[twilightdetectiveagency]

TWILIGHT HOUR - ??:??

A CERTAIN MANOR

The Twilight Detective Agency, serving humans and yokai alike.— Have you ever seen a shadow in the corner that wasn’t a shadow? Felt a feeling of dread walking into a room, an invisible force with eyes on you, or seen strange creatures you couldn’t possibly explain? If so, the TDA is ready and waiting for you. Please contact the number below, or visit our office at 426 Center Dr. Open 24 hours.

About | Cast and Clientele | Schrodinger's Poet | Patreon

A black haired woman hums as she strides down the street, not sparing a glance back at the people staring at her as if she was some sort of oddity, dressed to the nines in a full length corset gown, holding two to-go containers of coffee in either hand. As she walks, she passes a sign that reads, The Twilight Detective Agency, serving humans and yokai alike.— Have you ever seen a shadow in the corner that wasn’t a shadow? Felt a feeling of dread walking into a room, an invisible force with eyes on you, or seen strange creatures you couldn’t possibly explain? If so, The TDA is ready and waiting for you. Please contact the number below, or visit our office at 426 Center Dr. Open 24 hours.

Her journey stops in front of a red building, climbing the steps of the porch and unlatching the gate. She shuts the gate behind her, and pushes open the front door, calling, “Detective! I got—” She stops. 

Cornelia, the primary investigator of the Twilight Detective Agency, is staring down Vivienne with her arms crossed over her chest. Vivienne watches Cornelia’s eyes go from Vivenne herself, to the coffees in her hands, to the clients sitting across from her that Vivienne had fully interrupted the consultation of. “My assistant,” she says, “Vivienne.”

“Hi! Welcome in,” Vivienne says, course-correcting as she glances between their clients. They appeared to be two women, one with glasses and scarlet hair cut into a long bob, the other black haired with moles dotted across her face. Glasses looks anxious, and Moles looks between curious and annoyed. “Um, I was out getting coffee for you both. Here. It’s just the shop’s regular,” She offers the coffee to both of them, and they take it, although Glasses for a moment doesn’t seem to want to. “Detective, I’ll get ours ready.” Slightly dejected, Vivienne starts their coffee maker and prepares a mug for herself and Cornelia.

Once she sets them both down on the table, the consultation continues. 

“As we were saying,” Moles says, “My name is Katherine, and that’s Robin,” She gestures to the woman sitting next to her, “And I think there’s something odd going on with our house. We just moved in, and all sorts of strange things have been happening.”

“You think your house is haunted?” Vivienne asks. Katherine nods her head, and Vivienne can’t help but feel a trace of sympathy at the anxiety in Robin’s expression next to her. She leans in to speak in Cornelia’s ear. “Do we do ghosts?”

Cornelia raises an eyebrow, “Yes, we do.” She turns back to the clients, “Can you describe what kind of things have been happening? I understand it may be difficult or frightening, but if you could provide as much detail as you can…”

“Of course,” Katherine says, glancing back at Robin, who gives her a nod of permission. “There’s a lot of things, but the particularly intrusive ones are… in the kitchen, it always smells like something’s burning, even if the stove isn’t on. When walking through the halls, or making peace in another room, we can hear footsteps; even when the house is empty, doors slamming, even though when we check, they’re still open.” 

“I’ve noticed the sound of the water running, too,” Robin chimes in, “Particularly in the first floor bathroom, about three times a day.”

“Speaking of strange sounds,” Katherine continues, “Sometimes, wherever we are in the house, we’ll hear these ghastly noises coming from the living room. It sounds like people talking, but I can never tell what they’re saying; I can only hear bits and pieces of the conversation, and it sounds muffled, as if it was inside of the walls. And I’ll hear laughing, too, this garbled laugh…” She shudders. Shaking her head, she says, “Robin mentioned the sound of water, but there’s something worse about the bathroom. Late at night, I caught the eye of the mirror. It wasn’t my reflection.” 

“Someone else’s reflection was in the mirror? That’s crazy.” Vivienne asks, taking an interested sip of her coffee. Cornelia elbows her lightly in the side. 

“There’s a variety we see, but they’re always too blurry to make out. Like it’s blanketed in some sort of fog,” Katherine says, warming her hands on her coffee. She sighs, “The strangest of all, though, is that we can hear crying. It seems like they’re struggling to breathe, and it always comes from the same place: the smaller bedroom on the second floor.”

