#but i was thinking of how horrific that is and how they did not give a signle shit about rape victims' well-being

[shehungers]

this stupid ass site has already eaten my feedback on this once, I do not have it in me to write it all out again, but I'll basically summarize the gist of everything.

overall, this was absolutely phenomenal as far as dark content and dead dove goes. one thing that I love more than those is cannibalism as a metaphor for love—and, man did you fucking deliver on that front!!

my only true constructive feedback that I recommend you go forward with is formatting. writers like us rely heavily on our prose and details for storytelling as opposed to heavy dialogue like others do. in doing that, we often create these massive paragraphs that can come across as enormous, tedious bricks of text that ultimately become too daunting and distracting for readers.

for writers like us, the devil is in the details and our details are the heart and soul of our work. the things we say in them and the language we utilize tend to do most of the heavy lifting. knowing that, it's important to break down your paragraphs for readability and for impact.

a good example off the top of my head w/o going back through the fic is the paragraph where mc and Jonathon meet—exchange a simple pleasantry. I think that entire paragraph could've been broken down a bit to get your point across clearer.

other than that, though I don't have much I can offer you in way of constructive feedback because I think you did a spectacular job!!

one area where I think you really shined the most was with Jonathon's characterization. I don't know much about him, but with how he was written, I could be convinced that you stayed loyal to his canon personality and did it justice. his thoughts, his actions, his madness, his fear, his love all felt so enormously authentic to the story that you were writing that it just felt right, and like he belonged there, y'know?

I think a little snippet where you mostly perfectly portrayed him (to my understanding), really utilized language to give a cohesive picture of his thoughts and feelings and inner workings was here:

—here you can see his analytical side at work, mentioning constricting the blood flow to the brain and mc being ruled by secondary emotions. he is very much trying to rationalize what he's doing, despite how utterly batshit it is to us readers who know better. the fact that he calls it "a mercy" is batshit bonkers and I LOVE IT.

a couple other really good examples of this were the lobotomy scene (which I'll round back to) and how he's convinced what he's doing is the consequence of love and that it's what needed to be done, and at the ending where he's spersed mc's remains out across places that had meaning to them. like, SIR, you're kinda fucking insane in the worst way 💀

a hallmark of effective writing imo is when something can really get to me, really make me squirm and your lobotomy scene did that for me. as someone who writes DC/dead dove, it takes a bit to unsettle, but the language and descriptions that you used for that scene were so fucking visceral, graphic, and horrific that it had me wriggling around and making faces. It was highly impactful writing, gloriously hideous and fucked up, yet you could still fully envision crane's shaking hands and that slipup where the pick went into the brain.

moving on:

—I don't think you could've really described his interpretation of what love looked like to him better than this. It's cruel, ugly, disgusting in what he's doing and how he's thinking, but him regarding all of it softly and tenderly is apeshit wild. the entire cannibalism scene, I felt, stayed true to the idea that "cannibalism is a metaphor for love" with that hunger bringing people as close to one another as they could possibly ever be.

I think the last scene, where he's digging holes to dump MC's remains and he's regarding them all with fondness is wild as well, bc throughout the oneshot, nowhere is mentioned that he's doing things out of fear of being caught (that he confesses to)—but it's more just keep mc for himself. even in the end, it's said he's doing it bc that's what mc would've wanted, to be buried in their favorite places.

Eating the molar at the end was fucking crazy and I am so here for it.

The last thing I have to comment on was actually a paragraph at the beginning of the fic, which I think is perfectly encapsulated foreshadowing, while also divulging the extent of crane's darkness:

The imagery of this is off the walls crazy, simultaneously terrifying but beautiful. demented but entirely intimate. It's probably one of my favorite bits from your fic! I think this was positively exquisite!!

all in all, this was such a remarkable fic, moth! I can see how much it means to you and the effort that you put into it. from beginning to end, it shows that. I think you should be proud of what you achieved with this, because I'll be thinking about this fic for a while now. the powerful language, the visuals, how visceral it all was???? FANTASTIC!!!! 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

If There's No End

Pairing | Jonathan Crane x Reader

Warnings | DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT!!! MAJOR CHARACTER DE*TH – Reader d*es! ANGST, HURT, NO COMFORT, CANN*BALISM, do NOT read if any of this feels too uncomfortable!! Jon is very, very delusional in this, drugging, lobotomy, established relationship, again - CANN*BALISM. (tumblr wants me to censor this :'] )

Summary | Jonathan reminisces about your shared life and the day you found out his secret.

