#break up blog

[edwardsdeathcabcd]

i've said it before but it will forever and always make me insane that jacob's ending is to join the cullens for the sake of bella not having to give anything up. they find out jake will be immortal & tied to renesmee forever, so bella gets to smile & say "my family is finally complete! ^-^" but jake already HAS a family. he has a father and 2 sisters. quil, embry, seth and sam are like his brothers. jacob and leah were planning to run away together. he's always been welcome in emily's home, sue has been a family friend since before his birth. bella abandons her mortality by choice because she feels no connection to the people around her, but jacob has really strong bonds. it's clear that every character we meet in la push is like family to him, he's an active member of the community. jake would've graduated high school and been a mechanic, would've grown into a young man. a good friend, a fun uncle, a present son. he's set up to have such a rich life. and he's just magically compelled to give that up. beyond his control, he loses sight of everything, because his high school crush's baby is now the singular most important thing to him. he's perpetually 18 with his perpetually 18 year old girlfriend, running around vancouver or alaska or wherever with the girl who friendzoned him at 16 & her in-laws (who were antagonistic to him for months). and i'm just supposed to say omg yay now he doesn't have to let go of bella! everyone is happy! it's complete madness

[bigfatbreak]

Birds of a Feather previous / next

[chiyune]

whoa my hand slipped what happened

[charmtale]

sailor moon episode 200 .. revolutionary girl utena episode 39

[pant--eater]

I never thought I would see the day when I have to block Caitvi tags out of discomfort. But Vi's treatment in Arcane's season 2 narrative reminds me of that one Tumblr post that goes "hot take but supporting butches doesnt mean just being attracted to them". How butches will be treated as men lite, fetishized and objectified and reduced to objects of desire, and that abusing and fetishizing them is acceptable because "they can take it"

It deadass feels like they reduced Vi to a sexy muscle mommy with no characterization other than being Caitlyn's hot gf who is sad sometimes and punches things. Completely ignoring her character arc, the way she sacrifices everything to protect the people she loves and constantly belittles herself and does self harm in form of alcoholism and her whole pit fighter arc...and for what? They never touch on those issues, all of her pain is forgotten as soon as she gets back together with Cait

Even the fact that Caitlyn physically assaulted her and then had a rebound with Maddie, is brushed aside by Vi forgiving it all. It made me sick to my stomach because it could have been a plot point to address Vi's own self hatred, but no, the centrist ass writers were too afraid to make people uncomfortable by actually having Caitlyn face consequences for her actions.

Cherry on top: the timeline where everything is good is where Vi is dead (the romanticization of self destructive behavior and ableism in this season is a whole other can of worms...oh Jinx what did they do to you), and in the ending scene Vi calls herself "the dirt under Caitlyn's nails", being reduced to her cop girlfriend's property

It upsets me viscerally because I was SO invested in Caitvi back when season 1 aired and I loved them and was excited to see where their relationship would develop in season 2. We were getting a big lesbian ship that actively has sex, has flaws and a passionate slowburn, addresses class differences and the effects of police violence, but instead the writing completely killed the ship for me.

[humming-fly]

Just like Justin Mcelroy's callbacks to the chilean miners I have once again emerged to deliver this, More Team Greed Nonsense, this time featuring stupid questions ed asks to get out of work

ngl drawing this is the most clear headed I've felt in weeks if i go longer then seven days without drawing greedling I start going through withdrawl

to that end have a second bonus:

Team Greed Doodles Masterlist

[scoldingdarjeeling]

Deleting Dissent won't delete The Conversation

Being 'called out' for having a thin skin (intended as a gotcha) is an accomplishment. It's a valued skill and tool for many artists and writers.

Deleting comments for rubbing you the wrong way, labeling them as haters or trolls simply because they challenge the status quo or don't shower you with compliments, is on you. By doing so, you not only dismiss their time and serious engagement. But also deny yourself the opportunity to grow and learn.

That approach will come back to bite you. It impacts your reputation as a blogger because maintaining a blog isn't just about broadcasting—it's about interaction. If you can't practice what you preach, that inconsistency will become evident quickly. Most especially when the comments are thoughtful, analytical, and contribute to the discussion.

As long as they adhere to guidelines and aren't rude or threatening, your reasons for silencing them don't hold water.

Citing mental health as a blanket justification doesn't align with therapeutic practices; no CBT therapist advocates for avoiding challenging discussions. They emphasize doing the work, facing discomfort, and consistent self-exposure.

