woman veteran

If you wear a hijab, I’ll sit with you on the train.

If you’re trans, I’ll go to the bathroom with you.

If you’re a person of color, I’ll stand with you if the cops stop you.

If you’re a person with disabilities, I’ll hand you my megaphone.

If you’re an immigrant, I’ll help you find resources.

If you’re a survivor, I’ll believe you.

If you’re a refugee, I’ll make sure you’re welcome.

If you’re a veteran, I’ll take up your fight.

If you’re a LGBTQ, I won’t let anybody tell you you’re broken.

If you’re a woman, I’ll make sure you get home ok.

If you’re tired, me too.

If you need a hug, I’ve got an infinite supply.


If you need me, I’ll be with you. All I ask is that you be with me, too.
—  via @wizdomly

anonymous asked:

Everyone keeps asking about Bendy and Susan or Bendy and Henry, but what about Bendy and Darlene? What's THEIR​ relationship like? How do they feel about each other? Please tell me Darlene is the"Nani" character in this au!😄

She is 100% the Nani, mixed with the mom from Iron Giant.

Darlene is actually fairly wary of Bendy, compared to her older brother and baby girl. There’s a living?? Cartoon?? DEMON??? And your first instinct is to shrug it off and take it home???? Henry what the fuck.

She obviously isn’t told the full story, but Henry’s utter chill and the fact Bendy is NERVOUS AS HELL when she’s first being talked to get her to squint, sigh, and then roll out the cot.

Compared to the rest of the town, she is still inordinately chill, and mostly treats him like a foster child with a known criminal record– gently and kindly, but with a bit of squinting.

Bendy, for his part, is kind of nervous– that lady has sharp eyes– but… she always looks so tired. So he usually ends up doing his best to try to make her smile, from bad jokes to little dance routines, which actually do work and result in her slowly being equally as chill and “this is my kid now” as Henry. 

It is exactly as cute as you think it is.

On a more plot-related note, she breaks someone’s nose defending him once, but why is getting into spoilers.

IMPORTANT MESSAGE (NOT SEXUAL RELATED).

I know my blog is a sexual content blog but PLEASE READ! My fellow transgender and transsexual brothers and sisters who have served in the United States Armed forces, you have my respect and NO Republican shouldn’t say shit. Trans veterans have my most honorable respect and FUCK Trumps decision of banning trans people from serving our country. No cisgender white collared bigot should make that decision. People who voted for Trump just know what you did and yes it’s their fault. Let’s wait four years to decide to vote for a left wing person. We must unite together and fight for our rights. TRANS RIGHTS ARE HUMAN RIGHTS!I love each and every one of my trans brothers and sisters who have served and who HAVE died for our country! We can’t BACK down and cry about this but FIGHT and Tell our trans veterans how THANKFUL we are for them! Reblog and like!

RFM talks: Eileen the Crow (Bloodborne)

I have deliberately held off on writing a review for Bloodborne for several different reasons, but in case you weren’t sure though, aye I bloody love it and I could jabber on like a little monkey, but I won’t. Instead I thought I’d try and write something a bit more interesting. Today we’re going to talk about the character, Eileen the Crow.

To preface this, I’ve always loved the art direction of From Software’s Souls games and the character design in particular has always been exceptional. The artists have a great flair for the dark fantasy style, taking designs of traditional medieval armour and twisting them with ornate or bizarre flourishes. Playing through the games for the first time I’d often bump into a character and think to myself, wow that’s a snazzy piece of clothing you’ve got on there, mate. I hope I can pick that up in a shop somewhere otherwise I might have to knick it! (Disclaimer: I don’t encourage this behavior in real life, of course.)

Before I even got my hands on the game, I remember looking at some of Bloodborne’s promotional materials and concept art. There was a particular screenshot of a character wearing one of those horrid, beaked plague doctor masks and a cape made of jet-black feathers. Like I said before I was thinking to myself, I want that outfit and I want to play as that character because they look awesome. It was such an arresting image, cutting a beautifully creepy silhouette. The reason I love it is because it’s an obvious pairing of ideas (beak mask and feathers) but it’s rendered by From Software’s artists in such an elegant way that I could never personally create with my imagination.