“It certainly sounds like you’ve got something particular on your hands.” Cornelia concludes, setting her now empty mug down. 

“Do you think you can do anything about it?” Robin asks, anxiously rubbing her thumb and pointer fingertips together. Cornelia slowly nods her head.

“We’ll have to go and see the situation for ourselves, past your descriptions,” She begins to stand up out of her hair, tilting her chin up at Vivienne, who nods her head and disappears upstairs for a moment, her footsteps light against the hardwood as she gathers her bag. 

When it takes longer than anticipated, both Katherine and Robin having risen out of their seats, waiting awkwardly by the door, Vivienne is greeted with a frown from Cornelia at the bottom of the stairs. “What took you so long?” 

Vivienne readjusts her bag over her shoulder, “Oh, nothing~”

Cornelia gives her a suspicious look as she closes and locks the door behind them.

Robin and Katherine’s newly bought house was on the far end of the town, nestled within a cluster of trees. A small pond and waterfall audibly rushed in the background. It was five minutes to three-thirty, and the sun still hung in the sky, peeking behind grey clouds. 

Cornelia finds herself sizing up the three story house, with its vast lushness all around them. She straightens her vest, looking around. There seemed to be three entrances: the garage, the front door, and based on the concrete path around the vicinity of the house, a backdoor. She and Vivienne follow their clients to the front door, and Cornelia watches as Robin fumbles for the correct key on her wristlet keychain.

The lights are still on when they enter, and the first thing Katherine says is, “See?” She turns to Cornelia, gesturing to the overhead light in the foyer. “Even if we’re sure we’ve turned off the lights when we leave, when we come back, they’ll have switched themselves on again. Just like this.”

“That’s definitely a problem,” Cornelia muses.

Vivienne chimes in, “Yeah! For the electric bill, too.”

Her comment goes unacknowledged as Katherine and Robin conduct a tour of the house. On the ground floor was a living room, dining room, the kitchen, a bathroom, as well as what appeared to be a shared children’s bedroom, sporting an attached bathroom with Jack and Jill sinks. Down the hallway by the childrens’ bedroom was the door to the garage, evidently once used as an extra storage space.

The stairs in the center of the ground floor led upwards, and directly across from those stairs as another, leading up to the third and final floor. The second floor was just as impressive as the first. To the right was another bedroom, although based on the suitcase and objects scattered across the room, it seemed that Robin was the current occupant. There was an attached bathroom, as well.

If you went left instead, you would find yourself down a corridor, facing a hallway lined with bookshelves. Cornelia opens the cracked door wider, peeking her head in, “Is this the bedroom you said you heard the crying you mentioned?” 

“It is,” Robin says, shutting her door. She gestures to the balcony beside her bedroom, “I’m not sure if you’d like to check out here. There’s several amenities, a grill, a hot tub, as well as an outdoor dining area…”

“Seems like whoever lived here before had it totally stocked up, huh?” Vivienne asks, peering out the balcony windows. They take a cursory look around, and Cornelia’s expression tragically cues Vivienne in that she’s definitely not going to get to use the jacuzzi this time around. 

“Speaking of,” Cornelia says, “Do you know anything about the previous occupants? Were they there at the time of the sale?”

“No, I don’t, and they weren’t. Actually,” Katherine trails off, waving them in closer, “Apparently, something happened to the previous owners of this house. They did a lot of renovating, so all of this is their own design. It’s not, well,” She pulls away with a laugh, “It’s not a murder house, but it certainly has some sort of history. It seems that every member of the family died in a plane crash, but one of their children survived… the crash, at least. Shortly after, it seems he couldn’t cope, and took his own life. He was…” She looks over at Robin.

“He had just turned 19 when they died. They were coming home from his birthday vacation.” 

Vivienne’s expression is one of horror; Cornelia’s is more tempered. She breathes out a sigh. “That is quite tragic. Houses with a history like that are more predisposed to supernatural happenings.” 

“On his birthday?” Vivienne asks, shaking her head in fearful disbelief. She rubs at her inner elbow, the stitching rigid underneath her ice cold hands, “That’s horrible. If there’s a God out there, I’m sure it’s a cruel one.” 

