morning-after-pill

Living in a Man's World

What happens when we
live in a man’s world?

We hide our pads
and tampons; as if
it was a shame and
our choice to bleed.

We are made to
see a doctor
the morning-after;
the pill delivered
after some shame.

We sneak a test kit
to the counter, head
hung low to escape
notice; we wait
alone for the verdict.

We go to the police
for help,
only to be questioned:
what were you wearing?

(We…go on and on…)

We need to hide
and deny
our female struggles
because men
just can’t seem to see.

Do cheaper morning-after pills work as well as brand name pills?

Someone asked us:

I was at the drugstore and I saw that they had a few different brands of plan b. Some of them were cheaper than others so like, do they all work the same or are more expensive ones stronger?

Short answer: all morning-after pill brands that you can buy without a prescription work the same, regardless of price. It doesn’t matter if you get it at a pharmacy, convenience store, health center, or a reliable online drugstore. Get yo bargain on!

Like most medicines, there are different brands of morning-after pills. They may be different prices, but they all have the same active ingredients and have the same effectiveness.

In the U.S., all over-the-counter morning-after pills use 1.5mg of levonorgestrel to prevent pregnancy. Levonorgestrel is a type of progestin, the same kind of hormone that’s in all hormonal birth control, like the IUD, pill, and shot.  

Some brands of levonorgestrel morning-after pills that are sold in the U.S. include:

  • Plan B One-Step
  • Next Choice One Dose
  • My Way
  • Aftera
  • Take Action
  • EContra EZ
  • Option 2
  • Athentia Next
  • Fallback Solo
  • Opcicon One-Step
  • Morning After
  • AfterPill (only available online)

Less expensive brands are often called “generics.” The FDA requires generic medications to have the same active ingredient, strength, dosage, quality, and effectiveness as name brands. So why can they cost less if they work the same? Because the companies making generics don’t usually pay for advertising, and they don’t have to run the expensive clinical trials that the original brand needed to do to get FDA approval for that kind of drug.

You can always double-check with the pharmacist if you’re concerned about buying the right pill. But as long as it says “levonorgestrel 1.5mg” somewhere on the package, feel free to buy the cheapest morning-after pill on the shelf —  it will work exactly the same as more expensive brands.

-Kendall at Planned Parenthood

If you refuse to prescribe or dispense the morning after pill because you believe it is an abortion pill, you shouldn’t be allowed to practice

Not only because you are being unprofessional in putting your personal feelings ahead of your patient’s welfare, but because you clearly suck at your job if you think that’s how they work

4

Black protest in Poland stoped goverment from a new law about penalty for abortion in any cases but now goverment decided that morning after pill won’t be available in pharmacies and there will be only possibility of buying it by prescription. Health Minister, Konstanty Radziwiłł added fuel to the fire by saying that he wouldn’t have prescribed this kind of pill even raped women.

#blackprotest #free women #suport poland

damn the delivery boy.

Pairing: Jeon Jeongguk / Reader.

Genre: Expecting Parents AU / Fluff and Non-explicit smut.

Summary: Jeon Jeongguk is a computer science major working as a pizza delivery boy, and you are an uninspired published author who has just started an art degree. When you realise that the delivery boy is your old high school crush, he keeps coming back, but with more to offer than just puff pastry and vegetarian supreme. Though little did he know that he would end up giving you something much more that flips both of your worlds completely upside down in the form of two blue lines and nine months.

Count: 9,656 words.


month one.

Two lines.

The second is a little faint, but it is there, undeniably there, growing stronger by the second as your heart sinks deeper into the pit of your stomach and suddenly you are keeling over the sink, throwing up a combination of panic and regret. You wipe your mouth, sit back on the closed lid of the toilet, shut your eyes and take a deep breath, holding it until your lungs burn and your lashes fly back apart to look at the test still shaking between your fingertips.

There, right before your eyes, two fucking blue lines protruding like two middle fingers, poking up at you and saying – Congratulations sucker, you are pregnant!

Twenty-three years old and pregnant.

You throw up again.

This has got to be the biggest mistake of your life.

