so i had to resort to that

It is not a political belief to say that Donald Trump is sexist, racist, ableist, vengeful and a bully. It is not a political belief to say that he has allowed a homophobic, transphobic misogynist into the White House with him. It is not a political belief to say that he is a liar. Those are not labels anyone chooses for themselves; people qualify for them through their actions. And at every turn, Trump has acted in ways that align with every single one of those words. He has lied so much that his lies no longer have meaning. He’s filled the air with fear and bombast, and it’s no surprise that, breathing in the fumes of a deliberately deceptive campaign, the voters had to resort to feelings over facts. There are only so many times you can hear a man say, “I am your only hope for survival,” before you start to wonder if he’s right.

I am scared for my future in a way I never have been before. I am a young, queer woman of color who works in an industry the president-elect has condemned as corrupt and irredeemable. I am afraid my right to marry will be taken away, which in turn will erode my and my fiancee’s financial stability and our ability to start a family. I am looking back at the privilege I held yesterday, which I was so lucky to gain via Supreme Court ruling just as I reached adulthood, and kicking myself for not taking seriously the idea that I might lose it. Early Wednesday morning, I went to bed terrified that the future I’d only just started to seriously conceive would be taken away unceremoniously.

And at the end of the day, I am not the most exposed or in danger here. I am not a Muslim, or an immigrant, or a young man of color, or even a very visible Latina. The political machine that secured marriage equality (and with it those myriad familial rights that make it important in practical, rather than simply emotional, terms) is mighty, and I have faith that it will protect that right fiercely, and ultimately restore it if it does get put on hold.

So today, I reserve the deepest part of my mourning for those groups whose rights are not defended the way marriage equality is. I’m setting aside whatever energy I can to fight for those who cannot do it alone. If you are lost, scared and uncertain about what you’re going to do, I am here. I can’t offer solutions right now, but I can hug you and feed you and keep you hydrated. I can give you a place to sleep and an endless supply of silly television if you need to just tune the world out for a while. And as soon as you’re ready to fight, I’ll be right there with you.

Because it’s not a political belief to say that people of color, queer people, immigrants, non-Christians and refugees have rights. It’s not a political belief to say that bigotry is wrong, and that our nation is better when we stand together. It is not a political belief to say that the things Donald Trump has promised to do as president are unconstitutional and diametrically opposed to the principles of our nation. And it’s not a political belief to say that if you voted to make this happen, you have deliberately put a very large swath of this nation in acute danger. Those are just the facts.

Kaitlyn Jakola, senior copy editor Mic, What comes next: Facing the facts in the Donald Trump era 

anonymous asked:

"When girls and women are taught self defence (and I mean literally taught. Most women have had at least one class in school on it) we are taught that hitting is the absolute LAST resort. Realistically? If a man has actually punched us? 90%+ of women are fucked already. There is no defence against someone stronger than you hitting you." So can a woman who gets punched can actually defend herself or not?

Women aren’t made of porcelain.

We’re not some separate species, or utterly different physically from men. The concept of “woman” is a societal one. It changes based on socialization, and changes based on the society’s belief on what a woman is. It’s a nebulous concept, with no solid value when hitching one’s identity to it and the same is true for men. Societal constructs like masculinity and femininity are linked heavily to societal expectations and how we’re raised. When someone says, “a woman can’t” when a “man can” most of the time they’re referring to societal expectations taken as fact. These beliefs often have nothing to do with reality, and you only have to look at the vast differences in the United States when it comes to stereotyping women of different ethnicity, various cultures, or income levels just to see how shallow those ideas are.

There are female soldiers, female police officers, female martial artists of every stripe, and the warriors are countless going back generations. You can, in fact, find them if you look. This is before we get to athletes and all the other non-combat positions women occupy today that society said, “impossible!” just a few decades ago.

This is why understanding the effects of socialization is so important. When it comes to learning, what you believe will decide what you are.

Here’s the truth: no one takes a punch well when they’re mentally unprepared for it.

Here’s the other: most people (men included) aren’t trained to take hits.

Notice that you’re instructor told you, “Don’t piss off men. You’re helpless if they decide to physically assault you.”

They did not teach you what it looks like when a punch is incoming, or what the change over looks like. Good self-defense teaches you to be aware of your surroundings and learn to determine when danger is potentially incoming. You can’t respond when you don’t know its coming, and you can’t prepare for it, physically or mentally, when taken by surprise. The first moments of a real fight are crucial. Those seconds it takes to recognize danger and react to it when you’re already in the middle of being hit is too late. You’ve lost the initiative, you’re playing catch up, and that’s a terrible position to be in when you’re trained. It’s pretty much almost always unrecoverable if you’re not.

It has nothing to do with being a man, and its disingenuous from a self-defense perspective to focus entirely on them. While far more likely, men are not the only ones who can or will hit you. Women aren’t any safer, and can be just as predatory.

The problem with these self-defense classes is if you’re really serious about learning to defend yourself then you need to train for it. Good professionals worth their salt will always tell you that you need to be training in some martial art, and practicing the techniques you learned in your self-defense course constantly so that they become embedded in your muscle memory.

When I was forced into one these high school self-defense courses, my seventeen year old martial artist self thought they were stupid and overall pretty pointless, and they didn’t come at us with any of the above bullshit about getting punched. Girls who’ve done an hour of self-defense five years ago aren’t going to be able to perform jiujutsu throws, they’ll be lucky if they remember the bear hug escapes or how to roll the wrist against the thumb and tug if someone tries to take you were you don’t want to go (and then not know what to do once they’ve gotten free because they never practice running). Forget punching, they won’t remember how to do that.

If you aren’t practicing to the point where it becomes second nature, with the added benefit of learning self-defense techniques that are exceedingly easy to memorize (believe it or not, not all self-defense programs will teach these), and doesn’t come with the caveat that if you’re serious you need more education then they’re pretty worthless.

All your class seems to have taught you is how to be a willing victim, and that’s the worst kind of self defense.

“If someone attacks you, you can do nothing so just give up.”

That’s tantamount to admitting that they didn’t really teach you anything, and don’t want you to think they did. You’re not even in exactly the same place you were before you took that class. Mentally, you’re worse off.

If you don’t believe you can, then you won’t and it’s simple as that.

It should come as no surprise to anyone that when it comes to self-defense, you get what you pay for.

