ppyajunebug:

thelethifoldwitch:

Imagine Hogwarts after the Battle, after the War, sure –
But imagine Hogwarts’ students, after their year with the Carrows and Snape.
Imagine a tiny little first-year whose porcupine pincushions still have quills, but to whom Fiendfyre comes easily. The second-year who tried to go back, to fight; whose bravado got Professor Sinistra killed, as she pushed him out of the way of a Killing Curse. The third-year who perfectly brewed poisons, hands shaking, wishing for the courage to spike the Carrows’ cups. The fourth-year who throws away all of their teacups, their palmistry guidebooks, because what use is Divination if it didn’t see this coming? The fifth-year who can barely remember what O.W.L.S. are, let alone that she was supposed to take them. The sixth-year who can’t manage Lumos to save their life, but whose proficiency with the Cruciatus Curse rivals Bellatrix’s.
Imagine the seventh-year who laughs until he cries, thinking about the first-years who will fall asleep in History of Magic while their story is told.
Imagine the Muggleborn first-years left alive, if there are any: imagine what they think of the magical world, when their introduction to it was Death Eaters and being tortured – by their classmates –for having been born.
Imagine the students who went home to their parents (or guardians, or wards, or orphanages) and showed them what they’d learned: Dark curses, hexes, Unforgiveables; that Muggles are filth, animals, lesser. Who, yes, still can’t transfigure a match into a needle – but Mum, there’s a hex that can make you feel as though you’re being stabbed with thousands. (Don’t ask them how they know.)
Imagine the students who will never be able to see Hogwarts as home.
Imagine the students Hogwarts has left, when it starts up again – the lack of Muggleborns, blood-traitors, half-bloods, dead and gone – the lack of purebloods; the Ministry would have chucked everyone of age (and possibly just below) in Azkaban for Unforgiveables, wouldn’t they?
Imagine how few students there are left to teach; imagine how few teachers are left to teach them.
Imagine the students who can’t walk past a particular classroom, who can’t walk through a hallway, who can’t walk into the Great Hall without having a panic attack or breaking down. Imagine the school-wide discovery that the carriages aren’t horseless after all; that everyone, from the firsties to the teachers, can see Thestrals.
Imagine the memorials, the heaps of flowers and mementoes – in every other corner, hallway, classroom; every other step you take on the grounds.
Imagine the ghosts.
Imagine the students destroying Snape’s portrait, using the curses, hexes, even Fiendfyre they’ve been taught how to wield – it has to be restored nearly every week; Snape stays with Phineas Nigellus semi-permanently. (None of the other portraits will welcome him. His reasons do not excuse his conduct.)
Imagine the students unable to trust each other – everyone informed on everyone, your best friend might turn you in.
Imagine the guilt that everyone carries (it should have been me, it’s my fault s/he’s dead, I told on them, it’s all my fault), the students incapable of meeting each other’s eyes because it’s my fault your best friend, your sibling, your Housemate, your boy/girlfriend is dead.
Imagine the memorials piled high with the wands of the dead. Imagine the memorials piled high with the self-snapped wands of the living.
Imagine the students who are never able to produce a Patronus.
Imagine Boggarts being removed from the curriculum because Riddikulus is near impossible to grasp, even for the sixth- and seventh-years. Because their friends and families dead will never, ever be funny.
Imagine the students for whom magic feels tainted.
Imagine the students who leave the wixen world – hell, the students who leave Britain entirely, because there’s nothing left for them there.
Imagine the students who never use magic again.
(Image source.)
(From the mind of the wonderful lavenderpatil, a keen look at how students might be after war.)

Reblogging this kickass post by the equally kickass
lavenderpatil
because everyone should read it

ppyajunebug:

thelethifoldwitch:

Imagine Hogwarts after the Battle, after the War, sure

But imagine Hogwarts’ students, after their year with the Carrows and Snape.