Keep reading

Imagine You Have a Rare Disorder

You’re a sophomore in college when you start noticing some odd changes.Every month, about two weeks after your period, you’re easily distracted, especially by men. A professor’s cologne in the hallway can send you into a wild daydream that makes your cheeks flush and pupils dilate. As a conservative girl saving yourself for marriage, you’re worried, so you make an appointment with a counselor. The counselor reassures you that feeling more easily aroused during ovulation is perfectly normal.

Month by month, the symptoms gradually get worse, but you do your best to work around them. You start packing several extra pairs of panties in your schoolbag on “those days,” because by mid-morning, you’ve soaked through the originals and are paranoid about the smell. You drop an art history class because the male anatomy on display makes you lose all concentration; you avoid the gym two days a month for the same reason.

* * *

By the middle of your junior year, your symptoms have worsened drastically. Not only do you get wet and flushed at the slightest suggestion of testosterone, but thanks to your hypersensitive clit and lips, you’re also prone to spontaneous orgasms. Thankfully, there is usually at least a second or two of buildup, which enables you to brace yourself and disguise the climax when in public. But with each new cycle, your orgasms are triggered more randomly, and they’re becoming longer and stronger.

You eventually figure out that you can stop having orgasms at inconvenient times… if you release the tension yourself, at regular intervals. So when you feel the onset of your heat, in addition to extra panties, you pack a massive vibrator and spare batteries. (You try using a more discreet one at first, but you seem to build up a tolerance to it; it isn’t long before you’ve upgraded to the biggest one on the market.) Whenever you get a chance between classes, you run to the nearest private washroom and unwrap the silicone savior with clammy, shaking hands. You can’t rip your panties down and shove it in fast enough. You brace yourself on the edge of the sink with your left hand, convulsing again and again as you thrust the vibe into yourself with your right, panting like a bitch in heat, exploding with fluid nearly every time, fluid that somehow never runs out, fluid that streams down your hand and thighs and soaks your jeans and puddles on the floor until your body finally gets what it needs. You clean your vibrator as well as you can, touch up your makeup, and make the most of the few hours of freedom that follow.    

After hitting rock bottom in your parents’ bathroom over Easter weekend, you finally put your denial aside long enough to do some research. As you feared all along, none of this is normal. Not even close. You see a GP, who refers you to a series of specialists.

The invasive examinations inevitably cause you to dig your nails into the paper and climax violently. Each doctor awkwardly asks if you’d like to reschedule, but you beg them to keep going, to find out what’s wrong.

* * *

It turns out that what’s wrong is your ovaries.

Or rather, your extra ovaries.

As the MRI scans show, you currently have three pairs of full-sized ovaries, plus at least a dozen more pairs of varying sizes, all growing rapidly. This steady but dramatic escalation in fertility has been causing you to get increasingly high on your own hormones each month.

The doctors believe that a genetic mutation is probably involved, but agree that in the short term, the ovaries will need to be surgically removed before your symptoms get any worse.

Unfortunately, the only surgeon qualified for this procedure is booked solid for another month. The doctors estimate that you will have a fourth pair of functional ovaries by then, so your next ovulation – due in three weeks - is likely to be even more intense than the last.

“It is absolutely essential,” intones the gynecologist, “that you use birth control responsibly in the meantime, and ideally that you refrain from sexual intercourse of any kind.”

“I’m abstinent by choice,” you reply proudly. “I may need to physically… handle… my urges, but when it comes to guys, I can control myself.”

“Ah… well, even so,” the neurologist says, frowning, “You can’t afford to take any chances in your condition. Even if you’ve stayed out of trouble so far, your hormones have already caused serious behavioral changes over the past year. I don’t mean any disrespect, but I highly doubt that your purity ring will stand much of a chance once that fourth pair matures.”

“And if you get pregnant during this kind of ovulation, we’re looking at guaranteed multiples,” warns the obstetrician. “You don’t need that on top of everything else. Incidentally, we’ve also detected some other hormonal and physical abnormalities that may have repercussions on pregnancy – we’re still waiting on those tests. So for those reasons, you really need to do everything in your power to prevent impregnation for the time being. Okay?”

The other doctors concur. They prescribe a birth control pill, sedatives to calm your nerves during your next ovulation, and a morning-after pill (“in case something happens”). They also recommend that you employ female supervision, and perhaps even physical restraints, to keep you from having sex with a man before your surgery.

