I'm Ashly, a writer and compulsive maker of things in Portland, Oregon. I love strange little websites, expressive typography, modular systems, and tools whose purpose takes a while to explain. Finding a font I love is sometimes enough reason to start a project. I make Obsidian plugins, themes, interactive stories, and assorted internet objects. I get especially absorbed in figuring out how something could work, what its pieces should be, and what else those pieces could become. My supply of ideas vastly exceeds my available attention. I miss an internet full of peculiar personal places, unfinished experiments, and people making things because they couldn't help themselves. I still go looking for it. Sometimes I try to contribute a little. Usually collecting possibilities, following a rabbit hole, or singing. My dog Loki is the star I orbit. --- 11.13.2026 My first log here; I joined yesterday. I couldn't resist — "community word processor" is exactly the kind of wonderfully weird description that I find irresistible. I feel like this place very much has the old web energy that I'm so starved for and struggle to find these days. Would love to connect with some like minds if we cross paths here. Please feel free to reach out. -Ash 11.14.2026 Ugh... Started watching a movie that I was enjoying, but then I became concerned the dog was going to die, so I left the room. Seeing dogs get hurt or killed in movies is my only hard limit when it comes to what I'm willing to watch. The people around me know this. Some of them seem to think it's stupid, and I don't care what they think about it. I find it distressing and it can emotionally affect me the rest of the day. I left the room and asked my housemate and boyfriend to tell me when the scene was over so I could come back and resume watching. They told me I could come back in, I asked if the dog had been killed, they both fucking lied to me. The next scene, a character makes reference to killing the dog. I'm upset about it. I expect my shitty housemate to lie to me about something when I ask directly, but not my boyfriend. I didn't need to be protected from the truth. I asked for it directly. Now I'm pretty upset about the whole fucking thing.