#WILD TIMES

[sweaterkittensahoy]

Honestly, respect.

Still standing

On the afternoon of April 14th, a hacker using a UK IP address exploited an out-of-date software package on one of 4chan's servers, via a bogus PDF upload. With this entry point, they were eventually able to gain access to one of 4chan's servers, including database access and access to our own administrative dashboard. The hacker spent several hours exfiltrating database tables and much of 4chan's source code. When they had finished downloading what they wanted, they began to vandalize 4chan at which point moderators became aware and 4chan's servers were halted, preventing further access.

Over the following days, 4chan's development team surveyed the damage, which to be frank, was catastrophic. While not all of our servers were breached, the most important one was, and it was due to simply not updating old operating systems and code in a timely fashion. Ultimately this problem was caused by having insufficient skilled man-hours available to update our code and infrastructure, and being starved of money for years by advertisers, payment providers, and service providers who had succumbed to external pressure campaigns.

We had begun a process of speccing new servers in late 2023. As many have suspected, until that time 4chan had been running on a set of servers purchased second-hand by moot a few weeks before his final Q&A, as prior to then we simply were not in a financial position to consider such a large purchase. Advertisers and payment providers willing to work with 4chan are rare, and are quickly pressured by activists into cancelling their services. Putting together the money for new equipment took nearly a decade.

In April of 2024 we had agreed on specs and began looking for possible suppliers. Money is always tight for us, and few companies were willing to sell us servers, so actually buying the hardware wasn’t a trivial problem. We managed to finalize a purchase in June, and had the new servers racked and online in July. Over the next few months we slowly moved functionality onto the new servers, but we had still been relying on the old servers for key functions. Everything about this process took much longer than intended, which is a recurring theme in this debacle. The free time that 4chan's development team had available to dedicate to 4chan was insufficient to update our software and infrastructure fast enough, and our luck ran out.

However, we have not been idle during our nearly two weeks of downtime. The server that was breached has been replaced, with the operating system and code updated to the latest versions. PDF uploads have been temporarily disabled on those boards that supported them, but they will be back in the near future. One slow but much beloved board, /f/ - Flash, will not be returning however, as there is no realistic way to prevent similar exploits using .swf files. We are bringing on additional volunteer developers to help keep up with the workload, and our team of volunteer janitors & moderators remains united despite the grievous violations some have suffered to their personal privacy.

4chan is back. No other website can replace it, or this community. No matter how hard it is, we are not giving up.

[27spoons]

yapping yapping to you dudeeee. have you seen how nat treated mari's brat ass (and some of shauna's, too)? i was like: panties? where? *inserts that meme of an emoji with a dangling lingerie* like, the way her care and natural protective instincts kick in, even though others might give two fucks about her 😭😭 my baby, come here, i'll take care of youuuuu imagining a brat!reader making nat's days a living hell, but she can't possibly lash out, so she puts reader into a time-out (house arrest tf), or even brings them their portion of the food into their hut, ending up in nat "teaching reader" how to behave 😇 yuk, an innocent lesson

what if i said i wanted to be put in my place. what then. what if i said i need to piss nat off until she snaps at me, realises that i liked it, and then does it again?

nsfw blurb / smut / gn!afab!reader / porn w some plot / self-indulgent / not proofread we die like the cabin at the end of s2/ wc: 1260

natalie stands outside your shelter, the fresh scent of damp earth and cool spring air brushing past. the spring out here is deceptive—warmer than the cruel winter was but still bitter in the mornings and evenings. the soft hum of insects punctuate the silence that settles in the dim light of the evening.

inside, you restlessly lay on your makeshift bedroll, leg bouncing as you trace the light strips that filter through the gaps in your structure with your eyes. when she finally steps in—carrying a wooden bowl of stew—you glance up with a cocky grin that you already know nat will not like.

"well, well." you drawl, sitting up. "The Queen herself. To what do I owe the pleasure on this fine evening?"

nat doesn't bite. she places the bowl on the tree stump in front of you unceremoniously. "dinner," she says simply, straightening and crossing her arms.

"wow, room service?" you let out a low whistle, leaning back and lacing your fingers behind your head. "i gotta say, i'm kinda liking this whole 'house arrest' thing, you know? the perks are nice." a beat, "actually, is it too much to ask, or could i get some dessert?"

her jaw clenches, but she manages to keep her voice in check. "you seriously think this is funny?"