Imagine a tiny little first-year whose porcupine pincushions still have quills, but to whom Fiendfyre comes easily. The second-year who tried to go back, to fight; whose bravado got Professor Sinistra killed, as she pushed him out of the way of a Killing Curse. The third-year who perfectly brewed poisons, hands shaking, wishing for the courage to spike the Carrows’ cups. The fourth-year who throws away all of their teacups, their palmistry guidebooks, because what use is Divination if it didn’t see this coming? The fifth-year who can barely remember what O.W.L.S. are, let alone that she was supposed to take them. The sixth-year who can’t manage Lumos to save their life, but whose proficiency with the Cruciatus Curse rivals Bellatrix’s.

Imagine the seventh-year who laughs until he cries, thinking about the first-years who will fall asleep in History of Magic while their story is told.

Imagine the Muggleborn first-years left alive, if there are any: imagine what they think of the magical world, when their introduction to it was Death Eaters and being tortured by their classmates for having been born.

Imagine the students who went home to their parents (or guardians, or wards, or orphanages) and showed them what they’d learned: Dark curses, hexes, Unforgiveables; that Muggles are filth, animals, lesser. Who, yes, still can’t transfigure a match into a needle but Mum, there’s a hex that can make you feel as though you’re being stabbed with thousands. (Don’t ask them how they know.)

Imagine the students who will never be able to see Hogwarts as home.

Imagine the students Hogwarts has left, when it starts up again the lack of Muggleborns, blood-traitors, half-bloods, dead and gone the lack of purebloods; the Ministry would have chucked everyone of age (and possibly just below) in Azkaban for Unforgiveables, wouldn’t they?

Imagine how few students there are left to teach; imagine how few teachers are left to teach them.

Imagine the students who can’t walk past a particular classroom, who can’t walk through a hallway, who can’t walk into the Great Hall without having a panic attack or breaking down. Imagine the school-wide discovery that the carriages aren’t horseless after all; that everyone, from the firsties to the teachers, can see Thestrals.

Imagine the memorials, the heaps of flowers and mementoes in every other corner, hallway, classroom; every other step you take on the grounds.

Imagine the ghosts.

Imagine the students destroying Snape’s portrait, using the curses, hexes, even Fiendfyre they’ve been taught how to wield it has to be restored nearly every week; Snape stays with Phineas Nigellus semi-permanently. (None of the other portraits will welcome him. His reasons do not excuse his conduct.)

Imagine the students unable to trust each other everyone informed on everyone, your best friend might turn you in.

Imagine the guilt that everyone carries (it should have been me, it’s my fault s/he’s dead, I told on them, it’s all my fault), the students incapable of meeting each other’s eyes because it’s my fault your best friend, your sibling, your Housemate, your boy/girlfriend is dead.

Imagine the memorials piled high with the wands of the dead. Imagine the memorials piled high with the self-snapped wands of the living.

Imagine the students who are never able to produce a Patronus.

Imagine Boggarts being removed from the curriculum because Riddikulus is near impossible to grasp, even for the sixth- and seventh-years. Because their friends and families dead will never, ever be funny.

Imagine the students for whom magic feels tainted.

Imagine the students who leave the wixen world hell, the students who leave Britain entirely, because there’s nothing left for them there.

Imagine the students who never use magic again.

(Image source.)

(From the mind of the wonderful lavenderpatil, a keen look at how students might be after war.)

Reblogging this kickass post by the equally kickass
lavenderpatil
because everyone should read it

(via charamei)

@3 hours ago with 56900 notes
#yes #i expected this #not all being well #harry potter #post-war 
sushinfood:

justamerplwithabox:

vivelafat:

prokopetz:

officialdeadparrot:

grellholmes:

elsajeni:

gunslingerannie:

justtkeepcalmm:

dean-and-his-pie:

fororchestra:

musicalmelody:

Fun Story: My director kept telling me and my tenor sax buddy to play softer. No matter what we did, it wasn’t soft enough for him. So getting frustrated, I told my buddy “Dont play this time. Just fake it” 
Our Band Director then informed us we sounded perfect. 

To my readers: “p” means quiet, “pp” means really quiet. I’ve never seen “pppp” before haha.
On the contrast, “f” means loud, and “ffff” probably means so loud you go unconscious.

I had ffff in a piece once and my conductor told me to play as loudly as physically possible without falling off my chair…

Me and my trombone buddies had “ffff” and he sat next to me and played so hard that he fell out of his chair.
The lengths we go for music.