And to be clear: I'm not impeding anyone's right to manage their comment section. That's their prerogative. But they can't expect to control the broader conversation or demand my silence on social media.

So let’s collectively agree to keep hypocrisy in the exception percentile — and not mistake it for the rule.

Source: Should bloggers delete comments that disagree with them?

[anghraine]

Hi! Can you explain what really the power of foresight was with Faramir? I read the books earlier this year and I don't really quite understand it. He could predict the future? Like he would see it in his dreams? But how did he found out from Gollum that he was taking frodo and sam to cirith ungol and that he had committed murder before?

No problem, it's one of my favorite topics!

The concise explanation: I think Faramir's foresight/aftersight in terms of visions is a largely separate "power" from his ability to bring his strength of mind and will to bear on other people and animals, and to resist outside influence. The visions seem more a matter of broad sensitivity, something Faramir doesn't appear to have much if any control over. The second power is (in our terms) essentially a form of direct telepathy, limited in some ways but still very powerful, and I think this second ability is what Faramir is using with Gollum.

The really long version:

In my opinion, Faramir (or Denethor, Aragorn, etc) doesn't necessarily read thoughts like a book, particularly not with a mind as resistant as Gollum's. Faramir describes Gollum's mind in particular as dark and closed, it seems unusually so—

"There are locked doors and closed windows in your mind, and dark rooms behind them," said Faramir.

Still, Gollum is unable to entirely block Faramir's abilities. In LOTR, it does not seem that Gollum can fully block powerful mental abilities such as Faramir's, though his toughness and hostility does limit what Faramir can see. (Unfinished Tales, incidentally, suggests iirc that Denethor's combination of "great mental powers" and his right to use the Anor-stone allowed him to telepathically get the better of Saruman through their palantíri, a similar but greater feat.) I imagine that this is roughly similar to, but scaled down from, Galadriel's telepathic inquiries of even someone as reluctant to have her in his mind as Boromir, given that Faramir is able to still see some things in Gollum's mind, if with more difficulty than usual.

(WRT Boromir ... ngl, if I was the human buffer between Denethor and Faramir, I would also not be thrilled about sudden telepathic intrusions from basically anyone, much less someone I had little reason to trust.)

Disclaimer: a few years after LOTR's publication, Tolkien tried to systematize how this vague mystical telepathy stuff really works. One idea he had among many, iirc, was that no unwilling person's mind could be "read" the ways that Gollum's is throughout LOTR. IMO that can't really be reconciled w/ numerous significant interactions in LOTR where resistance to mental intrusion or domination is clearly variable between individuals and affected by personal qualities like strength of will, basic resilience, the effort put into opposition, supernatural powers, etc. And these attempts at resistance are unsuccessful or only partially successful on many occasions in LOTR (the Mouth of Sauron, for one example, is a Númenórean sorcerer in the book who can't really contend with Aragorn on a telepathic level). So I, personally, tend to avoid using the terminology and rationales from that later systematized explanation when discussing LOTR. And in general, I think Tolkien's later attempts to convert the mystical, mysterious wonder of Middle-earth into something more "hard magic" or even scientific was a failed idea on a par with Teleporno. Others differ!

In any case, when Gollum "unwillingly" looks at Faramir while being questioned, the creepy light drains from his eyes and he shrinks back while Faramir concludes he's being honest on that specific occasion. Gollum experiences physical pain when he does try to lie to Faramir—

"It is called Cirith Ungol." Gollum hissed sharply and began muttering to himself. "Is not that its name?" said Faramir turning to him. "No!" said Gollum, and then he squealed, as if something had stabbed him.

I don't think this is a deliberate punishment from Faramir—that wouldn't be like him at all—and I don't think it's the Ring, but simply a natural consequence of what Faramir is. Later, Gandalf says of Faramir's father:

"He can perceive, if he bends his will thither, much of what is passing in the minds of men ... It is difficult to deceive him, and dangerous to try."

So, IMO, Faramir's quick realization that Gollum is a murderer doesn't come from any vision of the future or past involving Gollum—that is, it's not a deduction from some event he's seen. Faramir does not literally foresee Gollum's trick at Cirith Ungol. His warning would be more specific in that case, I think. What he sees seems to be less detailed but more direct and, well, mystical. Faramir likely doesn't know who exactly Gollum murdered or why or what any of the circumstances were. Rather, Gollum's murderousness and malice are visible conditions of his soul to Faramir's sight. Faramir doesn't foresee the particulars of Gollum's betrayal—but he can see in Gollum's mind that he is keeping something back. Faramir says of Gollum:

"I do not think you are holden to go to Cirith Ungol, of which he has told you less than he knows. That much I perceived clearly in his mind."