Robin and Katherine say nothing to her comment, although they exchange a glance that Cornelia feels in her temples, like a pebble in her shoe; something irksome, some sort of white noise wrongness in the background. “Was it because of the house’s history that you chose it? I imagine you must’ve gotten a fairly good deal on it. Otherwise, it wouldn’t make a lot of sense for two people to occupy a house meant for six people.”

“Well,” Katherine says, and her smile has a particular lilt to it, “We’ve just got a lot of plans for it. Right, Robin?” 

“Um,” Robin replies, fidgeting again. Vivienne gets the sense that she isn’t much of a leader. “We do. She might not act like it, but really, Kathy’s very social. We have enough social gatherings that we needed to up-size our space.”

“The price really was convenient, then.” Cornelia says, with a nod, tucking her suspicion back in her pocket. 

The tour continues, up to the third floor. It was half the square footage of the others, and held primarily the master bedroom, complete with a large attached bathroom and a walk-in closet. It seemed to belong to Katherine, at least, judging by the way she let Robin lead as she stood by the door. 

“Does much happen in here?” Cornelia asks, pointedly ignoring Vivienne’s stifled laugh. 

“I’ll sometimes see reflections in the mirror, and the water running sometimes comes from the master bedroom.” Katherine answers. Cornelia doesn’t reply, stepping into the bathroom and exiting shortly after, still glancing around. “So, what do you think?”

“Is there a particular time these occurrences happen?” 

“It doesn’t happen in the daytime. At least, not when we’re here, like with the lights. Most of the other occurrences are at night…” She trails off. Cornelia furrows her eyebrows by a mere millimeter, Vivienne glancing her way, watching each minute change. 

Cornelia says, “We aren’t exactly prepared for an overnight stay, so we’ll have to go back to the Agency first to pick up our things, if that’s what—”

Vivienne’s huff interrupts her, brandishing the bag she’s kept on her shoulder and unzipping it, revealing a variety of clothing, toiletries, snacks, and various other items. She seems awfully proud of herself, staring at Cornelia with an expectant smile. 

“Thank you, Vivienne. Good work. If you’re comfortable with us staying overnight, we’ll investigate the cause of the occurrences. Come back in the morning, around nine or ten. I’ll try to have some answers for you by then.” 

Katherine and Robin exchange a glance, and then nod. Katherine says, “Alright. That works for me. I trust you.” 

“Ah,” Cornelia says, locking eyes with Katherine, the tension between them hanging in the air like hail, “If there’s anything else that you think we should know about, you’re free to tell us now.” 

Katherine stares at her for a moment. Vivienne, watching, can’t help but think she appears to be sizing Cornelia up; her conclusion she can’t tell, but eventually, their client shakes her head, smiles, and offering the house keys from her pocket, says, “Of course. I don’t believe there’s anything I haven’t said. We’ll leave it to you, capable detective.”

If Cornelia senses any trace of malice in her words, she doesn’t let it show on her face. The pair lead their clients to the door, Vivienne enthusiastically waving as they disappear, climbing into their car, Robin backing out of the driveway as they disappear into the distance. Cornelia sighs when they’re out of sight, and locks both the top and bottom lock. 

“We’re going to stay up for the night keeping an eye on the house.” She says, sternly. Vivienne cheerfully nods her head.

Cornelia blinks herself awake. She looks up at the clock in the living room. It hadn’t even been ten minutes, she must’ve just dozed. She shakes her head, chastising herself under her breath. Some detective she was being. She pulls herself up, slipping her shoes back on as she wanders through the halls. She finds Vivienne after a mere moment of searching. She turns when she hears Cornelia approach, “Oh, hey, detective!” She puts down what she’s holding. A loaf of bread she’s pretty sure Vivienne didn’t pack in her bag. “What?”

“We shouldn’t steal their food.” She crosses her arms. “Did you not bring any?” 

“I did, and I’m not stealing! I just want to look! Besides, what if I, like, wanted hot chocolate or something?” 

“Did you bring hot chocolate?” 

“No, but I figured they might have it.” 

Cornelia’s about to retort, when a sound from down the hallway makes them both still. She raises a finger between her lips, the universal motion for, quiet, as she peers around the corner. Two shadows dart across the walls, laughter a reverberating echo ringing in her ears. She plugs one ear, shuts one eye, and waits. Footsteps, slight at first and then as violent a rush as a horse’s stampede; she draws herself back as it all ebbs. She returns to Vivienne. 

