#WHY. WHY. ITS BEEN FIVE YEARS. WHY.

[baycitystygian]

I have covid what the FUCK

[applecranberryjuice]

My only Morro predictions

Secret third option: he just doesn't show up at all. The leaks were wrong, everyone was wrong, he's not even in the script notes, mass deception.

Awful hand writing transcriben under the cut:

1. Hey guys, MORRO here to show you how even good, or the people we look up to make mistakes BUT ALSO to remind you that the mistakes of the student aren't also the master's and that relationships between LEGOTM are complicated .

2. So glad we are on good terms after that one special everyone watched anyways I'm here to bully this stinky loser teacher Mcvisions into an accurately depicted panic attack bcz hes stupid dum dum and even HE couldn't break the cycle

[astralzeraphias]

“he was mentally ill. this monster was a- was a sick fantasy. a product of his dementia.”

“…i saw it too. does that make me disturbed? demented? does… that make me sick too?”

[broareweabouttoviberightnow]

It's thirty til midnight 'n the house is crowded with the hot press of bodies. Someone's shoutin'. Actually, most of 'em are shoutin'. The living room stinks like the spilled beer Two's ground down into the carpet. The TV's playin'. Some New Year's special that Pony's glued to. The record players skippin' its way through a Christmas album. The tree's still up 'cause none of them would let Darry take it down 'til after New Year's.

Darry checks his watch once, runs his thumb absently over the face, compares it to the little glowin' clock above the stove, stands up 'n shifts past the card game Johnny has been creamin' Dallas at for the last half hour. Darry wasn't sure how he had any money to his name left. He steps over the coffee table 'n catches the hand of pure shit Dallas grins 'n ups the bet on. Good lord Johnny was gonna have the shirt off his back before the night was over.

Soda's bouncin' back 'n forth between the holiday special 'n the card game, offerin' commentary only Johnny seems to enjoy. Steve's got a huge bowl of popcorn Darry had fixed balanced on his lap, pitchin' kernels at Two's mouth as he dives for 'em.

Darry sighs, snatches one out of the air 'n pops it into his own mouth, steppin' out of the way so Two falls unceremoniously onto his knees with a grin.

"Hey! I was gonna catch that one!" Darry rolls his eyes, absently grabs Pony from where he had his nose three inches from the tube 'n hauls him back, much to Pony's indignation.

"Sure you were. Just like you were gonna catch the other thirty or so that I'm gonna have to vacuum outta the carpet." But he doesn't really mean it. The mood's high 'n Darry's just pleased to have 'em all together. Outta trouble 'n safe.

"Hey it ain't my fault Steve can't throw straight! He ain't exactly got your arm, Dar." Two wraps both hands around Darry's bicep 'n Darry hauls him up, danglin' like a monkey with his knees all bent.

"Hey!" Steve takes his opportunity 'n dives off the couch, nearly dumpin' the entirety of the bowl onto Dallas' head. Dally yowls, drops his cards onto the table 'n snatches for Steve's ankles to drag him back across the floor. Johnny leans over, tips the cards up, 'n grins to himself, then promptly sprawls to the side to avoid Darry shakin' Two off him 'n onto the floor.

Soda, never to be left out, throws himself into the mess of limbs until they're all a tangled mass of carpet burn 'n sharp-toothed peels of laughter. Darry disentangles himself, hovers in the doorway 'n watches them for a moment. Then he checks his watch again, adjusts the worn leather strap, peers at the clock on the stove glowin' softly through the darkness of the kitchen, 'n slips out the back door.

He knows his time is numbered 'cause Pony 'n Soda have always been herders. Had to know where everyone was at all times. But Pony's sleepy 'n zoned in on the TV like a lifeline 'n Soda's had two shots (both hastily over the kitchen sink 'cause Pony still thought Soda was drunk on the plain idea of bein' alive 'n they all liked to let him think it) so he had maybe just a few more minutes than usual.

It's fridged outside. The kinda cold that burns along his bare arms 'n makes his breath hang in low clouds around his face.

He can't really explain it. He's never been real good about the holidays. They're just... heavy. Even before, well, everythin'.

He crosses the porch, sinks down on the stair 'n blinks down the empty street. There's a light or two on. One house or the other still holdin' out for midnight. Most are quiet 'n dark 'n Darry's heart does an odd little flip in his chest.