Words | 2.7k

Notes | Don’t yell at me for this, you’ve been warned! Not proofread, please don’t beat me up.

@kiss-me-cill-me welp, this is the cannibalism fic lmao bon appetit

Jonathan never thought he’d know guilt. But now that he’s hunched over on his knees, digging through the mud with trembling hands, he suspects that this might be it. His vision is still blurry. Has been for the past few hours. The tears have turned his world into a faded, abstract mess, like a child’s chalk drawings that are in the middle of being washed away by the rain. If it had been anyone else, he would have settled for the large dump of hazardous waste behind ACE Chemicals. But not in this case. Never in this case.

Jonathan never thought he’d grow to respect another person, but you crashed into his life with an earth-shattering intensity that nearly made his knees give out as soon as you turned to greet him. Hi. Two letters, one syllable. And it affected him in such a profound way that his ears still burn at the memory. Even during that first fleeting conversation, he felt as if the edges of his person began to become cloudy. Desperate to merge with yours until there was no end and no beginning to the two of you as separate people. Until flesh and bone and viscera were a shared commodity between him and you. A fever dream with the appropriate symptoms. Some nights he woke from a beautiful dream, a fantasy in which the two of you were irrevocably merged into one being. And on those nights, hot tears of disappointment and anger burned so harshly on his cheeks that he expected his sheets to sizzle where the drops fell.

It was love. It had to be. And when the universe finally relented to the prayers and wishes he whispered until his throat became hoarse, his life exploded with color. Fleeting glances and coy small talk managed to bloom into something more, something deeper and more intimate than Jonathan’s analytical vocabulary could ever fully explain. You loved him in a way that was entirely foreign to him. Unconditional and patient. You just… got him. Without even trying to. Your gaze traveled past skin and ribs down to his very heart and soul, and you didn’t turn away. But you didn’t know everything back then. How could you? He was so secretive about everything involving his studies. Sometimes, he couldn’t resist the temptation of monologuing about fear and its shackles on humanity. But that was all he was willing to share with you. He granted you a microscopic detail of the true extend of his passion. A laughably small excerpt of his obsession.

Jonathan never thought he’d know love. But you proved him wrong with every smile, every whisper of praise, every tender touch upon his skin.

He knows how cliché it is to claim that settling down with someone never occurred to him before he met you, but it's the truth. In a life that was filled with hurt and contempt, you were the first to take a chance on him. Undeterred by his sometimes standoffish nature and cold attitude, you pressed onwards until he cracked, revealing the mush that you've managed to melt him into.

A future with you was worth everything he had endured up to that point. The plan was to graduate, find jobs and get hitched immediately. He wanted to put his last name on you, give you a part of himself that you would take wherever you went.

The first two steps were already completed with him getting a PhD and a professorship, that he quickly lost again, somewhere in the middle. Aside from a few mishaps and arguments about his attitude towards his patients at Arkham, all seemed right in paradise.

Often, the two of you would lie awake at night, talking about your future while you played with his fingers. "I'd like to get married in Spring," you said. And he just nodded, already imagining your bright smile when he'd put the ring on your finger. On those nights, the urge to become one often overtook him, and he rolled on top of you to devour you in a different way. In hindsight, he should've told you. Given you a chance to see the true extend of his rotten soul. You already knew so much about him, yet you still wanted a life with him. You often said how much you craved the mundane with him. Lazy Sunday mornings, standing in line to get groceries, gossiping about your neighbors in the quiet part in the outskirts Gotham City that you wanted to move to. He should've told you about the toxin he keeps stashed away in his office, no more than 15 feet behind the pillow you rested your pretty head on.

He didn't dare to think about what could've been. No, he made the right decision. Surely.