Taught is not not taught, the vast majority of high schools don’t have classes. They have one hour a year (maybe) devoted to it (usually P.E.), and sometimes its not even required. If you’re lucky, it’s a seminar of a few days. If you’re really lucky, they’ll bring in one of the female (or male) police officers from a local precinct who specializes in the police’s self-defense training they give the public. However, you are not guaranteed to have a professional, or even just a local officer. Often, it’s just the PE teacher who took a three month course. What girls get in high school depends heavily on what waivers the school is willing to sign and how much liability they’re willing to take on. It also depends on who is doing the hiring, who they are hiring, and whether they actually care.

Believe it or not, there are plenty of people out there who think women don’t need to learn self-defense and don’t want to waste the school’s already limited resources on hiring someone for a few hours. Especially when you can’t learn much self-defense in a few hours, and almost none of it is lasting.

If you’re from a country other than America, it might be different, but if you’re referring American education then its important to remember you’re experiences (whatever they were) aren’t universal. No, really. Education varies heavily from district to district, and can be vastly different within single cities depending on where you live, this is before we get to county versus county, and that’s before we get to the differences between the states. In America, public education heavily dependent on money and property values. The higher the house value, the richer the district, then the better the education. Its important to know, that when it comes to education, segregation is economic. America and Americans have no real true standard for education or education value. What you get depends on where you live, and often on parental involvement.

You can’t learn self-defense in an hour or two. You will be fucked up by shitty instructors, sexist instructors, and negligent instructors. If you are not doing your own research and taking control of learning to defend yourself then you are likely to get one of the above. If you look at self-defense as all being the same, that combat is an innate skill set possessed by only one side of the human species, if you honestly believe on some level you are inferior to men (and if you’re young, white, female, and WASP, you better believe you’ve been conditioned by society at large to see yourself that way) and that there’s no point in even trying, you will be fucked.

Combat is a learned skill.

It is not innate. You have to learn it. It is not inherently masculine. If you are a woman learning to fight, you’re not actually all that special or standout. There are plenty of women out there learning to fight. However, you’ve got to go looking for it. It won’t be handed to you.

One of the most empowering aspects in learning to fight is taking control of your own safety. You are no longer reliant on the charity or uncertainty of those around you, and that certainty will drive off most predators. Predators don’t want a real fight, they aren’t looking. 9/10, they want victims who are vulnerable and go down easy. So, whether you’re male or female, and you’re worried about your safety then head to your local police precinct, find a seminar, and that’ll point you toward freedom.


Women can take punches but not if they’re not prepared for it and whoever was teaching you is a shithead.

Don’t let their idiocy turn you into a willing victim.

This post is a public service announcement, not martial arts training.

Go get some.


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Yuri and Vicchan

I was watching YOI 1x01 again when I noticed something. Do you remember that morning when Yuri went out to clean the snow, and Makkachin was there? Moments before Yuri found out that Victor was in his family’s resort?

“Vicchan”. Yuri called Makkachin “Vicchan”. Yes, he realized after that Makkachin was bigger and well, he couldn’t be Vicchan in any possible way, but… The fact here is that Yuri’s first reaction after seeing a poodle in his family’s resort was call him “Vicchan”. Yuri Katsuki, 23 years old at that moment, and perfectly knowing that his dog, his Vicchan, had passed away, couldn’t help but call Makkachin “Vicchan”.

I just… I understand him, I really do. And god, I want to hug him so much.

bl/ind and trans ppl

i figure that BLI is pretty tolerant when it comes to binary trans people. the issue comes up when someone doesn’t want to identify as either male or female. it has nothing to do with religion, of course, nor with ““biology””– chromosomes or genitals or whatever– it’s just that BLI believes that it’s too confusing for citizens to have more than two set genders floating around. bad for productivity. BLI already divides everything into a binary, all black-and-white, so gender has to be as well. 

gender EXPRESSION isn’t really policed or anything, if you’re dmab and you wanna wear a dress BLI doesn’t care. they only get involved once it’s a question of gender IDENTITY, of pronouns and legal names and markers on documents.

if you get cleared by your BLI physician, the company is more than happy to provide you with hormone therapy through their Gender Reassignment Program. it’s just another set of pills, after all. any surgeries are optional, but still covered if wanted. but to get access to any of these, you have to identify as either male or female, and you have to exhibit “strong enough” dysphoria (evaluated by an appointed professional). 

anyone trying to assert that they don’t want either of the two gender markers to be used is obviously misguided. that’s a problem. that’s inconvenient. they get assessed, and if they are found to exhibit dysphoria, then they are prescribed a mandatory transition to the opposite gender. if they are not found to exhibit enough dysphoria, then they are sent away and continue to be marked as their assigned gender. 

in contrast, gender’s seen as a lot more fluid once you get out of BLI’s clutches. some joys get out there knowing they’re trans, but some, it never occurs to them until they’ve spent some time in the desert. they’re able to explore themselves more once they’re out of that cage, and settle on what they think suits them best. overall, though, labels and such aren’t so important. lots of joys don’t settle things any further than a set of pronouns.

I’m irritated when people portray Nico as this callous, ruthless, ready-to-kill at the drop of a hat type of character that Will or Jason has to“rein in” so he doesn’t resort to murder or scare tactics

Nico feels incredibly guilty about the times he’s had to kill other demigods, and can be incredibly sweet.

Just because his powers are associated with death doesn’t mean he’s a ruthless killer. That was sort of the point of his character you know, that people ostracized and judged him unfairly because they assumed things like this. 

Shuuichi Saihara - Bad Detective Character Analysis + Theory

This is not the face of a wingless angel, this is the face of a young boy who is willing to do anything to achieve his goal of becoming a successful detective no matter what, even if he has to resort to illegal and obscure procedures.  

I’ve said this before , but I believe Shuuichi is a corrupt detective, who’s manipulating Kaede into lying and presenting false evidences, most likely fabricated by himself, during Class Trials. He realized how useful her talent as a pianist could be, so he persuaded her to take part in his dirty and shady schemes to solve the murder cases. Plus, he’s a potential candidate of being a traitor or simply betray everyone eventually. However, I never actually talked about the hypothetical motives behind his actions, if we go by the logic that he really isn’t as trustworthy as we previously thought.

If I had to summarize the reason why he’d tend to resort to ilicit methods, it’d be because he doesn’t trust in his abilities as a detective, therefore he thinks the only way he could ever solve a serious case, like a murder case, is by relying on crooked techniques. It’s even more complex though. First, I’m going to do a general analysis on him, because to understand the motives behind his actions, means to understand Shuuichi as a character. Then, I’m going to display my new theory based on strange things from the new information about him that should be pointed out. Just like Nagito in the first chapter, Shuuichi might’ve indirectly and intentionally caused the first murder.

