore the implementation of similar deterrence technology to create a safer internet for all.”

Findlater, from the Stop It Now helpline, says he hopes other companies, such as social media websites and file-hosting platforms, can look at the results of the trial and introduce similar nudges where people are seeking CSAM. “The more places you can put it, the greater chance you're going to catch those people that might be at a stage where they can still be helped, or those people that are looking for help but don't know about it,” Sexton says.

[kinopioa]

It's fascinating seeing people go "I miss the wild west era of the internet" and then learn they were born in 2003

Like fuck off. By the time you're 6 it was dead. The cutoff is around 06/7, and even that's debateable to have ended earlier

If we're being brutally honest-

1993-1998: True Wild West. Not much could happen due to limited tech, but it was completely unmonitored. I'm honestly surprised to find archives of old chats on Google

1998: The Coppa act is established, further taking effect in 2000. This made people aware that kids can access the internet. Teens barely gave a shit, though it made corporations more aware of them, and how to consider them for a market. It also unfortunately promoted age fraud to access barred login sites

1999-2005/6: User oriented era. This is when a lot of custom sites, blogs, and forums popped up, as well as many image hosting sites that are sadly defunct now. Google being a popular search engine further encouraged discovering these user made sites. Contrary to popular belief, user sites were mostly made and "moderated" by edgy kids and teens, so you WILL see the opinion of a 14yr old. Incidentally, due to domains being expensive, a lot of these teen made forums and personal sites died extremely fast, ignoring raids, doxxing, and flamewars

Video sharing while possible also was really crappy for quality...except for

User created flash games and anims enabled a massive spread of content. Newgrounds was a popular hosting spot. Shame Flash died

Outside that, we least we got bbphp as a solid forum template be popularized after many other ones died. For those less tech savvy, in 2003

We got social media. This was the main goto till smartphones and Twitter got popularized after 2006, and still was going strong until mid 2010s. Despite older netiquette of being encouraged to not post anything indentifiable about yourself, many users expressed themselves with music tastes and eventual personal blogs

2005/6: YouTube is released, as well as Dailymotion. Bootlegged Newgrounds anims popped up for uploads, but also shared tv show clips

