a little too invested in people who don't exist

When I taught second grade, one of the options for students who had finished their work was to write a letter to the president. I would send all of the letters in a big envelope at the end of every month.

Watching my students get more and more frustrated with him (and concerned about his wellbeing) was not the result I'd hoped for when I came up with the idea, but it was kind of hilarious.

See, Obama had a standard packet with information and activities about his dog he'd send in response to letters from very young citizens...and of course his office sent one back to our class every single time we sent mail.

So eventually all of the letters looked something like this:

The mirror replied "To whom?"

"The miller who made the flour for my bread," the queen would say, or "Whoever spun the thread my shawl was made of".

The second time, she says "To the King," and she is pleased to see herself once more.

The third time, she says "To the Royal Advisor," and is once more satisfied to see herself.

The fourth time, she says "To the scribe who takes the King's letters." She is shown the man's wife. And she seethes, but quiets herself, for it is only right that a man loves his wife.

The fifth time, she says "To the Court Wizard," and is shown the man's departed mother as he remembers her from his youth, radiant and smiling and warm and larger than life.

The tenth time, she says "To the Stable Master," and is shown the fastest horse in the stable, majestic and free as the wind even in captivity

"To the baker," she is shown the man's daughter, young and adorable and full of joy and laughter.

"To the artist who did my portrait," she is shown a painting of a woman done by the man's teacher, who he still looks up to now that he is well established himself.

"To the Royal Knight," she is surprised but not displeased to see the castle's entire guard force in the middle of doing drills.

The one hundredth time she asks the mirror, and it asks her "to whom?" she once again says, "To me." And she does the same the one hundred and second, and again and again and again.

as the resident ticket resale blog I'm starting to feel like I have to make a post because. listen. this is ridiculous

the THB are literally prerolled characters. they’d DESIGNED to be stereotypical, so that’s how they start, and then by the fucking end, you have a cleric who only became one because he came from a religious background but doesn’t have any actual faith in it until that faith is earned over the course of a whole campaign. a cleric who was a shitty father and husband, who resists being the moral compass he’s supposed to be at every turn, who treats religion, the literal basis of his class, like a necessary inconvenience. and then by the end of balance, we’re rewarded with a better father, a kinder man, and someone who has the personal love and favor of his god cuz he fucking. earned it. THAT’S dope character shit, THAT’S unique, Clint is a goddamn master.

rain doggo