He doesn't know why he thinks about the winter he was twelve 'n had been the best of friends with the boy that lived on the corner. Or why his stomach sinks when he thinks about how hard he'd cried when they had moved out. Inconsolable even when their mama had pulled him up into her lap (though he was too big for that. Too big for needin' his mama.) (that last bit was never true. He still needed his mama. Maybe more than he ever had before.) 'n had just cried 'n cried 'til Soda 'n Pony had come home from wherever they'd been 'n that had been that. 'Cause he shouldn't cry in front of his brothers. He should be strong for them.

Somethin' shatters to the ground inside 'n jerks Darry outta his memory.

"Sorry!" Someone hollers 'n Darry chuckles to himself. Man, maybe he shouldn't have had that last beer. He must be in too good of a mood 'cause he doesn't even think about goin' in to reem out whoever was breakin' shit. But he knows that's not true 'n it ain't the beer to blame.

He runs his hands up 'n down his arms, stands up 'n crosses the lawn, dead 'n dry in winter, leans against the fence 'n hisses when the metal bites into his arms. He sighs, kicks at the hole ripped in the bottom, smiles absently to himself.

Soda 'n Two had put that there. Had run one of those push petal cars so hard into it they'd both flown off 'n scraped knees 'n elbows 'n come crawlin' up the steps with, not two, but three missin' teeth between the two of them.

God, they must have been in middle school then. When had they grown up so much?

"Agh put me down you sonofabitch!" Somethin' else hits the ground but this time Darry's mostly sure it's a person. No one wails so he figures he's still safe. 'N he ain't ready to go back in yet.

He checks his watch, fiddles with the knob on the side, a nervous habit he's had since he was eighteen. Fifteen minutes to go. Plenty of time.

A breeze kicks up, swings the gate open 'n closed so it lets out a low, mournful squeal. It hadn't hung right since the summer Darry was ten. They'd always just jumped the fence, givin' each other the boosts they refused to ask for, gigglin' when their mama had called them coyotes, takin' runnin' starts 'n laughin' off when they misjudged it 'n came down hard on their knees. Their daddy had sworn he was gonna fix it every summer since.

He never got to.

Last month they'd had a real bad wind storm that pushed that old gate forlornly back 'n forth for hours, wailin' 'n moanin' until Darry had scowled 'n muttered he was gonna fix that goddamn thing if it was the last thing he ever did. 'N then he'd looked over at Pony 'n they both suddenly felt sick to their stomachs.

He never did get around to it.

The wind howls 'n Darry flexes his fingers, realizes suddenly its the only sound he can hear. He checks his watch again. Five minutes to go. He should go back inside.

But then he's runnin' his fingers around the face 'n thinkin' about the people not waitin' for him back in that hot 'n crowded living room. Thinkin' about how it ain't really his watch.

It had been his daddy's. His pride 'n joy. Thick leather strap 'n gold platin' around the face 'n it had been his granddaddy's before him. God, Darry had coveted it. Could remember bein' thirteen, runnin' fingers around 'n around it til it shone. Fifteen 'n askin' his daddy if he'd pass it down to him one day. Eighteen when he had put it in his hands on his graduation day.

You gotta watch out for it. The time flies, kiddo. Be careful how you spend it.

Darry doesn't hear the screen door slam, or the patterin' footsteps across the lawn, or the creak of the fence as someone leans against it til Soda's there, head restin' down on Darry's shoulder. Darry jumps, scrubs the back of his hand against the tears so hot against his flushed cheeks they burn. 'Cause he shouldn't cry in front of his brothers. He had to be strong.

"I figured I'd find you out here." Soda wraps a blanket, stolen from the couch, around Darry's arms 'n he suddenly realizes just how cold he is. He sighs, pulls Soda in 'n tucks him under his elbow.

"C'mon, Soda. You shouldn't be out here." 'N he shouldn't. 'Cause he shouldn't ruin everyone else's good time with his stupid achin'. "Let's get you back inside."

Soda tilts his head back 'n blinks up at Darry. Or, no he doesn't. He doesn't need to. Hasn't needed to look up to Darry in a long time, long since hit that final growth spurt that had their mama lettin' out all his jean hems 'n hopin' they stopped below his ankle. "You shouldn't be out here alone, Dar."

"I'm fine-"

"Oh, I know. You're fine. You're good. You're peachy." Soda sighs, drops his chin back down to Darry's shoulder. "You thinkin' about them?"

'N he is. But not really. He's thinkin' about all of them. About breakin' promises 'n not bein' careful enough. About turnin' around one day 'n Pony's not six years old 'n followin' Darry around 'cause he was still young enough to think Darry was the coolest person alive. That Soda's not ten years old 'n missin' his front tooth 'n a permanent bandaid on his knees 'n bringin' home one kid after another until their house was always full. That Johnny 'n Two 'n Dallas 'n Steve ain't just his brother's friends or strangers hangin' around his living room or even just good buddies.