Okay yeah so I play the bass clarinet and the amount of air you have to move and the stiffness of the reed means it only has two settings and that is loud and louder, with an optional LOUDEST that includes a 50% probability of HORRIBLE CROAKING NOISE which is the bass equivalent of the ubiquitous clarinet shriek.

One day, when I was in concert band in high school, we got a new piece handed out for the first time, and there was a strange little commotion back in the tuba section — whispering, and pointing at something in the music, and swatting at each other’s hands all shhh don’t call attention to it. And although they did attract the attention of basically everyone else in the band, they managed to avoid being noticed by the band director, who gave us a few minutes to look over our parts and then said, “All right, let’s run through it up to section A.”
And here we are, cheerfully playing along, sounding reasonably competent — but everyone, when they have the attention to spare, is keeping an eye on the tuba players. They don’t come in for the first eight measures or so, and then when they do come in, what we see is:
[stifled giggling]
[reeeeeeally deep breath]
[COLOSSAL FOGHORN NOISE]
The entire band stops dead, in the cacophonous kind of way that a band stops when it hasn’t actually been cued to stop. The band director doesn’t even say anything, just looks straight back at the tubas and makes a helpless sort of why gesture.
In unison, the tuba players defend themselves: “THERE WERE FOUR F’S.”
FFFF is not really a rational dynamic marking for any instrument, but for the love of all that is holy why would you put it in a tuba part.

This is the best band post 
Everyone else go home

Oh man, so I play trombone, and we got this piece called Florentiner Marsch by Julius Fucik, and we saw this

which is 8 fortes. We were shocked until,

that is 24 fortes who the fuck does that

Who does that?

This guy. Take a good look - that is the moustache of a man with nothing to lose.

Julius IdontgivaFucik

More like Julius Fuckit


Pyrozod's tags for this were too hilarious not to share

sushinfood:

justamerplwithabox:

vivelafat:

prokopetz:

officialdeadparrot:

grellholmes:

elsajeni:

gunslingerannie:

justtkeepcalmm:

dean-and-his-pie:

fororchestra:

musicalmelody:

Fun Story: My director kept telling me and my tenor sax buddy to play softer. No matter what we did, it wasn’t soft enough for him. So getting frustrated, I told my buddy “Dont play this time. Just fake it” 

Our Band Director then informed us we sounded perfect. 

To my readers: “p” means quiet, “pp” means really quiet. I’ve never seen “pppp” before haha.

On the contrast, “f” means loud, and “ffff” probably means so loud you go unconscious.

I had ffff in a piece once and my conductor told me to play as loudly as physically possible without falling off my chair…

Me and my trombone buddies had “ffff” and he sat next to me and played so hard that he fell out of his chair.

The lengths we go for music.

Okay yeah so I play the bass clarinet and the amount of air you have to move and the stiffness of the reed means it only has two settings and that is loud and louder, with an optional LOUDEST that includes a 50% probability of HORRIBLE CROAKING NOISE which is the bass equivalent of the ubiquitous clarinet shriek.

One day, when I was in concert band in high school, we got a new piece handed out for the first time, and there was a strange little commotion back in the tuba section — whispering, and pointing at something in the music, and swatting at each other’s hands all shhh don’t call attention to it. And although they did attract the attention of basically everyone else in the band, they managed to avoid being noticed by the band director, who gave us a few minutes to look over our parts and then said, “All right, let’s run through it up to section A.”

And here we are, cheerfully playing along, sounding reasonably competent — but everyone, when they have the attention to spare, is keeping an eye on the tuba players. They don’t come in for the first eight measures or so, and then when they do come in, what we see is:

[stifled giggling]

[reeeeeeally deep breath]

[COLOSSAL FOGHORN NOISE]

The entire band stops dead, in the cacophonous kind of way that a band stops when it hasn’t actually been cued to stop. The band director doesn’t even say anything, just looks straight back at the tubas and makes a helpless sort of why gesture.

In unison, the tuba players defend themselves: “THERE WERE FOUR F’S.”

FFFF is not really a rational dynamic marking for any instrument, but for the love of all that is holy why would you put it in a tuba part.

