Queer, they/she 40 in life, 30 in my brain. đ Burnt-out neurodivergent đ I want my favs to be hurt and comforted Usenetâ>Webringsâ>Forumsâ> Livejournalâ>Tumblrâ>?
Ok but like. What the fuck is there to do on the internet anymore?
Idk when I was younger, you could just go and go and find exciting new websites full of whatever cool things you wanted to explore. An overabundance of ways to occupy your time online.
Now, it's just... Social media. That's it. Social media and news sites. And I'm tired of social media and I'm tired of the news.
Am I just like completely inept at finding new things or has the internet just fallen apart that much with the problems of SEO and web 3.0 turning everything into a same-site prison?
You're right that the internet is smaller than it used to be, but there's still some cool stuff left in the corners. I'd recommend checking checking out Neocities if you haven't--it's an independent web hosting platform like Geocities of the old web, and there are hundreds of interesting and active pages discoverable both through their search function and through web buttons (links attached to small pictures with the title of a website) within the websites themselves. Here are three examples of web buttons you may find in link pages:
Most Neocities websites have link pages or button collections with anywhere from tens to hundreds of these. Don't be afraid to explore!
If you're looking for something more like a search engine, I can point you towards Marginalia. It's not a particularly smart engine, but it's perfectly usable if you've ever been taught to use search engines back when they were mostly run through keywords instead of full sentence comprehension. There's also an "about" and "tips" section on the front page with more information. The algorithm of Marginalia can be filtered by the user to allow, disallow, or require JavaScript depending on your needs, plus there are filters designed specifically to prioritize web 1.0 sites or mostly text-based ones. It is possible to search for modern websites with it, but it can return websites from just about any decade (since the invention of the web, obviously) so long as they contain the information you're looking for. For example, here are some random interesting sites I've found using Marginalia:
Native Languages of the Americas: Native American Cultures
BASIC HTML COMPETENCY IS THE NEW PUNK FOLK EXPLOSION!
Earthbound Text Labs by Bill Eager
The possibilities for discovery are truly endless.
Now you might want to know about directories. These make browsing for websites easier, but require you to read through and judge which ones to visit, as there aren't algorithms ranking the sites besides the whim of whoever coded the directory. Some of them have themes, others don't. Here are two that I've used:
Yesterlinks Directory
Ichigo Directory
Directories can be harder to come by just by surfing the net, but they aren't impossible to find. Many personal websites have their own directories of interesting sites hidden within them.
Webrings are similar to directories, but are actually more community-based. You have to register your website to be a part of a webring, usually by sending an email to whoever runs it and meeting some kind of entry criteria. For example, my personal website used to be a part of a webring called Sweet Dreams, which was for websites that heavily utilize color palettes and images of cute things, particularly sweets. Webrings will give you access to a widget upon entry that allow visitors and other members to browse between the registered websites in a massive ring, ergo, where the term gets its name. Webrings can have any theme or criteria for entry. If you can make a website about it, you can find a webring for it.
Now, you might be wondering about social media alternatives. I can't offer much, but I can nudge you towards the idea of forums. Here's one I found that could really use some traffic. I also browse a bit on MelonLand forum, which is actually closed right now--it's currently closed on Mondays--but on any other day of the week, you can find a fun community there dedicated to web revival. You can find it through MelonLand's main page. I'd also recommend checking out SpaceHey, which is a MySpace clone that's customizable and easy to use.
I hope this is of some help to you. The internet may feel less magical than it used to be, but that doesn't mean that the spark has completely died out. These types of indie websites need more attention if we ever hope to reverse the damage done to the internet by centralization and corporate interest. People are trying to make the web a cooler place to be, but we're going to have to do the work of finding and interacting with these projects in order to get them off the ground someday.
ALSO you should consider browsing Virtual Pet List and seeing if there are any pet sites you might be interested in playing. There is a whole genre of browser games right under your nose
Getting off of twitter and onto neocities has really healed me and I am so glad to see it is healing other people too ;u; let's retreat into the self-made digital woods and away from corporate bs pls, I am so tired
if I was designing something for the met gala (and clearly Iâm not đ€Ł)
I would have done a red and blue dress hinting at the Baroque period and the clutch would have been a white fabric sac bag with blood showing through and hinting at holding a severed head.