“That’s certainly something.” 

“That’s so fucking scary,” Vivienne says, shoulders up to her neck. “I hate this so, so, so much. I’m never doing an overnight stay again. Ever.” 

“You’re a ghost too, you know.” 

“That’s different!” Vivienne snaps, “It doesn’t mean I can’t be scared! Being dead has nothing to do with it—”

Their eyes follow the same path. A mirror propped up on the wall. Vivienne screams under her breath, Cornelia just roots her feet into the ground and watches. A wavering patch of black appears in the mirror, in and out of focus until they can see the hazy outline of two children in the mirror, their hands held together. A row of teeth drawn into a smile greets them and then disappears as quickly as it came. 

“I hate this,” Vivienne mutters.                                    

Cornelia takes her hand and pulls her up the steps to the second floor. As she climbs the stairs, she breathes in the scent of smoke and turns back to the kitchen on the first floor. It’s empty, as expected, but the smell hasn’t faded. It’s more than just smoke, it smells like—

“Burnt toast,” She says, as they step onto the second floor. Vivenne takes a cursory glance around, looking uncomfortable. The balcony door is closed. The lights are off. The space is empty. The hot tub light is on. They didn’t turn it on, and it wasn’t left on. “This isn’t all that scary,” 

“Says you,” Vivienne replies, clutching Cornelia’s arm. They walk together, as Cornelia examines the bookshelves. “What is it? Something off?”

“There’s something odd about this. Look,” She gestures to the expanse of bookshelves. “There were several on the first floor, too. They were clearly a family that valued reading, which is why the scarce amount of books left behind makes no sense. And there doesn’t seem to be a commonality with the ones left behind. Not author, not genre… not anything.”

“Do you think they were just picking their favorites?” Vivienne asks. Cornelia shakes her head.

“No. They went on vacation, remember? And I don’t think Katherine and Robin have anything to do with it: they live here, however truthful they’re being about the reason. There’s no point in discarding such a large amount of books like that, when they’ve kept all of the other furnishings,” She swipes her finger across empty sections of the shelf, “And look? No dust, but there’s dust on the remaining books. Which means it must’ve happened recently.”

“Someone took a ton of their books?”

“Seems like it,” She wipes her hand on a handkerchief, which she slips back into her pocket. “I’m not sure why, though, but I get the feeling it doesn’t have anything to do with what’s going on here. I’ll ask Katherine about it when morning comes.”

They step into the center of the second floor, still as statues as they await the unknown.

It comes, at first, like the rumble of thunder, and then a crackle. A voice, and then another; they’re laughing, or are they arguing? The tones of their voice were like sharpened pieces of glass, and Vivienne squeezes Cornelia’s arm tighter. 

“Don’t… y… … …easier… … … to… … … g…ood…by..e…”

Cornelia narrows her eyes and listens closer. There’s something familiar about the sound that she just can’t quite place, not yet, at least; she strains her ears as a butchered melody fills the room. She steps away from Vivienne and up to the TV, pressing her face to it and closing her eyes. Static burns in her ear; she pulls away, and checks the wires. “Vi,” She asks. “Do you remember that kid’s show, with the ghost? She was a ghost girl with a flower in her hair…”

“T-The Misadventures of—?” 

“—Macula, I remember now. You watched it when you were still alive, didn’t you? Listen.” She puts a finger up to her lips. Vivienne’s pressing her fingertips into the stitching on her wrists. The voices return with that rumble. A bassline. A foundation. A melody. And then,

“Don’t you know that it’s easier to say goodbye than face the problem head on?”

“Wait,” Vivienne says, her eyes going wide with childlike joy, “I remember this episode! Macula and Kabochan had an argument. It was the first season finale… I cried so hard.” 

“It sounds like a rerun to me, then,” Cornelia says, with a grin. “Vivienne. You really don’t have a reason to be afraid. This house isn’t haunted.” She takes her hand and guides the two of them down the steps, “At least, not by ghosts. This is our jurisdiction now.”

Katherine and Robin return to their house at exactly 8:59. When they unlock the door, Cornelia and Vivienne are already waiting in the foyer. Cornelia welcomes them in, and gestures for them to sit down. 