"i mean... yeah." you shrug. "let's be real, nat. you're supposed to be running this place or whatever, but here you are, babysitting me." you groan and sit back up, "doesn't really scream..." a beat as you feign thought, "fearsome leader, you know?"

nat's eyes narrow, and you swear you can feel the frustration radiating off of her. the distant sounds of the wilderness around you seems to grow at the sudden tension, filling the space between you two. "you really wanna test how far i'll go?"

your grin falters slightly, but you can't deny the subtle rush that builds inside of you at the way her voice lowers. "what are you gonna do? give me another stern talking-to?"

she steps closer, her worn combat boots crunching against the forest floor. she leans down just enough to meet your gaze, her voice shifting to that tone she knows gets you weak. “no. talking doesn’t seem to work with you.”

before you can fire back a retort, she's grabbing your jaw with her right hand and squeezing. "you aren't leaving this hut until i say so, and honestly?" her voice lowers further, "i don't think you deserve to leave after all this shit you've pulled, do you?"

you stare up at her, unsure if you're supposed to be feeling afraid, aroused, or both."uh…" you blink a few times, "wow, nat. you really got the whole… 'scary leader' thing down. i'm shaking in my boots."

a scoff leaves her lips, but she doesn't visibly react further to your sarcasm. "you can joke all you want, yeah? but we both know you'll listen to what i say. because if you don't…" her eyes flash down to your lips for a moment, "well, they don't last very long."

your stomach twists, but not because you're scared. well, maybe a little. but mostly? well, mostly you're just aroused.

and nat knows, if the way she smirks is any indication. "yeah. you know that, don't you?" her voice carries a teasing lilt that does unpleasant (but not unwelcome) things to your insides. "all you really want is to be put in your place." she grips your jaw a little tighter, "open your mouth more."

you do. your lips part on command, and you're rewarded with nat spitting into your mouth slowly. "close. don't swallow." you do as she asks, of course. there's no way she doesn't know you're ruining your underwear right about now. 

you swear you haven't taken a breath in a million years as she looks down at you, eyes sharp and calculating. "good. swallow." you comply, maintaining eye contact, then open your mouth to show her that you listen.

nat grins. "look at you. you can listen." 

she gives you a firm shove back onto your bedroll and follows you down. "but i think i still need to prove my point." 

one of her hands slides underneath the waistband to your pants without hesitation, and it takes everything in her to not make a sound of satisfaction at how wet you are already. "jesus. already?" she manages, the words almost coming out in a whine and breaking this facade of control. "you're fucking soaked."

"can't help it." you reply immediately, already feeling the fight in you leave the second she gets her hands on you, "it's you. you do this to me." you're already clenching around nothing, staring up at nat's form over your body with an expression of pure want. "please."

the girl almost scoffs at how quick you get to begging, considering it usually takes far longer to break you down. "damn. that was fast. you a little desperate?"

"fuck you—" you try and start, but your protests are quickly cut off with a sudden push of her forefinger into your cunt. "oh—"

"that's what i thought." she grins, starting to move her finger without giving you time to get used to the intrusion. "all talk and no game, yeah? not so big once someone actually starts taking charge."

your fingers dig into the soil around your bedroll, knowing better than to grab onto her right now. "that's not fair—"

another finger. "nothing is fucking fair." she bites, leaning down closer to your face, "we're trapped in the middle of goddamn nowhere, and you're talking to me about fair?" a harsh scoff leaves her lips as she begins pumping her fingers faster, "life isn't fucking fair."

you'd make a smart reply to that if you could, but it's sort of hard to do when her fingers are ruthlessly fucking in and out of you, your wetness soaking into the fabric of your underwear. "already so worked up." she tsks, "bet i could give you a third finger right now and you'd—" 

she does.

three fingers deep, fingers curling in and out of your pussy with a passion that only nat can possess, you groan and throw your head back. 

nat slaps her free hand over your mouth with a hiss, "jesus! do you want them to hear what's going on in here?" her fingers never cease in their actions as her gaze flicks to the entrance for a moment, watching to make sure no one is about to walk in on you two. "shit, i would never hear the end of this…" she murmurs before returning her gaze to you, hardening it slightly. "should have known you wouldn't be able to keep quiet." 

she grinds her palm against your clit with every crook of her fingers, and you can barely keep your eyes open at the harsh movements she fucks you with—pain and pleasure blurring together somewhere along the way. 

her breath ghosts over your ear as she leans down, and you can feel her smirk. "you're gonna come for me, and when you do, it's gonna happen again." you whine, and she chuckles lowly in response. "and again. until i fucking decide that you've finally understood how to listen to fucking orders."you stare up at her with wide eyes when she pulls her face back slightly, and nat's grin only widens further. "and we both know you have a hard time following orders." her fingers find that one spot, and you swear you see stars—"so i think it's gonna be a long night."