Keep reading

Wands and Wizards.

Draco was once again off his rocker. He’d taken to the new order of heartstrings and stored them with the unicorn hairs, realized what he’d done, flew back into the storeroom to undo what he’d messed up and had gotten distracted with resorting the empty wand boxes again. See Draco had a date and when he had a date coming, Draco went a bit barmy.
Harry smiled into his bittersweet coffee, before easing back into another frown. Draco was flustered, he looked so disheveled when he was flustered, it was sort of adorable.
“What’s this one do then?” Harry sighed from the doorway.
“What?” Draco cried, breaking his attention away from the larger boxes.
“Who is he? What does he do?” Harry tried again.
Draco furrowed his brows before standing up once more, “Inter-species relations. How?-”
Harry hid his face in his cup, smirking resolutely as he returned to the front once more leaving Draco to flap about before he gave himself away.
“And how are we this fine morning Mr. Potter?” Mr. Ollivander asked from the record books at the counter top.
“Draco has a date,” Harry chuckled.
Ollivander seemed to make an ‘O’ sort of shape with his mouth in understanding, nodding reverently before arising once more and declaring himself tired. “I trust you with the repairs Harry, we won’t be making much progress with the unyielding oak anytime today anyway!”
Harry rolled his eyes in response, they’d been working on the unyielding oak wand, 13 inches, for about 3 months now and it was being quite stubborn, much like a certain coworker, this wand had a temperament.
“You just get your rest, well try it tomorrow?” Harry smiled. After the war Ollivander hadn’t quite recovered to full health, it could be attributed to his age as well as the ordeal of it all but every now and again he would take a day to himself, let Harry and Draco run things and rest in his apartment above the shop.
“I’m sure of it!” Ollivander smiled once more before making for the door that lead to his apartment stair.
Placing his cup down Harry went to the record books, looked through receiving, three new wands in for repair, every time a new one came in Harry would think of Ron’s broken wand in second year and smile to himself.
“Where’s Ollivander? Upstairs?” Draco popped his head around the corner.
Harry nodded.
“What about the oak?”
“Tomorrow he says,” Harry mumbled into the paperwork.
“Ah,” Draco sighs acceptingly. “I’m taking lunch at 11. If you want to take lunch at 1 I’ll shut up shop for you?”
A very small, bitter, selfish part of Harry, the very jealous miserable part, wanted to deny Draco of this but he was being polite about it and it was true that Harry hated closing up at the end of the day. Draco must really want this lunch date, Harry groaned.
“Yeah okay, whatever. I’ll be in the workshop till then working repairs.” Harry grabbed the repairs pile and staring down at the floor made for the workshop.
Once Harry was alone, had shut the door and locked it, only then did he put the broken wands down and relax comfortably into his shitty mood.

Three years ago Harry Potter had completed his Auror training with flying colours and actual honest to Merlin recommendations. He was in the DMLE Auditorium graduating, listening to his superiors go on about the life and duty of an Auror when he felt inexplicably bored.
He’d decided in that very moment that he didn’t want to be an Auror anymore and left the celebration feeling rather useless and a little lost. He didn’t mean to stumble into Mr. Ollivander closing up, but when he did it only made sense to chat to him for a bit, see how he was. They ended up talking about the Elder Wand for a long while and then wands in general.
After a few hours Harry had somehow gotten hired as Garrick Ollivander’s apprentice.
He remember coming into the shop the very next morning, getting a full tour of the workshop, the workfront and storeroom. It was Draco’s shock of white blonde hair nosing through the storeroom that had shocked him the most.
Draco having being pardoned of his crimes during the war had however been given community service, a chance to pay back the community or those he’d hurt. He’d chosen to help Ollivander at his shop, free of charge, to repay him of the time he’d spent at Malfoy Manor.

There was a knock at the workshop door that awoke Harry from his daydreaming.
“Ugh, Potter. It’s almost 11.” Draco spoke through the door, so clear to Harry that he could imagine him through the door.
“Fine!” Harry barked, “I’ll be there in a sec!”
He heard Draco mumbled before walking from the door.
“Just a few pots of wand polish.” Draco grumbled, refiling the receipts in the old cash drawer.
Harry was about to tell Draco to calm down, he was about to soothe him. He could make him a cup of tea. Or maybe he would just tell him to shove the date and stay at work with him, he could-
No, there was a bloke coming through the door and he was well dressed. Harry rolled his eyes and hovered by the nearest shelf, leaning against it.
“Draco!” The man cried, sounding all too happy to see him.
Harry watched with tensed jaw as Draco looked up and brightened at the man, sending the heat of jealousy to curl inside his chest.
“Alphonse!” Harry rolled his eyes back into his head at Draco’s returned cry.
The aforementioned Alphonse had slicked back brown hair and pale blue eyes, he wore the latest fashions robes, or so Harry assumes. He had a pleasant enough face and it annoyed him. He imagined them together, smiling together in photos and going for trips over the weekend.
He snorted in annoyance.
“Oh um Alphonse, this is er.. Harry.” Draco introduced him. The only time Draco ever referred to him as Harry was to other people. To his dates.
“You two better hurry along now,” Harry offered smally, wishing they’d leave already so he could revert his jealousy into a comfortable wallowing.
“My word. Harry Potter! You never told me you worked with Harry Potter. I’d heard he’d left the Aurors but Wands, of course!” Alphonse gushed and then suddenly Harry’s anger and resentment left him. The look of Draco’s face recede from happiness into a reserved acceptance made his heart go out to him.
“Ah, yes. Potter here makes the wand, or at least helps makes the wands.” Draco offered but Alphonse didn’t hear a word he said. Harry on the other hand noticed he was back to being Potter.
“You should come to lunch with us, it would be wonderful. You must share you stories with us!”
Lord, Harry thought.
Draco was biting his tongue he could see but he looked mad. “Um, I’m sure that would just bore the pants off of Draco!” Harry tried, his mind blanching at the thought of getting into Draco’s pants that way. “I’ve got to watch the shop anyway, you know, make the wands. I have a stubborn piece of oak to work on.” He gestured to the back and hoped Draco would get the gesture he was trying to make. He would however not look him in the eye.
“Oh of course, you’re perfectly right. Some other time then?” Alphonse smiled hopefully.
Harry just nodded, offering a tight smile, feeling highly uncomfortable.
“Should we go?” Alphonse returned his attentions back to Draco who in the meantime had placed his stoic face on indifference on, in an act of Lucius type diplomacy, he smiled his best fake smile and took Alphonse’s offered arm.
“Fuck.” Harry exhaled when they were out of sight down the street.