This is the best band post 

Everyone else go home

Oh man, so I play trombone, and we got this piece called Florentiner Marsch by Julius Fucik, and we saw this

image

which is 8 fortes. We were shocked until,

image

that is 24 fortes who the fuck does that

Who does that?

This guy. Take a good look - that is the moustache of a man with nothing to lose.

Julius IdontgivaFucik

More like Julius Fuckit

Pyrozod's tags for this were too hilarious not to share

(Source: housecatincarnate, via living-life-as-a-long-fairytale)

@3 hours ago with 467184 notes
#music #forte #times infinity 
graveyardrabbit:

baronvoncreepypasta:

deanbootychester:

though-do-infact-shut-up:

tuulikki:

arsenic-catmint:

actionandersons:

tryingtogetradical:

eman-violence:

patchworksparrow:

did-you-kno:

Poveglia Island
Source

“
The dark history of Poveglia Island began during the Roman Era when it was used to isolate plague victims from the general population.  Centuries later, when the Black Death rolled through Europe it served that purpose again.   The dead  were dumped into large pits and buried or burned.  As the plague tightened its grip, the population began to panic and those residents showing the slightest sign of sickness were taken from their homes and to the island of Poveglia kicking and screaming and pleading.  They were thrown onto piles of rotting corpses and set ablaze.  Men, women, children… all left to die in agony.  It’s estimated that the tiny island saw as many as 160,000 bodies during this time.
 The island has become a putrid area indeed.  The soil of the island combined with the charred remains of the bodies dumped there creating a thick layer of sticky ash.  The core of the island is literally human remains that has given the island a loathsome reputation, but appears to be very good for the grapevines that are planted there.  Think about that next time you partake of Italian wine!
As if the story was not disturbing enough, it gets worse.  In 1922 the island became home to a psychiatric hospital complete with a large and very impressive bell tower.  The patients of this hospital immediately began to report that they would see ghosts of plague victims on the island and that they would be kept up at night hearing the tortured wails of the suffering spirits.  Because they were already considered mad by the hospital staff, these complaints were largely ignored.
To add to the anguish of the poor souls populating this island hospital, one doctor there decided to make a name for himself by experimenting on his subjects all to find a cure for insanity.  Lobotomies were performed on his pitiable patients using crude tools like hand drills, chisels, and hammers.  Those patients and even the ones who were not privy to the doctor’s special attentions were taken to the bell tower where they were tortured and subjected to a number of inhumane horrors.
 According to the lore, after many years of performing these immoral acts, the evil doctor began to see the tortured plague ridden spirits of Poveglia Island himself.  It is said that they led him to the bell tower where he jumped (or was thrown) to the grounds below.  The fall did not kill him according to a nurse who witnessed the event, but she related that as he lay on the ground writhing in pain, a mist came up out of the ground and choked him to death.  It’s rumored that the doctor is bricked up in the hospital bell tower and on a still night, the bell can be heard tolling across the bay.  The hospital closed down.
For a time, the Italian government owned the island, but it was later sold.  That owner abandoned it in the 1960’s and was the last person to try and live there.  A family recently sought to buy the island and build a holiday home on it but they left the first night there and refused to comment on what happened.  The only fact that we do know is that their daughters face was ripped open and required fourteen stitches.
Today Poveglia is uninhabited and tourism to island is strictly forbidden.  Every now and then the lapping waves on the shore uncover charred human bones.
 Several psychics have visited the island the abandoned hospital, but all of them left scared to death of what they had sensed there.  Every now and then daredevils dodge the police patrols to explore the island, but everyone who has made it there have refused to return saying that there is a heavy atmosphere of evil and they the screams and tortured moans that permeate the island make staying there unbearable.
One report from a misguided thrill seeker who fled the island says that after entering the abandoned hospital, a disembodied voice ordered them, “Leave immediately and do not return.”
They never did.”

holy fuck

Ive got a bunch of white friends, lets do this.

Noah, I’ll grab Jesse and meet you there.

*Grabs flashlight, salt, and holy water* It’s time to exorcise. 

I don’t know how much of this can be proved, but goddam if it doesn’t have nearly all of my favourite horror tropes all combined. It’s like a perfect storm of horror urban legends.

how come i am italian and i didn’t know about this

who wants to go?