"I'm thinkin' about my resolution." He pulls Soda in closer 'n somewhere down the street someone bangs pans together. A lone firework bangs off into the sky, lightin' his brother's face in a way that makes him look like he was a kid again, pressed against the window 'n tryin' so hard to stay awake.

"Well, don't leave me hangin'." Soda yawns, presses his face into Darry's chest to shield it from the wind.

Darry smiles softly to himself, runs a hand through Soda's hair, the lamp light bouncin' off the watch face when he lifts his wrist.

"I'm gonna keep some old promises."

I ain't gonna let time slip me by. The back door bangs open 'n when Darry turns he can see the shinin' grin on Two's face, his arm draped around Steve's shoulders. Pony leanin' hard on Dallas though Darry knows he'll claim he ain't tired. Johnny shiverin' in his too-big jacket.

"Come on, Dar! You're gonna miss it!" 'N Darry knows he means the ball drop or the announcer on TV or the end of the special but Darry can only smile ruefully, shift Soda closer to him 'n sweep him right off his feet to carry him inside.

You're right. You gotta be careful or you will. You'll miss it all.

tags 'cause y'all were so sweet in my other post I was like well I simply gotta finish this right now😭@trekkiehood @strxwberry-julius @marmaladedcroissant @wildestdreamcatcher @sarcasticallyexplicit11 @scalls @greasernamedbug

[alwayshere195]

I wish we got Diego and Five in the timeline subway instead of Lila and Five. The deep desire for us getting the same premise but with a different execution.

Imagine Diego going and asking why Five can't blink only to end up in the subway with him. Five reluctantly, explaining everything he knows. Something Diego isn't fully comprehending but understands.

The silly idea of Diego coming up with the timeline travel and getting stuck in the subway with Five. The possibilities of their interactions.

The idea of Apocalypse Five shooting at them, causing Diego to ask who's that. "Me, of course, who else was in the apocalypses?!" Five responds, heading back down into the subway. Diego follows, "Well, sorrrry! I thought you had better aim than that!" Five shoots him a look.

The idea of when they realized they're trapped, we hear dialog. Diego shouting that this is EXACTLY what Five wanted. Klaus was right! He is a chaos junkie!

Five, throwing his hands up: I don't know why everyone says that! I'm not. This isn't what I wanted.

Diego: You appear in your element!

Five: Of course I do! This is all I know, Diego! I got stuck in an apocalypse at 13! 13! I was trapped for 45 years in it! Besides living in it, need I remind that I witnessed it again and again and again?! But that doesn't mean I want it!

Diego: Then what do you want? Because (mocking) Need I remind, you went off to join the CIA. You barely kept in contact for the past 6 years. You-

Five: I want peace! I want silence! I want to not worry about you idiots! I want... Forget it. Let's keep looking to get out of here.

How it finally pushes these two to talk. Their relationship has been rocky but there's always trust between them. Plus, Five doesn't really open up. So for the day to come where Diego once again pushes Fives buttons but the correct ones this time to get a

Five: I'm tired, ok? I have seen you all die again and again and again. I'm tired. I tried time traveling, I tried talking, I tried murder, I've tried, and it all keeps going to hell. There's only so much before it feels impossible or that I'm the problem. Sure, Viktor caused the first three apocalypse but not those after that. Not all this (refering to the subway). Only I could come here...

Diego, sighing after hearing all this for the first time: Yeah, you are a problem. A problematic piece of shit like the rest of us. And for holding all this in like a secret to take to the grave. But you're not to blame for everything. If anyone's to blame, it's Dad.

How they grow closer and Diego realizes just how tired Five is. He's exhausted and barely holding on. It doesn't help that no one in the family ever truly thanked him. So he does. Gives Five a genuine "Thanks by the way. For spending 45 years and some figuring out how to save us. I appreciate it. I like being alive." And how Five gets quiet as thats all he ever truly wanted. A thank you.

How Diego opens up about his relationship issues and how his rants turn into frustration about it all. Him voicing how he'd LOVE "bookclub" because FUCK MAN he needs a "bookclub" too! He'd be in full support! And he wished she was more vocal about things like he is instead of playing the guessing game. And how it turns into all the things he wants to do when he sees her again. Tell her everything. Open up. Hold her. Kiss her. Be in the same love he always really had for her. Fives there supporting him.

Five finds the journal and ponders it. Keeps the information hidden from Diego for a day or two before he's caught reading it. Diego's rightfully upset but Five brings up points.