Keep reading

British theatre ain’t shit
The only time you’ll see a lot of actors of colour is when they’re doing a story about racial matters
But when it’s about a woman who’s a veteran and experiencing life post war… When it’s about a family and their stories…. When it’s about a play that goes wrong… It’s a largely 99% white cast

Are actors of colour not allowed to do comedies? Family dramas? Plays about like every day stuff that’s not about race relations.

MOTHER.

Diana didn’t know her birth mother, but when the Solari hunters brought her to the summit, a woman named Nocah volunteered to take custody of her. Nocah was a veteran woman of the Ra-Horak, and she decided that she would train Diana in the same way. The Solari conclave does not look kindly on those not born from the mountain, and she knew that Diana would always stand out, with her foreign origins and sable hair.

Diana joined the Ra-Horak as an initiate when she was sixteen, but by this time she had become disillusioned by the strict Solari way of life and began to start asking questions. Nocah didn’t like this - she had been somewhat of a rebel in her earlier days, and advised Diana not to bother questioning the authorities. But Diana refused, and they soon became at odds with each other over what she should or shouldn’t do.

Eventually Nocah and Diana had a sort of falling out, and she isolated herself more and more, devoting herself to her studies. Shortly after, she discovered the location of the Lunari temple in the archives, and the rest is history.

Diana sometimes wishes she had not distanced herself from Nocah, realizing that she just wanted to protect her. But if she had heeded Nocah’s warnings, she would never have found the truth about the Lunari nor been blessed with the moon’s power. So she’s satisfied with the life that has come her way, and doesn’t think about reconciling with Nocah. If she ever does return to Targon, however, a part of her wants to make sure she’s okay. She hopes the Solari didn’t make her suffer for things that are solely Diana’s doing.

*AHEM* Welcome to the Discourse I’m Starting this is my first time but it’s Overwatch.

OKAY. I saw a bit of a thing that was like “Jack would respect D.Va for being a war veteran, kinda like Reinhardt!” (summarized)

And @asynca​ brought up the point that there’s a bit of a distasteful thing about Jack but she ultimately would not see Jack (Soldier 76) respecting D.Va the same way that Reinhardt would. Okay. Here it is. Me, a military veteran of 7+ years, has a bit of light to shed on this.

TL;DR You’re right he wouldn’t.

I’ll go over a few of the uh. Highlights reel as to why he wouldn’t. I have MAJOR LEAGUE FEELS for D.Va because I was in her place (sort of) at one point. So I gotta defend her. Yes.

Keep reading

How Lynda Carter Helped Supergirl With That Old School Wonder Woman Reference

The CW’s Supergirl has dropped nods to major superheroes of DC Comics history many times over its first two seasons so far, and it surpassed itself in a Season 2 episode that featured legendary actress Lynda Carter as President Olivia Marsdin. The episode managed to sneak in an unforgettable reference to Carter’s role as Diana Prince on Wonder Woman. I spoke with veteran TV director Rachel Talalay about her work directing Lynda Carter and star Melissa Benoist on Supergirl, and she told me this about what went into the Wonder Woman callbacks in the “Welcome to Earth” episode of Season 2:

They were written in the script, and they were absolutely embraced. We were allowed to push them, but they were definitely in the script. That was great because that gave us permission to just say ‘We know we’re doing Wonder Woman homages.’ So there was an absolutely magical moment when it was scripted that Melissa was to do the Wonder Woman twirl to put herself out when she was on fire. Lynda came and said, 'I’ll show you how to do it.’ I have on my phone a video of Lynda Carter showing Melissa Benoist how.

(x)

washingtonpost.com
Under attack at the Democratic debate, Hillary Clinton plays EVERY POSSIBLE CARD
And it almost worked.
By https://www.facebook.com/pages/Alexandra-Petri/142169029150103

Sometimes I feel as though the Democratic Party doesn’t WANT us to watch its debates.

This second one took place on a Saturday night, and spending your Saturday night watching the Democratic debate is one of the warning signs of sociopathy. The next one will take place inside a brown paper bag on a subscription-only network during the Super Bowl, probably.

The most exciting moment of the debate came on the subject of Wall Street, long Bernie Sanders’s nemesis, whom he has been hunting for decades in the company of the giant Fezzik ever since it killed his father. Finally, Sanders confronted Hillary Clinton on it.