And if you want to make it more obvious, with a smear of blood on it resembling the Amazon smile logo or some other hint the head represented Bezos, with plausible deniability.
In reference to this art:
Judith Slaying Holofernes by Artemisia Gentileschi
A little on the nose, but these times call for on the nose
Disappointed not many people going embraced the protest nature of art for the theme, given Bezos being involved
read a hurt comfort fic with a patella dislocation. first time Iâve seen this in a fic!
Ive had it happen 5 or so times and a few times where it came off but went back on right away.
it was treated much more seriously in the fic, including an mri and sedation to put it back. which, I wish!! I donât know if thatâs what itâs supposed to be?
Iâm in Canada, so the first time it happened they just pushed it back on in the ER while I was crying, told me to contact a physio, and sent me on my way. Public healthcare is free but a bit more brutal sometimes đ€Łđ
Now I donât bother going, just give instructions to nearest person with a strong stomach to push it back on and hope I donât go into shock too bad. Limp for a few weeks.
I canât dance, play sports or pivot on that leg at all or it comes off.. It sucks so bad
This last episode of the Pitt was very strange to watch for me.
When they were younger, my child had severe asthma and had a few exacerbations where they didnât respond to drugs very well, including the magnesium and every other one they try.
A few times they were admitted to the Pediatric hospital and it took 4-5 days each time for their lungs to stabilize.
I remember the last time they were admitted, a doctor asked if my child had ever been ventilated before and I was a bit scared to be asked that question but didnât really know it was extra dangerous for asthma patients.
Until the episode of the Pitt this week and they stated that thereâs a much higher risk of death when an asthma patient is on a ventilator đłđłđł
Not a TV show teaching me that, and not the doctors treating my kid. (I guess they didnât need to terrify us until it was necessary?)
Luckily this was 4 years ago and the asthma is much more stable/treatable.
Also Iâm so greatful Iâm not in the US because $400 for a puffer is criminal!!
I have multiple types of steroid and ventolin puffers floating around the apartment that were $10 each and I could go refill them now with no issues.
(If I show signs of getting bronchitis I just borrow my kids extra back-up steroid puffer lol)
Watching Artemis launch live with my kid and theyâre so excited about it!
Space has been my special interest (off and on) for my whole life. And when they were young they hated space and I resigned myself to never discussing it.
But in the last year theyâve shown a lot more interest and watching it now and seeing their excitement is so great đ„°
the world sucks and people suck and being poor sucks and growing old sucks
However, growing old is also being better at recognizing when feeling like this is a sign to go outside and turn off my phone.
And growing old is being at peace with the dichotomy of choosing to live in one of the most expensive cities in the world as a disabled person, because I know that going out into nature is one of the biggest things that remind me that life is worth living.
And thereâs lots of nature here đȘŸđ„°
Going to go walk and look at cherry blossoms or maybe colour in a park.
I was excited to watch 9-1-1 since I heard it had BuckWhump but I found it dull đđ
I miss the silly show Iâve been watching since the pilot, but the writing has just gone so downhill the past few years. It was never Emmy worthy in the first place but it knew what type of show it was and had some follow through and moderately consistent character work.
Now, itâs like itâs written by AI.
And I just dislike RG so much and hate how Buck is always tied to Eddie. đđ
Iâm happy for the people who enjoyed it, wish I did đ
Anyways, Iâm so excited to find time to catch up on all the amazing Buck fics that the many talented writers out there will probably write for this episode
Don't forget to send us a DM or an ask for access to the correct address to send your donations to! Remember we won't be posting this publicly for safety reasons (even if the address is public knowledge anyway) so this is the only way to get access to it! At the end of the event we will collate everything and bring you a compilation of all the donations! If you can't afford or are reluctant to take part in general, that's no sweat! Feel free to send a letter and/or postcard of support with the same message from the main post. Feel free to include #tommystoydrive as a hashtag too!
Main post!
Questions?
(ask) (link to discord)
We're only 4 days deep into #tommystoydrive and we're so overwhelmed with the support that's been shown in the last 96 hours! Below we've attached some examples of toys that have already been donated - these are just a handful, and some toys have multiple units donated!