He still remembers your wide eyes. The way the color vanished from your complexion as you turned towards him with his mask in your hands. He remembers how wrong the burlap looked, crushed between your beautiful fingers. You asked him to explain, even though you were already tearing up just by looking at him. Jonathan was always convinced that he could read you like a book, but in that moment, he doubted himself. And he panicked. From one second to the next, he lunged at you, putting you into a headlock that constricted the blood flow to your brain, and you wheezed and wailed for him to stop, but he couldn’t. If he let go, you’d let yourself be ruled by secondary emotions. Emotions like betrayal and heartbreak that threatened to overshadow the deep, deep love you felt for him. It was an act of mercy for both of you. So, he held you until your struggling stopped, and your consciousness slipped away. It always takes longer in real life than in the movies. And he cried with you. God, did he cry, soaking your hair with his tears as he choked you into a blackout.  

You were out for ten minutes. Ten agonizing minutes which he used to prepare for what needed to be done. Your happiness was his happiness, so he had to do something to take your mind off of the situation. Or any situation for that matter. He has never done this before, but the thought of desperate measures during desperate times, didn’t give him the opportunity to hesitate. A local anesthetic and a muscle relaxant would suffice, he decided as he rushed to gather the equipment. By the time you came to, he was already straddling your torso, leaning over you with fresh tears in his eyes. As you began to silently panic, Jonathan was quick to try and shush you. Oh, how it hurt him more than it hurt you. The lobotomy set was a Christmas gift from you. A tongue-in-cheek nod to the history of the profession he chose. It was fate. It had to be.

The tip of the ice pick-like instrument felt cold against your eye socket, and he clenched his teeth at the shiver that ran down your spine. His hands were violently shaking already, and your involuntary movements didn’t make it any better.

“Shh… shh… don’t move, angel… It’ll… it’ll be so quick, I promise.”

Another sob wrecked through his body as he lifted the delicate metal hammer.

“You need to try and sing for me, okay? Or hum. Or anything. I need… I need to know when it’s deep enough. Just try, angel. Just try, okay?”

Jonathan’s voice was as shaky as the grip on the instruments. But by God, he had to do this. He had to keep you by his side. His other half, his future, his everything. The vessel of every passion and love he poured into you. You just stared up at him through watery eyes, unable to open your mouth anymore, so you settled for humming. It was a nonsensical melody, a mish-mash of several nursery rhymes without a title. The first strike of the hammer against the orbitoclast caused an incredible pressure to spread in your skull, and black spots settled in your vision as the tip of the instrument breached bone. The crack was nauseating, but you couldn’t even struggle. Jonathan’s breathing became heavy, and he wheezed out a sob that sounded like it came from a dying animal when he saw the blood that began to fill your eye. But he had to continue.

“Just like that. Just like that, angel.”

With trembling hands, he prepared himself for the second strike, but he underestimated the adrenaline that his blackened heart was pumping through his veins. Something went wrong, his sweaty hands slipped off the equipment, skewing the angle of the pick when he hit it. And he hit it hard. Immediately, your humming stopped and turned into stuttered noises. A bead of clear fluid dripped from your nose, rolling down over your lips. This wasn’t blood.

The crushing realization that he messed up caused Jonathan to freeze entirely. Cerebrospinal fluid was leaking out of your nose at a quick rate, sending him into a blind panic. He tried to pull the pick from your eye, causing even more damage to your precious brain. A brain that was meant to love, not hurt. But here you are, wasting away before his very eyes. You’re suffering beneath him like a bird that hit a window in a curious attempt to explore. And you did explore.

Back in his childhood, he once found an injured crow in the shade of the family house. The poor thing was twitching and bleeding, much like you are now. Jonathan remembered the crushing emotions that he felt when he looked at the animal. And he also remembered the feeling when his grandmother put it out of its misery by crushing the crow’s head under her shoe like it was nothing. Like it was nothing. You weren’t nothing, but you still deserved that brand of mercy.

He doesn’t remember how he did it. Whether he wrapped his hands around your throat or injected you with enough muscle relaxant to put you down. In fact, he doesn’t remember much of the first night of complete silence. When he emerged from the blur, his throat felt raw from sobbing, and his eyes were swollen and red. He had left the room that contained your body immediately, fearing that he’d catch fire from stepping into a place that had been consecrated by the death of an angel. Eventually, after he had bitten his lips bloody and used up every tear in his eyes, he dared to face you again. And God, were you still so beautiful. And as ashamed as he was for thinking this way, there was also a positive to this. A big one at that. You would always be his. No one else would ever get the privilege of seeing your eyes or hearing your voice again. You truly belonged to him in every way. And as he stepped over to kneel besides your body and take your hand in his, he actually smiled. It was just the two of you. Like you always planned.