Meanwhile, in a letter written shortly before the publication of LOTR, Tolkien said of Faramir's ancestors:

They became thus in appearance, and even in powers of mind, hardly distinguishable from the Elves

So these abilities aren't that strange in that context. Faramir by chance (or "chance") is, like his father, almost purely an ancient Númenórean type despite living millennia after the destruction of Númenor (that destruction is the main reason "Númenóreanness" is fading throughout the age Faramir lives in). Even less ultra-Númenórean members of Denethor's family are still consistently inheriting characteristics from their distant ancestor Elros, Elrond's brother, while Faramir and Denethor independently strike Sam and Pippin as peculiarly akin to Gandalf, a literal Maia like their ancestress Melian:

“Ah well, sir,” said Sam, “you [Faramir] said my master had an elvish air; and that was good and true. But I can say this: you have an air too, sir, that reminds me of, of—well, Gandalf, of wizards.”

He [Denethor] turned his dark eyes on Gandalf, and now Pippin saw a likeness between the two, and he felt the strain between them, almost as if he saw a line of smouldering fire drawn from eye to eye, that might suddenly burst into flame.

Meanwhile, Faramir's mother's family is believed to be part Elvish, a belief immediately confirmed when Legolas meets Faramir's maternal uncle:

At length they came to the Prince Imrahil, and Legolas looked at him and bowed low; for he saw that here indeed was one who had elven-blood in his veins. "Hail, lord!" he [Legolas] said. "It is long since the people of Nimrodel left the woodlands of Lórien, and yet still one may see that not all sailed from Amroth’s haven west over water."

In addition to that, Faramir's men believe he's under some specific personal blessing or charm as well as the Númenórean/Elvish/Maia throwback qualities. It's also mentioned by different groups of soldiers that Faramir can exercise some power of command over animals as well as people. Beregond describes Faramir getting his horse to run towards five Nazgûl in real time:

"They will make the Gate. No! the horses are running mad. Look! the men are thrown; they are running on foot. No, one is still up, but he rides back to the others. That will be the Captain [Faramir]: he can master both beasts and men."

Then, during the later retreat of Faramir's men across the Pelennor:

At last, less than a mile from the City, a more ordered mass of men came into view, marching not running, still holding together. The watchers held their breath. "Faramir must be there," they said. "He can govern man and beast."

Tolkien said of the ancient Númenóreans:

But nearly all women could ride horses, treating them honourably, and housing them more nobly than any other of their domestic animals. The stables of a great man were often as large and as fair to look upon as his own house. Both men and women rode horses for pleasure … and in ceremony of state both men and women of rank, even queens, would ride, on horseback amid their escorts or retinues … The Númenóreans trained their horses to hear and understand calls (by voice or whistling) from great distances; and also, where there was great love between men or women and their favorite steeds, they could (or so it is said in ancient tales) summon them at need by their thought alone. So it was also with their dogs.

Likely the same Númenórean abilities were used for evil by Queen Berúthiel against her cats. In an interview with Daphne Castell, Tolkien said:

She [Berúthiel] was one of these people who loathe cats, but cats will jump on them and follow them about—you know how sometimes they pursue people who hate them? I have a friend like that. I’m afraid she took to torturing them for amusement, but she kept some and used them—trained them to go on evil errands by night, to spy on her enemies or terrify them.

The more formal version of the Berúthiel lore recurs in Unfinished Tales:

She had nine black cats and one white, her slaves, with whom she conversed, or read their memories, setting them to discover all the dark secrets of Gondor, so that she knew those things "that men wish most to keep hidden," setting the white cat to spy upon the black, and tormenting them.

Faramir, by contrast, has a strong aversion to harming/killing animals for any reason other than genuine need, but apparently quite similar basic abilities. He typically uses these abilities to try to compassionately understand other people or gather necessary information, rather than for domination or provoking fear. Even so, Faramir does seem to use his mental powers pretty much all the time with no attempt to conceal what he's doing—he says some pretty outlandish things to Frodo and Sam as if they're very ordinary, but it doesn't seem that most people he knows can do all these things. This stuff is ordinary to him because it flows out of his fundamental being, not because it's common.