[iwaasfairy]

Sooooo…. guess whose selfship came home haHAHAHAHHAHHDGF im skirting back to the ol’ me skirt skirt

[glacierclear]

So actually, Chloe *was* originally supposed to be in LiS 2. In fact I'd guess the whole original concept was written around it. It's a game about simultaneously existing in freaking dual timelines, of *course* it was meant to be grappling with the first game's choice! And there's a fascinating layer where by choosing which timeline to start in you'd get a radically different emotional perspective on the story from Max.

However the situation with Chloe's VA(s) was a *clusterfuck*. The first VA is union and wouldn't work with them on the prequel during a strike, so they hired a scab, and then that hideously complexified things during LiS 2 because the union threatened action if they hired the scab and they refused to pay the original VA enough to reprise her role and pay the union a penalty for scabbing her as well.

And then to top it off apparently the project lead (despised by the game team, total creep, driven off the project after a huge effort by the team only to be rehired as head of a "consulting team" which took over the project) apparently hated Chloe as a character and used the VA bullshit to write her out.

that's WILDDDDD.

wow. is the scab you're referring to the VA who voices Chloe in Before the Storm?

also all this would just be avoided if voice actors were paid fairly but ALAS!!!!

anyways. is this confirmation that double exposure isn't canon? cuz that's what i'm hearing /lh

[starredforlife]

obligatory butchtober post ig !!!

[hotwife-fling]

[that-chaoticace]

[bloopitynoot]

Reading TGCF: Chapter 82

For those who don't know, I am reading TGCF for the first time and sharing my thoughts!

If you have not read it, there will be spoilers! Consider this a warning.

Also- if you want to follow along, I am aiming to post updates daily. You can find all the posts in the tag Bloopitynoot reads TGCF. You can also check out the intro post for context on my read BUT if you followed along with my SVSSS read, the rules and vibe are the same.

A cozy Wednesday deserves a cozy masala chai.

Today I had a half day of work as we took Charlie to the specialist for his check up. He got some blood work done (we'll know the results in a couple days) and a physical exam.

They said he looks a LOT better! His weight is up and he is less yellow (it will take a while for this to cycle out). So good signs so far, fingers crossed the blood work turns out well too.

Let's go chapter 82!!

Xie Lian's response to the blood rain turned flowers being "How fun!" fundamentally shifted my soul. If there isn't a mafia au out there...(Murder husbands) p213

Oo! What is the history between Hua Cheng and the Brocade Immortal?? Why is it so chill with Hua Cheng? p214

wtf? The mural just disappeared? p215

Instead of a swear jar, Pei Ming needs a womanizing/objectification jar. Here we go again with him being gross. p216

Weird for this temple to be in the middle of the road. I agree- ominous. pp218-219

What an inauspicious mural to have in a temple. Horrifying. p221

The mountains move too? I thought it was illusory not literal! p223

Art- stunning! p224

Dang, Pei Ming is literally holding two mountains apart p227

I feel like it's been thee chapters in a row with Xie Lian digging holes LOL. This guy just loves burrowing. p228

Xie Lian (see's someone with an average face): Fake as fuck for sure. p231

Though I do want to know how they got the earth master's shovel. p231

Oh! We finally get to know who the other banished official is; Yin Yu! p232

I also don't believe Hua Cheng just found that shovel on the ground... p233

Pei Ming out here even objectifying rotted bones. Why. Why does he even have an interest in corpses. p236

What are the odds that they ended up digging into a cave in the mountain they were avoiding. p239

omg. And they've (Hua Cheng and Xie Lian) lost everyone. p240

I still have 0 idea what's going to happen next

We have moving mountains, a plot between Hua Cheng and the Brocade Immortal, and now a temple prophecy/mystery/tragedy??? Y'all weren't lying when you said this book would be a trip.