It was a grueling process. To strip skin from flesh, and flesh from bone. But he was patient. Patient in the same way that you were with him. Patient in a tender, saccharine way that made his insides squirm as if he was infested by maggots. But the only parasite inside of him was love. That's how it works, right? You can never truly get rid of it.

Once the bones were clean, he had to step back for a while. The impending loneliness made him stumble into the bathroom to vomit into the toiled bowl. For a good 30 minutes, he sat there. Doubled over and white-knuckling the porcelain. There was no disgust involved. Just fear. God, he was terrified of being alone again. Terrified of truly losing the one thing he couldn't breathe without. And as he sat there, heaving like a dog, he found a solution.

He ate your heart first.

Every bite, every mashing of teeth against teeth was an act of love. He had to pause a few times, chuckling at himself for his choice. How cheesy it was to go for the heart first. But how could he not? Even Jonathan wasn't immune to symbolism. It wasn't about taste or texture. It was about the growing sensation of having his stomach filled. Of having his hunger satiated by forming an everlasting connection with you. You would never be wearing his wedding ring, but you'd be with him forever in a different way. You'd be his until the day that he died. And even then, he hoped, your spirits would be so entangled that there was no way of separating the two of you. Maybe you'll get reincarnated as one soul together.

Over the course of three weeks, he forced himself to consume as much of you as he possibly could, setting the table for two since you were there as well. It always started off tame. He tried to savor the feeling of becoming one, but at some point, his composure always cracked, and he ate your body like he was a starving animal trying to fill the never-ending pit inside of him. The part that hurt him more than anything, though, was crafting a story. In the process of keeping you to himself, he had to ruin your reputation.

It was easy for others to believe. Of course, you would leave Jonathan for someone else. Most people in your small circle secretly never believed that this relationship would last. It was easy to make them believe something they had already expected to happen at some point. In this crafted lie, you went off to live with someone else, far away from Gotham. But in reality, you were always here with him. Beneath his skin that now became your own.

Jonathan never thought he’d feel peace. But now, that he has finished digging this hole in Gotham Central Park, he thinks he’s gotten pretty close. It has started to rain a few minutes ago, but he’s not bothered. In his mind, it’s your doing. Your loving attempt to wash the sin and guilt from his body. Because you know the depths of his devotion, know the intend behind his actions. This isn’t the first hole he has dug since the two of you became one. But it’s the final one. Back when he was confronted with the reality of what to do with your bones, he decided to do what you would want. You always were the romantic in the relationship, so he decided to leave your remains in places that were significant to the both of you.

His hands aren’t shaking anymore, as he pulls the plastic bag that he brought closer to himself. The material shreds quickly as his fingers tear through it, and he pulls it open to reveal the last pieces of your previous body. A tender smile spreads over his face as he reaches into the bag to pull out the bones of your fingers and wrists, remembering how he tore off the flesh and skin with his teeth. Your loving touch would always be with him. Carefully, he lowers everything into the hole he dug before he turns to the final piece. Tears of relief well up in his eyes as he gazes upon the empty sockets of your lovely skull. With the caution and gentleness of a mother setting down her newborn, he places your skull into the earth, whispering promises of everlasting love under his breath. This isn’t the end. Far from it. Once he wipes his eyes with his sleeve, he notices something else. It takes a moment to dislodge one of your molars from your jawbone, but Jonathan eventually manages. The piece of ivory bone almost seems to glow in the dim light that’s being casted by a distant street lamp. It’s your tooth. You share his now, so there’s no need for it anymore. But it’s one last piece of your smile.

And in a final act of completion, he swallows it.

