Hiya, my name is Holly. I go by Kitsune, Kitsu, Agaru Tomo, and a couple other names. I enjoy writing--both my original stories and fanfiction.

I'm really into crochet, and have way too many projects going at once.

I also do some drawing, and I have a very sketchily updated comic. I also roleplay online, and I'd be happy to toss ideas back and forth.

Anyways, send me a message any time.


Kitsune's Den

It is not our birth, but what we do with the gift of life that defines us.



Am I too late to add a cute ghost to your dash?

the only one worth reblogging

(via hiddlessiren)




there’s an incredibly homophobic and transphobic page on facebook called heterosexuals inspiring pride and they make awful clip art comics that literally make no sense and im laughing so hard

as a certified Gay i can confirm that all of these are 100% correct

good lord

(via hiddlessiren)




i will never stop reblogging this. 

The best gif set of 2012, HANDS DOWN. 

Never not reblog!

(Source: annyskod, via hiddlessiren)





895. Muggleborns wonder why there’s a large group of friendly, teenage ghosts around Hogwarts. They’re led by a funny boy with red hair who likes to joke around with Peeves, and he always says that they’re Dumbledore’s Last Army. 


I’ve cried myself dry.

Fuck everything

(Source: cirquereveur, via hiddlessiren)


Wolverines #1 Variant by Gabriele Dell’Otto

(via justwantedsomepie)


I have long said that in order for any comedy to truly succeed as a story, there has to be meat beneath the jokes. There has to be that moment when it is not funny any more.

This. This is that moment.

(Source: onceland, via tinsnip)








let’s take a minute and realize how heavy that train must have been.

Well considering how heavy her hair used to be, that trail would be rather easy, don’t you think?

What if the train is exactly as long as her hair was?


Just think, after years of being weighed down by like 60ft of hair and to suddenly have it all gone? She’s going to have major balance problems after that and afterwards be really fast.

Is no one going to talk about the horse just hanging out in church?

he’s not “just hanging out” he’s the ringbearer

(Source: disneyismyescape, via matchmadeinpurgatory)



As I’m walking through Target with my little sister, the kid somehow manages to convince me to take a trip down the doll aisle. I know the type - brands that preach diversity through displays of nine different variations of white and maybe a black girl if you’re lucky enough. What I instead found as soon as I turned into the aisle were these two boxes.

The girl on the left is Shola, an Afghani girl from Kabul with war-torn eyes. Her biography on the inside flap tells us that “her country has been at war since before she was born”, and all she has left of her family is her older sister. They’re part of a circus, the one source of light in their lives, and they read the Qur’an. She wears a hijab.

The girl on the right is Nahji, a ten-year-old Indian girl from Assam, where “young girls are forced to work and get married at a very early age”. Nahji is smart, admirable, extremely studious. She teaches her fellow girls to believe in themselves. In the left side of her nose, as tradition mandates, she has a piercing. On her right hand is a henna tattoo.

As a Pakistani girl growing up in post-9/11 America, this is so important to me. The closest thing we had to these back in my day were “customizable” American Girl dolls, who were very strictly white or black. My eyes are green, my hair was black, and my skin is brown, and I couldn’t find my reflection in any of those girls. Yet I settled, just like I settled for the terrorist jokes boys would throw at me, like I settled for the butchered pronunciations of names of mine and my friends’ countries. I settled for a white doll, who at least had my eyes if nothing else, and I named her Rabeea and loved her. But I still couldn’t completely connect to her.

My little sister, who had been the one to push me down the aisle in the first place, stopped to stare with me at the girls. And then the words, “Maybe they can be my American Girls,” slipped out of her mouth. This young girl, barely represented in today’s society, finally found a doll that looks like her, that wears the weird headscarf that her grandma does and still manages to look beautiful.

I turned the dolls’ boxes around and snapped a picture of the back of Nahji’s. There are more that I didn’t see in the store; a Belarusian, an Ethiopian, a Brazilian, a Laotian, a Native American, a Mexican. And more.

These are Hearts 4 Hearts dolls, and while they haven’t yet reached all parts of the world (I think they have yet to come out with an East Asian girl), they need all the support they can get so we can have a beautiful doll for every beautiful young girl, so we can give them what our generation never had.

Please don’t let this die. If you know a young girl, get her one. I know I’m buying Shola and Nahji for my little sister’s next birthday, because she needs a doll with beautiful brown skin like hers, a doll who wears a hijab like our older sister, a doll who wears real henna, not the blue shit white girls get at the beach.

The Hearts 4 Hearts girls are so important. Don’t overlook them. Don’t underestimate them. These can be the future if we let them.

