#both queer and poc

[spicybi-tm]

I still love to learn

But it's a love that feels both unrequited and forbidden.

I loved learning about math and how it felt like I was solving a puzzle

But I learned that this love I held would only bring me pain.

I was 11 and subjected to the ridicule of my peers because "of course you like math, you're Asian aren't you?"

So I hid the love I held and sabotaged my grades in an effort to put a stop to the small jabs, an effort that was fruitless.

I loved to read books and visits to the library were my favorite part of the week

And don't get me started on when the book fair came and I would beg my mom to "just a couple of dollars, please they have the next book in that series I told you about!"

I remember the reading comprehension tests we were given in elementary school and how I glowed with pride every time the proctor told me that I could read a few grades above my classmates level.

I don't know when books had lost their charm.

Maybe it was 7th grade and I was halfway to 13 that I couldn't get lost in those pages like I used to.

And with such a high reading level, I adored writing.

Specifically, narrative pieces. I would get so upset when I was given a maximum page limit. It was near impossible for me to write a story so short and sweet.

But I was a perfectionist, often told that I was a natural. That this talent of mine was innate, ingrained into me and as sure as the blood in my veins.

So, deadlines came and went. The ones I did turn in only received low marks because of how late it was. I don't think any of them understood how much of my worth was based on getting it perfect the first try.

So that love had brought only tears then.

I still want to learn.

I want to learn all I can about Mechanical/Electrical Engineering.

I want to learn all I can about Paleontology.

I want to learn so many different languages and the mother tongue that my dad has all but forgotten.

I want to learn how to do so many things.

But a part of me has whispered that it's too late. Leave all of this to the youth.

And I wonder if I'm still young? Am I allowed to be?

But that small part of me whispers once more that I haven't been young in a long time. Foolish and naive? Absolutely. It whispers poison telling that I have to leave childish dreams behind. Grow up and understand that you have to kill that part of you.

I still love to learn but I feel as though I don't deserve to. That I am too late to act on that love.

[what-shitfuckery-is-this-ew]

Watching two asian gay guys take down the model minority myth and a transphobic society with their small genderfluid child wasn't on my bingo but damn I'm glad that it exists

[inkpotsprite]

Dead Boy Detectives and Interview with the Vampire are the best shows of 2024, in this essay I will–

[angy-grrr]

yeah, im sure Trump as president is going to make things soooo much better for all the people in Palestine, Congo, Sudan, Yemen, and the US as a whole. So good that some people were able to keep their great morals for themselves/s

[punkeropercyjackson]

[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.

[kisbunzies]

Happy transgender time ! I haven't named this of yet maybe toshi ? Also speedpaint cause why not

[airyairyaucontraire]

Within months of Craven’s introduction of Banks, Craven claimed Banks had been hospitalized after dropping a KitchenAid mixer on her foot, according to both an anonymous former business associate of Craven's I spoke to, and my own past conversations with Craven. Several hours later, her leg was allegedly amputated, and nearly 48 hours after the first operation, her other leg was amputated as well. The anonymous source mentioned above claims they then contacted West Suburban Medical Center in Oak Park, Illinois where Banks was said to be recovering according to the source who saw this information on social media. When they contacted the hospital to send flowers, the hospital said there was no patient by that name. This resulted in the source seeking a third-party opinion due to fears of Craven allegedly misrepresenting himself and taking advantage of clients through sympathy.

A Prominent Accessibility Advocate Worked With Studios and Inspired Change. But She Never Actually Existed. - IGN

This reminds me of “The Strange Case of the Electronic Lover,” which details a very similar fraud committed by a man on CompuServe’s CB Simulator in the early 1980s.  Like, this kind of thing is pretty much as old as the social use of the Internet.

And of course the HIV+ high school AU/cannibal mermaid Hamilton fanfiction incident.

[constantvariations]

Blake hid her ears seemingly without any consequences, but I think it'd be far more interesting if constantly wrapping her ears in a bow cramped them or affected her hearing. It'd make her choice to pass as human more poignant, and her decision to embrace her faunus traits far more liberating and satisfying

It also makes me wonder how many faunus choose to pass despite the harm they're doing to their bodies and how faunus with traits that can't be hidden, like giant scorpion tails or bat wings, might feel about those than can pass easily

There's so little shown about faunus culture and intercommunity politics and average lives, and it never not makes me sad

[chaoticfvckingdisaster]

"I'll never find love-" "dating so difficult nowadays-" "It's so hard-" "I can't-" You're literally hetero and cisgender I don't wanna fucking hear from you

[thelaurenshippen]

💜 for the oc ask game (love your stories so much <3)

for the oc ask game 💜 PURPLE HEART — what is your oc's ancestry/genetic background?

(thank you!! <3)

Sawyer is Black, his parents were originally from the West Indies before moving to the states - Sawyer was born in Montana.

Tex is, as far as he knows for most of his life, Irish. his dad came over when he was an adult and met a woman that he then got pregnant. she died when Tex was eighteen months old and his dad never really talked about her - it's only when he tracks his dad down much later in life that he learns his mother's mother was Osage and also had a child with a white guy (Tex's mom). he doesn't know his maternal grandfather's heritage at all.

[the-galactic-catt]

quick psa for anyone who might need it: if all the praise you can give to a canonical couple in any media is that it has good representation and nothing else, then it's not good representation

[darlinimamess]

also can we talk about how there’s so few popular musicians making gay (mlm) music that isn’t either sexual or sad?

[whatisthisnonsense]

"mutants are poc analogy" "mutants are queer analogy" Listen, X-Men and as such mutants as a whole should really be disability representation, and I mean representation and not analougous to it they just occassionally also get to blast ice while having furniture not built for them, struggles with keeping their mind in the present, and constantly having people casually discuss sterilizing or euthanizing them and being considered either dangerous or simply incapable of understanding when they get mad about this. But nobody is ready for this conversation.

[dykesbat]

like.. yes your anxieties are valid and no matter what they're things you are feeling and things you are experiencing but please stop using language that implies you care more about yourself and things that directly effect you over anything else.

[cryscendo]

kurt hummel in every performance

3x16 - Saturday Night Glee-ver

More Than a Woman - New Directions