SANDERS: I have never heard a candidate never, who has received huge amounts of money from oil, from coal, from Wall Street, from the military industrial complex, not one candidate say, oh, these campaign contributions will not influence me. I’m going to be independent. Well, why do they make millions of dollars of campaign contributions? they expect to get something. Everybody knows that.

Once again, I am running a campaign differently than any other candidate. We are relying on small campaign donors, 750,000 of them, 30 bucks a piece. That’s who I’m indebted to.

CLINTON: Well John, wait a minute. Wait a minute, he has basically used his answer to impugn my integrity. Let’s be frank here.

SANDERS: No, I have not.

And then Clinton — with some degree of subtlety? — proceeded to fire every weapon in her arsenal.

CLINTON: Oh, wait a minute, senator. You know, not only do I have hundreds of thousands of donors, most of them small. And I’m very proud that for the first time a majority of my donors are women, 60 percent.

(APPLAUSE)

CLINTON: So, I represented New York, and I represented New York on 9/11 when we were attacked. Where were we attacked? We were attacked in downtown Manhattan where Wall Street is. I did spend a whole lot of time and effort helping them rebuild. That was good for New York. It was good for the economy and it was a way to rebuke the terrorists who had attacked our country.

So, you know, it’s fine for you to say what you’re going to say, but I looked very carefully at your proposal. Reinstating Glass-Steagall is a part of what very well could help, but it is nowhere near enough. My proposal is tougher, more effective, and more comprehensive because I go after all of Wall Street not just the big banks.

Aha.

Keep reading

Wouldn’t it be awesome if we had a female Grey Warden companion some time? I mean, honestly. There’s been a Warden - romanceable, too - in every game, and they’re all guys. I need a badass woman who’s a veteran Warden or something. We need more lady Grey Wardens.

3

Rhonda A. Lee  the Black woman who was fired from her meteorologist job in Shreveport, La., after defending her natural hair on the station’s Facebook page, has just accepted a job with a national weather channel in Colorado.

Lee announced on her Twitter and Facebook pages that she has accepted a meteorology position with WeatherNation in Denver. “By all accounts, it is my dream job and I am thrilled to be a part of the WeatherNation family,” she said Thursday night on Facebook. Lee told NewsOne that she accepted the position a week ago but wanted to fine tune some particulars before making an announcement.

The offer came soon after the veteran weather woman had lost hope of ever working in television again.

“A month ago, I told my husband that I’m pretty sure I would never work in weather again,” she said. “I had completely lost faith, but in a matter of a week or so, all of a sudden, three people showed interest in me. It was an awakening is what it was. I really had given up.”

Lee had several offers in other markets, including a chief meteorologist position, but went with WeatherNation because it’s a national network that reaches millions of homes. Lee doesn’t know when she will be on-air, but says she will be on Channel 361 on DIRECTV. She, her husband, and their 10-month-old son will be moving to Denver in a few weeks.

More than a year and a half has passed since Lee was fired from KTBS 3 News, an ABC affiliate in Shreveport, after she responded to users on Facebook who complained about her natural hairstyle. The station said Lee was fired for violating its social media policy. She has filed an EEOC complaint against the station and is in mediation to resolve her dismissal. Lee said she has no regrets about defending her natural hair and says her dispute with the Shreveport station hasn’t been an issue with her new employer.

“It wouldn’t require anything more than a brief explanation,” she said. “My new boss said, ‘I heard about that,’ and we moved on so that was it. Every once in a while in life, you find good people with good sense who know talent when they see it and know a good employee when they see it.”

Despite the frustration that comes from refusing to change her hair style to have a more mainstream, broadcast aesthetic, Lee says sticking to her values made the pain of unemployment worth it.

It’s revealing to me that you should never give up,” she said. “I tell people that all the time in any speech that I give. For me to actually follow my own advice is a pretty beautiful thing.”

HelloBeautiful.Com

“Because it’s 2015.”

For once, Canadians are proud (and perhaps even a little bit smug). We ran the data:

We have a Minister of Environment and CLIMATE CHANGE.
We have a Minister of Immigration, Citizenship and REFUGEES.