Harry had repaired the cracks in two wands, and polished the third finding nothing at all wrong with it. He had few customers, received a few invoices and tried tidying up a little before giving into the pull of the workshop.
He’d reached the oak and caressed the wood, even in it’s stasis, the magic thrumming within it pulsed. He decided he’d use some unicorn powder to help align it with the unicorn hair he’d hoped it’d take to but as soon as he sprinkled the littlest amount of it to the right spot, the magic surrounding it flared and rebelled. Getting unicorn horn flecks in his hair.
“Ah, I thought I felt the oak acting up!” Ollivander croaked from the doorway. “What have I told you about wand-making Harry?”
“Like a wand chooses a wizard, the wand chooses its core. Never force it, yes I know.” Harry groaned, “I just thought I’d tempt it or something.”
“I don’t think you should be focusing your efforts on the oak,” Ollivander smiled knowingly.
“Wha-?” Harry smiled confused before a loud bang erupted from the front.
“FUCK YOU POTTER FUCK YOU!” Draco cried, his raw magic thrusting the wand boxes from their places upon the shelves as he stormed forward.
Harry met him in the hall, recognizing the mood, not wanting Draco to ruin the workshop.
“FUCKING FUCK YOU POTTER! You win over my dates without even trying to!” Draco yelled into his face now, mere centimetres away. Harry felt light headed by the proximity.
“I- uh, What?” Harry managed.
Draco took a breath, “Alphonse. Couldn’t ruddy stop talking about the famous fucking Harry Potter, Saviour of the fucking World.”
“What did I do?” Harry winced at his own word, feeling Draco inch close if possible.
“What did you do? What did you do! He was so besotted with you, he spoke of nothing else.” Draco’s fire broke, “I don’t think. I don’t think I’ll be seeing him again.”
“Shame.” Harry accidentally let slip.
“What was that?! Do you have a problem with Alphonse?”
Shit! Harry hadn’t meant to say that last bit out loud, “Uh no?”
“OH! So it’s a problem with me dating?!” Draco snapped back, fire roaring back to life. “Big bad Death Eater should just stay at home and keep to himself is that it?”
“Fuck! No! I just- Look you seem to do well for yourself, Mark or no. Just you have to admit-” Harry fumbled.
“What?!” Draco cried incredulously. “I date too much is it?”
At this point, it would seem the straw finally broke the horse’s back, Harry snapped, Draco was just too in his face, and he wasn’t winning, he never won with Draco anymore. “You DO get around quite a bit, I have noticed!”
“I get around!? I get around?! Are you calling me a slut Harry?” Draco was yelling again.
Part of Harry realized that Draco had slipped and called him Harry to his face but for the most part Harry was mad and stupid and jealous, ignoring the slip to yell back with: “If the wand fits!”
Draco looked like the air was knocked out of him.
There was a thump behind them within the span of awkward silence. Turning to see what it was, Ollivander. Shit! Harry scrambled to the old man. And panic settled in his chest, overthrowing anything else he may have been feeling.

They’d spent the night with Ollivander at St.Mungo’s, not speaking to each other unless it was something akin to ‘Can you get him some water?’ Or ‘I’m going to talk to the nurse again.’
When morning came they took him home, to rest in his own apartment upstairs, close enough for them to keep an eye on.
Draco tidied the wands, placing them back into their places. Harry made them a cuppa, extra strong coffee for himself, extra sweet tea for Draco.
“Here,” Harry whispered, tea in hand.
“Cheers,” Draco took the cup and sipped it, his furrowed brows easing at the taste.
“I was thinking I’d take the couch upstairs, stay overnight with him. I’ll open up tomorrow, watch over him.” Harry said resolutely, waiting for Draco to fight him on this, as they’d fought stupidly the day before.
“You sure?” Draco whispered, throat husky and unused. “Maybe I can do the same the next night, depending on how he’s doing?”
Harry swallowed hard, tempering his feelings. The Mediwitch hadn’t been hopeful, this hadn’t been the first time after all, they’d told them to make him comfortable.
“Yeah, sure.” Harry croaked, making for the stairs.
Draco followed him and together they sat with their dying Maestro.
“Ollivander? Garrick?” Harry tried.
A soft Accio was whispered and a cluttered desk reshuffled itself messily in the lounge outside the door, a set of parchments came flying through the room before it landed in Draco’s hands.
“Read it my boy.” Ollivander croaked.
Draco took his time, reading over each line, eyes bulging as he reread a few of them again and then tears streaked his cheeks suddenly, leaving Harry lost.
“What is it?” Harry tried to whisper.
“He’s willed us the shop. Both of us, Ollivanders Wand Shop is ours after his. His-” Draco couldn’t finish and Harry didn’t blame him. At first he was touched by the offer and then he was confused.
“Isn’t there someone else, a family member. Why us?” Harry cried.
“There is no one. Just you two.”
“Ha! We’ll kill each other!” Harry announced manically. “In the event of our passing we’ll turn your legacy into a joke, throttling each others throats.” Ollivander smiled knowingly again and that hussed Harry up for a little while.
“I’m too impatient, I’ll try forcing all the wands. Nothing will ever get done.” He whispered smalley.
“You will Harry, you will.” Ollivander smiled.
Draco was still in shock, clutching onto the parchment with shaking hands. “Why me? I’m a, I was a- what my family did to you!” Draco cried.
“You have paid back in kind!” Ollivander smiled restfully. “And have done so even after your community service period ran out. You care for this place and everything in it, wholeheartedly. I trust the both of you to take care of the place after I am gone.”
“I wish you wouldn’t speak like that. You could get better.” Harry murmured.
“I am an old man.” Ollivander rose with passion. “No enough of this, let me rest you two. Try stop looking so sour. Save your sad faces for when I am truly gone.”
They let Ollivander sleep and descending down together.
Together. Shit, Harry thought. They were going to share this place together one day. The thought of them together in anything warmed his belly. He didn’t know how long he could watch Draco parade his lovers around him. Oh god! Forever. He’d be doomed to this forever. Watching him parade around forever whilst he sat at the shop all day going over the books to their shop- their shop.
“Wait a minute.” Harry halted them at the foot of the stair. “Ollivander mentioned your community service ending.”
“Yeah, like two years ago. Get with the program Potter,” Draco halfheartedly sneered.
“Draco I’ve seen the books, there isn’t anything in there about your salary. Actually, any type of payment for anything to you!”
Draco softened, letting his shoulders slump, “There is plenty left in the Malfoy Coifers Potter, sometimes one just enjoys having a reason to wake up in the morning. And Ollivander’s is the kind of place that deserves that attention.”
Harry’s heart soared at the happiness dusting the corners of Draco’s pointed face, he leaned in and pecked his mouth, for all his sour faces and his ill moods, Draco always surprised him and he felt himself love him more for it.
Harry stilled and stepped back. He looked down at the floor and made for the door as quick as he could, pushing through the door to apparate.