[sageshouldknowbetter]

Lumon as the abusive mother. The building shaped like a uterus. (“I understand you’re unhappy with the life you’ve been given.”) Wire mother/cloth mother in their commercial. “Lumon will always protect and provide.” Creating their employees — waking them splayed out on a table, helpless — to give what Dan Erickson called “a sense of being born to the company.” “Milchick’s a nice man. He can’t always be nice like that.” Controlling realities. (“But eventually, we all have to accept reality. So here it goes.”) Building a chokehold of perfect pastel power based on shame and fear. “I’m afraid you don’t mean it. Say it again.” Covering up inflicted injuries with comedic explanations and little treats… because we don’t want people getting suspicious, do we? “What I just did was something I knew that you could handle and grow from. It was very painful for me. I hope that you’ll let it help you.” Rapidly oscillating between artificial comfort and breaking you into pieces. Lying. Infantilizing. And never dropping the smile. (“I am a person. You are not. I make the decisions. You do not.”)

Outies as the absent father. Only present for a single moment in the act of creation and never relied on again. (“The point is that Mark made a decision.”) Initiate the birth of a human consciousness for convenience — and then refuse to take responsibility for it. (“And that decision was controversial, ethically and socially.”) Portrayed as the ultimate authority and final word, but hold no actual power. Lied to. “I know your innie will be sad to have missed a day.” Fantasized about by the human consciousnesses they’ve created. “I like to think my outie lives on, like, a riverboat.” Trusted as rescuers — powerful. (“Well, we get her to the south stairwell… I’ll go with her… and once we’re out the door, my outie will know what to do.”) But are truly beaten down by life and don’t have all (any) of the answers. (“I don’t know. That’s his problem.”) They can’t BE there, but they can live on both in their creations’ skin and behind their eyes. “You carry the hurt down there too. You just don’t know what it is.” Want to stay away… yet cannot help but be curious. (“Like, you could get married and have kids, and just forget they exist for eight hours every day, for your whole life. That doesn’t mess with your head?” “I think for some people… that’s the point.”)

Innies as children. “Innie” — diminutive of “infant.” (“Forgive me for the harm I have caused this world.”) Petey’s first memories of Lumon coinciding with his fifth birthday. “Then again, you’ve been severed for two years, right? So your innie really is still just a baby.” Referred to with first name and initial… like little kids in a classroom. (“None may atone for my actions but me, and only in me can their stain live on.”) Have no say in how they dress, eat, or live their lives. “You brought him into this world without his permission, based on your own desire for emotional convenience.” Mark in the Grand Central pop-up being made to stand in a corner as punishment. (“I am thankful to have been caught, my fall cut short by those with wizened hands.”) Thought to be pacified with claymation. Cartoon mascots. Little treats. “Are you mad at me?” Not considered human, because if they’re human… how can we sleep at night? (“All I can be is sorry.”) Horrifically abused, but cannot leave their abuser, because they are unable to survive without them. “Well, since this perceptual version of you only exists at Lumon, I mean, quitting would effectively end your life.” Unable to ask the outside world for help. “They’ll all be Kier’s children.” Broken again and again… and always for. Their own. Good. (“And that is all that I am.”)

[hollowed-theory-hall]

Of all the disturbing things that happened to Harry, I think the graveyard scene really takes it. It's horrific on so many different levels, and everytime I read it, something new sticks out to me. The last time, it was the death eaters laughing at Harry. A bunch of grown men laughing at one of the darkest wizards torturing and mocking a fourteen year old. Like it's actually insane, whether they were trying to appease Voldemort or were really entertained by the whole thing.

I know! I feel the same way about that scene. It's really no wonder Harry was as traumatized as he was in OotP (honestly, he's incredibly resilient, all things considered). The graveyard was awful. And their laughing is some of the worst of it:

The Death Eaters were laughing again. Voldemort’s lipless mouth was smiling. Harry did not bow. He was not going to let Voldemort play with him before killing him . . . he was not going to give him that satisfaction. . . . “I said, bow,” Voldemort said, raising his wand — and Harry felt his spine curve as though a huge, invisible hand were bending him ruthlessly forward, and the Death Eaters laughed harder than ever.

(GoF, Ch34)

Especially when you read Harry's thoughts about the Cruciatus and how he wants to die so it will end and they laugh:

“Crucio!” It was pain beyond anything Harry had ever experienced; his very bones were on fire; his head was surely splitting along his scar; his eyes were rolling madly in his head; he wanted it to end . . . to black out . . . to die . . . And then it was gone. He was hanging limply in the ropes binding him to the headstone of Voldemort’s father, looking up into those bright red eyes through a kind of mist. The night was ringing with the sound of the Death Eaters’ laughter.