Our team has liaised with several charities nearby the delivery location and we have confirmed several details that are being passed directly on to Tim Minear, the ABC team, and the 9-1-1 team! If we hear directly back from any of them, rest assured we will keep you updated!
Once again, we want to thank you all for the love you have shown and let you know that there's still time to donate, just please make sure that your donations intend to arrive by December 17th at the latest so they can be donated properly!
Toy drive has reached OVER 400 toys in support of our favorite hot pilot to be donated to children in the LA area this Christmas. This fandom is fuckin' amazing :D
Currently still sitting at just over 400 helicopter/first responder themed toys for the children of LA being sent in to ABC in support of our favorite hot pilot.
If you feel so moved, we would LOVE to maybe get it up to 450 or even 500 by next Wednesday, the cut off. This whole endeavor has been so wonderful, and I love that no matter what, this fandom shows up when it's called to do something good for other people.
If you are hesitant to join in because of some concerns raised (notably without actually reaching out to any of the organizers, just throwing that out there), please be assured that the toys are being sent to a publicly available address for the purposes of sending fan mail in, one of the organizers spoke to staff at the studio and alerted them to this plan and the schedule, and the chosen charity (Spark of Love, which partners with ABC stations out there) has also been alerted and confirmed that they do pick up.
Amazon has some decent deals on helicopter-themed toys, but we also encourage people to send in helicopter themed postcards with a message simply stating what this character and storyline have meant to you to the same address, if participating with a toy is just not in the budget this year.
It's the last Bandcamp Friday of the year! For those unacquainted, Bandcamp waives all of their platform fees on Bandcamp Fridays, meaning artists get 100% of the profit from their sales! If you've had your eye on anything or were holding off until the next BCF, now's your chance!
âThe birds are falling from the sky,â says Chimney with a mixture of astonishment and awe, and everyone looks up.
It is a strange sky: thereâs a dense blanket of clouds, but the horizon glows with a transcendent red hue, as if somewhere behind it the sun is desperately trying to push through. In reality, itâs only the chemical composition of the meteor shower that is reflected up there; a natural but eerie play of colors. Buck shakes his head at his own thoughts. Nothing about this seems natural, and Chimney is right: the birds are falling from the sky.Â
House finches, if he's not mistaken; palm-sized, yellow creatures with gray feather tips. They splash down, seemingly out of nowhere, onto the winding road where the 118 was called to. Theyâre here to help the homeowner, whoâs lying next to a ladder under an oak tree on his property. The elderly gentleman had treated the tree with insecticide and, when he saw the first meteor streak across the sky, fell off the ladder in fright. Ten minutes later, and he would hardly have been able to enjoy treatment by the LAFD â by then, the emergency call network will have almost collapsed, and private ambulances will sense their chance.
But right now, nobody has any idea of that. Hen is the first to look away from the sky and head for the task, and Chimney follows her almost automatically. Then he stops abruptly, causing Eddie to almost run into him.Â
âYou're the captain, remember?â Eddie says, slapping him on the shoulder in a friendly manner.
Buck looks away from the finches, which are now falling in smaller numbers onto the street and other people's property.Â
âThey're going to hit soon,â he says, pointing west to the meteor shower illuminating the sky.Â
âSure looks bad, but most of them will burn up,â Chimney returns, repeating what the news anchors have been saying over and over since this morning. There is no danger. That may be true, but the strange sky, the birds, and people's carelessness: all of these are ingredients for disaster. The guy under the tree, whom Hen will soon diagnose with a broken leg, is just the beginning.Â
As if on cue, the alarms go off on all the phones. Not only do Buck, Chimney, and the rest of the 118 crew hear it, but so does the accident victim, whose smartphone lies next to him on the neatly mowed lawn; alarm tones can also be heard here and there in the surrounding houses.Â
Impact warning downtownâBoyle Heights. Seek shelter in buildings. Remain indoors until the all-clear is given.
Buck reads the words, but his brain seems to be switched off. He looks at Chimney, whose eyebrows are furrowed, his forehead wrinkled. âHuh?â he voices everyoneâs thoughts. What else can you say? Apparently, the astronomers were wrong.