It's not clear how much fine control he has, interestingly. This is more headcanon perhaps, but I don't feel like it's completely under his control, even while it's much more controlled than things like Faramir's vision of Boromir's funeral boat, his frequent, repeated dreams of Númenor's destruction, the Ring riddle dream he received multiple times, or even his suspiciously specific "guess" of what passed between Galadriel and Boromir in Lothlórien. Yet his more everyday mental powers do seem to involve some measure of deliberate effort in a lot of the instances we see, given the differing degrees of difficulty and strain we see with the powers he and Denethor exhibit more frequently and consistently.

This is is also interesting wrt Éowyn, because Tolkien describes Faramir's perception of her as "clear sight" (which I suspect is just Tolkien's preferred parlance for "clairvoyance"). Faramir perceives a lot more of what's going on with Éowyn than I think he had materially observable evidence for—but does not see everything that's going on with her by any means. He seems to understand basically everything about her feelings for Aragorn, more than Éowyn herself does, but does not know if she loves him [Faramir].

I'm guessing that it's more difficult to "see" this way when it's directly personal (one of the tragedies of his and Denethor's relationship is that their shared mental powers do not enable either to realize how much they love each other). But it also doesn't seem like he's trying to overcome Éowyn's mental resistance the way he was with Gollum, and possibly Frodo and Sam—he does handle it a bit differently when it's not a matter of critical military urgency. With Éowyn, he sees what his abilities make clear to him, is interested enough to seek out Merry (and also perceive more than Merry says, because Faramir has never been a normal person one day in his life) but doesn't seem to really push either of them.

So I tend to imagine that with someone like Faramir, Denethor, Aragorn etc, we're usually seeing a relatively passive, natural form of low-grade telepathy that simply derives from their fundamental nature and personalities (as we see in Faramir with Éowyn, possibly Faramir with Aragorn). That can be kicked up to more powerful, forceful telepathy via active exertion of the will (as described by Gandalf wrt Denethor's ability to "bend[] his will thither" to see what passes in others' minds, and seen with Faramir vs Gollum, Aragorn vs the Mouth of Sauron, more subtly Faramir vs Denethor). At a high point of strain this can be done very aggressively or defensively (Denethor vs Gandalf, Denethor vs Saruman, Denethor vs Sauron seriously is there a Maia that man won't fight, Faramir vs the Black Breath given his completely unique symptoms that Aragorn attributes to his "staunch will", possibly Aragorn vs the Black Breath in a healing capacity...).

Anyway, I hope these massive walls of text are helpful or interesting! Thanks for the ask :)

[braisedhoney]

Gaster but he says “oya oya”. Trust me on this.

is this it. is this what you wanted from me.

[thatneoncrisis]

race as an element in fantasy stories will never not intrigue me btw i will always yap about the external choices and author makes affecting the internal machinery of text itself and how intentional any given off the cuff statement appears to be

[artbyzephra]

Wanted to do Rauru justice - may sketch Mineru again soon

[a-lilyinthevalley]

*Moonstone approaches where White Lily is, searching for Elder Faerie. He wanted to give himself some closure, he wanted to meet his other parent for the first and probably last time...*

@askmoonstonecookie

The late evening air carries a sense of slight unease, a feeling of not-quite-right permeating the clearing holding White Lily's cottage.

A single candle is burning at the round window to the right of the door, the rest of the lights turned off. Smoke is lazily leaving the chimney, weaving patterns into the sky and blocking the occasional star from view.

The full moon stares down, an unblinking eye illuminating the front door and... the porch. A collection of flowers are sitting there, seemingly growing through the old wooden boards and spilling out into the yard.

Larkspur, candytufts, and poppies lay at the outer edges, white chrysanthemums and - most prominent of all - purple hyacinths making up the middle. Creeping vines are threaded all throughout the different flowers, as if searching for something that was no longer there. A few scattered violets sit apart from the rest of bed - wilted, as if they had been left on their own with no one to care for them.

The stone steps up to the porch seemed cold in comparison, free of any vegetation at all. Not even moss covered the steps, despite the abundance of it between the stones making up the cottage itself.

Something had happened here.

Moonstone had the distinct feeling that he didn't want to know what.

[desultory-suggestions]

Sending love to those who are struggling with their long-term relationships and considering breaking up/breaking them off. Long-term relationships are a different type of experience, and ending them can be filled with unknowns and a sense of grief. It is okay to feel these things. It is okay to be angry, sad, or guilty when you realize you do not want to be with this person anymore. Whether they changed, you did, or you both did— these things happen. You deserve a relationship where you feel fully accepted, loved, and loving in return.