Five: I was reading it. Making sure I understood what to do before we had a talk.

Diego: A talk? What is there to talk about?

Five: What if it went to shit out there and everyone's died? What if-

Diego: No, Five. There is no ifs here. We're going back and we're going to see how things are. Worst case scenario, we go back in time and save their lousy asses. Together. Best case scenario, we see our family again. I get to see Lila and my kids again.

Five: Right...

They go back and they find out that Luther and Lila ended up going to the CIA because "My husband always talks about this place, and my brother-in-law works here. So maybe there's information." And it makes Diego's hesrt flutter.

Just... what we could have had.

[ct-9902]

heh. guess who just found their old copy of the ninjago movie on dvd

[beeduoo]

originnssssss who remembers origins i Loved origins

[crows-of-buckets]

I've had to stop myself from going on rants about some of my more negative thoughts on veilguard bc if I do that I WILL work myself into a frenzy about it.

[randygrim]

The rainworld brainrot has hit once again

[moonilit]

the fact of Jote being a rescued/ adopted bearer by the undying was a fact I didn’t know what to do with first time i heard it, but now that it sinked in I believe this is for multiple reasons but the sweetest of them is to clear up the undying name, they were elwin followers and Elwin trusted them with his most secret and sensitive plans aka how he eventually wanted to give better lives for the bearers and all, them taking that one baby bearer , not branding her, hiding her, train her and help her in hiding the fact she is a bearer, trust her with their literal lord etc, they are following in elwin footsteps and

[talesbyhestia]

Lost media, dead subcultures & the algorithmic time loop: why the past feels more alive than the present

I'm a 2005 baby who grew up with glimpses of 2000s internet culture here and there without actually living through it but fuck me if I can't drop my hot takes into the already hot pool of hot takes and have a bit of fun. So, here's my over-caffeinated attempt to untangle it all. Buckle up.

The 2000s were the last real internet subculture (ouchie)

Once upon a time, the internet was ugly. And chaotic. And deeply, profoundly personal.

You’d log onto MySpace, and every profile was a glitchy, neon-drenched manifestation of its owner’s soul. Blinking text, autoplaying emo songs, low-res GIFs of Gerard Way looking melancholic. You’d spend hours perfecting your HTML-coded disasterpiece, carefully choosing your Top 8 friends like it was a medieval court of alliances. There was no algorithm deciding what you saw – you just stumbled into weird corners of the web and made them your home.

Fast forward to today. The internet still has aesthetic, but it’s no longer organic. It’s a TikTok-trendified, fast-fashion version of culture. Don't get me wrong, I love that app. BUT. I also have a lot of problems with it. Every subculture gets instantly labeled as “[insert niche here]-core,” pumped out as a micro-trend, and repackaged into something you can buy on Shein for $12.99 (plus tax, minus soul).

2000s scene kids? They took years to evolve their look and culture.

2020s “Indie Sleaze” revival? Instagram trends had it pre-packaged in six weeks, complete with a "How To Be Indie" starter pack featuring American Apparel hoodies and a disposable camera you’ll never develop.

Subcultures used to come from the bottom up, evolving through trial, error, and raw human creativity. Now, they’re imposed top down, dictated by engagement metrics and brand consultants who think liking The Cure makes you "alt." It’s all aesthetic, no culture. And we wonder why everything feels hollow.

Originality is a lie and we should stop pretending otherwise

Here’s a thought: Nothing you have ever loved was original. This isn’t an insult. It’s a testament to the beauty of human creativity.

Shakespeare stole almost every one of his plots. Star Wars is just a remix of samurai movies, old Westerns, and classic myths. The Arctic Monkeys basically made a career out of asking “What if we were the Beatles, but from Sheffield?” Meanwhile, half of TikTok is just recycled Vines, and Tumblr posts from 2013 keep getting reposted like they’re freshly baked. *munch munch*

Our culture thrives on remixing, but modern internet culture has convinced us that “originality” is sacred – as if anything truly comes from nothing. In reality:

The best creative works don’t try to be original. They try to recombine old ideas in new ways.

Fanfiction, memes, remixes – these aren’t "lesser" forms of creativity. They’re proof that the best ideas are infinite in variation. (Tell me with a straight face that AO3 hasn’t produced better character arcs than half of Netflix’s originals.)

If you feel like everything today is “the same,” it’s not because we’ve run out of ideas – it’s because algorithms favor predictability over experimentation. And corporations love a safe bet.

And that brings us to our next problem: what happens when the internet decides to erase things forever?