[srldesigns6277]

Ya know it's wild to live in a world where fucking Andrew Tate called Louis Tomlinson the f slur while trying to insult some random Twitter user who was upset over the US election results. 🙃

[m3tth4ws]

[melodyofthevoid]

The Crane Wives: Beyond, Beyond, Beyond

(The finale, for now. Hard to believe that I've been working on these for almost 2 years. Anyways, enjoy)

Now we arrive at the threshold, album five. The first studio album in nearly a decade, and a testament to all that came before and between. Themed and defined by change in all its forms. The lack of, the desire for, the consequences in both its wake and absence. The price of moving forward and the price of standing still. Even the sound isn’t immune, with the newer tones and style developed over the singles shown off in solos that range from electric to more traditional. Some songs challenge ones from years past, others a continuation, but all part of an ongoing conversation that ends with resolve. A desire to cross through. 

The question is, will you follow through the looking glass?

Scars

How did this happen? It’s a question that comes naturally whether or not there’s truly a reason. Why am I like this? The eternal feud of nature vs nurture, whether the tangled mess of anger and bitter emotions stemmed from a single event or bloom from somewhere within. If the well was poisoned before the symptoms started to show. 

And does the source even know that they left the poison to begin with? 

The first few chords warp those of another song, a crooning cry from a parent who’s severed the ties and left the singer adrift. Their mournful tone twisted and distorted until it turns into the sharp twangs of a guitar, heavy footfalls that drive the song forward. A tired trudge burdened and haunted. 

The singer is not who they thought they were. The refrain that carries over and over again- starting each train of thought. They’re struggling to keep their head above water, aching in a way they’ve always known. Born to in a storm that left them with a piece of itself forever. The anguish hereditary. Or maybe there’s another reason. The effect is still the same. This misery is a constant companion, 

Ruefully they acknowledge all of the effort put towards them, the love and kindness, plans made with all good intentions to guide them towards a brighter and better future. Futile efforts made to no avail. They watched as they failed time and time again, trying to cross the gap to understand where the singer was and give a way forward, but a bridge constructed from only one side is doomed to fail. Letting that hard work near them risked vulnerability and letting the other close. 

And how could they let them close to who they are? Broken in some fundamental way from the beginning. Destined to fail and shatter leaving them scarred, to signal to the outside what was wrong within. 

Then the subject switches from those who’d tried to help, to the origin of their suffering. The piece is a companion to “Never Love an Anchor”, and the one left behind sees only the abandonment, the fact they weren’t enough to stay for. The anguish their parent felt at their personal failings and inability to care for the singer now passed on, a wound to their ego. A tire fire, caustic and toxic that refuses to be put out. 

They were meant to fall apart, to wind up with scars. 

Because isn’t it easier if there weren’t any other options? If this flaw sabotaged all of the work put in and rendered it all futile? Then there’s no fault, no blame to be laid. An easy surrender to the inevitable.

The question is will they continue to live like this. To allow the scars to fester, or seek out a balm despite the pain. For now, they accept their fate as the music cuts all at once. 

Bitter Medicine

Hard truths go down easier with a bit of sugar, you catch more flies with honey, axioms to explain the act. Of using a veil to cover up the unpleasant parts of life. Without it what’s left? Just the ugly, twisted, reality of it all. Sometimes it’s all you have. And it’s stifling. 

The singer looks at where they are. Wasted, inebriated either in a literal or metaphorical sense. Unable to be trusted to take themselves home or to drive their own life. A pathetic state of affairs, one they’re all too aware of. It’s the bed they’ve made for themselves, the consequences of their actions they accept with a blithe and self-effacing smile. They wonder how the one they love sees them. If they’re ashamed or if the front they’ve put on until now. A cheap imitation of some “better” person that isn’t long for this world. 

They could be worse, so much worse. Poison sits on their tongue and they swallow and bite it all back to keep it inside. The toxicity accumulates in their body and slowly kills them inside as it has nowhere else to go. No one else deserves it, to know how corroded and hollow they are on the inside. They’re sick, but they can’t let anyone in. They’ll play the part of everything they’re not in hopes it distracts and entertains but it’s hurting them just as much as the rest. 

And if someone sees through it, what then? Can look past the facade? The singer both yearns for it and fears it in turn. They need someone to clean up the mess around them, the mess they’re unable to touch. The accumulation of a thousand small cuts bleeding out into a river. Each on their own barely noticeable but together they build upon each other. 

Accepting an offered hand is another question in and of itself. Do they deserve it? Is it a gift given or is it taken? Someone’s else’s good intentions wasted on their act, for their own faults. It’d be a waste on them, and so they continue on as they were. Suffering in their own skin and hiding behind the mask that chokes them. 

In another life, they’d let it all go, but this isn’t that life. The singer’s convinced this is all there is. Convinced that their arsenic laced words are medicine. The truth. But they’ve decided that it is. 

And so it is.