“I have good news and bad news.” She starts, “The good news is that I know exactly what the problem you’re having is. The bad news is that there’s nothing I can do about it,” Cornelia ignores their shocked expressions and continues, “There aren’t any ghosts in your house, but it is haunted: by memory, that is.”

“Memory?” Katherine asks, incredulous. 

“It wasn’t a figment of your imagination. The sounds you heard were very real, because they were. They were memories—the house’s memories, good and bad. They were just echoes. Some objects,” She picks up a trinket by the entryway, “Here and there, over time, can develop a soul. Whatever you’re planning with this house…” Cornelia trails off, fixing the two of them with a suspicious gaze, “Remember that it had its family taken away from it. It needs to be loved, like anyone else. You have to overwrite the house’s memories with new ones; ones full of love. Otherwise, the strange occurrences—the house’s grief—will continue.”

Katherine’s expression softens, and she says, quietly. “We understand. Was there anything else?”

“I just had a question,” Cornelia starts, “The bookshelves in this house are pretty bare. Do you know the reason for that? You don’t seem the type to sell random books for profit, and it wouldn’t make much sense for you to downscale just the books.” 

“Ah,” Katherine says, nodding her head, “While the house was still on the market, it was a fairly common target for break ins. Apparently, one day, someone broke in and took nothing but the books off the shelves. They even left a few. It was odd that they moved that many without anyone noticing.”

“Plenty of unseen things happen in the darkness of the night.” Cornelia responds. 

Katherine nods her head, and extends her hand. “Quite so. Thank you for your help, detective.” 

They shake hands.

As Katherine steps back inside from seeing the detectives off, Robin peers over the stairwell on the second floor and calls, “They must’ve gone out onto the deck. They left the door unlocked.” 

“The deck’s door?” She asks, climbing up the stairs to see for herself. She tries the door, and Robin’s right; it was left unlocked. “Neither of them seemed like the hot tube type. It’s not even currently usable, is it?” 

“Well, it hasn’t even been a decade since they died. It might still work,” Robin taps it with her foot. It stays unresponsive, and the pair look at each other. Katherine turns her head, staring into the open door; scanning the empty bookshelves with narrowed eyes. “Kathy?”

“We aren’t the only ones looking for him.” She shakes her head, and pulls Robin into the house, shutting the deck door behind her and locking it with frustration bubbling away in her chest.

A pair of women quietly exit the house. One of them is a shorter, anxious but determined looking woman. The other seems more composed, her lips drawn into a line, dyed hair drawn into a ponytail at the base of her neck. They keep their eyes on the windows until they’re out of sight. 

“It’s too late. He’s already gone.” The second woman says, resting her hand on the other’s shoulder.

“He took all of the maps in the house, too. There’s no way to know where he might be now. Even—” 

“—I saw. It’s going to be okay. We’re going to find him.” 

She reassuringly squeezes her arm as they stand in the street. The second woman breathes out, and reaches her hand forward, pulling space apart, time stretching like taffy pulled taut; a door appears, and the cosmos greet them when she opens it. The pair walk through the door, and disappear in a blink.

Vivienne offers Cornelia a mug of hot chocolate, the pair of them sitting upstairs in the second floor of the Twilight Detective Agency; their home, a small two room space, but neither of them seemed to need more than that. She laughs, pushing Cornelia’s glasses up with her pointer finger, “Your glasses are fogging up.”

“Ah,” Cornelia replies, pulling them off and setting them aside. She closes the case file she’d been documenting and waits for Vivienne to sit down to sip at her drink. Her assistant keeps sneaking unsubtle, curious peeks at her. “What?” 

“You seemed pretty suspicious of them. Robin and Katherine,” 

“I was.” Cornelia says, easily; she takes a sip of her hot chocolate. “There was just something off. There’s no reason for two people to buy a house that size.”

“You never know~” Vivienne hums, spooning sugar cubes into her mug. “Maybe they love house parties?”

“I sincerely doubt that, but there really isn’t any way to know. Regardless, I don’t think I want anything to do with them, whatever it is that they’re doing.” She sighs, Katherine’s gaze still burning. “I suppose everyone’s in search of something.” 

Vivienne laughs, “What are you searching for, then, detective?”

Avoiding her gaze, Cornelia replies, “Well, I don’t know.”

She peers over at the detective, who simply looks in a different direction each time. Vivienne hums, biting a sugar cube into pieces, cuspids like daggers as the sugar dissolves on her tongue. She pops the rest into her mouth, “Okay, I’ll just ask Charon!” 