âThat's in the middle of the city.â Ravi suddenly stands next to them, his voice also filled with disbelief. âThey saidââ
âApparently, the meteorites aren't sticking to what they said,â Chimney interjects.Â
âThey're actually meteors,â Buck says unnecessarily. âMeteorites are just the parts of shooting stars that remain, the ones that survive burning up.â
âIt's mostly crap,â exclaims Hen, kneeling next to the patient and adjusting her glasses with a somewhat reproachful gesture. âWill one of you do your job, please, and bring us the stretcher?â
In the fire engine, Chimney sits in the front. It still feels strange, somehow, as if he were sitting in Bobby's seat illegally. Buck thinks his brother-in-law probably feels the same way, but for once, the man has nothing to say on the subject. Everyone is so quiet, as if they are thinking about the strange meteor shower. The patient has been taken away in the ambulance, a relatively minor case; nevertheless, it feels wrong to just drive back to the station now. Buck is the last to get in the vehicle, he can still hear the fading crackling of the radio. An electrifying sound, especially on a day like this.
âWe're not going back, are we?â
Chimney has turned around, his face appearing between the front seats shows a serious expression.
âNope,â he replies, âweâre heading into the fray, straight to downtown. The meteor hit a helicopter.â
âMeteorite,â Buck says automatically, only to add, âWho the hell flies a helicopter over a restricted area when there's just been a warning?â
âIt's one of ours, Buckaroo.â
Chimney looks ahead again, and they drive off; but Buck feels as if he himself has just been hit by a meteorite. His mouth is suddenly very dry, and he desperately tries to find enough saliva in his mouth to swallow; but then his throat is so tight that it feels as if something is stuck there. Not exactly like choking on a piece of bread, but Buck sure is choking on the information.
A helicopter.
Of course, the LAFD has a whole fleet of pilots, and Chimney's words could certainly be interpreted in different ways â maybe it's a traffic patrol helicopter or a police helicopter or... Buck stares out of the window, letting the city pass him by. Houses and cars and the road blur before his eyes. It feels as if everyone in the car is deliberately silent, as if they are looking at him. Maybe they're just waiting for him to say something, ask something, maybe make a scene. But in fact, when he finally lets his gaze wander cautiously, almost lurkingly, over the others, no one is looking at him.Â
No one knows what he's thinking, and what he's thinking is Tommy.
âCrazy,â Eddie breaks the silence, âhow can a meteor hit a helicopter?â
This time, Buck doesn't correct him, instead replying quietly, âThere are no statistics on that.â
That's true, but it's hardly comforting in light of the news. What good are the facts? Helicopters, just like airplanes, don't usually fly at an altitude that would cross the meteoriteâs trajectory, but⊠Itâs just extremely unlikely, not impossible. Jesus, last year a plane was hit by a swarm of bees.
âAll available units are being dispatched to the crash site,â Chimney reports from the front seat.
A small particle of a meteorite would be enough to throw a helicopter off course. But a crash in the middle of the cityâŠ
âBuck,â Hen interrupts his thoughts, but then she pauses, her gentle gaze resting on him as if she senses what he is thinking. And yet she doesn't continue, and Buckâhe swallows another hard lump in his throat and says nothing. His gaze falls out the window; he wishes the street would pass by even faster, even though he suspects the driver is already pushing the limits. The engineâs blue lights reflect off the rows of houses, stinging his eyes in a strange way.
And why does he care anyway? No, that's the wrong question. Of course he cares, it's catastrophic when a helicopter crashes in the middle of the city, and it's terrible when it hits Tommy. But Buck isn't fooling himself. Empathy and compassion are one thing, but they're not the emotions that make his heart ache.
They haven't seen each other for months, since whenâno, he doesn't want to think about it. His own words have been circling through Buck's head for what feels like an eternity; his regret and shame were greater than the amount of yeast in the city to bake sad bread. But there was no closure, no conversation, no words of comfort. There was never a reckoning. All that remains is the realization that Tommy wanted to try again, and that Buck screwed it up again. And now? Statistics, Buck thinks. The number of helicopter crashes per year is less than 100, of which less than 20% are fatal. But what if...? Nausea rises in him, an ominous reflux of feelings.