Our Prime Minister is a sci-fi geek.
Our Minister of Health is an actual Doctor.
Our Minister of Families, Children and Social Development is a poverty economist.
Our Minister of Science is an actual Scientist (oh, and she has a Nobel Prize).
Our Minister of Status of Women is an actual woman!
Our Minister of Veterans Affairs is a quadriplegic because he was shot in a drive-by shooting.
Our Minister of Employment, Workforce Development and Labour is a Professional Geologist.
Our Minister of Democratic Institutions is a Muslim refugee.
Our Minister of Sport and Persons with Disabilities is a Paralympian Athlete.
Our Minister of Defence is a badass war hero, Afghanistan combat vet, and police officer.

Our Minister of Agriculture and Agri-Food is a former farmer.
Our Minister of Public Safety and Emergency Preparedness was a Scout.
Our Minister of Innovation, Science and Economic Development was a financial analyst.
Our Minister of Finance is a successful businessman.
Our Minister of Justice was a crown prosecutor and is a First Nations leader.

OUR MINISTER OF TRANSPORT IS A GODDAMN ASTRONAUT!

Half of our Ministers are women.
Half of our Ministers are men.
Two of our Ministers are people of First Nations (Kwakwaka'wakw, Inuit)
Three of our Ministers were born outside of Canada (India, Afghanistan)
Two of our Ministers are Sikh.
At least one of our Ministers is Muslim.
At least two of our Ministers are Atheist.
One of our Ministers is battling breast cancer.
One of our Ministers is in a wheelchair.
One of our Ministers is blind.
One of our Ministers is openly gay.
One of our Ministers is openly ginger.
Also, Hon. Navdeep Bains has a perfect twirly moustache.

*disclaimer: I made this post from a few different shares I saw on FB. One of the parts is by Alana Phillips.

I Decided To Explore My School’s Basement, You Need To Know What Happened Down There


The day began with such promise. I was just so tickled by the prospect of parent teacher conferences. I remember looking on this day with such foreboding as a child and was ecstatic about being on the other side of things. As a newly minted teacher, this was to be my first such meeting. The students had a half day and parent teacher conferences were to take place from 1-3 and 7-8:30 with a break in between.

One o’clock rolled around, and I sat with my students’ report cards prepared and eagerly awaited my first parent.

One o’clock gave way to two and no one had showed up. I perked up when, finally at 2:30, a face appeared in my doorway. Disappointment sank in when I saw that it was just the teacher of the classroom next to mine, an older woman and a veteran of the profession. She said in her indelibly cynical voice.

“No parents either, huh? Well, what do you expect in a school like this?”

Something about that statement resonated with me. She was trying to convey that it would be foolish to expect parental involvement at a school in such a destitute neighborhood, but that isn’t how I took it.

There was just something off about the place where I worked. It was nothing tangible really. It just permeated a strange, stifling energy.

Three o’clock came and still no parents. I saw the other teachers and staff hurriedly exit the building to go eat their lunches and briefly wrest themselves from the clutches of this never ending day. Being broke and the commute being too long to justify taking the train home and back, I had packed my own lunch and ate it alone in my room.

Eventually, boredom overcame me. When the clock struck five, I decided to venture out.

There is nothing quite like walking through an empty school at dusk. It is so disorienting as it is such an inversion of the norm. Where once there was the sound of children laughing and screaming, there is only silence. Where light would pour in through the vast windows revealing the promise of a new day, a nascent darkness was beginning to seep slowly but surely through the halls.

Wandering the vacant corridors, I decided to take the stairs to the basement. I had never had a reason to go there previously. Though it was a rarely, if ever, used wing of the building, I had heard mention of an old computer lab down there. Visions of revisiting my own childhood via Oregon Trail on the Apple II filled my head. I figured that would be the perfect way to stave off the boredom.

The echo of my footsteps as I descended into the darkness of the basement was deafening. A feeling of unease was beginning to form deep in my gut, but I allowed my rational mind to dictate my footsteps.

I attempted to catch my bearings in the faint light of the basement hallway, but couldn’t. I wandered aimlessly checking the doors to see if this computer lab was open, but to no avail. All of the doors must have been locked as there were no homerooms down there and thus no reason to keep them open. I almost gave up until the last door I came upon. I was surprised as it easily gave way and provided me entrance into the pitch black room.

As the door closed behind me, I began to search for the light switch. Before it could be found, I couldn’t help but notice the overwhelming heat. Great, I thought. I had stumbled into the boiler room. What a waste of time. I turned to open the door and continue to search for the lab.

The knob wouldn’t turn.