Higher Ground

When you’re lost in the midst of an upheaval, when the earth itself is turning on its head, sometimes the only option, the only means of survival, is to go, to remove oneself from the situation. But there are things left behind, an impact not intended. A decision that can be as consequential as the event itself. 

Such is the singer’s predicament. They’re trying to look out ahead, but they can’t see the horizon, can’t see beyond today. Higher ground could give them a better view, a larger picture and save them, but there’s a cost to that choice. A domino effect is spiraling out after they spoke their mind, let go of the truth. What’s done can’t be undone and now everything is changing, shifting. What once was close drifts apart, what once was parted clashes, titanic shifting of tectonic plates. Inexorable forces that leave nothing untouched. 

And nothing undamaged. Someone’s going to get caught up, hurt. Once they come down they’ll see the full extent of it all and that terrifies them. But again, it’s out of their hands.  

Every warning sign is flaring, ravens and crows are heralding incoming danger. A predator. A threat to everything in sight. But with all that they’ve set into motion, is the warning for them? Or about them? This wasn’t the plan, not to hurt anyone, not to change everything, but they won’t know for sure. Not until the dust settles and they stand above it all. 

They’ve survived, at least. 

Predator

When every shadow becomes a claw, every smile hides a threat, the world becomes an endless hall of mirrors, reflecting back all of one’s fears. Nowhere is safe, not when you’re the world’s prey. 

“What’s the worst thing that could happen?” The rhetorical question, that to the anxious, isn’t rhetorical in the least. It’s the risk they measure the outside against, the guide to all actions. If they can imagine the worst possible outcome then it can be prepared for, warded against. Because disaster will come, inevitably. Staying on guard at all times, lest their comfort come at the cost of their safety (even if the sky is not falling, it’s easy to panic at every little crack. Perhaps they’re too prepared.) 

When it hits, as it always does, it’s their own fault. They know better. They let in a predator, lowered their walls and their guard to someone who, not for the first time, left them wounded and vulnerable. Signs were missed that they’d seen before, a lesson they should have learned the hard way but failed to truly comprehend. So it’ll happen again. 

Regardless of the fact that someone else took those actions. It’s their fault. It has to be. 

To the prey animal, confrontation is to be avoided at all costs, so the response to danger is to fawn. Follow the path of least resistance and never put up a fight. If there’s a problem, it’s probably their own misinterpretation of the situation, because… If they say no, if they push back, there could be consequences. They could get hurt, cut by sharp teeth and sharper words. 

But there’s only so much that someone can put up with and stand before it’s too much. Gaslighting finally igniting a spark of resistance. They’re already struggling to breathe, struggling with the constant anxiety and fear and this? They don’t need this too. What if they didn’t have to live like this anymore, and they finally said no? 

And at last they confront at least one of their fears. Calling out their treatment, the fact they’ve been used. Trying to better this person, hoping that they’ll see the harm they’re causing on their own, they’ve done it a hundred times and it’s never happened. They keep getting hurt. The predator can’t see the blood on their teeth, doesn’t know their own strength, the bodies in their wake.

But no, not this time. 

Say It

No one wants to be the first to leave. The first to sever ties. Admit defeat. Even in spite of years of change, of what once was withering on the vine, sometimes there’s still hope that the garden can recover, however impossible and slim. A loyal dog that waits, tied to a post, for an owner that won’t come back. Because what if it goes back to the way it used to be? That honeymoon phase where everything blossomed and bloomed. But it won’t. 

The singer wonders where it went wrong? Staring at the person they once considered so close and begging for an answer. Was it them? Was the reality of their personality, their flaws, too much to bear? Erasing the idealized version that their partner once held of them? Were they, are they disappointing to know truly? 

Without an answer, they demand a different one: tell them it’s done. Let them out. Let them stop hoping for a spark to rekindle the flame of passion. Otherwise they’ll remain there in the dark. Pining for better times. 

Because once upon a time their lover gave them everything. Provided a haven and home. A gentle hand that wiped away their tears and pulled back their layers. All of those memories of warmth against the bitter cold of the present call into doubt their sincerity. Did they really care before? Was it all pretend? 

Would it be better if it was? 

The guillotine hangs over their head, a blade that could sever and end their suffering but instead hovers. A reminder that it could end at any point but won’t. They wait dutifully, a dog who can’t help but take what they’re given. Loyal and faithful even when that love and devotion isn’t returned. 