Fun thing, before mid 2010s, users can only upload at max 15min of video

Similarly around 2005, Reddit similarly sparked up. More modern image hosting sites spurred around 2007/8

~~~

But regardless, the public internet already changed massively after 2000. Web 2.0 was already a term from 1999 that described the change, with it being redefined for it occuring around 2004. I think one thing not noticed, the development of this tech mostly happened in the UK, due to general smaller population and faster telocommunication services compared to the US at the time. This similar impacted the type of audience that used this

I see people longing for a freer internet, and I agree online corporate control is shitty. But the dretches of humanity has severely stunted user diversity and interest, same with over prioritizing skill over general good collaboration and behavior. The modern tech bro absolutely not giving a shit for the userbase or societal problems and being very selfish can unfortunately be traced here. Same for rsmpant political misinformation being unmoderated, and early 90s fandom woes still having a negative impact on some franchises

I see dumbass self censoring like "unalive" on sites, and it's not even enforced. It's just stupid assumption that advertisors care so much

Which brings the question, why are we trying to heavily get into monetizing expression? I genuinely feel Ytube enabling users to do so is exactly why user content got obnoxious after 2013 when it got popular. Unfortunately it's way too late to undo that. Many rely on the monetizing

Though I find it funny when people ignore just...making their own site to bypass the censorship. bbphp again is open source, and there are many other online web creation tools. I can't even say the rise of tech illiteracy is why, tech illiterate people aren't the ones complaining of sites crapping out

Anyway, if you miss pre algorithm search engines results leading to you finding random shit, try this;

Unfortunately the reducing of child safe sites is another convo

[wopsa]

Why Free Website Hosting Isn't Always the Best Choice

Free hosting comes with drawbacks like limited storage, bandwidth, and potentially slower performance due to inadequate resources. There's also a higher risk of security issues and intrusive ads. Opting for paid hosting ensures better control, security, and site ownership. Visit Wopsa Web Services to subscribe to web hosting and other hosting services.

[titpandafog]

Turn Your Photos into a Steady Income Stream

In today’s digital world, a picture is worth far more than a thousand words — it can be worth real, steady income. Whether you're a professional photographer or just love snapping great shots with your smartphone, you have an incredible opportunity: turn your photos into a reliable revenue stream.

With the growing demand for authentic, high-quality images for websites, blogs, advertising, and social media, your photo collection could be more valuable than you think. Let’s dive into practical strategies to monetize your photography skills while also highlighting some platforms that can support your digital journey.

1. Sell Your Photos on Stock Photography Sites

The most common way photographers earn passive income is by uploading their images to stock photo websites. Every time someone downloads your image, you earn a commission.

Popular platforms include:

Shutterstock

Adobe Stock

iStock

Alamy

However, if you're serious about maximizing your exposure and revenue, you should also think about creating your own selling platform. Many entrepreneurs are buying premium domains to set up photography portfolios and shops. If you need a memorable domain for your photo business, check out Panda-Fog.com — a marketplace for powerful domain names that can set you apart online.

2. Start Your Own Photography Website

Having your own website to showcase and sell your work not only increases your credibility but also allows you to keep 100% of the profits (no commissions to stock agencies!).

Here's what you’ll need:

A domain name (again, Panda-Fog.com can help you find a strong brand name)

Hosting service

A clean, visually appealing portfolio template

E-commerce functionality for direct sales

Additionally, you can enhance your website's SEO and discoverability by writing blog posts about photography tips, your creative process, and client stories. This builds trust and brings organic traffic.

If you’re looking for expert help setting up your personal brand or even recruiting web developers for your project, platforms like AIMESBD.com can connect you to professional talent — especially useful for Bangladesh-based creators.

3. License Your Photos for Commercial Use

You can license your images directly to businesses, media outlets, authors, and marketing agencies. By offering exclusive or limited-use licenses, you command higher prices compared to stock sites.

To attract commercial clients:

Showcase your best work online

Network in professional groups like Fishbowl or Xing

Use LinkedIn to present yourself as a visual branding specialist

List your services on freelance marketplaces

If you ever expand into selling lifestyle or fashion photography, platforms like RISFashions.com can be great for collaborations in the fashion industry.

4. Create a Niche Photo Blog or YouTube Channel