[katabay]

thief babyyyyyy

some of these are a follow up to the last thief post I made (the bottom comic is a day after the basso breaks garrett out of jail scene) but the rest of it is just. thoughts. ideas. the clock tower and the immediate snaps of change and slower but equally inevitable turn of events. aughhhh

⭐ places I’m at! bsky / pixiv / pillowfort /cohost / cara.app / tip jar!

[oros-ash3s]

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⋆ Febuwhump 2025 ⋆˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*＊

Day 3 || “Pinned Down”

Exhaustion was wearing him thin. 

With the drugs coursing through his veins, slowly working its way through his bloodstream, turning his limbs to lead, and his battered, bloody body, which was screaming to give up, Atlas was sure it was a miracle he was still conscious, even if barely so. Any lesser soldier would have collapsed within seconds. He was lucky, so goddamned lucky, that the drugs had only begun to take effect as the car pulled out of the alleyway. 

He couldn’t keep this up much longer. 

As the darkened streets of the pitch-black night passed by, his eyelids growing heavier for every minute that ticked past, Atlas knew that he was running out of time. His breathing was slowing, breaths coming out ragged and heavy. His body was giving up, the blood loss and drugs finally taking hold. He knew it was only moments before his eyelids fluttered closed for the final time, and he was lost to Eden’s clutches. 

He and the man across from him both knew it. 

Atlas had never officially met the man before, prior to this night. He was sure they had run into each other, or at least almost had, in one of the many circumstances he and Wren had just barely missed capture in their haste. From the uniform he was wearing, the familiar black material with jade accents, the insignia of an eye resting just above his heart, Atlas knew exactly who he was. One of Eden’s commanders.

And he had fallen right into his trap. 

This mission had been intended to be a short one. It wasn’t one of their high-scale raids, with days of planning and carefully-chosen volunteers. No, it had been only the three of them: Him, Wren, and Alastair. They’d gone to one of Eden’s more low-security locations, a human building on the west-side of downtown. They’d blended in, snuck a bit of information and files out, and been done with it. There were no injuries to worry about, no attacks or pursuits they had to avoid. None of the usual issues to leave him distracted. 

He would’ve been fine – should’ve been fine.

But Alastair came with them last minute, and he’d been pissed. Pissed because they weren’t partners anymore and Wren was still treating him like one, pissed because they hadn’t even bothered to tell him, just dumped Alastair on him as they were leaving, like they got to make all the decisions. Like his voice didn’t count. He’d been pissed because Alastair was a lying, conniving, traitorous piece of shit and he wasn’t about to be used. Not again. 

So he’d gotten distracted, too wrapped up in how Alastair was sitting next to him all timid and nervous like Atlas was the one that had fucked things over, like Atlas was the one that had tried to sell them all out to their sworn enemy, the very man who had been hunting them down for months. The man who had burned him, and who was a drunk, and a murderer, and evil, and Alastair’s secret brother–

So when they set up camp, Wren declaring they were too tired to make the hour drive back to the base, Atlas hadn’t taken all the proper precautions like he usually would’ve, reminding them to set up an illusion. He hadn’t marched around the perimeter of their camp, checking their surroundings for anything suspicious, watching for any figures in the shadows, hidden perched on rooftops. He hadn’t noticed the cameras positioned above the van, or the odd silence that had settled over the street. He had been too angry for any of it, all of his attention set on Alastair’s slumped over figure, as he pathetically tried to make small talk, as if his weak attempts at conversation, the flitting little glances, eyes begging for forgiveness, would make anything better. 

He’d let his emotions control him. It was what he had been trained against, what they had warned him about. Soldiers didn’t have emotions. They didn’t have thoughts or opinions or feelings. It was what made them weak, what made them useless. He had spent so many years of his life dedicating himself to it, ridding the weaknesses that had been ingrained into his brain, pushing down every little emotion that slowed and held him back from his true goal, his mission. And yet, still, his emotions had been his very downfall. 

And now he found himself inside the sleek black van of Eden’s own, two men flanking his sides, pressing him down into the seat, their grip strong as iron as the sedatives slowly took control over his brain. 

His eyes fluttered shut for the millionth time in the past minute, and Atlas sucked in a sharp breath, flexing his fingers. All rational thought had been lost long ago, left in the alleyway with the rest of his dignity. Nonsensical plans swirled through his head, each new one worse than the last. He was growing weaker by the second, the borrowed strength stolen from Wren and Alastair fading from his muscles the farther the car travelled.

The farther they left them behind.  