Cornelia turns to face her, huffing, “That’s cheating!”

“So there is something!” She continues to laugh, even as Cornelia shakes her head and swats at her, trying to wave her away as she rests her chin in the crook of Cornelia’s neck. The detective continues to ignore her, but Vivienne isn’t deterred. 

The sun begins to set on Crepuscule, and golden cast shadows seep through the windows. 

“Ah,” Cornelia says, as the pair of them look out the window, transfixed by the sight, “It’ll be Twilight Hour soon. We should get ready for work.”

When the clock strikes twelve, the barrier between the world of humans and the world of spirits disappears, and Twilight Hour blooms.

Twilight Detective Agency, run by Cornelia and her assistant Vivienne, take on cases at the behest of human and yokai alike.

Whether it be a trick of the light, or a stray sound in the melancholy of the dark…

Blink, and you’ll miss it.

[ootorimichiru]

In case anyone's wondering what I'm up to these days, I started a new original series! Feel free to check it out if you think it strikes your fancy.

[view-from-up-here]

[allieargents]

queue this post when it’s your birthday and be surprised

[crystalcrossing-remade-deactiva]

shit man tomorrow is christmas eve i swear yesterday was June 2010

[allegedly-human]

As is tradition in tumblr culture the locals unearth the corpse of a long deceased figure and drag it across the streets merrily, laughing at what is preserved of the person’s words. This custom, seen as morbid in other cultures, is instead done gleefully and with an unmatched enthusiasm

[whitepeopletwitter]

[transylvania12345-deactivated20]

losing it at this photo of the counts puppet not being used. literally he looks like hes just taking a nap on set or something

[i-count-words-in-posts]

25

[transylvania12345-deactivated20]

ITS SUCH A FUCKING HONOUR I COUNT WORDS IN POSTS

[orcarriagesthatwork]

I think about this cake every day

[tizzymcwizzy]

sorry for exposing your tags but this is hilarious

[microsuedemouse]

OP, I hope you don’t mind me making an addition:

When I turned 17, we ordered a cake at the grocery store for my party, as we’d done many times before. If you wanted something written on the cake you’d write it into a section of the order form. We requested, very simply, “Happy Birthday Courtney”. When we went to pick it up the day of the party, this is what we got.

The bakery employees had absolutely no explanation for this. The order form, attached to the box, very clearly did not contain any of those extra names. Whomever had done the writing was no longer in, so there was no one to ask how this had happened. The fact that the name ‘Juan’ is misspelled bewilders me to this day. (I’ve never seen ‘Miley’ without the E, either, but it’s believable that someone might spell it that way.) Did this cake slip in from an alternate universe where I’m one quarter of a set of Hispanic quadruplets? Dyslexic Hispanic quadruplets, maybe?

This cake became the focal point of my party. At least two of my friends regularly called me ‘Courtney Mily Jaun Pablo’ for years to come. My siblings and I still reference it sometimes, eleven years later. It is probably the funniest thing ever to occur at any birthday celebration of my life, and may well remain so for the rest of my days.

I love a botched cake.

[albertserra]

Men don’t go heyyyybatterbatterswingbatterbatterswing like they used to anymore

[albertserra]

We can’t have anything in this fucking world

[eye-5]

love this person knowing enough about baseball to know about the pitch clock and not enough to even approximate the league’s acronym

[petethetreat]

(x)

[stellarspecter]

[y-kasa-deactivated20240228]

Perfectly matching and replicating colors just by seeing them is an art, and, while it's also a very useful task, people who can do this are primarily artists.

Massimo / X

[fish-fido]

Wow.

[cuprohastes]

Yeah but no but yeah -- Look he didn't just colour match it, he also added in the turbulence medium, the clearcoat and the correct metallic flecks... for a paint that will dry a lighter shade than when it goes on.

That's like being served an entire thanksgiving meal made my one person in 45 minutes and then saying "Oh they made me a snack": It is radically underselling what this person can do.

[herssian]

may you achieve all your creative aspirations in the new year, be it professionally, as a hobby, or both. may you gain everything you seek from it and allow it to bring you joy

[o-kurwa]

[sronti]

Scottish independence vote yes campaign slogan idea

[keranos-god-of-storm-crows]

Irish independence vote yes campaign slogan idea

[cacen]

Welsh independence vote yes campaign slogan idea

[identifying-cars-in-posts]

2016-2018 GMC Sierra

[secondlina]

Happy Crowy Yule! It's a reall whose who of Yuletide.