After your appointment, you go to the pharmacy and buy the sedatives, but you crumple the other prescriptions into a ball and toss them in a trash can. Birth control? Plan B? Restraints? How dare they. You’ve gotten this far without their condescending advice. Your body may have betrayed you, but your virtue has been unflagging through it all.

And it won’t let you down now.

* * *

In the days before your next heat, you get ready. You fill your studio apartment with food, water, vibrators, and batteries. You get a vague doctor’s note from a clinic and reschedule an exam. You plan to take a double dose of sedatives as soon as you feel your time coming on, which will hopefully make the physical distress more manageable.

You’re a little nervous, but you’re sure that if you stick to the plan and stay indoors, everything will be okay.

* * *

…You come into heat a full day ahead of schedule, in the middle of the night, your hormones surging and overwhelming you so quickly that they jolt you awake.

“Ohh… oh God…”

You fumble for the lamp on your nightstand, manage to switch it on. Your need is already at a critical level; this is happening too fast.

You try to think. What was it you needed to do? You needed to take… something…

“Nghhaaahhhhh— oh fuck, fuck, fuck…”

It’s no use, you can’t remember. The plan is gone. All you can think about is filling yourself, now. You yank the nightstand drawer off its rails; the vibrator rolls under the bed.

“No! Shit! Wh-where… is…”

As you drop a foot to the ground to get out of bed, your pussy brushes against the edge of the mattress.

“Ahhhh… fuuuuuuuck!”

An orgasm rocks through you. You hold on for dear life. This is not how it usually goes. Usually you have much more time before it gets this intense.

The orgasm drops off, and your desperate arousal instantly returns. Carefully this time, you lower yourself to the ground and grope around frantically for the vibrator. It’s no use; you can’t locate it.

As if enraged by your failure, the throbbing heat in your hugely engorged clit and lips flares inward and upward, inflaming every square millimeter of tissue between entrance and cervix.

“Haaaaahhhhhhhhh… oh God! Oh God please fuhh—ooooohhhhhh God…!”

You’re out of your depth now. Even with your biggest vibrator, you’d be powerless to meet this kind of demand. You’ve never experienced anything like this before.

And yet, shuddering alone in the darkness, you recognize it. It’s your primal instruction, your absolute purpose. But to overcome your own refusal of it, you need to say it out loud, to hear yourself name it.

“Need to… m-make…”

You sob as tears flood your eyes. You try again.

“I… need to make… babies…”

Your innermost Truth is so beautiful, so simple. You want to kill yourself for denying it for so long. But if you do that, your babies will never grow inside you, will never be born. And that would be a thousand times worse that death.

Lurching to your feet, you manage to soothe yourself slightly by murmuring your Truth under your breath. It’s the only thing that gets you from your bed to your door without collapsing.

Need to make my babies. Oh my babies, oh so many, oh so big and strong. My babies. They’re going to grow so strong, so big, so many, so many, so many, my beautiful, precious babies.

You find yourself going down the hall. Your body leads the way; your mind follows by quite a distance. Even so, you know where you’re going, because it’s the only place that exists anymore.

The apartment next door, where the young male lives.

* * *

There’s light under his door – he’s a night owl. You knock. No answer. You knock again.

Footsteps.

When the male sees you in his doorway, his look of annoyance turns to shock. You’re wearing a threadbare t-shirt that accentuates your erect nipples. A gold crucifix pendant. No panties.

Before he can say a word, you shove a hand down his boxers. Just the sight and smell of the male should have caused you to climax immediately, let alone the warmth of his thick member, but your adrenaline-fueled sense of purpose buys you some time.

Staring up at him with your hugely dilated pupils, you manage to communicate some of your Truth as you stroke him hard, but you can feel your furious need surging once more.

“Y-you… you need you to fffuck me and put… put you cum-m in… ahh— inside me. Right now-ohhhhh. Ahhh—f-fuck. I’m gonna… I’m gonna come, but it’s just–haaahhhh… shit… listen… y-you need to fuck me after this bec-auunhhhaaahhhhse… haaaaah… becauss’ I need to get so fucking ­big I can’t move… and I… I need… my… my… my precious babi— oh! Oh God!-AAAHHHNNNN—!!!” You barely have time to pull your hand away and throw both arms up against the doorframe before an orgasm seems to electrocute your entire body from within. You feel more liquid than ever gush out of you, and your vision blurs.