He grunted, squirming from under his captors pathetically. They didn’t give up, their grip on his arms only tightening at his defiance. 

The man from across from him sighed, straightening up in his seat with a wince. To his credit, Atlas had not gone down without a fight. The blood smeared across the man’s crisply ironed suit was evident of that. The sight of the broken nose and red caked to the side of his face brought a boost of satisfaction surging through Atlas, distracting him from his own injuries, if only for a second. The fact that the man wouldn’t be able to show his face to the general public until his nose healed, lest rumours start about one of the esteemed CEO’s of the kindly Eden Inc., almost made the capture worth it. Almost. 

“Still up, huh?” He leaned forward in his seat, the streetlights from outside illuminating his face, causing the dangerous flicker in his eyes to be all the more unsettling. Atlas vaguely remembered him from the many lectures, photographs, and history textbooks he had read during his rather uneventful years at the warehouse. The face of Eden. Sasha Beneš. From the prim and proper suit, voice as smooth as velvet, and chiselled good looks, he was sure that the man in front of him was the current leader of the media branch, involved in all the politics and communications that came with running a widely known corporation such as Eden. Although he looked a little different with his nose so busted, his usually swoopy blond hair in a disarray from the scuffle. 

The man didn’t seem to be bothered by Atlas’ lack of response. If anything, he was amused, chuckling softly to himself as the boy did nothing but glare through half-lidded eyes, gaze alight with hatred. “Forgot you soldier-types are all trained to resist this sort of stuff,” Sasha muttered, reaching across the seat for something Atlas couldn’t make out. “God, Cato needs to lay off you brats a bit, you’re all too invincible for your own good. That woman doesn’t ever know when to take a fucking break.” He huffed out a breath of annoyance, turning back to Atlas, his eyes gleaming, shadows cutting sharp edges across his face. A beat of silence passing through the van, he held up the item for the boy to see: A vial of swirling milky-white liquid, a needle tip at the very end of it. 

Atlas’ blood froze, the restraints around him suddenly suffocating. 

“Don’t try and resist, kid,” Sasha cracked a grin, looming closer. “There’s no use.” 

Atlas sucked in a sharp breath, opening his mouth, to beg for mercy or tell the man to go fuck himself, he wasn’t sure. But his tongue was suddenly stuck at the back of his throat, the words gone before they could even leave his mouth. All struggle was just met with more force, pushing him down into the seat. It was smooth leather, well-cushioned and comfortable, but right now, it was the last thing Atlas needed. He blinked hard, pushing back the waves of exhaustion that were rolling over him, telling him to sleep, to give up. 

Wren and Alastair. He needed to get out and find Wren and Alastair–

Sasha pushed back his hair, fingers brushing against the soft crook of his neck. Atlas shuddered, every instinct inside his body telling him to fight, to defy him, but with the weight on his legs and arms, pinning him to the seat, he was completely and utterly trapped. 

“You belong to Eden, Zieliński. Don’t forget that.” Sasha whispered, his breath hot against Atlas’ skin. He raised the needle, the tip pricking against his skin, sending Atlas into a paralyzing panic. He had to get out–

“Sweet dreams.”

Sasha stabbed the needle into his neck and everything went black.

masterlist || next

✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩

I initially had a much different scene planned for this prompt, but when I sat down to write this one I wasn’t really feeling it, so I came up with this instead!! I kinda like it better, tbh. but who knows, maybe I’ll write the other one (featuring post-Elite Atlas), after this whole challenge is over……

✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩

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[nostalgicfun]

Work is really quiet today, and when it's quiet I kind of get to do whatever I want as long as I don't leave my classroom.

I also recently got a new job elsewhere on campus, so I'm on "two weeks' notice" behavior right now as it's my last three days. I decided to bring some things to photograph for eBay as I continue to de-hoard.

So my boss comes in and I'm standing there with a fully assembled dollhouse furniture display and a bunch of dolls on one of the tables. And doll clothes are everywhere. And tiny little plates, and cups, and a little hotdog.

And my boss (who wasn't supposed to be here for another two hours) just materializes in the doorway, and she stands there, open-mouthed, staring at me and this ostentatious spread of Dawn dolls.

I'm like, "I can explain-"

But she instead did the most unexpected thing and just burst into tears and was like "I'm going to miss you and your strangeness so much. What will this place be without you to make it all fun?"

I think it's great that in the ten years I've been here, I've not only been perceived as strange, but people have thought I "make it all fun," given the fact they have no idea I'm NostalgicFun :)