Another creative way to turn photography into passive income is content creation. Start a photo-centric blog or YouTube channel where you share:

Photography tutorials

Behind-the-scenes of shoots

Editing tips and gear reviews

Stories about your travels and photo adventures

You can monetize through ads (Google AdSense), sponsored content, affiliate marketing, and even your own products or presets.

To help your blog or YouTube channel grow faster, engage actively on platforms like Quora and contribute helpful answers related to photography, which can lead new fans to your website or channel.

In fact, if you want a place to share short job-related gigs like "Photography Editing Services" or "Quick Photo Shoots for Websites", registering as a seller at ImageDoorz.com could open another revenue avenue.

5. Offer Online Photography Courses

If you’re experienced, there’s a huge market for online learning. Platforms like Udemy, Teachable, or Skillshare make it simple to build a photography course.

You can create courses on:

Basics of photography for beginners

How to edit like a pro using Lightroom or Photoshop

How to monetize photography

Or, create your own platform using tools you find online — owning your own online course site gives you much more control and profits. Setting up a professional-looking educational site is easier if you have a strong brand domain — again, a great domain from Panda-Fog.com can make a difference.

Need talent to help you create and market your course? AIMESBD.com is perfect for finding digital marketing experts.

6. Participate in Photography Competitions

Another exciting way to monetize your photography skills is by participating in photography contests. Many competitions offer significant cash prizes, publication opportunities, and exposure to clients.

Some contests even provide the winner with lucrative licensing deals or contracts for future work.

Tips for winning:

Follow the theme closely

Submit technically flawless images

Tell a powerful story through your photo

7. Create and Sell NFTs from Your Photos

The rise of Web3 technology has created an entirely new space for photographers: NFTs (Non-Fungible Tokens).

By minting your photos as NFTs and selling them on platforms like OpenSea or Foundation, you can tap into a futuristic revenue stream. NFT sales not only bring you upfront earnings but often include royalty commissions on all future resales.

If you plan to enter the NFT space, having your own branded identity is crucial — again, starting with a strong domain (like those on Panda-Fog.com) helps establish authenticity and trust.

8. Freelance for Brands and Agencies

You don’t always need to wait for customers to come to you. Actively pitch your photography services to:

E-commerce businesses

Bloggers needing custom images

Local businesses updating their websites

Wedding and event planners

Platforms like Patripatro.com might not directly hire photographers, but matrimonial services often need professional event photographers — you can network with people who may need wedding photography packages!

Final Thoughts

Turning your photography passion into a steady income stream is absolutely achievable in 2025 and beyond. Like any entrepreneurial journey, it requires consistency, quality, marketing, and a little creativity.

In summary:

Sell on stock platforms while building your own website.

License your work smartly and explore commercial opportunities.

Create online content (blogs, courses, YouTube) to diversify income.

Tap into modern options like NFTs and contests.

Use job portals like AIMESBD.com to expand your professional network.

And remember — your brand identity matters. Investing in a memorable domain from Panda-Fog.com could be one of the smartest moves to secure your future success in the digital world.

[frtools]

As promised, I managed to get rhe flash sale tracking (and new item tracking) working on the new (hopefully cheaper) system.

The previous system I was running was called an Azure App Service. This is essentially a simple version of a full blown virtual machine server. I was not using most of its features that I was paying for because it's an all or nothing deal. Almost all the tools were running as so called webjobs on that server. This is extremely inefficient, but it is really easy to set up.

Now I am moving the tools that are capable of it to a thing called Azure Functions. Its basically the same thing but even more slimmed down and entirely on demand. It's essentially just the webjobs part without the web server side. This allows me to host timed functions, such as the flash sale tracking, without the overhead of an entire server above it. The major thing for Azure Functions is that there is a monthly free grant of 1 million requests or 400000 gigabyte of data consumption. I won't reach either of those limits on a monthly basis. I'll mostly just be paying for storage and database usage now, which will bring hosting cost down drastically!

This is not going to be compatible with things like the discord bot or the website itself for the skin tester. But I have ideas for that as well.

Another upside is that I was finally forced to update from .net framework 4.8 to netcore6. Once I rebuild other parts I have more options such as Linux hosting which is most commonly cheaper compared to windows hosting that I was required to use up to now.

