Let's chase stars!

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.

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.

Are you a word nerd like me, and my father before me?

Then may I introduce you to...

Ohhh this is absolutely a safe space.

I hate this trope too!!! I often see this with Helena Wayne fics tho, but yeah I have seen this with Jason/Tim/original characters too. It’s so disheartening reading a character get praise and love simply for being the cute youngest sibling when…the cute youngest sibling is already there. And he’s getting treated like crap.

I’m not against the idea of Damian becoming an older brother somehow (it’s definitely not a trope I like very much but I’m okay with it) but it gets really weird very quickly when it’s turned into “this character is so much better than Damian because they aren’t a brat etc etc” like yeah, a kid who didn’t grow up in the league is gonna act a lot more polite and cutsie. Obviously.

Reverse Robin aus are great but sometimes they annoy me to no end. I rarely read them because it often makes Damian into some monster of a brother or is a long-winded spiel on how if Damian was the first kid everything would suck cause nobody likes him blah blah blah Bruce would have a difficult time and wouldn’t raise him and Bruce would hate him blah blah blah.

James and Reggie 👬

JAMES PRONGS POTTER & REGULUS ARCTURUS BLACK

pouty lips 🫦

babygirl is down bad

PINTEREST INSPIRATION:

SONG:

…mabye backshots would be a more accurate title. I’m so sorry. someone intervene immediately, oml.

i was raised in the ballet; specifically the boston ballet. dancers are usually "jumpers" or "turners", i was solidly a jumper and a "good corps dancer". while i had some skill, i am "curvy", which genuinely is frowned upon in ballet. but i was short and technically-accurate enough to just keep-being-casted. I think I've been pretty much every character in the Nutcracker, minus the leads. I did sometimes land titled roles when dancing with smaller companies - including Sleeping Beauty, where i was the Evil Queen.

i got it over one of their permanent soloists. she was nice to me, even though she was a better dancer than i was (and a much better turner). i had shown up on audition day and taken the role from her. the choreographer had told her to her face: you have the dance skills, but she has the stage presence. that kind of conversation just happens in ballet. she cried about it later, i caught her coming out of the bathroom. i had apologized on his behalf. i said it's not fair. i asked her if she wanted to get dinner, my treat.

she was often knitting or listening to music, so we didn't talk a lot, but she had been nice. she just seemed introverted, and i am unfortunately an extrovert. i often tried to include her, but she would rarely participate. we were in one of those circles, discussing exes. i am always very careful in these conversations; and never out myself. i am often, after all, in a room of somewhat-naked women. i do not not want any of them to think i'm like that. i do not want the fuss. (it's happened to me before. it was ugly.)

we were putting on our pointe shoes, and I was laughing. "no i swear. we got into an argument about it. my ex was like - what do you mean you actually dance on your actual toes. i guess my ex thought it was like, a euphemism? mind you, i wasn't even the first dancer they dated." i flexed my foot, shimmied the shank a little lower, tested the box placement. it only hurts for the first year and a half, kind of. also every time you have to jump en pointe. after that, the worst pain is just the 100 dollars every time you need a new pair (which is often).

around us, the green room was a flurry of tutus and hair spray and people in very-thick slippers. most dancers are very friendly, actually. it takes a very specific kind of person to physically destroy yourself for hours on end; and then to do that in front of a live audience, half-naked. in sequins. with your leg over your head.

most of us have some kind of mental illness. i should tell you that. many of us have adhd. the thing about being a girlchild and being restless is that they have a solution for that: just slam you into endless dance classes. the constant body-awareness is incredibly soothing for me; but it's a lot for other people. we aren't kidding when we tell you we need to be aware of literally every tendon, angle, and muscle of our bodies. i have spent a lifetime focusing on lifting the sole of my foot. my pinky finger is a villain, and i am always trying to tame her back into shape.

her brown hair was perfectly back, her eyes perfectly rimmed, lipstick perfectly applied. she was knitting. the other girls chatting about how boys don't get it and how kristen's boytoy hadn't come to a single show and she was breaking up with him because of it. the conversation turned, we were just ragging on our terrible exes. somebody's ex once totaled her car. someone else's tried to use honest-to-god monopoly money at a starbucks.

and i fucked up, because we were laughing, and i was distracted by getting ready. and i said "yeah, she -" and then i snapped my mouth shut. thank god someone else was already talking. i felt myself blush. my body went cold. i thought to myself - there was crosstalk. everyone was speaking at once. maybe nobody heard. nobody even seemed to look at me twice. everyone was talking about their stupid exes. i smiled and nodded and gave it a few minutes. i was frozen, laughing mechanically. and then i made some excuse and half-ran into the hall, my stupid toeshoes clacking.