But if it was real once, they would do it over again. Wouldn’t they? Or would the one the singer holds so dear choose to avoid their relationship altogether. To alter their paths so that they never met. Have things fallen apart to where it was never worth it in the first place? Is the thought of what they’ve become so toxic, so tainted, that they'd give up whatever good came of it to spare themselves?

The question lingers, and so the singer does nothing but wait, too afraid to take the first step. 

Waiting for them to say it. 

Mad Dog

A fruitless pursuit, an endless chase, the eternal drive to reach for that promised oasis shimmering just beyond the horizon a few steps away. There is no exit condition when a paycheck is all that stands between you and losing it all. Enter the workforce at 18 (or younger), keep working until you’re 72 (or older), then you can maybe lie down. Can’t grind yourself to the bone too early, can’t run out of steam yet. If just a little more money is made, a few more spare coins stuffed away for later, maybe it’ll resemble happiness. 

The singer’s blinders keep them on the same track they’ve always known, striving to achieve when all it’s done is lead them further and further from home. Tunnel visioned and yet it’s never in reach. No matter how far they run. How hard they work. 

But no one else is keeping their bills paid, no one else is going to make them a millionaire, so they keep repeating and repeating. Hoping that they’ll get an answer back that isn’t the same as before. 

Thus, the chase continues, a dog chained to a post snapping after a rabbit it can never catch. Running, and running, and running, yet forever tied to the same spot. Once that leash runs out of room the retaliation snaps back with a vengeance. Punishing the hound for stepping out of its role and putting it “where it belongs”. Daring to yearn for more cannot be tolerated.

As if the empty race weren’t enough, there’s debt to be paid too. A rock burdening every step, forcing those bound to it to step lightly. Any misstep could spell disaster, drop the guillotine, it’s a constant tightrope cutting into their feet. And it’d be easier if someone else, anyone else, could choose which way to go. To give a direction that won’t lead to disaster. To take that burden off their shoulders. 

Because water’s coming in, the debt’s getting worse, and they’re going to go down. The shore’s visible, it’s there, there’s something beyond the current situation, but it’s not getting any closer.

Whatever hope there is, it’s almost manic. The only thing keeping them afloat. Maybe they’ll get lucky and strike it rich, maybe they can make this paycheck go a little further. But there’s no support, no one to wipe their tears, keep them from teetering off of the edge. 

So the race continues. The pull and snap, the desperate clawing up the hill until Sisyphus’ boulder falls back down again. Stuck in a cycle out of their control. 

At least until they can find the one that chains them. They may not catch the rabbit, but they can bite a hand.

Arcturus Beaming

There’s something special about that moment at rock bottom. Not in the state of it, the despair, the agony, no. There’s something about that moment when it changes. Changes from an endlessly growing pit to… simply the bottom. A moment in time where suddenly the perspective shifts and now there’s a way out and up, a perspective changed by a sight once taken for granted. Maybe it’s the leaves changing in the fall, the sound of people laughing and talking in a cafe. A favorite drink you want to have again. 

Or maybe, it’s the sky. That shimmering tapestry. Dotted with a trillion points of light (should you live far enough away from any pollution to see it) it has served as an inspiration for so many. Ever changing and yet… always there. 

Arcturus glimmers as the 4th brightest star in the solar system, visible during summer in the northern hemisphere. Visible to those even in more light polluted areas, reminding them that there’s more out there than the limited vision of the pit.

The singer begins there, thanking that dark place, where despair threatened to ravage them. They hid from the world there, sheltering to wallow in their pain as it became all they could see for a time. It shrunk their view of what could be, leaving a feat that seems all but impossible. Plato describes a scenario in which a prisoner lives their entire life within a cave like the singer’s own, shown only shadows of objects. Those simulations as their only context, all that they know. But the singer is curious, and that fear can only hold them for so long. They may understand the cave, the pain, but what else is there? 

Hurt accumulates over time, sediment that solidifies into a weight that’s carried wherever one goes. It can be an impossible challenge to free oneself of it, to breathe easy after lifting that stone for years. One’s ribs aching from the strain. But stone is not permanent. Not invulnerable. A steady drip of water can erode, a river can carve a canyon so impossibly wide it’s visible from beyond our atmosphere. Those layers, both easily added, can also be worn away. Leaving something new in its wake. 

That time spent has a cost, of course. Dreams left abandoned, relationships broken, so many avenues that could have been simply… gone. That grief will linger, and that’s alright. But what exists beyond that? What happens when we look up and dream? 