When the world comes back into focus, you look up to find abject horror in the male’s eyes. But it doesn’t matter; you know without even looking that his cock is hard as iron. You stumble past him into the flickering light of his TV. There’s a beat-down, stain-covered couch against a wall. You kneel, facing backwards, on one of its filthy cushions, gripping the seat back for dear life with both hands. Then you raise your ass and display your throbbing wet entrance to the male. You pray silently, feverishly, not daring to look behind you.

My babies. Need to feel my babies and grow them and make them, so many, so big and so strong and so precious. Please God, please God, I need my babies, my babies, oh please… fuck, fuck, why isn’t it in me yet? Why isn’t he filling me with my babies? Please, please, I can’t take this anymore…!

But just as you’re about to turn around, you feel big, warm hands on your hips, and finally, finally, the male plunges into you.

* * *


Thanks for reading,
Body Hostage

Can I use the morning-after pill for more pregnancy protection if I’m already using the birth control pill?

Someone asked us:

Would taking the morning after pill provide more protection if I’m on birth control (gildess)?

As long as you’re taking your birth control pills every day as directed, you don’t need to use the morning-after pill (AKA emergency contraception). Regular birth control pills are actually much better at preventing pregnancy than emergency contraception pills, and using them both at the same time won’t do anything extra. If you want even more protection from pregnancy, use condoms along with the pill. Plus, condoms will help prevent STDs.

However, you can definitely use the morning-after pill if you miss a few of your regular birth control pills and have unprotected sex. This only applies to the birth control pills with hormones in them — if you miss any of the placebo (non-hormonal) pills, you’re still protected from pregnancy and don’t need the morning-after pill.

If you DO miss some of your birth control pills and need to use emergency contraception, you can use the Plan B morning-after pill (or other Plan B generics, like Next Choice, MyWay, AfterPill, and Take Action) to help prevent pregnancy. You can get these types of emergency contraception at a drugstore, without a prescription. They work better the sooner you take them.

The bottom line is: if you use your birth control pills correctly, you don’t need to take the morning-after pill. Using condoms + the pill is the best way to double your pregnancy prevention.

-Kendall at Planned Parenthood

Tom Holland Imagine: Ready?

Summary: Tom and reader have a false alarm with a pregnancy test which brings them to wonder if they’re actually ready to be parents.

A/N: literally pissed cause I already wrote this but when I tried to post it tumblr deLETED ALL OF IT AND NOW ITS NOT AS GOOD I SUCK IM SORRY IT WAS ACTUALLY PRETTY GOOD THE FIRST TIME AROUND BUT THIS ONE SUCKS IM SORRY

Warnings: none

————————————————

I felt my blood run cold as I stared at the plus sign on the stick. How could this have happened!? Tom and I were always so careful… except for that one night… but he just looked so good and we had a few too many, but I still took the morning after pill!

I grabbed for my phone on the bathroom counter and dialed Harrison’s number. He’ll know what to do. He always wants what’s best for Tom.

“Hello?” Harrison cheerfully greeted.

“Harrison? I need you to come over immediately. But please don’t tell Tom!”

“Y/N? What’s wrong? What happened? Are you okay?”

“No, Harrison. I need you to come over here now…”

“I’m on my way.”

I was still staring at the test as I walked into Tom and I’s shared living room and sat down on the couch. I was so zoned in on the little positive sign that I didn’t even realize that Harrison had arrived until I heard his voice calling out my name.

“Y/N? Y/N, where are you!?”

“Living room.” I choked out through my sobs.

I heard heavy footsteps and then silence. I knew Harrison could see the test over my shoulder. I heard his breath hitch as he realized what was in my hand.

“H-How? You and Tom… you’re always so careful!”

“I know, but one night we weren’t… and I was due for my period a week ago and-and I couldn’t figure out what was wrong until Lizzy suggested… this… Harrison, please help me! I don’t know what to do and I-”

“Shhh, Y/N, it’s going to be okay. Everything’s going to be fine. I’m here for you, Tom’s here for you. He won’t leave you, Y/N. He loves you so much. I’ll call and set up a doctor’s appointment for you. You take a nap an-and I’ll set everything up. It’ll be fine, love.”