What in the fucking fuck just happened?
One minute Harry was bring on the Spanish Inquisition and the next he was kissing him. Kissing him! Then it was over and he was gone and shit!
He raced upstairs and threw about a dozen monitoring spells spells over Ollivander before racing back down. Shit.
Harry’s mug was still warm. When had he put that down?
Draco raced over to the counter and started rummaging through all the loose notes and scribbles. “Someone remind to clean this fucking thing out!” He roared to himself. “Ah ha!”
He clutched at the piece of paper, reading it before making for the door. He locks it behind him and apparates to number 12 Grimmauld Place.

When Draco gets there, he takes a moment to acclimate to being indoor after being in the bright outdoors of Diagon Alley.
Then he hears noises, clinking sounds and follows the noise into a room. It seems like a sitting room, or a parlour. What he notices most about it is Harry, pouring himself a glass of Ogden’s.
“Why did you do it?” He wills himself to say eventually.
Harry didn’t seem surprised by his presence and yet he still wouldn’t turn around.
“I said, why did you do it?” Draco felt his own voice break and opted for silence instead of further embarrassment.
“Does it matter?” Harry sneered, gulping down his Firewhiskey. “I kissed you, I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry. We’ll drop it okay? I’ll head in later and sit with Ollivander. I promise.”
“It matters to me Potter!” Draco pushed. “Why did you kiss me?”
Harry ducked his head down and braced himself using the bar as an anchor. “I couldn’t help it alright. I’m usually much better at controlling myself. It won’t happen again alright?”
Draco couldn’t believe his ears. He wouldn’t find anything to say. Potter made it seem very convincingly that he felt- that he…
“Look, I don’t want it to affect our work okay. If you feel uncomfortable, I’ll. I don’t know, I might be able to find somewhere else to finish my apprenticeship okay? Its- fuck!” Harry inhaled yet another few fingers of whiskey.
Draco managed a few steps and then, “Fuck this! And fuck you!”
That broke Harry out of his self pity party. “What?”
“I said fuck you! Fuck Potter, I didn’t even know you liked men! Let alone, could like me!” Draco pulled at the sides of his hair. “Fuck! All those stupid dates, Pansy said I needed to get over you. Said I should move on with someone else. I just kept comparing them to you and FUCK!”
Harry faced him fully now, “What?” His voice almost threatening.
“I didn’t mean to. I was late, and that guy, forget his name-”
“Marcus, his name was Marcus.” Harry said.
Draco almost stopped, “Right. He comes to the shop to pick me up, I got caught up reshelving. I didn’t notice the time. He comes in and I’m excited and nervous and then suddenly he isn’t worth it anymore. Because he doesn’t compare to you. No one does.”
He eyed Harry cautiously, he hadn’t read anything wrong had he? What if it wasn’t Potter had meant at all? It could have just been a lonely kind of kiss, one made out of the desperation born from such a sad situation.
Harry pounced on him, leading with his hips and holding onto each side of Draco’s face, pushing them together as their lips met. Draco let himself be kissed for a moment, reveling in the warm of Harry’s soft lips, the passion behind the desperate rise and fall of Harry’s chest. He felt Harry’s face contort in anguish and lept into action, kissing back with equal force, pulling at Harry, clawing at his sides, his hips, his arse anything to encourage him. Letting Harry slip his tongue into his mouth.
Harry gave the smallest chuckled before falling back into the kiss, running his big strong hands up Draco’s back his excitement pushing them against the doorway he’d just come through.
“Fuck.” Draco grunted as his back hit the frame, eliciting a groan from Harry who started making his way down his jaw and up to the lobe of his ear. “Fuuccck!” Draco groaned.
Harry chuckled.
“You have no idea how long I’ve imagined all the different ways I’ve wanted to kiss you over the years!” Harry returned to kiss Draco’s mouth.
“Years?” Draco mumbled through the assault, nipping and sucking on Harry’s lips in return.
Harry nodded, thrusting his hips, slow and hard into Draco’s ever ready erection. “Years.”
Draco whined at both the action and the implication.
Harry rolled his hips into his again, keeping his forehead plastered to Draco’s watching for each reaction, each gasp. He watched as the third roll of his hips made Draco’s eyes roll back and his mouth hang open and watched with hunger as Draco panted, pushing back with his own little hip thrusts.
“Oh fuck!” Draco gasped as Harry went back to suckling his neck.
Then suddenly Harry stilled, and Draco through the haze of lust couldn’t figure out why. If this was some sort of game to drive Draco completely mental it was working.
“Potter. Harry, come here.” He wrapped his arms around Harry’s neck and drew him in again, “Speak Merlin, Harry.”
Harry looked at him with scrutiny, making him nervous.
“Harry?” Draco was worried.
Harry shook his head and went into kiss him again but Draco pushed him back with the flat of his palm.
“You have that look on your face Potter. The kind where you let me steal the last of the chocolate biscuits and are stuck with all the plain ones. Don’t think I didn’t notice. I just-” Draco tried to joke but Harry’s focus was hard and all humour left with him.
“I’m sorry I just, I’m wondering how many of those men touched you, how much they touched you.” Harry swallowed as he fingered the hollow of Draco’s collarbone. “I know it’s shit of me, so jealous, it’s pathetic.”
Draco rubbed a hand over his face and sighed, “Years Potter really? Years and you did nothing about it? And you’re stewing over what? How many men you think I’ve slept with? Merlin, the ‘slut’ thing from the other day. Right. Shit.”
Draco pushed from the doorframe and went to find the nearest, what Floo? He was going to Floo out? He was so close to what he’d always, always wanted, and he was going to leave?
Harry caught his wrist and tugged him back.
“I asked you out you prat! Or at least…”Harry offered an earnest smile. “I thought I did until just now.”
“Potter. What the fuck are you talking about? I’m pretty sure I’d remember Harry fucking Potter asking me out.” Draco tried his trademark sneer, his heart not really in it.
“About six months on the job, we closed up together. I asked you out for drinks and you acted really shady about saying no. I thought. At first I thought you were upset I liked men but a few months later you bring in Marcus. Fuck, I thought Marcus was you rubbing it in. I-”
“FUCK!” Draco threw his hands into the air. Ruffling his own hair out frustration. “I thought- I thought you were being nice. I thought you were being friendly, I didn’t know you- No. I didn’t think you could feel that way about me.” Draco explained.
Harry pulled him in again, this time by the waist, resting his forehead against Draco’s giving him a wicked smile before giving him another kiss, this one softer but full of need. Desire and lust poured out of his pores and covered Draco in it, he felt Harry’s heat, felt his cock hard again in his pants.
“Harry,” Draco broke the kiss urgently. “About the other men.”
“It doesn’t matter Draco, I love you, I don’t care about the others.”
Draco blinked, he waited, but Harry didn’t take it back.
Draco pounced on Harry, forcing himself into Harry’s arms, kissing him with open eager mouth, running his tongue along his swollen bottom lip, clutching him, running his hands eager over Harry like a canvas, kneading his flesh, exploring him.
“There were no others, just maybe a few mutual misplaced handjobs but that’s it. I told you Harry,they wouldn’t pass the grade. Most never made it to a second date, the rest not even after-” Draco explained with the broadest smile plastered to his face.
“Draco, shut up and kiss me.” Harry was laughing, squeezing his hold on Draco’s hips.
“Hey, how about instead you give me the grand tour?” Draco smirked at Harry’s momentary confusion. “Starting with your bedroom?”