Beyond what we know, beyond what we understand, are there others who look at our sun and wonder? Beyond ourselves are there others crawling out of their caves and seeing more. Maybe we could all dream more

It’s not too late to do something once the revelation hits. To forfeit is the only ending, when we resign ourselves to suffering. But that’s not all life is, it can be changed. We just have to do it. Have to take the steps to push past the indulgent self-flagellation of the cave, and resolve to keep moving. 

This experience rings true for myself. I found I’d dug into a mindset where I feared so much. The future, stagnation, the impossibility of becoming anything other than what I was. Littered with the half started remains of failures, hesitant half starts cushioned by a numb resignation. Couldn’t be disappointed if I never hoped. Cycles of self defeat. Overwhelmed, I laid on the deck outside and stared up into the same sky that inspired this song. Clear inky darkness pinpointed by a million specks of light. I laid there for some time, the same music I’ve detailed in these pages my only companion to a realization that felt so obvious in hindsight and yet I… I needed to come to the conclusion myself.

I can start again. 

It doesn’t matter if I’ve tried a hundred times and the patterns didn’t stick. I can try again. Old behaviors, failed coping mechanisms, they can rear their ugly heads but there is tomorrow. There is a future that I can find. A me I can guide with new tools if the old ones don’t serve me. It may take time, it may hurt. But that’s my decision to make. 

Nothing will change until I change. And we can. 

Time Will Change You

The constant, the inevitable, the sensation of sand slipping through fingers and waves wearing down a shore. A metronomic beat follows the sound of a rusted hinge, thudding footsteps from a never ending march that never relents even as a guitar twangs above it. A companion in the flow. 

The singer too is dragged along with it, pulled along as they almost gasp out the words. It hurts, some part deep inside them finally gave way and broke. It aches and it won’t end- They’ve loved and lost, planted the remains of their heart into a grave, a seed watered by their grief that may or may not bear fruit again. 

And yet there is a twisted comfort on the horizon. Time will continue as it always does, seasons will pass, and with it, things change. For better or worse the singer will change. Everyone will change, and as they do they’ll leave behind what remains stagnant. Phases and traits that once defined are now locked in amber. No longer a part of the present. 

Time doesn’t affect all equally, there is no system that doles out appropriate fates, some can swim and survive the current while others are subsumed entirely. The rush overwhelming in the moment, and it’s impossible to tell which way is up. But the tide will ease, nothing is forever, good or ill. Relax, let time move you and you’ll float along it. 

And you’ll be changed. Like the stone smoothed by a river, edges worn away, the place you once rested, now far in the past. 

And letting go takes effort, make no mistake. Healing even more so. If the grief never grows, doesn’t evolve, doesn’t become more than what was put there before, then it can stay where it is. Left to fade into nothing more than memory. A step along the winding path to the end. 

The journey no one leaves the same.  

Black Hole Fantasy

The concept of a black hole needs no explanation nor introduction. The complete and total collapse of a star, pulling in all light and substance. The basis of many a metaphor for endless hunger, destruction. The end of all things. Yet- they’re often theorized to contain more. Maybe the end of one thing could lead to somewhere else entirely. 

For her part, the singer finds herself stuck in place, whether by some inexorable gravity or circumstance. Repeating the same orbit, going through the motions of life and losing sense of herself. If there’s more to living, a chance or opportunity for a different path, it’s fading from view. The longer one stays complacent, the harder it becomes to move. To find that missing piece that their soul longs for, but doesn’t have the words for. 

Every day blends into the next, the walls of their home becoming smaller as their world shrinks. At the center lies the Black Hole, the gnawing yearning, the pit of absence that they’re ignoring. Hoping it will go away, but it won’t. Ignoring hunger won’t fix a want of food, pretending not to hear a leak won’t prevent the damage. 

And they know what they’re yearning for, or rather- who. But it’s- surely it’s nothing. Nothing more than a chemical reaction, serotonin and oxytocin playing tricks on her. It’d be easier if she could suppress it. She doesn’t know if it’s real, and so what if it is? Confessing, taking a chance… There’s a cost. The foundations she’d build could all crumble to ashes. 

That is if the hole in their chest doesn’t collapse it all first, the time lost to routine is getting longer, time speeding by even faster, with whole weeks passing in an indistinct mass. 

So she goes to confront it head on, driving to confess on the doorstep. But then she stops. What happens next. What happens if it all goes wrong? What if they lose them forever? What if they don’t feel the same? How could they feel the same. The singer doesn’t believe in a happy ending, frankly. Why would any dream of theirs have one? Even in the best case there’s so much that could go wrong that it’d be safer to leave the car running. To leave. Retreat back into themselves where they won’t get hurt. 