I am ready.This sounds awesome.

Sign me up!

You all sound like the people in a horror movie who enter the cursed house where a billion people died, because what could possibly go wrong?

graveyardrabbit:

baronvoncreepypasta:

deanbootychester:

though-do-infact-shut-up:

tuulikki:

arsenic-catmint:

actionandersons:

tryingtogetradical:

eman-violence:

patchworksparrow:

did-you-kno:

Poveglia Island

Source

The dark history of Poveglia Island began during the Roman Era when it was used to isolate plague victims from the general population.  Centuries later, when the Black Death rolled through Europe it served that purpose again.   The dead  were dumped into large pits and buried or burned.  As the plague tightened its grip, the population began to panic and those residents showing the slightest sign of sickness were taken from their homes and to the island of Poveglia kicking and screaming and pleading.  They were thrown onto piles of rotting corpses and set ablaze.  Men, women, children… all left to die in agony.  It’s estimated that the tiny island saw as many as 160,000 bodies during this time.

imageThe island has become a putrid area indeed.  The soil of the island combined with the charred remains of the bodies dumped there creating a thick layer of sticky ash.  The core of the island is literally human remains that has given the island a loathsome reputation, but appears to be very good for the grapevines that are planted there.  Think about that next time you partake of Italian wine!

As if the story was not disturbing enough, it gets worse.  In 1922 the island became home to a psychiatric hospital complete with a large and very impressive bell tower.  The patients of this hospital immediately began to report that they would see ghosts of plague victims on the island and that they would be kept up at night hearing the tortured wails of the suffering spirits.  Because they were already considered mad by the hospital staff, these complaints were largely ignored.

To add to the anguish of the poor souls populating this island hospital, one doctor there decided to make a name for himself by experimenting on his subjects all to find a cure for insanity.  Lobotomies were performed on his pitiable patients using crude tools like hand drills, chisels, and hammers.  Those patients and even the ones who were not privy to the doctor’s special attentions were taken to the bell tower where they were tortured and subjected to a number of inhumane horrors.

According to the lore, after many years of performing these immoral acts, the evil doctor began to see the tortured plague ridden spirits of Poveglia Island himself.  It is said that they led him to the bell tower where he jumped (or was thrown) to the grounds below.  The fall did not kill him according to a nurse who witnessed the event, but she related that as he lay on the ground writhing in pain, a mist came up out of the ground and choked him to death.  It’s rumored that the doctor is bricked up in the hospital bell tower and on a still night, the bell can be heard tolling across the bay.  The hospital closed down.

For a time, the Italian government owned the island, but it was later sold.  That owner abandoned it in the 1960’s and was the last person to try and live there.  A family recently sought to buy the island and build a holiday home on it but they left the first night there and refused to comment on what happened.  The only fact that we do know is that their daughters face was ripped open and required fourteen stitches.

Today Poveglia is uninhabited and tourism to island is strictly forbidden.  Every now and then the lapping waves on the shore uncover charred human bones.

Several psychics have visited the island the abandoned hospital, but all of them left scared to death of what they had sensed there.  Every now and then daredevils dodge the police patrols to explore the island, but everyone who has made it there have refused to return saying that there is a heavy atmosphere of evil and they the screams and tortured moans that permeate the island make staying there unbearable.

One report from a misguided thrill seeker who fled the island says that after entering the abandoned hospital, a disembodied voice ordered them, “Leave immediately and do not return.”

They never did.”

holy fuck

Ive got a bunch of white friends, lets do this.

Noah, I’ll grab Jesse and meet you there.

*Grabs flashlight, salt, and holy water* It’s time to exorcise. 

I don’t know how much of this can be proved, but goddam if it doesn’t have nearly all of my favourite horror tropes all combined. It’s like a perfect storm of horror urban legends.

how come i am italian and i didn’t know about this

who wants to go?

I am ready.
This sounds awesome.

Sign me up!

You all sound like the people in a horror movie who enter the cursed house where a billion people died, because what could possibly go wrong?