[delusionisthesolution]

pc + the love interests

[giraffeter]

I often see posts about curating your own online experience that make the point, “content creators aren’t your parents.” And, yes, that is absolutely true! And I try not to be like “as a parent,“ but as a parent…

EVEN PARENTS ARE SUPPOSED TO ENCOURAGE RESPONSIBLE READING/VIEWING BEHAVIOR. NOT filter everything ahead of time for their kid.

When my kiddo was 5, his pediatrician was asking him the usual Well Child Visit questions (“What are your favorite foods? What do you do to get your body moving? Do you know what to do if you get lost in a public place?” Etc.) and she asked, “What do you do if you see something on TV that scares or upsets you?”

I piped up like, “Oh, he doesn’t watch TV without one of us in the room,” which was true at the time and is still largely true now. She said, “Yes, but that won’t always be the case, so make sure you’re talking to him about what to do if he sees something that upsets him.”

So we started talking to him about that, and the answer is simple: “Turn it off or leave the room, and talk to someone you trust about what you saw and what you’re feeling.”

The answer is NOT “Ask your parents to make sure you never see anything upsetting again,” because that’s just not possible — and ultimately that would be doing the kid a disservice, since sooner or later he’s going to be out in the world where we can’t control what he watches or reads. That doesn’t mean we don’t try to make sure he’s watching/reading age-appropriate stuff, it just means that’s not the only safeguard he has — and that’s a good thing.

So yes, content creators aren’t your parents and aren’t responsible for making sure you never see anything you don’t like — but also, your own parents should have taught you what to do when that happens. So if they didn’t, take it from me, your internet mom:

Turn it off.

Walk away.

Talk to someone you trust about how you’re feeling.

And leave the person who created the thing that upset you alone.

[neil-gaiman]

When my oldest kids were small -- about 6 and 8 - I bought them a Video (the VCR kind) of John Waters' Hairspray, a film they loved, and, getting home at 3 am, left it for them with a note. They woke me up the next morning. "It's not Hairspray. It's something scary with a car." Due to a mislabelling error, the videotape was Stephen King's Christine.

I mentioned it to friends and a day later got a call from a tabloid journalist who wanted to know about this terrible thing that had happened to my family. "It's not a story, " I told them. "My kids know where the off-button is and how to press it, and the moment they knew they weren't watching what they wanted to watch, they turned it off."

[mamoru]

I filled up a pen I have not used in a while, wondering why I had not used it in a while.

it wrote so wet the ink took over 10 minutes to dry and within those 10 minutes the fully filled pen was already half empty. I had only written a few lines.

I remember why I stopped using this pen.

[mamoru]

the kanwrite heritage using the fprevolution ultra flex nib and an ebonite feed with iroshizuku ink! iroshizuku is especially good for flex nibs because of the surface tension. and ebonite feeds are typically way wetter than plastic.

one of the downsides of the FPR ultra flex nib is that FPR does not sell a lot of high capacity #6 pens that come with it installed. the FPR ultra flex nib is a modified kanwrite nib, which is an indian brand and fits that style of indian pen the best, so for the best fit you want it installed in an indian pen. as in, those sold by FPR themselves. I have tried so hard to fit it in non-indian pens and it just never fits the same. but in the heritage it lays down SO much ink

I wish FPR would sell more high capacity #6 eyedroppers! the heritage is so wet it goes right through its piston capacity very very quickly.

if anyone knows how to eyedropper convert a kanwrite heritage let me know. or if anyone has a favorite ultra high capacity fountain pen that works flawlessly with the FPR flex nib and ebonite feed, let me know!

figuring out what pens fit an FPR ultra flex nib (and ideally ebonite feed) seamlessly is a fountain pen sport for sure

[sunyshorewaves]

are pokemon sentient enough that I could send my Scrafty to the store with a shopping list and money and he'd be allowed to shop by himself when he gets there

[sunyshorewaves]

my shiny Scrafty in the cold aisles trying to decide on cheese

[sunyshorewaves]

I love you guys

[pokemonheritageposts]

Pokemon Heritage Post