Harry apparated them to his bedroom out of excitement.
Shit. This was real, this wasn’t a wank fantasy, Draco was here and he wanted him.
“Harry, you’re shaking.” Draco whispered, so tenderly that he almost didn’t recognize his ex high school nemesis.
“I’m just overwhelmed, must be the alcohol finally catching up with me.” He lied, and by the glint in his eye Draco knew it but let him have it.
“Harry,” Draco leaned in close, nuzzling against his neck, whispering in his ear. “I want you. I need you inside me Harry, you have no idea!”
Harry’s knees almost buckled. “Oh god!”
Draco smothered his chuckles into the crook of his neck, placing delicate kisses there. “Off.” Draco ordered, tugging at the hem of his shirt.
Within seconds neither of them were wearing shirts, and as Draco pulled himself up onto the bed removing the rest of his clothes, Harry followed divesting himself of his own pants and trousers.
Harry climbed up to Draco, kissing his knee, his hip, the inside of his wrist and his throat as he made his way to him. “I won’t do anything by half Draco, I’m yours, I can’t be one of those guys who don’t make it past the first date. I meant what I said before. I can find somewhere else to train, it’d be hard but I’d do it.”
Draco reached up and caught his lips in a kiss, “Potter shut up and kiss me?”
Harry smiled down at him, leaning down over him using his arms as support. He kissed Draco slow, shutting his eyes soundly, listening to Draco’s breathing, focusing on his own heartbeat. He caressed Draco’s neck, ran his fingers through his hair.
“I swear if you ask me if I’m sure about this at any point I am hexing you through to next week,” Draco laughed out of breath.
“I won’t I swear,” Harry laughed, kissing the corner of Draco’s mouth, his jaw, his neck. Harry’s own stubble scraped across Draco’s skin and sent a ripple of goosebumps run across his flesh,
Harry rolled his hips, meeting Draco’s cock with his own. Feeling him bare against him. Finally! Part of his brain supplied. He repeated the motion and watched Draco as his eyes rolled back into his head again.
Draco gripped onto the sheets as Harry continued his ministrations, that wasn’t good enough for Harry, who took both arms and held them above Draco’s head, intertwining their hands together.
“Aqua Lubricates.” Draco whispered to himself, “Extendes..” He moaned his body arching up with a shout.
“What is it, what’s wrong?” Harry began.
“Preparation spell I read about,” Draco chuckled.
The idea thrilled Harry’s skin alight with desire. He ran his hands up and down Draco’s body, resting just below his balls, dipping below to find that indeed Draco was open and fully prepared. “How long have you been practising that one?” Harry chuckled throatily, his cock bobbing in eager anticipation.
“You’ll be surprised what you can get away with, with a spellbook and the right dildo.”
“Oh fuck!” Harry cried, he couldn’t wait any longer. He lined himself up and gripped onto Draco’s hips, leaning in to kiss him as he breached his hole with the head of his swollen cock.
Draco winced a fraction and Harry stilled, kissing the tip of his nose, the point of his cheekbone, finding his mouth and showing him exactly how much he wanted him.
Harry held onto to Draco as he pushed his way inside and felt a terrifying feeling churn in his chest, feeling so close to Draco, feeling so connected. He pulled out a little and pushed back in, “Okay?”
Draco nodded a bit too enthusiastically but Harry let it pass. Pulling out all the way experimentally and driving in again.
“Oh!” Draco gasped and Harry was completely lost. Between the tightness and the friction and the delicious noises that started falling out of Draco’s mouth he was lost, giving in to his baser need to quicken his pace and pound into Draco mercilessly hard.
It wasn’t very long until Draco’s head was butting against the headboard in rhythm to Harry’s movements. He tried to adjust them, pull them both back down but slipped out.
“Harry, Harry I need you!” Draco pushed him back and rolled them around. Draco stroked Harry a little before sinking himself back onto Harry’s cock. “I need you. I fuck- Oh! I need you Harry, I need AHH!”
Draco spasmed a little and Harry knew exactly what to do, using his heels balance himself and drive his pelvis up and into Draco, impaling him further. Draco bounced a little at the force before grinding himself down onto Harry moaning louder than any of his fantasies had ever allowed. “Fuck Harry yes!” Draco cried and Harry thrust up again to meet Draco’s push down. It was hotter and the feel more delicious than before. “Yes! Oh yes!”
He fucked him faster and harder than before, feeling the strain in his leg muscles but ignoring it over the pleasure rising in his belly and threatening the tightness of his ballsack.
“Fuck Draco, Draco- fuck, fuck, fuck.” He whispered, much anything else lost in moans and gasping sighs.
Then Draco exploded with a shout, still bouncing on Harry’s cock he ejaculated, spraying his come all over the sheets and down Harry’s chest. The sight alone would have done it but the clamping sensation of Draco’s ecstasy on his cock sent him straight over the edge until he was shooting ropes of come up inside of Draco. Harry gripped onto Draco’s hips, wishing to fill him, keep him there as the last of it milked from his body.
Draco fell into the bed beside Harry with a wince as Harry slipped from him.
They lay in the crumpled, stained sheets covered with sweat, breathing painfully but smiling together fully sated.
“Draco,” Harry gasped. “Want to get a drink with me some time?”
Draco laughed with drowsy eyes, swatting at Harry’s chest. “Yes! You prat.”