Lost media & the death of digital memory

There’s a certain kind of heartbreak that only comes from remembering something that no longer exists. Maybe it’s an old Flash game you loved. A weird YouTube video from 2009. That one episode of a cartoon you swear existed, but now nobody can find proof of. Mandela Effect? Lost Media? Gaslighting? Pick your poison.

Here’s the dark truth: the internet is not an archive. It’s a landfill.

75% of websites from the early 2000s are completely gone.

MySpace lost 53 million songs when they “accidentally” deleted their music archives. (Accidentally. Sure, bestie.)

Websites, subcultures, entire eras of digital life disappear overnight when corporations decide they’re no longer profitable.

The myth of the digital age is that once something is online, it’s forever. But in reality, we are losing more culture than ever before. The difference is, when books or films go missing, they leave behind physical clues. When something digital vanishes? It’s like it never existed.

If you’ve ever fallen down a Lost Media rabbit hole, you know how haunting this can be. The moment when you finally find that video, that song, that half-remembered piece of internet history—it’s like winning a battle against time itself. But that begs the question: why does the past feel more alive than the present?

The algorithmic time loop: why we keep looking back

Have you noticed how obsessed we are with nostalgia? Y2K fashion is back. Vaporwave romanticizes Windows 95. We’ve reached a point where people are nostalgic for mid-2010s Tumblr, as if that wasn’t like… five minutes ago.

But why? Why does the past feel more exciting than the hyper-connected present?

Theory: the internet was supposed to give us infinite possibilities, but instead, it made everything feel the same.

Cities used to have distinct cultures. Now, every shopping district has the same H&M, Zara, and Starbucks. (Go to a new country, see the same five stores, cry a little.)

Music used to be regional. Now, everything is engineered to go viral on TikTok, optimized for 15-second soundbites.

The internet used to be a frontier. Now, it’s five websites, all of them trying to sell you something. It's sad, man.

The more everything is globally connected, the less unique it feels, and so we look back, romanticizing eras that felt alive, personal, and experimental.

But nostalgia is a double-edged sword. It reminds us of what was lost – but also keeps us trapped, endlessly remixing the past instead of forging something new. We are in a cultural Groundhog Day, and no one knows how to fix it.

Final thought: can we break the loop?

This isn’t just about media. It’s about how we experience time, creativity, and culture in the digital age. So, what can we do?

Stop waiting for the algorithm to serve you culture. Seek out weird, independent corners of the internet. (Yes, they still exist. You just have to look harder. Tumblr is a good start.)

Embrace imperfection. The best art, fashion, and music comes from experimentation, not marketability.

Save what matters. If you love a piece of digital media, archive it. You never know when it’ll vanish. (The Internet Archive is your best friend.)

Make things for the sake of making them. Not for views, not for virality – but because creation itself is the point.

[sieglinde-freud]

I don’t CARE how many alt scenarios it would requires at least include lucinas sibling and/or her cousin… bare minimum

YEAH SERIOUSLY and its like. they limited chrom’s support options for a reason. he can only have potentially five other kids anyways. would it be that hard to write a mildly different one off line for each of them just so lucina can bounce off of someone? or just like. owain. hell, you could push tiki’s recruit earlier and let her fill that role instead. its just so weird to start valm’s arc with lucina introducing her character and incredibly tragic storyline only for her to get shoved into the background and just be around for a couple of lines that add nothing to the story. and its like, i understand why the valm arc had to happen, it’s a necessary development for chrom and a decent middle point in the game but i feel like it just wasnt executed as well as it could be. lucina being a big part of that. and i mean, yes i am a big lucina fan so maybe this is just me having personal beef that my favorite character doesnt do much here but its also like… shes pushed as the third main character of the game and yet?? ugh idk. plus if theyre gonna make time travel a huge plot point, maybe show us more perspectives on that like… making another time traveler part of the story so its not just lucina expositioning all over the place when she finally gets to talk

[red-dyed-sarumane]

i didnt tag that art how did u find that. theres no way it was on ur fyp but i also dont believe u would be just looking at my account so How.

[holybananaoafshoe]

It's been *checks notes* five years since voltron ended, but one question still plagues me to this day:

Why the fuck didn't we give Keith and Matt the ship name Meth?!?

[iruludavare]

{ ooc. My main boundaries (aside from dash events =/= blog canon [unless specifically plotted otherwise]. i keep forgetting to add that) are mostly in my rules...

but if you assume serena is one and the same from the anime and continue to assume that you get banished to the distortion world (the unfun part of it). It takes 0 seconds to read "protagonist from pokemon x" }

[srldesigns6277]

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