Too cute!ハンスづくし
my fanart
Winged Hussars armor, Polish Army Museum in Warsaw.
(Source: moment-decydujacy.pl, via saraqael)
I know I’ve told this story before, but my abusive ex refused to let me take birth control. I was on the pill until he found them in my purse.
I went to the Student Health Center—they were completely unhelpful, choosing to lecture me about the importance of safe sex (recommending condoms) instead of actually listening to my problem.
Then I went to Planned Parenthood. The Nurse Practitioner took one look at my fading bruises and stopped the exam. She called in the doctor. The doctor came in and simply asked me: “Are you ready to leave him?” When I denied that I was being abused, she didn’t argue with me. She just asked me what I needed. I said I need a birth control method that my boyfriend couldn’t detect. She recommended a few options and we decided on Depo.
When I told her that my boyfriend read my emails and listened to my phone messages and was known to follow me, she suggested to do the Depo injections at off hours when the clinic was normally closed. She made a note in my chart and instructed the front desk never to leave messages for me—instead, she programmed her personal cell phone number into my phone under the name “Nora”. She told me she would call me to schedule my appointments; she wouldn’t leave a message, but I should call her back when I was able to.
And that was it. No judgment. No lecture. She walked me to the door and told me to call her day or night if I needed anything. That she lived 5 blocks from campus and would come get me. That I wasn’t alone. That she just wanted me to be safe.
I never called her to come to my rescue. But I have no doubt that she would have come if I had called. She kept me on Depo for a year, giving me those monthly injections in secret, helping me prevent a desperately unwanted pregnancy.
I cannot thank Planned Parenthood enough for the work they do.
Paul darrow and some lovely ladies
It is not much of a secret that I am one of those mean, feminist types. Not only that, but I am one of those mean feminist types who views everything I watch through a feminist lens, using my experiences as a woman to analyze the media I consume, analyzing this media with jaded, somewhat tired eyes at how the stories of men are always front and center with no regard for the stories of women. Therefore, it was a bit of surprise to me when I began watching Spartacus, and saw a show that not only told the stories of men themselves, but also showed these same men in the supporting roles of women’s stories. Very rarely do we see such a balance, and it’s one of the reasons why this show is just amazing.
But while I gladly sail on the S.S. Nagron with steady hand, and my heart writes love letters to Ilithyia on a daily basis, nothing has amazed me more than the transformation of Crixus from cocky, undefeated champion of the arena to the wise and giving man who has learned that sometimes fighting means nothing more than standing side by side with the woman he loves to offer support as she comes into her own. In the course of two seasons, Crixus has become one of the most feminist-friendly characters in the history of television, and it has been a marvel to behold.
I’m Australian. (via clientsfromhell)
I empathise, fellow Australian. I truly do.
I signed on to create a website for a large private high school, and when it was nearly done I asked the principal if there was any specific message he wanted on the homepage. Quite agitated, he asked that I write in bold, all caps: “TO WHOEVER PEED BEHIND THE VENDING MACHINES THURSDAY APRIL 7TH, I WILL FIND YOU AND YOU WILL NEVER, I REPEAT NEVER, PEE AGAIN!”
“I feel really lucky, although I hate that word — ‘lucky.’ It cheapens a lot of hard work. Living in Brooklyn in an apartment without any heat and paying for dinner at the bodega with dimes — I don’t think I felt myself lucky back then. Doing plays for 50 bucks and trying to be true to myself as an” — here he put on a faux snooty voice — “artist and turning down commercials where they wanted a leprechaun. Saying I was lucky negates the hard work I put in and spits on that guy who’s freezing his ass off back in Brooklyn.”
(via softredclouds)