You can read more about the dolls here: http://www.playmatestoys.com/brands/hearts-for-hearts-girls

i should buy these rn for my future daughter. Why the Brazilian one have to be a light-skinned ginger tho?

(via sractheninja)

Muggleborn culture at Hogwarts AUs and I have a special relationships


I mean


have you READ THEM


aren’t they adorable


i want to go to hogwarts



Muggleborns are epic (PART II)


I love muggleborns


They’re epic


I want to be one


They’re so cute can you even




They would deliver the sickest burns


They’re just

ahhjkhlkj muggleborns

(Part I)

(via itsstuckyinmyhead)





See that lady in the chair up there? Long story short: she’s more awesome than you, she’s more awesome than me, she’s more awesome than fried bacon Nutella, and she is more awesome than Florence Nightingale.

That lady is Mary Seacole, and this is a

Mary Seacole Appreciation Post

When the Crimean War broke out, Mary Seacole signed up as a nurse. Unfortunately, she was the daughter of a Scotsman and a Jamaican free woman in the Victorian British Empire, which meant she was treated with the kind of respect we reserve for shoplifters and murderers.
Well, actually, we still allow murderers and shoplifters to vote, so scratch that and let’s just say fuck Westminster and everyone in it in the 19th century. Except John Stuart Mill, John Stuart Mill was alright, but only because of Harriet Taylor.

Mary Seacole wants to go help out soldiers fighting for the government, the government gives her a big fat middle finger. What does Mary Seacole do? She says “fuck that noise” and goes to the Crimean Peninsula by her goddamn self.  When she gets to the war, she goes to see Florence Nightingale: “Hey, Florence, I want to make people stop dying.” Nightingale says, “no, you’re not white enough and you’ll probably run a brothel or something” and sends her off. So what does Mary Seacole do? She builds a hotel.
And I don’t mean, “she buys a shack someone left behind,” no, she builds a hotel, out of wood and iron scraps, on a motherfreaken battlefield, with the help of a few locals who aren’t dead yet. Take a couple of seconds to realize just how much of a badass you have to be to pull that off.

So, she’s got a hotel for British soldiers, all is fine and dandy, right? She’s safely away from the front-line serving tea to officers in her lovely little inn, right? Wrong! Every morning she makes like a gallon of food, loads it on donkeys and goes TOWARDS the explosions, because a bit of murderous artillery isn’t gonna stop  her being awesome. She spends basically the ENTIRE war getting shot at, bringing food to soldiers and dealing with bullet-wounds. And because she’s NOT a nurse or a British doctor, she understands that it’s a really good idea to wash her hands when dealing with sick people, and that keeping wounds clean is the no. 1 way of not putting ten tons of infection in them. Hell, while she’s out on the battlefield anyway, she even heals the ENEMY soldiers because a little bit of war isn’t a good enough reason to make her stop being the badassest lady for twelve million miles around.

Over where Nightingale is messing around, basically if you weren’t infected when you got in, you were GONNA be once you’d been there a while. Soldiers are croaking left and right and all around because they’re stuffed wall to wall and no-one knows how to spell the word “hygiene” yet. Not Nightingale’s fault, really, so much as all the stupid male doctors who didn’t understand how to listen to really smart Hungarians. You got shot in the Crimean, you wanted to go see Seacole. Cholera, yellow fever, dysentery? Seacole’s got your back. Hungry? Seacole makes, like, the BEST rice-pudding.

I want you to understand that when the Crimean War breaks out, Seacole is 48 years old. This at a time when people had a serious tendency to die before they were 30. It’s basically the equivalent of a 70-year old going to Afghanistan to help topple the Taliban!
And then, after the war is over, not only is she one of the last people to go home, she’s also dirt poor because she spent all her money buying food and medicine for the soldiers and when the war was over she had to sell it to the freaken Russians just to get the creditors off her back. Poor and outliving like 80% of the general population ALREADY, she goes home to live another 25 years, as if she had yet to prove how much tougher she was than absolutely everybody else alive on the planet.

She’s impoverished, old and living in a society that mostly hates her for reflecting slightly less sunlight than they do, so what does she spend her time doing? Raising funds for charity. Like, obviously! Then, in 1857, the Indian Rebellion breaks out and people start dying again. At this point Seacole has spent over 3 years in war and poverty, basically having a footrace with Death, but the first damn thing she does is try and go to India to help people out. It takes the freaken Secretary of War to get her to stay home.