They walked into work together the next morning a little sore and very tired. They found the store already open and Ollivander shuffling around the shop.
They turned to each other in confusion before making their way behind the counter to inspect the situation further.
“Ah Harry m’boy! I sorted out the issue with the stubborn oak!” Ollivander cheered.
“Oh?” Was all Harry could say.
“Yes, it seems it was a misunderstanding, the oak wasn’t set on unicorn hair at all, mermaid hair in the end.” Ollivander smiled, “I see our other misunderstandings have worked themselves out.”
They were caught, smirking Draco took Harry’s hand and squeezed it.
“I’ve got stock to straighten up,” Draco whispered giving Harry’s cheek a quick peck.
Harry tapped Draco’s arse with a smirk as he followed Ollivander down into the workshop and all was well again.

Old Tricks ~

Plot: Sherlock demands attention.

 Written for: No one in particular, it just sort of happened.

 Genre: Implied smut. (Nothing happens ‘on screen’ so to speak.)

 Word Count: 606.

 Written: 09/11/16

Other Notes: Slightly shorter them most of my fics, but I like it.

 — — —

“For the last time Sherlock, the answer is no!” You growled as you stalked away from the consulting detective, back towards the morgue where you worked alongside one Molly Hooper, who was currently having a day off, hence the reason Sherlock had resorted to bothering you. Said consulting detective huffed in annoyance as he quickly followed after you, unwilling to take no for an answer. “Oh, come on.” He muttered. “I only need to take a quick look at the body to see if the retinas have begun to decompose in the past week.” You grimaced, but replied again with a seemingly disinterested “No.” as you buzzed yourself in and pushed the doors to the morgue open.

Sherlock somehow managed to slip in behind you before the doors locked again, and instantly tried the one thing that usually got Molly to relent and give him what he wanted. Flattery. “(Y/N)?” Sherlock enquired as he tried in vain to gain your full attention. “Yes, Sherlock?” You replied, not even looking up from your work as you settled down to fill out form after monotonously soul wrenching form. “Are you wearing makeup today? It looks good on you.” (This was not entirely a fabricated lie on Sherlock’s part. He always thought you looked good, makeup or no, though he wasn’t entirely sure why.)

Paying only the minimum amount of attention possible to the man before you, you looked up, an eyebrow arched incredulously for a moment before looking back down at your work. Sherlock pouted at this, his brows furrowing in confusion at the lack of gratitude you displayed towards his compliment. Molly would have cracked by now. “(Y/N).” Sherlock tried again as he placed his hands either side of you on the desk, leaning closer to you. You looked up almost immediately this time, something about the way the detective had dropped his voice ever so slightly, the tone becoming suggestive, that didn’t sit quite right with you for not entirely unpleasant reasons. (Okay, so they were all entirely pleasant reasons. What could you say? There was something so incredibly attractive about everything this ‘high functioning sociopath’ did.)

As he looked down into your startlingly bright eyes, Sherlock’s ploy caught in his throat. “Yes, Sherlock?” You replied, also dropping your tone suggestively, playing along with his close proximity. “I-uh…” Sherlock was blatantly caught off guard by your confidence, which you exuded naturally. That was one of the large litany of things that the consulting detective liked about you. Your unapologetic self-certainty. That, and the fact that you were one of the only people he had ever known who understood his dry, somewhat morbid, sense of humour.

There was a pause, the room falling as deathly silent as the corpses around you. “Fuck it.” Sherlock muttered as he closed the gap between you, connecting your lips in a moment of passion that came out of nowhere, surprising (and exciting.) the both of you. It was you who deepened the kiss, to the point where your hands were tangled in his now messy locks, his large hands coming up to cup your face, needy for contact. As you both pulled away for a quick breath you stood, pushing him back as you rounded the table and situated yourself more comfortably upon its surface. Sherlock was quick to move back to you as he gripped your hips firmly, pulling you closer. You reached between to two of you and began to unbutton your blouse, his hungry, lust blown eyes following your every movement. “Come on Sher.” You encouraged as you discarded your shirt haphazardly on the floor.

“Let’s live a little.”

Inspiration of the day

“I learned to love myself at an early age as a last resort. You see, everyone around me always discouraged me from doing things that was considered "different” or “not cool.” So naturally I became introverted and through this time I developed a sort of self-awareness that helped me grow into the person I am today: 24 years old, two college degrees, no college debt and a writing position for one of the top 5 publications.

I had to learn to believe in myself because at one time that’s all I had. I took risks. My senior year of high school I quit football tried out for track. Everybody hated me for this. But at the end of the year I had earned several full scholarships to run at universities. I didn’t have the grades so I went to junior college and graduated with a 3.7 and then went to a university and got two degrees and ran track and worked for channel 12.

No one in my family (mom & dad’s side) had ever gone to college and most never graduated HS. My mom had me at 16. My dad had died when I was 10. Nothing was given to me. I had nothing to start with other than my own desire to become better than what I had seen growing up.

Even in sports I didn’t feel I belong to any particular group or fraternity, so I stayed true to things I liked and I met cool people because of it and accomplices everything I wanted to.

Now a bunch of people support and encourage me. I’m thankful - but I will never forget the dark times when I had only God and myself. I’m thankful for my mom raising me and telling me when I was 11 years old that it was up to me to be who I wanted and she would only be there for me.“ - @rahimthompson

anonymous asked:

dan said in his liveshow that he had started to make another video but stopped halfway through and resorted to making the one he posted (isg) because he didnt feel like the time was right... i wonder...

dan really isn’t a spur of the moment kind of person and only does things when he feels the time is right, so whatever happened in this past week definitely threw off his filming/uploading schedule and for whatever reason persuaded him to postpone his original video idea. it really gives him saying “i did it for myself, as a distraction” more clarity and explains why things didn’t quite add up because he was in fact talking about a separate video idea as opposed to the one some people were expecting. i just hope dan is able to figure things out and that all goes well for him

Sorry I’ve been so behind on photo updates and general posting.