Harrison was sat next to me now, rubbing my back as I cried into his chest. I felt my eyes grow heavy as Harrison kept rubbing my back and whispering to me that everything was going to be fine.

—Time Skip—

As I came back to consciousness, I realized that I was laying down on the couch with a blanket over me and a pillow under my head. Harrison.

I went to squeeze the test, but it was gone.

I sat up and then realize that Tom was sat across the room, head hanging down, staring at the test.

Tom’s silence only made my fear rise and I soon felt the tears resurfacing.

“You’re pregnant.” He stated with no emotion, which only stressed me out even more.

“Tom, I’m so sorry. I ruined everything, I ruined your whole career, I’m so sorry…”

Tom whipped his head up.

“Love, this is by no means your fault. You did not ruin anything. I love you, Y/N. I’m staying by your side through all of this. Don’t think for a second that I’m going to leave you.”

Tom crossed the room and placed his hands on both of my cheeks, forcing me to look into his warm brown eyes.

“Everything’s going to be just fine, darling. Now, come on, let’s get you to bed. Harrison scheduled you a doctor’s appointment for Thursday.”

Tom scooped me up in his arms and carried me up to our bedroom. I laid my head on his chest and cried as he ran his fingers through my hair.

“It’s going to be okay, love. You’re going to be just fine and in nine months, you’re going to give birth to our child, the most beautiful child in the whole world and that baby, boy or girl, is going to be the most spoiled child in the world. Our child is going to grow up with two loving parents by their side cheering them on through every decision they make. And in 9 months, if you’re willing, I will make you my wife. Y/N, you’re going to be just fine. I promise you, everything is going to be perfect.”

—Time Skip—

Tom and I laid cuddled up on the couch as Beauty and the Beast played in front of us. Tom intertwined our fingers together with one hand while the other was placed over my stomach, rubbing circles lovingly.

“Have you thought of any names yet?” Tom asked out of the blue.

“Hm? Tom, we just found out yesterday that I’m pregnant, of course I haven’t thought of names yet.”

“Well, I have… I started thinking of names the second I saw that plus sign.”

“What did you come up with?”

“Um, well, if it’s a girl, Allison Ellender Holland. Allison named after your best friend and Ellender because Blake Lively’s middle name is Ellender and she’s your idol. And if it’s a boy, Harrison Robert Holland. Harrison because of MY best friend and Robert after RDJ.”

“Those are the two most beautiful names I’ve ever heard. I love you so much, Thomas Stanley Holland.”

“I love you, too, Y/N L/N.”

—Time Skip—

“Well, Mr. and Mrs. Holland-”

“Oh, we’re not married. I’m Ms. L/N, he’s Mr. Holland.”

“Well, then you’ll probably be happy to hear that you’re not pregnant.”

“We’re- what?”

“You’re not pregnant, Ms. L/N.”

“But- the test? And I haven’t gotten my period this month?”

“Tests are false all the time, Ms. L/N. And you’re period skipping a month can happen as well if you’ve experienced a large amount of stress.”

“Honey, you did just wrap up finals last week. Could that have been a cause?” Tom asked.

“Yes, very easily. Ms. L/N, if you have any other complications with your period in the future, please contact us immediately. Have a good day.”

“You too…”

The doctor exited the room leaving Tom and I alone.

I shifted uncomfortably on the table as Tom stared at the floor.

“I know you were scared, but is it okay if I feel a little disappointed right now?”

“Of course, Tom. I surprisingly feel it as well…”

I watched as Tom walked over to me and stood between my legs.

“Y/N, I love you. I actually planned on doing this tonight, but right now just feels right. Yesterday, while you were at lunch with your sister, Harrison and I snuck out and bought something…”

I felt my breath hitch in my throat as I watch Tom get down on one knee.

“Y/N, I first bought this ring because I was under the impression that you were carrying my child, I was uncertain if I was ready to be married, but when I came home that night and saw how beautiful you looked in simply a tshirt and shorts, I knew I was absolutely crazy about you. And I was so ready to start a family with you and that feeling I just felt when that was ripped away from me was all I needed to know that I want you. I want you to be mine forever. And I want to have a family with you. Maybe not immediately though, perhaps we should start with a dog. But anyway, what I’m trying to say is, Y/N L/N, will you marry me?”