(GoF, Ch33)

But the part that stuck out to me the most last time I read it was this moment:

he had been hit again by the Cruciatus Curse. The pain was so intense, so all-consuming, that he no longer knew where he was. . . . White-hot knives were piercing every inch of his skin, his head was surely going to burst with pain, he was screaming more loudly than he’d ever screamed in his life — And then it stopped. Harry rolled over and scrambled to his feet; he was shaking as uncontrollably as Wormtail had done when his hand had been cut off; he staggered sideways into the wall of watching Death Eaters, and they pushed him away, back toward Voldemort.

(GoF, Ch34)

Not only are the DE laughing at him, but they pushed a pained, shaking, and stumbling 14-year-old kid back into the circle to be tortured again!

Harry was stumbling over himself, barely getting onto his feet, and they pushed him down again and laughed. A bunch of grown-ass men. It's disgusting and horrifying. Like, them pushing Harry back towards Voldemort when he's barely walking and shaking all over disgusts me. That is so vile.

I think a good chunk of them seem to be 100% going along with Voldemort of their own free will and not just for his favor (though, I think that is part of it). After all, they did stuff like that on their own volition earlier in the book:

The floating people were suddenly illuminated as they passed over a burning tent and Harry recognized one of them: Mr. Roberts, the campsite manager. The other three looked as though they might be his wife and children. One of the marchers below flipped Mrs. Roberts upside down with his wand; her nightdress fell down to reveal voluminous drawers and she struggled to cover herself up as the crowd below her screeched and hooted with glee. “That’s sick,” Ron muttered, watching the smallest Muggle child, who had begun to spin like a top, sixty feet above the ground, his head flopping limply from side to side. “That is really sick. . . .”

(GoF, Ch9)

I really hope these DE didn't get to escape Azkaban for a second time after the second war (the ones that survived it, that is).

GoF has always been my favorite in the series and its darkest moments are part of why. Sure, there are horrific moments in the later books, but the shock of the graveyard scene is unparalleled for me in this series in the kind of horror it hits. Nothing later hits quite the same when it comes to the helplessness of it. To how Harry is certain he is going to die, that this is it. Unlike when he walks to his death in DH, in GoF, he wants to live so badly but he doesn't think he will — it's not a noble sacrifice, it's a child grasping at a chance to survive. And unlike at the end of OotP, he is completely and utterly alone. In the DoM, the Order and Dumbledore were right behind him and before they arrived he had friends with him, but in the graveyard, there was no one — just Harry against 30 Death Eaters and Voldemort. No one was coming for him, no one was coming to save him, Cedric just died, he was alone, and the only dueling spell he knew was Expelliarmus. It's horrifying and heartbreaking and it hits.

[ducktracy]

there are a lot of evil people in the world and a lot of darkness in the world and so it’s very important for me to stress that now more than ever is the time to spread kindness and compassion. combat the evil by not only not partaking in it, but actively refuting it. destroy the notion that being compassionate or generous or kind to someone is uncool or embarrassing or even scary. be the change you want to see. start a chain reaction. positivity only breeds more positivity. do an act of kindness for someone so that that person who is too afraid to do it themselves can see you, realize that they’re not alone, and perhaps sheepishly follow your example. and then the next person who is too afraid but sees that person can do the same. when bad news comes out about bad people or horrible atrocities in the world it’s such an easy impulse to despair, and obviously it’s important to feel what you need to feel. grieve. be angry. be sorrowful. be empathetic. but dust off your pants and get up and be a part of a chain reaction that, no matter how small the scale, and spread compassion and love and care. all the reasons why you might not—“it’s hard! it’s scary! people will make fun of me! it’s useless because there’s too much evil!” are all grade A arguments as to why you should. you have no idea how many people you could inspire to do the same. even if it doesn’t get you anyway far, you can at least say you have the nobility of trying. please choose love and please choose life. you are worth loving and you are worth inspiring others to love

[fromchaostocosmos]

I kept holding onto that last bit of hope saying Israel hadn't yet confirmed it.