Once I get more things working you will know 🫡

[queerbrownvegan]

Desert Ecology: Joshua Trees Are Disappearing

I'm excited to announce my 4th episode of my independent web series, Teaching Climate Together!

Desert ecology looks at how different species have adaptations to the desert, where resources operate differently than in other ecosystems. So, what's happening to Joshua Tree?

Most species have unique adaptation abilities in an extreme climate like the desert. One fascinating aspect of desert ecology is that numerous species are endemic (they are only found here) to the desert. The desert ecosystem is a quarter of the state of California. It spans 26 million acres in California, the Mojave, and the Colorado desert region. It is one of the most biodiverse areas, with over 2,400 species of native plants and hundreds of species of plants and animals.

The biodiversity in the desert is higher than in a pine forest in Northern California. You can find more species in the desert than in other ecosystems in Northern California! The Western Joshua Trees are currently at the forefront of desert conservation recently. As climate change continues to accelerate, the Joshua tree that has one that has been identified to be vulnerable to a changing climate. Joshua Trees are not able to migrate or adapt to a changing environment. Joshua trees migrate very slowly in tiny increments and with climate change they cannot adapt rapidly.

In Joshua Tree National Park, scientists have noted that if we continue business as usual, only 2% of the range will remain suitable habitat in the next 100 years. We are looking at a crisis for this species. Mojave Desert Land Trust and other partners and agencies are working together to implement policies and solutions to protect these ecosystems. The Mojave Desert Land Trust has cultivated a multi-faceted conservation strategy that uses land acquisition, restoration, stewardship, plant cultivation, and education to ensure the long-term preservation of the California desert.

Their service area spans nearly 26 million acres - the Colorado Desert and the entire California portion of the Mojave Desert. Since its founding in 2006, MDLT has protected approximately 120,000 acres of ecologically significant land and grown over 120,000 native plants for restoration and community use. California deserts are one of the largest carbon sequesters compared to forests. Deserts have a lot of vegetation and a whole layer of soil called the crust of the soil that is essentially life and is covered in biological soil crust that is a web of cyanobacteria, lichen, moss, and fungi that is a mat across the desert that helps the plant grow but also holds carbons and puts carbon into the roots of deserts.

Follow the work of Mojave Desert Land Trust and consider supporting their work. https://www.mdlt.org/

Hosts: Isaias Hernandez & Kelly Herbinson, Executive Director , Mojave Desert Land Trust Producers: Maksim Batuyev & Isaias Hernandez & Stranded Astronaut Productions Director: Tehya Jennett & Maxfield Biggs Editors: Tehya Jennett & Maxfield Biggs

[unique-reviews]

Unleashing the Power of A2 Hosting Review: Hear Why Customers Are Raving

Introduction

Overview of A2 Hosting

When considering web hosting providers, A2 Hosting often comes up as a distinctive choice. Known for its speed and reliability, A2 Hosting caters to a diverse range of users—from bloggers to large enterprises. Their commitment to performance is backed by a suite of features designed to offer not just hosting, but a robust online experience. What sets A2 Hosting apart? Let me simplify it for you:

Turbo Servers: Up to 20x faster than standard hosting

Developer-Friendly: Supports various programming languages and frameworks

Green Hosting: Environmentally responsible with energy-efficient practices

Using A2 Hosting has truly allowed me to focus on what I love—creating content—without the worries of server downtimes.

History of A2 Hosting

Founded in 2001, A2 Hosting began with a clear mission: to provide a top-tier web hosting experience. What started as a small startup has evolved into a significant player in the hosting industry over the years. Here are some pivotal milestones in A2 Hosting's journey:

2001: A2 Hosting was established in Ann Arbor, Michigan, mainly targeting developers.

2003: The introduction of their "Turbo" server line showcased their focus on speed.

2013: The launch of their Managed WordPress hosting solidified their offerings.

A2 Hosting Features

High-Speed Servers

One of the standout features of A2 Hosting is its high-speed servers. Speed is crucial, especially if you want to provide users with a seamless experience. When I first migrated my blog to A2 Hosting, I noticed an immediate boost in page loading times. Their Turbo Servers promise up to 20x faster performance, which is a game changer! Here are a few highlights about their speed capabilities:

SSD Storage: A2 utilizes solid-state drives that drastically improve data retrieval times compared to traditional HDDs.

Turbo Boost: This optional feature allows for even faster speeds by optimizing server settings specifically for your site.

Global Data Centers: With multiple data centers across the globe, A2 Hosting ensures that your content is as close to your visitors as possible.

Reliable Customer Support