I have been busy with Bloo, who has been in a lot of distress these past few days.

Bless this brave, stubborn baby!

I have been fretting over how to clear the obstruction he’s been dealing with, (mind, bird vets only available Tuesdays and Thursdays, and they came in after closing on Thursday)

And had to finally resort to manually forcing that WHOLE FUCKING KERNAL OF CATTLE CORN!!!! up out of his lower esophageal opening (the one leading from crop to stomach), where it had stuck point first like a goddamn bottle cork! With my goddamn fingers! Through the membrane of his little crop! From the outside!

Up his crop, up his upper esophagus, up his throat, and out of his mouth with a lot of bruising and pain and vomit involved.

I don’t know how he swallowed it..

I don’t know how his parents got it into him.

It barely fit in the skull and muscle space alotted to the food opening… I had to stretch that shit to get it out!

But it’s out.

And in the 20 minutes since I was able to clear it, he’s managed to pass a fresh poo.

That piece of corn has been fermenting in there since Thursday afternoon.

It is a fucking miracle that baby wasn’t poisoned outright, both by the fermenting corn, and the activated probiotics in his formula rotting in his crop.

Bloo is tired, severely dehydrated, and you can clearly see how severely bruised his little neck is in the photo.

Couldn’t give him any more to eat with out risking aspiration, but he got two full insulin needles full of gently warmed fluid under his skin in pockets along his back.

His bowels are already moving.

If he can hold out tonight, I expect to be able to resume smaller, watered down, more frequent feeds tomorrow.

Thank fucking christ for my Husband getting me this incubator! If Bloo had to maintain their own body temperature with out help, they’d have suffered hypothermia days ago.

Friends-of-Pigeons, please keep our iron willed miracle foster in your prayers, thoughts, and well wishes and join me in visualizing waking up to a nest FULL of poo, and a VERY hungry, bright eyed Bloo.


So boom I’ve lost my iPod Classic in my house somewhere and I’ve had to resort to actually listening to music on my iPhone. This what’s been in rotation. I was tagged by the big bro @lyonnnss

I wanna know what what y'all have been bumping @in–mythoughts @ibadbitch @guccithrill @guavavenezolana @tarvisnsb @nilusdavirus @zapoop @itfallswhereitmay @bckr-xciv

I am so conflicted because on the one hand, I want ep7 to have been their first kiss because of all the opportunity for mutual pining beforehand, but also I love the idea that this is nowhere near their first kiss. I think there’s a lot of evidence supporting them already being in an established relationship at this point. 

It’s been a considerable amount of time since the show started (I’m not sure how long but like maybe around 6-8 months?) and they would’ve had a lot of time for their relationship to grow and develop. In this episode we saw them falling asleep cuddling (to which Yuuri only expressed surprise because he wanted to make sure Viktor set an alarm) and Viktor was at a loss of how to comfort Yuuri so he offered to kiss him, like it was a default for him to resort to kissing as a form of comfort. Just in this episode alone, it seems like they have established some kind of romantic relationship with each other because of how casually intimate they are with each other. 

Because of this I’m thinking that the kiss could be interpreted as surprising Yuuri because he wasn’t expecting Viktor to kiss him in public. The look they give each other after the kiss is loving and affectionate, but after the initial shock of being knocked over, Yuuri seems natural and composed, not a blushing, stammering mess because his coach just kissed him. 

So I think that they were pining for all this time is plausible BUT I also think that it would make sense for them to have been in a relationship with each other for months at this point. I like both options tbh, and I think that there’s enough evidence for both to be real!

One of the (many) reasons it’s so important to talk about race and racism in our supposed post-racial society (it’s not), is because of things like anti-Semitism flying under the radar by so many to the point where it’s perpetuated.

I will fully 100% own up to the fact that I once reblogged a post that I thought was just making fun of communismkills, not realizing it was a Jewish caricature. Thank God for the person who sent me an ask about it. I was mortified and deleted the post right away. Because I mean there is enough reason to dislike CK without resorting to bigotry, lbr

But the argument that “I had no idea” doesn’t fly, especially when it’s brought to my attention. Ignorance of issues happens, and so long as you don’t push it into the realm of WILLFUL ignorance, it’s understandable. What’s not okay is if I had refused to delete the post, saying I hadn’t known and I just thought it was funny. If I had kept that post up, I would have been complicit in the perpetuation of anti-Semitism, whether I liked it or not. Digging my heels in would have helped nobody but anti-Semites who are fully aware of the meaning of the image and use it as confirmation that another person shares their views, further legitimizing it in their minds

No thanks

So we need to talk about this stuff.

Say It Again

Stone Cold Part 2

Read Part One

I was late for work.  So very late for work.  I had never been this late for work in my life.  But that sure as hell wasn’t gonna stop me from getting a coffee before I actually headed into the office.  Going without coffee for the day was unacceptable, most people would agree with me on that.  And there was no way I was going to drink the black sludge in the communal kitchen area.


Starbucks was across the street from my new office anyway, Thank God.  So it wasn’t like I was going to save that much time by skipping.  However, I stepped inside to see the longest line in the history of lines.  Ugh.

I pulled my phone from my heavy winter coat, disentangling myself from the puffy red scarf my mother had knitted for me as I tried to get my glove off.  I finally just resorted to pulling it off with my teeth.  I was in the middle of a text to my co-worker Tom when I glanced up.

It was a two second glance up from my phone.

Barely a blip.

I wasn’t even looking at anything.  

But there he was.  Standing about six feet away from me, a smirk on his face that definitely said he wasn’t happy to see me.

Keep reading


I actually didn’t want to share any art of her at all to begin with. I held it off for YEARS. She’s gonna show up later in the comic I’m working on and I wanted her to be a surprise. BUT. Since I’m weak and she’s fun to draw, I just went ahead and did it. She has a name ofc, but she’ll remain Zealot-chan for now. I can’t tell too much about her without resorting to spoilers… She’s just a normal farmer’s girl that had a religious experience and decided to devote her life to her beliefs when the opportunity arose. Which leads to a lot hardship and questioning of faith.

Like I said, she’s fun to draw, (and I’m so weak) so I’ll most likely end up posting more casual art of her. She’s still a fair bit away in the comic’s chapter’s… I need to work faster.