But that is gone.

I've undergone a lot long term trauma that started really young and that is something that doesn't goes away. It is always there and more is about how manageable it is each day.

For me I've had to think a lot about life, people, what makes a person a bad person and what them good, and choices.

And I think that it about our choices. Do we choose the kind, empathetic, understanding, compassionate choice when we are aware that that choice is in front of us.

Because at the end of the day we all got shit and that shit doesn't excuse anyone choosing cruelty, choosing violence for violence's sake, choosing to hurt others purposefully.

So that is how I try to live my life by choosing compassion, kindness, understanding, honesty, and empathy whenever possible.

With that said I will not pretend that this past year hasn't made that really hard at times. Because that would a lie.

And Trump winning added to that because we have the left the go to blaming it on the Jews with the added addition of appropriating the Shoah and I say the Shoah and not the Holocaust because that is what is happening.

They are taking from Jewish trauma specifically and Jewish deaths and what happened to us specifically all while erasing, no rather eradicating why any of happened in the first place.

Then on the right you have the further propagation of antisemitic conspiracies and Jewish bogeymen though now often without even trying to hide behind coded terms and language. While at the same pretending to give a single fuck about antisemitism so as to give cover for the fact they are not even pretending anymore about who they are talking about with the (((Them))) (((They))) (((Cabal))) (((Elites))) etc.

And both sides are doing their best to kick Jews out of well everywhere. Thus ensuring we are far more vulnerable and left with no allies.

Then there is this news. This utterly heartbreaking, heart wrenching, honestly no words for how devastating this is, news.

These children, no these babies spent their overwhelming majority of their lives as hostages and in horrific conditions. I am sure their mother did everything she could to surround them with love, to keep them from feeling afraid, to give them some tiny semblance of normalcy.

I am sure she did whatever she could in the conditions they were in.

But she never should have had to. Her babies should have been under the sun. They should have walked, learned to run, talked, and played with their friends. They should be alive right now.

That mother should be alive right now.

That family should be alive and in few months time getting ready for Purim.

That family should have had the option to decide if they want to do a family costume. They should be making hamantaschen in few months.

But that won't be the case. Instead a husband and a father will have buried his wife and babies.

So I find myself a bit broken by this. I find myself burnt out. Oh I am angry, but that rage it banks down and when it does I am tired.

I am the tired that only Am Yisreal knows. It is the exhaustion that lasts over millennia. It is the exhaustion of repeated cycles not because you don't learn your lesson, but because everyone around refuses to learn anything at all.

So yes Am Yisrael Chai. But we are weary, we heartbroken, we wish to grieve in peace and yet not even not small kindness have we allowed.

With each cycle we come out more jagged in certain ways, more distrustful I think. Each cycle breaks differently.

And I think it might be time to embrace that. To say that it is okay that we have these parts of us. Why they exist is not okay and that is not on us. It is okay that they exist.

To have compassion towards ourselves for a bit. To focus inward for a time because right now no really is looking out for us. So I think for a bit we just need to focus on us.

While I won't hold my breathe who knows maybe this time the world around will learn something for once.

May their memories be for blessing.

ברוך דיין האמת Baruch Dayan HaEmet

i feel sick.

[miharuhebinata]

you guys really weren't kidding about how fucking good lake mungo is

[benevolenterrancy]

hi! I recently came across your tgcf fics, and I wanted to say you’re a phenomenal creator. the recovery series fic and the gloves fic and just all of them. thank you for your content and great attention to detail.

do you have any thoughts/hcs on FXMQ and Xie Lian you’d be willing to share? within the original story or the universes of your fics!

Thank you so much, I'm glad you're enjoying them! (ﾉ*^▽^*)ﾉ.｡:*☆

hmm, random thoughts about the FXMQ... a silly headcanon: Feng Xin has very much been hoisted by his own petard by heckling Mu Qing! That is to say, he'll harass Mu Qing relentlessly about something stupid only to be confronted with a similar situation and realise that there's absolutely NO way he can act in anyway similar to Mu Qing or he'll never hear the end of it.

(For example, he has tolerated some truly atrocious divine statues in the past because he's heckled Mu Qing so much about how picky he is with his divine statues that there's no WAY he can say ANYTHING without seeing that smug bastard's face in his head so he just has to bite his tongue and tolerate some unspeakably ugly statues.)