In 1881, Seacole dies at 76, and for the next 100 years, all anyone can talk about is how awesome Florence Nightingale was. It’s not until now in the 21st freaken century that anyone is particularly bothering to remember the single most awesome Scottish-Jamaican super-nurse ever, or include her in textbooks and history-classes. My point is this: let’s remember her on Tumblr.

"I have witnessed her devotion and her courage … and I trust that England will never forget one who has nursed her sick, who sought out her wounded to aid and succour them and who performed the last offices for some of her illustrious dead."—William Howard Russel, one of the first modern war-correspondents. 

Because how can I NOT reblog such awesome history?

Mary Seacole was a bamf! I’m so glad Horrible Histories (a show for kids) did a cute little song in her honour! 

There’s also this that Horrible Histories did, and the song linked to above has a video though that doesn’t seem to be on YouTube.

(via skeledax)





A version for tumblr that can be read without opening a new tab, since plenty of people would scroll past this story otherwise.

The bravest woman on Earth.

I love her. Forever reblog.

My hero.

(via keeping-up-with-the-carsassians)










In response to the shooting death of Mary Spears in Detroit.

I cant make this shit up. Men……..I swear they just don’t understand the fear of being a woman

hek23 “Ok I’m confused, women do you want a thug or not?”


It seems like a hideously shitty idea to give your number to someone who’d physically attack you for not giving it.

"Oh, a person that dangerous and unstable definitely won’t use my number to call me or find out where I live or stalk me or anything!"

Not sure if dude here is really dumb, talking about fake numbers, or just using potential violence as an excuse to try and convince people to give him numbers.

What they usually ignore is that giving fake numbers will put you at risk as well

Men have gotten smarter by calling that number right in front of you to make sure that is your number


That calling the number right in front of me shit happened to me a couple times.

Thankfully, none of those dudes EVER called me again, but the fact that they would call the number with me standing there would fill me with dread and tell me immediately what kind of person he is.

Like, nigga, IF it’s a fake number, WHAT you gon DO to me?

I think they were just asking for my number for sport, cause they never actually called me again,

But I shudder to think about how many times this could have been me,

How it angers me that I have to ‘have a boyfriend’ because dudes will respect another man before they’ll respect ME and my right to not want they ass.

Actually Tashabilities… she told him that she had a boyfriend. And Thats when he killed her. 


Every possible scenario when a man tries to kill a woman over her phone number, people will find a way to blame her for what he did:

  • You ignore him, so he attacks you. “Why couldn’t you just be polite? Why would you provoke someone who was obviously violent?”
  • You try to politely turn him down, so he attacks you. “Why couldn’t you just pretend to be interested? Why would you provoke someone who was obviously violent?”
  • You fake interest because you’re scared he’s going to hurt you. He thinks you’re serious and won’t leave you alone and then he attacks you when you finally try to shake him off politely with a totally reasonable excuse. “Why’d you lead him on? Why would you encourage someone who was obviously violent?”
  • You give him your phone number to get him to leave you alone. He starts calling you a lot, but you don’t answer, so he tracks you down, and then he attacks you. “Why did you give him your phone number? Why would you encourage someone who was obviously violent?”
  • You give him your fake phone number to get him to leave you alone. He realizes it’s not your real number, so he attacks you. “Why would you give him a fake phone number? Why would you provoke someone who was obviously violent?”
  • You give him your real phone number and you try to be nice when you call. Eventually he realizes you’re not actually interested and attacks you. “Why did you lead him on? Why would you encourage someone who was obviously violent?”
  • You give him your real phone number and end up being harassed into a relationship with someone who is obviously violent because you are scared for your life. He eventually tries to kill you anyhow for nebulous reasons that ultimately boil down to: he can’t completely control you the way he wants to because you are a person, not a doll. “Why do women date violent men? I don’t understand why they don’t just leave.”

I’ve heard all of these arguments in all of these situations. Men use harassment, coercion, and violence to try to get what they believe they are entitled to from women, and the woman gets blamed no matter what. Men are never expected to take responsibility for their bad behavior, because their sense of entitlement is never questioned by our misogynistic patriarchal society. In our warped society, it is reasonable for men to expect that women should be compliant, should be willing to give any man who wants them exclusive rights to her body, sex, affection, and love, and so it is reasonable for men to become violent when a woman acts in any way that denies men control over her person.

Therefore, when a man gets violent, the problem is not the man and his sense of entitlement, it is the woman, who didn’t do “what she was supposed to” even if there is absolutely nothing she could do, short of giving up her autonomy and personhood entirely. And men who get violent when women refuse to comply do so to remind them: if you won’t surrender your personhood willingly, we will take it from you by force.

This is about control, not a phone number.

(via ladyshinga)