Fanfuckingtastic. I tried the door several more times, but it refused to budge. Perhaps there was a second exit. I pulled out my phone to illuminate the darkness and nearly dropped it when the light revealed the room I had found myself inside.

This was no boiler room.

It was empty. At least it looked empty. Akin to the intangible foreboding the school emitted, I knew something was off. The feeling grew and grew as panic set in. The heat was so pervasive that I was sweating bullets. As the sound of my fists pounding on the door stopped, a new sound entered the hot, dead air. The sound of raspy breathing. I held my breath to confirm what my mind had been too reluctant to acknowledge. Those harsh breaths were not being drawn from my lungs.

I frantically looked about the room for the source but saw nothing. My pulse quickened as the panic increased. I pounded on the door and began to scream at the top of my lungs praying a member of the custodial staff would hear my cries.

Again, I thought my ears were betraying me as the deep breathing gave way to laughter, a piercing, percussive cackle. The goosebumps rose on my arm as it grew in volume. At first I thought that it was getting louder. This wasn’t the case.

It was just getting closer.

The heat increased as the invisible source drew near. It became unbearable. That is when I felt it grab my arm.

My arm had the same reaction of a hand touching a hot stove. I jerked it away before my mind had time to process the searing pain. I pulled the door with all of my might and screamed for help one last time.

Miraculously, it opened.

I stumbled out, slammed the door, and fell to the ground in one swift movement.

From the floor, I could see that I was prostrate in front of a pair of feet. I looked up to regard my savior.

It looked like I had lucked out, and a custodian had happened to walk by and hear my cries. I got to my feet and thanked him profusely. I realized that I had never met this man before. I weakly offered my name and my hand. He offered his, Derrick Johnson. As I self-consciously began to compose myself, I asked how long he had been down here. Three voices answered in unison.

I jumped slightly not just from the strange, deadpan response, but since I had not noticed the two children flanking him. They were a young boy and a young girl. I was perplexed when I saw that the boy was dressed in the height of 90s fashion and the girl wearing garb like a Madonna wannabe circa “Like a Virgin.” I then surmised that this was the man’s children, and since he was a janitor, could only afford clothes for his kids from a second hand store. I nervously remarked.

“Couldn’t find a babysitter tonight, huh?”

He stared at me as if he had no idea what I was saying.

“Are these two lovely children yours?” I asked.

“Something like that,” he replied.

Something about the presence of these three was very creepy, but it was a hell of a lot better than being locked in that room. I thanked him once more and began to head up the stairs as they continued to regard me with unblinking eyes.

On the way to my classroom, I had a lot to process. I had already began to discount in my mind what I had initially perceived to happen. Especially, when I looked down to my arm expecting to see burns and instead finding nothing. The panic of being locked in the room had made me lose my better senses. That was it.

Yes, that had to be it.

Before entering my room, I saw that my fellow teacher had just arrived in the classroom next door to mine. I decided to relieve my tension by telling her that I had somehow managed to lock my dumb ass into a room in the basement. I figured I would give credit where credit is due. To begin the tale, I asked if she knew the custodian named Derrick Johnson. She got a very quizzical look on her face as she asked me.

“Why? How do you know that name?”

“I got locked in a room downstairs, and I was lucky he was there to let me out,” I replied.

She literally dropped the cup of coffee she was cradling in her hands. A look of dread and horror washed over her. She began to speak and nothing could prepare me for the story she was about to unfold.

Derrick Johnson went missing seven years ago. He was working the night shift at the school and was never seen or heard from again. There was a lot of speculation as to what happened to him but no definitive answers. It was as if the school had swallowed him whole.

Terror filled me as I decided I wasn’t going to spend another minute there. I told the principal that I was ill and hightailed it home. When I got there, I immediately went to my computer. All doubt was rubbed from my mind. The teacher had embellished no details. Derrick Johnson had disappeared into the ether seven years ago.

It didn’t take me long to research missing persons and turn up pictures of the adorable children that had accompanied Derrick in releasing me from my prison.

As I look at their faces on my computer screen right now too grateful for words, I remember the question I asked and their response. I recall at the time thinking they were being dramatic, but in light of the revelations, it is sending chills down my spine as I consider my narrowly avoided fate.

“How long have you been down here?”

“Too long.”

“Far too long.”


For sixpenceee creepypastaisrad fuckyeahspoopyshit and their followers