@4 hours ago with 92658 notes
galactic-kat:

wasarahbi:

emes:

leeantsypantsy:

all-aboutqoqo:



“We dressed up as the book Madeline, with six people dressed up as her and me as Ms. Clavel, their teacher. One of the Madelines, however, was the truly special one…the one with the beard, that is. Our experience was hysterical—I’d walk all the girls (and one guy) down the street in two straight lines. Guys would be walking the other way, whistling or hollering at all the pretty ladies. Then, as they got to the back of the line, they’d see my friend Brennan, then they’d see me, and I could tell that they were suddenly wondering if ALL the Madelines were men.”




the last sentence

lmao what

There will never be a time when I don’t reblog this because it is my fave.

galactic-kat:

wasarahbi:

emes:

leeantsypantsy:

all-aboutqoqo:

“We dressed up as the book Madeline, with six people dressed up as her and me as Ms. Clavel, their teacher. One of the Madelines, however, was the truly special one…the one with the beard, that is. Our experience was hysterical—I’d walk all the girls (and one guy) down the street in two straight lines. Guys would be walking the other way, whistling or hollering at all the pretty ladies. Then, as they got to the back of the line, they’d see my friend Brennan, then they’d see me, and I could tell that they were suddenly wondering if ALL the Madelines were men.”

the last sentence

lmao what

There will never be a time when I don’t reblog this because it is my fave.

(Source: moda-pura, via living-life-as-a-long-fairytale)

@4 hours ago with 250103 notes
#miss clavel #the bearded one #is Madeline 

"IF YOU ARE NOT PREPARED TO RAISE A DISABLED CHILD, OR A TRANS CHILD, OR A GAY OR BI OR PAN CHILD, IF YOU ARE NOT PREPARED TO LOVE AND SUPPORT YOUR CHILD UNCONDITIONALLY, DO NOT HAVE A CHILD."

it is 2014. there are no excuses left. (via callmeoutis)

(via thedyketheywarnyouabout)

@4 hours ago with 163590 notes

OH MY GOD YOU GUYS I’VE HAD A BRILLIANT THOUGHT

sofriel-archive:

sofriel:

Imagine the #overlyhonestmethods posts from Carlos’s team of scientists.

"This paper is shorter than normal due to the primary researcher turning into a tree before she could finish it."

"Test subjects were selected randomly by loitering outside Big Rico’s and offering illicit bread crust for all participants."

"Experiment time intervals were carefully chosen so that Carlos would actually be on time for his date for once."

"Potential errors include time loss from that cancelled Wednesday, the fact that the local government legally forbade us from mentioning the source of the data, and the loss of a substantial amount of recorded notes that were replaced with dead silence and the smell of vanilla."

"Some results were altered to sound more normal so we don’t get our funding revoked."

(via bramblepatch)

@10 hours ago with 10785 notes
#night vale #carlos the scientist #overlyhonestmethods 
shadowlongknife:

I only visit the real world when I have to.

shadowlongknife:

I only visit the real world when I have to.

(via justasmidgeonofthis)

@16 hours ago with 163 notes

prairie-homo-companion:

this is from a real diary by a 13-year-old girl in 1870. teenage girls are awesome and they’ve always been that way.

(Source: eudaemaniacal, via sirken)

@17 hours ago with 16836 notes
#diary #science #those wacky Victorians 

thatrapscallionsponge:

gingerche:

yourscientistfriend:

Ferguson

today

Guys, just because it’s out of the mainstream media doesn’t mean that the problems are gone. We gotta keep giving attention to these issues

Keep the focus on Ferguson—and other places where killers have badges.

(via saiditallbefore)

@3 hours ago with 26180 notes
#ferguson #ferguson missouri #civil rights #racism #killers with badges 

co-gi-to:

untamedcomets:

This is important

IMPORTANT. BOOST.

(Source: adventuringasnotagrownup, via mmc028)

@3 hours ago with 353143 notes
#yes all women 
manicbotanic:

I, for one, welcome our future Indian-Chinese lesbian cyborg president.

manicbotanic:

I, for one, welcome our future Indian-Chinese lesbian cyborg president.

(via shoutyourporpoise)

@4 hours ago with 18858 notes
#why is this a problem #lesbian cyborgs 

swimrun:

emmawatsonsdaily:

One of the reasons why Emma Watson is one of the best female role-models of our time. She’s so underrated.