But the world keeps crumbling in around them, their room is suffocating, as they’re consumed by the limitations they’ve put in place. Months, years, what does any of it even mean? None of it means anything… and the temptation to look into the black hole finally wins out. 

Instead of a small, enclosed world, there’s more on the other side. She catches a glimpse of herself and there’s light in her eyes, laughter on her lips, and- is she even capable of that? Could she be? Can she find what could bring that life, that joy, that love- 

No, she does know. 

Stars shining above, the singer returns to the dream she shows away from once. But this time she’s turning off the car. This is what she wants. Throwing away the keys and the fear and running up to the door. And it opens. Their love is there and every doubt is gone as arms reach out for her. 

Wrapped in an embrace, the singer can finally catch her breath, and when she pulls back, she smiles. Laughing at how complicated she made this simple moment. Maybe she wasn’t alone in that, as her love joins her. They were waiting on the other side of the door, after all. Twin stars pulled into each other’s gravity, destroying what was before and starting something new. 

Gentle guitar replaces the singer as she walks towards her new life, no longer bound to what was. Closing the scene, rolling credits. 

Red Clay

Work harder, just put more effort into it, the struggle makes it worth it, nose to the grindstone, phrases that are ingrained into the zeitgeist. The more pain experienced, the better the outcome. 

Right? 

An endless climb up a clay mountain, never fully able to get a grip, a Sisyphean struggle that feels like reality. With the Sun beating down, the top never coming closer, the question occurs: what is this for? Why keep pursuing this path that’s only lead to more suffering? Suffering that’s self inflicted no less. 

That one pause is all it takes to break through the tunnel vision, for the singer to take in all of their surroundings. Another path, shaded and just within reach was there all along. They don’t need to do this “the hard way”. It may be all they’d known, but they can see beyond that mound now. 

Their struggle wasn’t for naught, they were afraid for many years, yes. But they understand their fear now, they can be brave, even with that fear. They don’t have to keep on this path. 

The shaded trees beacon. 

River Rushing

Something finally gave. The frustration mounting day by day, it’s too much. Dammed up and now the singer’s had enough. They’re breaking down the walls, the barriers, everything that keeps them crushed under the weight of their regrets. They’re going to change. To let loose their desires and follow the river. 

The singer craves freedom, the person they once were buried under layers of concrete and expectations. If they hold onto these regrets, all the grief of time wasted, then they’ll never grow. Beneath every thought is the phrase they know is true: that there’s no shortcuts here. The only way out is through, charging ahead no matter what. 

Maybe they hesitated before, waited too long and lost something. Someone. But a voice reassures them to hold themselves steady. To go when they’re ready. Because they are ready now. 

Just believing that everything will work out kept them in place, they’re full of defiance, they have bite, a voice that demands to be heard. They’re going to pry the hand around their throat off once and for all. They’ve set their mind to it. 

They’re ready to go beyond. 

[theperksofbeingstupid]

idk if u guys remember , it was a p long time ago but like.. there was this guy yeah? a streamer and he would like. go live right. roughly at 17hr utc-4 but usually later right. and . and he would play games (terrible no good horror games) and talk to his chat. it was awesome. idk if u guys know him tho his name was cellbit? its been a while

[ananke-xiii]

cackling because I just saw a tiktok talking about hannibal, the cattle prod and the masons and one person replied with a "OMG I thought this show was JUST about cannibalism".

realest comment ever. to this day knowing that hannibal actually aired on tv is still so wild.

[reality-detective]

Welcome to February Everyone!!!

The month of love! 💜

Are we ready for SHIT TO BE LIT¿? 🤔

[firewasabeast]

my bucktommy breakup story is that I ended up taking a whole month off from the gym after being consistent for over a year with it. lmao I just couldn’t do it. I was TOO SAD.

I didn’t eat a full meal for 2 days, and didn’t sleep well either 😭 and in a fit of rage I deleted the tumblr app from my phone at like 5pm on Friday and then redownloaded it at 8am the next day because I had too many things to rant about 🤣

Ohhh and I also said I didn’t know if I’d ever write again LMAOOOOOOOOO

[twosomeofcuteness]

Imagine how many times Sutekh had to watch River and the Doctor flirt. Or make out. Or have sex. Cause with the two of them being, well, them, I'm betting there were numerous times they never made it in the Tardis before taking clothes off.