âWe should know better,â he says, without realizing at first that he has spoken the words aloud.
âWhat?â asks Ravi, whoâs been watching the road intently, as if he could guide the engine through the city by sheer force of will alone. They are already driving as fast as they can, and the roads are reasonably clearâoutbound, it's a different story, with traffic at a standstill. It's as if they've never seen a disaster movie, Buck thinks.Â
Ravi looks at him, and Buck feels he has to answer. More than anyone else, Ravi embodies a kind of innocence that the rest of the 118 have lost. That's not because he hasn't had his share of grief, certainly not. He has just managed to keep his distance in a remarkable way, even though he cares. A magical quality that Buck, who always throws himself 1000 percent into life, does not possess.Â
âWith all that we see every day,â Buck replies slowly, âshouldn't we take every opportunity to tell our friends and family how we feel about them?â
âWhat do you mean?â Hen asks with an undertone that suggests she knows very well, but wants him to say it. Or is he imagining that?
The driver takes a curve too sharply, and everyone is shaken; Buck hits the back of his head on the window and finds it to be like a wake-up call. He speaks quickly now, even though he knows he'll start stuttering, but it has to come out, now, somehow.Â
âIt can all be over in a second,â he replies, snapping his fingers, âand then, what's left? Memories. And shame. Things left unsaid. Words you regret.â
âOh, come on.â Eddie grimaces. Buck doesn't understand at first, but thenâ âIt's time you stopped blaming yourself for Bobby.â
Buck blinks. Then, with a jolt, the engine comes to a stop. âCome on,â Chimney shouts, along with a bunch of other things, but Buck doesn't hear him.
The doors are yanked open, frantic activity ensues; it's chaos out there, and they're here to fix it. Buck gets out too, almost watching himself from the outside, feeling like he's moving in slow motion. While the crew is already running, he stands still and says, âThis isn't about Bobby.â
Chimney turns around and furrows his brow, âWhat?â
âThis isn't about Bobby,â Buck yells, pushing past everyone else, heading to the accident site, no, he's running now.
âBuck!â
He runs past Hen, eyes wide and muttering something; it could be Tommy, but maybe that's just the name echoing in his mind.
Buck doesn't know what he expected. It's not a disaster movie, there's no huge, smoking crater. The meteor shower, as heâll later learnâand Buck has long suspectedâburned up 99 percent in the atmosphere. But a few tiny particles, meteorites, survived this process. One of them, perhaps only as big as the smallest pebble, hit a helicopter in flight. An extremely rare, almost improbable event. But not impossible.
Itâs not like a scene from a disaster movie, but it is still bad enough. The helicopter lies upside down in the middle of the road, almost as if the pilot had tried to avoid crashing into a skyscraper or a crowd of people. Something Tommy would do. Fortunately, the road itself was almost empty, because despite the urgency of the report, the police had managed to provisionally cordon off some of the most important traffic routes with patrol cars.Â
Nevertheless, debris lies on the street, some of it piercing parked vehicles; a store next to the street now has a cracked window. The first onlookers peek out of doors, holding up their cell phonesârubberneckers, but at least they're keeping their distance. Buck's own phone rings in his pocket, an obtrusive ringtone, but he doesn't take it out, not now.
Buck doesn't slow down one bit; if necessary, he would run himself ragged. He almost slips on an oil stain that appears iridescent at his feet. He catches himself, keeps running, and it doesn't feel like heâs even stopping when he finally reaches the helicopter. There is no smoke, so no flames; there's a bit of dust and dirt in the air, but the danger of fire hasn't been completely averted. The aircraft is terribly hot, and Buck immediately pulls his hand back. But he has to get there somehow, he has to find the pilot, he mustâ
There's blood. A bright red trickle coming from the wreckage towering in front of Buck. It feels as if it's coming directly from his own body. Maybe he's dreaming. Maybe he's in a coma. Anything would be better than this, standing there and not knowing what to do. Of course, he knows, theoretically, what he has to do. But the thought of rummaging through these wreckage and finding a body that can only be dead is... He does it anyway, of course. He has gloves in his pants pockets, so he slips them on and begins frantically pushing metal aside. It's hot and sharp, and maybe he'll burn his fingers and cut his palms despite the gloves, but right now his body is numb to everything. No pain, no thoughts.