I definitely relate to that—I remember getting school uniforms as a birthday present when I lived in the Philippines and my parents sent us to a private elementary school.

(via factfiction)

@4 hours ago with 401720 notes
#emma watson #education 

vulgarera:

parkingstrange:

the hit was super effective

(Source: sandandglass, via thecowgirlbookworm)

@6 hours ago with 178888 notes
dreadpiratekhan:

A Swedish woman hitting a neo-Nazi protester with her handbag. The woman was reportedly a concentration camp survivor. [1985]

Volunteers learn how to fight fires at Pearl Harbor [c. 1941 - 1945]

A 106-year old Armenian woman protecting her home with an AK-47. [1990]

Komako Kimura, a prominent Japanese suffragist at a march in New York. [October 23, 1917]

Erika, a 15-year-old Hungarian fighter who fought for freedom against the Soviet Union. [October 1956]

Sarla Thakral, 21 years old, the first Indian woman to earn a pilot license. [1936]

Voting activist Annie Lumpkins at the Little Rock city jail. [1961]  
(freakin’ immaculate)
Source with more wonderful photos

About the photo where the woman is hitting the neo-Nazi with her purse—HistorianBook.com has this to say:
The photo was taken at a provocative demonstration by ten Neo-Nazis at the corner of Norrgatan-Kronobergsgatan in Växjö (very close to another demonstration by the communist party). The Nazis were attacked by the public and chased to the Växjö train station where they locked themselves in the bathroom – and had to be rescued by police. [Emphasis mine.]

dreadpiratekhan:


A Swedish woman hitting a neo-Nazi protester with her handbag. The woman was reportedly a concentration camp survivor. [1985]

Volunteers learn how to fight fires at Pearl Harbor [c. 1941 - 1945]

A 106-year old Armenian woman protecting her home with an AK-47. [1990]

Komako Kimura, a prominent Japanese suffragist at a march in New York. [October 23, 1917]

Erika, a 15-year-old Hungarian fighter who fought for freedom against the Soviet Union. [October 1956]

Sarla Thakral, 21 years old, the first Indian woman to earn a pilot license. [1936]

Voting activist Annie Lumpkins at the Little Rock city jail. [1961]  

(freakin’ immaculate)

Source with more wonderful photos

About the photo where the woman is hitting the neo-Nazi with her purse—HistorianBook.com has this to say:

The photo was taken at a provocative demonstration by ten Neo-Nazis at the corner of Norrgatan-Kronobergsgatan in Växjö (very close to another demonstration by the communist party). The Nazis were attacked by the public and chased to the Växjö train station where they locked themselves in the bathroom – and had to be rescued by police. [Emphasis mine.]


(via a-seminar-of-owlets)

@10 hours ago with 37999 notes
#photos #historical photography 

"These are forms of male aggression that only women see. But even when men are afforded a front seat to harassment, they don’t always have the correct vantage point for recognizing the subtlety of its operation. Four years before the murders, I was sitting in a bar in Washington, D.C. with a male friend. Another young woman was alone at the bar when an older man scooted next to her. He was aggressive, wasted, and sitting too close, but she smiled curtly at his ramblings and laughed softly at his jokes as she patiently downed her drink. ‘Why is she humoring him?’ my friend asked me. ‘You would never do that.’ I was too embarrassed to say: ‘Because he looks scary’ and ‘I do it all the time.’

Women who have experienced this can recognize that placating these men is a rational choice, a form of self-defense to protect against setting off an aggressor. But to male bystanders, it often looks like a warm welcome, and that helps to shift blame in the public eye from the harasser and onto his target, who’s failed to respond with the type of masculine bravado that men more easily recognize."

Why it’s so hard for men to see misogyny (via ethiopienne)

BOOOM.  Read this if you are a dude, please.

(via geekyjessica)

Yesssssss.

(via quothtehblackbirdnevermoar)

Its hard for men to understand why women dont get loud & angry because they havent spent their entire lives being reprimanded whenever they take up too much space. (via pluralfloral)

(via timegoddessrose)

@17 hours ago with 30693 notes
#misogyny #male aggression