No sign-up, no email

Disposable inbox that self-destructs after ten minutes. Exactly what you want when a download demands an email address first.

Fly out through a mapped model of our stellar neighbourhood until the Sun is one unremarkable dot among thousands.

A countdown of a thousand small good things, from the cold side of the pillow to popping bubble wrap, written daily for years.

The blunt one-minute word test that has served as the internet's default words-per-minute benchmark for over a decade.

The Myers-Briggs-flavoured test everybody has taken, with a four-letter verdict and profile pages that are unnervingly specific.

Build ramps and walls while shooting, which is Fortnite's endgame extracted, simplified and handed over for free.

The original tile-merging game, written in a weekend and responsible for an enormous amount of lost 2014.

Mahjong solitaire in a dozen layouts with no download and no account, exactly as it was on every family PC in 2004.

The largest archive of 360 panoramas anywhere, pinned to a world map and free to browse, covering plenty of places no Street View car reached.

Grant Sanderson's maths lessons, plus the written versions of the animations that made linear algebra look like geometry.

Straightforward pool on a proper physics table, against an opponent who punishes a lazy break immediately.

Miniclip's pool game, still the default way to lose imaginary money to a stranger in another country at half past two.

Seventy statements, four political axes and an ideology label at the end. The open-source template for a hundred imitators.

Collection of period-correct cursor trails — rainbows, bubbles, snowflakes, ghosts — demoed live so you can wave the mouse about.

Windows 98 rebuilt in JavaScript, right down to the window chrome and the sound the error dialogs make.

The meme feed that reposts everything eventually, sorted into channels so you can choose your particular poison.

Starts as one button beside a dying fire and quietly becomes something much larger. Best played without reading anything about it first.

Hand-picked, highly rated films that were never blockbusters, filterable by mood and by where you can currently stream them.

Ten sliders — rain, thunder, waves, birds, coffee — mixed on a single page with nothing else on it at all.

Photographic essays on ruined institutions that are far more interested in why the places closed than in the broken glass.

Guided write-ups of the city's empty hospitals, airfields and amusement parks, complete with directions and a note on the fence situation.

Twenty-eight escalating trolley dilemmas that end somewhere very silly, each showing the percentage of people who agreed with you.

Thousands of free electronics tutorials with full wiring diagrams and working code. The gentlest on-ramp to microcontrollers there is.

One of the oldest portals still standing, from the era when a game loading in thirty seconds counted as instant.

The proper colour wheel — analogous, triadic, split complementary — plus contrast checks for accessibility.

Unfiltered aircraft tracking, including the private jets and military flights that the commercial trackers politely agree to hide.

Waterhole cameras in southern African reserves, running since the nineties, where nothing happens for an hour and then everything does.

Be a cell, eat smaller cells, flee larger ones and split to ambush. The game that invented this entire genre in 2015.

Janelle Shane feeds neural networks recipes, paint names and knitting patterns, then reports the wreckage with real affection.

Click targets as they pop up and get scored in targets per second. Shooter players use it to warm up before a session.

Live flight tracking with airport arrival boards and playback of earlier flights, formerly known as RadarBox and still free to browse.

Enormous aerial panoramas of volcanoes, reefs and cities that you can spin around inside, shot from helicopters and drones.

The lab page of the psychologist whose completely static images refuse to stop rotating, added to for over twenty years.

Professional reviews, genre family trees and similar-artist chains inherited from the print era, which is how you get from one band to fifty.

Vast crowd-sourced recipe database where the comments are the actual feature — thousands of people telling you what to change.

Games built here rather than embedded from elsewhere — no ads inside the frame and no third party watching you play.

A visual board for collecting images and ideas, without an algorithm deciding what you should have been collecting instead.

A paused editorial preview that explains the sourcing and publishing controls required before stories return.

Community-built soundscapes of unhinged specificity, including several hundred separate takes on the Hogwarts common room.

Layer rain, wind, waves, fire and café chatter, then set each one to the level you want. Survives being left open all day.

An ambient radio station with no announcers, no adverts and nothing that ever resolves, aimed squarely at falling asleep.

Genuine industrial surplus sold with the best product copy on the internet: lab glassware, small motors, and 400 unexplained springs.

Fingerprints your browser and compares it against a research dataset of hundreds of thousands of others. The verdict is usually: unique.

Free woodworking plans with cut lists and costed materials, aimed squarely at people who own exactly one saw.

Type your address and spin the globe back 750 million years to see where that ground sat, and which ocean was sitting on top of it.

AniList's seasonal grid: everything airing this season in one scroll, sortable by popularity, score or start date.

Obsessively detailed database going down to individual episode credits and file hashes. Built for cataloguers, not for browsing.

Modern tracker with a genuinely good interface, per-episode progress and an open API a great many other tools build on.