i felt like i was dying. fuck. fuck. i slammed my toes into rosin and pretended to warm up in some cramped corner between costumes. i pressed my forehead flush with the cold cinderblocks of the hallway, trying to force my breathing into check. i had to be onstage in a few hours. they're going to hate me now, and put me into some fucking side-room bullshit to get changed. they'll think i was being predatory that whole time. it's all ruined. fuck.

a little cold hand landed on my bare back. she was standing there, tilting her head at me. she has the "ideal dancer body" - tall, thin, long-legged. over that dinner, she'd said balanchine was a pedophile and it's weird they expect us to look like this. and i'd said ballet is a bastion of white supremacy. she'd said: you are the better dancer, by the way. they only like my shape.

she hugged her elbows, little goosebumps on her blued skin. "hey." she wouldn't make eye contact with me.

i felt like crying, which was stupid - despite having shellacked myself into waterproof makeup, i didn't want to risk tearstains.

her mouth twisted. "it's almost time for you to get into costume." her words sat between us awkwardly. we both knew i would be alerted by the costume crew when they were ready for me. she frowned, then, her jaw working like she was trying to say something. instead, she just shook her head a little.

"okay," i said. my voice was weird and scratchy. "thanks."

"did you - i heard you." she put one hand above mine on the wall, one long leg out in a common shape for dancers: a cross of fourth position and attitude; digging her foot down into her shoe, wiggling. she cleared her throat. "i heard you say she."

i dropped my hand. i pretended to stretch. "okay." i said. my brain was blank with fear. fuck. it's ruined. "yeah."

"you've dated... women?" she flexed her feet. pointed. started doing gentle hip swings, her body no more than an arm length from mine.

i looked anywhere else. the other people in the hallway, running around before the show. the racks of clothes. the wires. behind us, the greenroom was muffled and raucous with dancers laughing. i was going to be banned from that space now.

i crossed my arms over my chest. the duct tape creaked. (in a few months, i would genuinely crack a few ribs binding like that. but for then i just took the half-air). "yeah," i said. i puffed it out. "i'm. yeah."

"gay?" she was looking at her feet as she made tiny rond de jambs, working her ankles.

"gay," i creaked.

she paused then, and stepped closer to me. i was suddenly aware she had a solid six inches on me, all of which she carried with perfect grace and accuracy. "you go to contemporary on thursdays, right?"

a ballerina is supposed to enjoy ballet more than anything. i was actually secretly falling completely in love with contemporary dance, because it forgave me for having any mass on my body. "yeah?" i looked up into her dark eyes, trying to figure out where this was going.

she handed me her phone. "text me next time. we'll carpool."

stupid and stunned, i punched my number in, first name raquel last name ballet.

she took the phone back, looked at the screen, and smiled a little. she thumbed a few keys and held it back up: first name raquel, last name ballet: and then a rainbow emoji, girls kissing, and little pink hearts. "gotcha. see you then."

and then she turned and walked away in that particular "walking in pointe shoes" way dancers have, a little rolling lope. she made it look graceful, purposeful. i had no idea how to respond. i just stared at the after her, wordless, boggled.

Regulus Black didn’t have a strict set of morals, that was for damn sure. He’d known ever since he was a child: he wasn’t good. 

Sure, his parents praised him. Told him he was the perfect son and used his silence to make his brother look like a complete disappointment. But Regulus knew: he was the failure. He kept his mouth shut as corruption gained power. But he couldn’t bring himself to do anything else; he was too terrified.

He was a Slytherin, he reasoned. He wasn’t meant to be brave. He was meant to survive, to get through this hell and make it to the other side. Bravery was for people like Sirius. People like Dumbledore. People like…

Well, people like Potter.

Potter, who was the only one who’d ever made Regulus question his decision to stay quiet. Potter, who had once sent him a grin so warm it’d made Regulus feel something other than blood-chilling fear. Potter, who somehow, was still safe, even in the midst of all of this chaos. 

That thought kept Regulus sane for some reason. Maybe after…

Until his world came crashing down around him.

Sure, he didn’t have morals. But loyalty? He had no room for betrayal. Especially when it was someone who betrayed the incarnate of sunshine. 

So he knocked on the door he found himself in front of and held his wand at the ready, bracing himself to cast the curse that always brought bile to the back of his throat. FOr the first time, though, he had a feeling he would feel no remorse.

The door swung open.

“Hello, Pettigrew,” he greeted lightly. “You look like you’ve slept well. Odd, considering.”

Watery eyes went wide, and for a split second, they both knew. Maybe Regulus had always been obvious about the one soft feeling he’d had for another human. Maybe Peter was just naturally terrified, too.

Green light flashed.

For a single moment, Regulus felt good. Like he’d done the right thing.

Then, as Pettigrew’s body crumpled, Regulus’s arm burned. A signal.

So he turned on his heel and retreated, leaving the mess he’d made.