Another noteworthy aspect of A2 Hosting is their reliable customer support. We all encounter technical hiccups from time to time, and having a responsive support team can make all the difference. Personally, I found their customer service representatives to be knowledgeable and eager to help with any questions I had during my initial setup. Here’s what you can expect from their support services:

24/7 Availability: Whether it’s the weekend or the middle of the night, help is just a click away.

Multiple Support Channels: Reach out via live chat, phone, or email—whichever method suits you best.

Comprehensive Knowledge Base: A detailed library of articles and tutorials helps users find answers swiftly.

A2 Hosting Plans

Shared Hosting

When it comes to affordability and ease of use, A2 Hosting's Shared Hosting plans are a fantastic option, especially for beginners. I still remember my initial foray into web hosting; I started with a shared plan simply because it fit my budget and needs perfectly. With shared hosting, multiple websites share the same server resources, which is both cost-effective and simple to manage. Here are some key features of A2 Hosting's Shared Hosting:

Low Starting Price: Their plans are competitively priced, making it accessible to many.

Free Site Migration: A2 offers migration assistance from your existing host, saving you the hassle.

Unlimited Storage and Bandwidth: Ideal for growing websites that may need more resources as they scale.

VPS Hosting

As my website grew, I found myself needing more control and resources, leading me to explore A2 Hosting's VPS Hosting options. Virtual Private Servers offer dedicated resources within a shared environment, providing better performance and greater customization. Here's what I discovered about their VPS Hosting plans:

Flexible Resources: You can scale your resources according to your site's evolving needs.

Root Access: Ideal for developers like me who want complete control over their server's configurations.

Enhanced Security: A private environment adds an extra layer of security for sensitive data.

Benefits of Using A2 Hosting

Enhanced Security

One of the aspects of A2 Hosting that truly stood out for me is their enhanced security features. In today’s digital landscape, safeguarding your website is crucial, and A2 Hosting takes this concern seriously. From the moment I started my journey with them, I felt reassured by the various security measures they implemented. Here are some highlights of their security features:

Free SSL Certificates: A2 provides free SSL certificates, which are essential for encrypting data and boosting customer trust.

HackScan Protection: Their proactive monitoring helps detect vulnerabilities and block potential threats before they cause harm.

Reinforced DDoS Protection: This feature safeguards your website from malicious attacks that could disrupt services.

Knowing these measures were in place allowed me to focus on my content without constantly worrying about potential breaches.

User-Friendly Control Panel

Navigating the world of web hosting can be intimidating, especially if you’re new to it. That’s why A2 Hosting’s user-friendly control panel is yet another reason I appreciate their service. It simplifies website management, making it accessible to everyone, regardless of technical expertise. What I love about their control panel:

Intuitive Design: Easy-to-navigate menus mean you can quickly find what you need.

One-Click Installations: Setting up applications like WordPress or Joomla is a breeze with just one click.

Resource Usage Stats: You can easily monitor your resource consumption, helping to manage your site effectively.

Customer Reviews

Positive Feedback

As I dove deeper into the world of A2 Hosting, I couldn't help but notice the buzz surrounding their services. Many users rave about the performance and overall experience they receive. The positive feedback is nearly unanimous, emphasizing how this hosting provider sets itself apart from the competition. Here’s what many customers appreciate most:

Speed and Uptime: A consistent theme in reviews is the impressive speed and reliability. Users often mention page load times significantly improving after switching to A2 Hosting.

Responsive Support: Customers frequently highlight the quick response time and helpfulness of the support team—something I can personally attest to. I reached out to them once, and I was amazed at how quickly I received a thorough solution.

Testimonials from Satisfied Customers

Real-life testimonials often speak volumes, and A2 Hosting is filled with success stories from satisfied customers. Many express how transitioning to A2 Hosting transformed their online presence. For instance:

John, a Small Business Owner: Sharing his journey, John mentioned that after moving to A2 Hosting, his e-commerce site experienced record sales due to faster page load times, which directly bolstered customer satisfaction.

Sarah, a Blogger: Sarah remarked, "The user-friendly control panel took the headache out of managing my blog. It's simplified everything for me!"

In my experience, witnessing such genuine testimonials gives me confidence in A2 Hosting. Their customers not only praise the services but feel genuinely looked after, and that’s something we all want when selecting our web hosting partner.

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