Mu Qing doesn't generally suffer from similar overthinking (he'll just prepare to kick FX's ass if he dares to say anything about it) except for things more directly related to himself. I think he genuinely finds sewing/embroidery/etc rather relaxing work but he'd rather die than have anyone ever see him do it because he's made such a big deal about not doing that sort of "servant" work anymore.

(He actually really enjoyed stitching Ruoye back together because it gave him the perfect excuse -- he's returning a favour!! and Xie Lian is hopeless!! of course he had to!! -- and he secretly considered using white thread to embroider some invisible little designs just because he doesn't quite want to stop... only he knew he'd get caught if he messed with Xie Lian's spiritual device like that and gave up the idea)

[rowanvankessel]

“What?! How did I not know this. All that time we were together and you didn’t think about sharing those sage words of advice with me then?” Pretending to be indignant, as if this was brand new information to her rather than something that most women knew by heart at a surprisingly early age. A barking laugh at the mention of a dating app, something she signed up to and deleted with alarming regularity - the only one she was perpetually on was Raya but even that was a horrific place. “Maybe I should make my own dating app - can’t imagine it would have me doing any worse than I am now. We’re not all blissed out with a new significant other. How is it in your ivory tower?” She teased with a small smirk. 

Her smile softened as he ‘cheered’ her cookie with his own, a sweetly innocent move, it was moments like this that had her really missing Austin. They’d been far from perfect but he’d made her feel safe a lot more than she did now. “I’ll put you in as part of my rider, then it’ll be a none negotiable. Give a girl a break for it taking so long to get together, things have been busy as fuck, and you should know as well as I do that our career paths have a time limit. We have to make the money while we can.” A perpetual source of stress but she didn’t add that part. “Fucking done, you, me, Berghain - make sure you pack your leather harness.” She teased. @ofalchemyy

austin raised his eyebrows. "you might wanna see a doctor about that," he stage whispered, punctuating the sentence with a bark of laughter. "i think you're supposed to get up and pee, you know, after." he nodded sagely, like something he'd heard from an ex was veritable medical advice. he pressed a fist to his cheek and narrowed his eyes at her. "sounds like the tagline for a dating app." he'd deleted his once he and adri had started talking daily, but he could see how something with that as the slogan could sell.

he cheersed her cookie with one of his own and took a bite. "oh shit! yeah, two-for-one deal. sounds good to me. you sure you can pencil me in? feels like i had to schedule these drinks two months in advance." he took a final sip from his hot cocoa concoction and broke his cookie in half, looking across at her almost fondly as he pointed half the cookie at her. "no more of that shit. we live in the same city. we should see each other more." he nodded, mouth full of cookie, and finished chewing before replying. "yeah, i have. and i'm in."

[saaltskies]

i was gonna share my xenoblade thoughts the next day because i was full of them but very tired however it is the next day and i forgot how to thought

[sabrirene]

i fear the 'surely someone's gonna save me' in sunshine baby has an incredible chokehold on me

[cynicalmusings]

actually, because of that secret secret i just read, i’m going to post this thought before i forget about it, actually — for the last few days i’ve been turning over the idea of dan heng x reader where the reader, a chef or at least competent cook, joins the express and works as chef to save everybody from himeko’s… creative dinner plans (inspired by the recent event)… and there’s something about the effortless, easy confidence with which you navigate the kitchen which dan heng admires. it’s an art form of its own, really.

(plus, as i mentioned, everyone loves you because you’re there to step in and lend some guidance when himeko decides it’s her turn to cook…..)

[235uranium]

god I love third sem so much. it's insane how well done it is like I think it's some of the best writing in p5 and it's a fucking addition

[bixiaoshi]

some ppl are so fucking stupid. it's not even worth getting mad abt it

[hey-heigo]

something incredibly off-putting and uncanny about the danganronpa art style especially when it comes to how they draw women. it has the vibes of a horror gorefest manga that was clearly drawn through a porn lens

[nothingweirdhere]

been awake for 36 hours….. now i sleep

[medicinemane]

Man... the vast majority of people just uh... do not get geopolitical stuff at all