“Oh, yes, Tom! Yes! A thousand times yes!”

I flung myself off the table into Tom’s arms.

“Oh, my god! You said yes! Thi-this means that you’re gonna be me wife!? And and and we’re gonna have a family! Oh my god, I love you so much!”

Tom pressed a kiss to my forehead and wiped the tears from both of our eyes. He took my hand and slid the ring onto my finger.

“…perfect. absolutely perfect…” He whispered under his breath.

“Oh, Tom, this is amazing! We have to start the phone calls though! You call your mom and I’ll call mine!”

“Oh, god, yes!”

I laughed as I watched Tom fumble with his phone.

“Mum? Mum! SHE SAID YES!”

anonymous asked:

so i just had to buy that plan b morning after pill bc my doctor didnt refill my birth control prescription & that was like $40!!! idk how to tell my mom i need money for the weekend now since i just spent the money i literally just got this morning ugh. like i doubt she would care bc i bought it to take care of myself, i'd just rather not have to tell her

Why not Earn money on your own! ☛ this ☚  site lets you take take surveys, and then give out points and rewards. sign up first & confirm your email. (don’t forget this step or it wont work)

You can make $50-$100 a week without even sweating.

but for now, ask your mom if she can spare you $10 more and maybe if you have friends/siblings who’d let you borrow. you can pay them all in a week and be like;

The truth about one big morning-after pill myth

More and more U.S. teens are using the morning-after pill, the Guardian reported last year. According to a recent survey, more than one in five sexually active teen girls have used it — compared to just one in 10 teen girls a decade ago. But a big and “horrifying” rumor about plan B still exists — and it’s totally untrue.

Follow @the-future-now

Sickness

Pairing: Lafayette x Reader

Requested?: Indeed it was! (I loved this idea so much, shout out to this anon)

Prompt: “if you haven’t done this, could you do a fic with Lafayette where the reader gets sick and Laf is all panicky but ends up being really cute and takes care of her?”

Words: 964

Warnings: None? (I don’t even think I cursed in this, which is rare)

AU: Modern 

(A/N: Dedicated to @daveeddiggsit, @tempfixeliza and @diggs4life  becauseeeee Daveed, duh. Enjoy!)

Originally posted by diggstrash


It was supposed to just be a small cold. A few days ago, the cough was every once in awhile and water soothed your slightly aching throat. Now your cold has graduated into a full-blown fever with a sore throat and runny nose to go with it. Tissue boxes didn’t last more than a few hours and you had consumed so much tea you were sweating peppermint. Moving from bed wasn’t something you wanted nor had to do, thanks to your best friend, Lafayette. The Frenchman had made it his number one priority to nurse you to health, this includes waking you up at 6-hour intervals to take more fever/pain reducers along with a full bottle of water. Even though you snapped at him as best as you could in the condition you were in, he didn’t let it discourage him from taking care of you.

“Y/N! Mon amie! I have arrived with more stuff to help!” Lafayette stumbled into the room, almost dropping the groceries in his hands. Your eyes widened at how stuffed the bags were, bulging from the objects that occupied them.

“Did you buy the whole store? Jesus, Laf.” You giggled lightly but it ended up becoming a coughing fit and Lafayette was sitting next to you within seconds, patting your back lightly.

Keep reading

Safe Sex With Uncle Sangwoo

This started off as an innocent post about contraception after a submission from @michaelatheroleplayerartist but it got tied into some other things I was thinking from before along with some thoughts on Chapter 20 so I made a whole thing for it. 

Special thanks to: @rapidratkiller, @bracari-iris and @bellabrownie for helping me with this post and coming up with crazy connections with me~

Table of contents:

  1. Who’s Contraception Box is it Anyway?
  2. Possibility of Sexual Abuse in the Oh Sangwoo Household
  3. What Does the “I’m not some rapist” Line Mean?
  4. Why Does Sangwoo Hate Noisy Things? 
  5. Sangwoo’s Actual Room and Upstairs

Warning: This post contains far fetched theories. But it was really fun to make connections! 


Keep reading