âBuck!â
He doesn't turn around. He's working; of course it's easier with tools, but they're coming, help is coming, his thoughts like a quick prayer.
âBuck!â It's Hen, and there's something in her voiceâBuck turns around. Hen waves her phone as she runs toward him. âIt's not Tommy!â
âWhat?â
Hen comes to a halt, panting. âNot Tommy,â she gasps. âHe wasn't on duty today.â
Buck looks at the rubble in disbelief. âNonsense,â he says. âHelp me, we have to get him out of there.â
He continues, pulling and tugging at the debris; his mind is white noise. A hand rests on his shoulder, he shakes it off. Then the grip tightens, someone pulls him around, âStop,â Eddie says.
âWhat is wrong with you?â Buck snaps, maybe referring to himself; he pushes Eddie's hand away, his gaze cutting through him. He doesn't notice that Ravi has already started to pry away the debris with tools, that Hen is crawling on the ground with a light, looking for the pilot. Eddie is suddenly gone too, in the middle of the action; but Chimney is there, pulling him aside.Â
âLet them work,â he says, and Buck feels a manic laugh rising in his throat.
âBut I want toââ
âNo.â It's a tone full of authority, one that commands you to look at the speaker, to really, really listen to him. âIt's not Tommy. I'm sorry, Buckaroo, that we didn't understand what was going on. Hen understood and urged me to radio dispatch. It's one of our helicopters, but Tommy wasn't the pilot. Okay?â
âThat can't be,â Buck replies flatly.
He couldn't save Bobby. That's a fact, and it still hurts. But Buck doesn't have a hero complex; he's not freaking out because he felt he could make up for something here. He wanted to help Tommy to save himself, it's as simple as that; but this realization is also painful, a burst of fire in his stomach. Maybe Eddie was right. Maybe it's always about him. About what Buck wants. And he knows what he wants, finally. He always knew, he just never admitted it.
âIt's true,â Chimney says; his eyes are soft, he speaks very gently, as if to a patient, Buck realizes. Maybe that's what he is. A disoriented, emotionally wounded man.Â
Chimney holds a phone up to his face. It's Hen's; Buck recognizes it by the colorful case, she was carrying it in earlier while running.Â
âHen called him right away,â Chimney explains. âTalk to him. It's long overdue, Buckaroo.â
Buck takes the phone with numb fingers, not even noticing that Chimney is turning to the wreckage and, like a true captain, is starting to give orders and lend a hand himself. The display shows a phone number that Buck still knows by heart, saved under âTommy K.â Right above it, the clock is still ticking, it's now 2:52 minutes, but it seems like an eternity. Buck holds the phone to his ear instead of pressing the speaker button; it's the only way he'll be able to believe it.Â
âT-Tommy?â
His voice creeps quietly out of his mouth; the hope in it makes his nerves tremble.
âEvan,â comes the reply, and now, Buck really believes it.
He sinks to the ground, plopping down on the hard, oil-smeared road and muttering, âI think I'm gonna puke.â
âNot the reaction I was expecting,â says the voice on the other end, and contrary to his expectations, Buck has to laugh. It quickly turns into a sob, and if he doesn't say what he wants to say now, thenâ
âTommy,â he repeats, urgently. âWe need to talk. Right now.â
It's an amazingly gentle start to a conversation, considering that Buck's insides and his mind are currently on a roller coaster ride, but it's hope, itâs a start.Â
Lightning strike Buck is taken off the ladder by Tommy who has just arrived on the scene and people are freaking out about Guy with Wings but he's focused on "my mate is DEAD do something!!" and for the rest of the coma arc the hospital has a gargoyle statue perched on top of the roof in an inaccessible spot
Lightning strike Buck is taken off the ladder by Tommy who has just arrived on the scene and people are freaking out about Guy with Wings but he's focused on "my mate is DEAD do something!!" and for the rest of the coma arc the hospital has a gargoyle statue perched on top of the roof in an inaccessible spot
