clear for men

Because let’s be very clear: strong men - strong men, men who are truly role models, don’t need to put down women to make themselves feel powerful. People who are truly strong lift others up.
—  Michelle Obama

I think it is very rare for a human being to be totally unsalvageable but I think it is very clear to me that many men lack, and will lack until the day they die, the basic understanding of women as human beings just like them with individual desires and fears and personalities, which would be required for men to ever be suitable for interactions with women. Many literally cannot get it in their heads that women have personhood in the exact same sense they do.

I really, truly hate when people conflate the terms GNC and ‘Nonbinary’ (or just don’t know what GNC means at all), so here you go:

GNC (Gender Non-Conforming): Not identifying with/actively practicing the societal gender roles assigned to your sex
Ex. Males who wear makeup and skirts (still men), females who don’t shave and cut their hair short (still women).

‘Nonbinary’: Identifying out of the “gender binary”
I.E. Trying to claim that they are neither men or women.

They. Do. Not. Mean. The. Same. Thing.

Reflections//Sadist

(My edit,not my photo)

 Snapchat:Shane7878

This is a picture of me taken during the war in Kosova in 1999. To the world I was known as the child of war torn Kosova, no name, no knowledge of what exactly happened to my family.
I was a child who was shot with 16 bullets, a child who witnessed my family being murdered right in front of my eyes. Now I look at the children of Aleppo, they are known as the children who are being tortured, murdered and traumatised by clear conscience of men in a war torn Syria.
I had many discussions of the intervention of NATO in Kosova, yes we were liberated in the end, scared until the end of my days, with memories of the family I had and images of the last time I saw them, with parts of human flesh splattered in different directions by their bullet wounds.
So I started questioning things. People in Bosnia had to go through the same fate, why wasn’t intervened earlier? People in Kosova were going through the same fate, why wasn’t intervened earlier? People in Syria are going through the same fate, why are they not intervening now.
I cannot excuse the super powers not intervening, they are letting families being destroyed and children die and people who have the fate of living, living scarred for life, just as I live today.
I then ask, what was the point of my survival when I witness injustice every second of my breathing days and feel helpless and useless facing all this injustice to innocence.

Saranda Bogujevci

Diamond Dogs [a Barry Allen AU]

a/n: i needed mob boss evil barry ok? ok AND DIFFERENT DECADES


At first it started as a normal day; you got up, got dressed in your light green waitress uniform and went to work. What you didn’t expect was a group of leather-clad men entering and everyone in the restaurant clearing out. All of the men are tall and muscular, some have facial hair, except for one who is lean and clean shaven. He slicks his light brown hair back, black bomber jacket scrunching, exposing the yellow lightning bolt patch on the upper arm. The Flash gang.

The boss snaps his fingers, pointing to one of the tables, silently ordering his boy’s to pull out a chair. They comply; the silver metal of the chair legs echo through the building. With a sly smirk, he plops on the seat, crossing his ankles, crinkling the tight dress pants just a tad. “Motherfucker’s late.” he sighs, checking his fancy wrist watch. The men look nervous. “Might as well eat somethin’.” he bites his lip, peering around the little diner, grinning wickedly when he notices you behind the counter. “Hey doll, could I get a menu?”

Gulping, you nod, picking up the thin laminated paper. Your white sneakers squeak on the dirty tiles, stopping at the long table. “Here you go…” you whisper, watching his pale fingers grab the menu, yours still holding on. His leafy green eyes twinkle at you while he smirks, pulling the menu from your grip. “Do you want a dr-”

“Cheeseburger with no pickles, extra fries, with a can of Coke.” he smiles, handing the menu back to you; rings barely touching the edges of the laminated paper. You nod, about to spin towards the kitchen until he captures your wrist. “Bring the fries out first, yeah?” Again, you nod, heading to the kitchen and giving the order to the cook. Quickly, you pour his drink, taking it to him; his three rings clink against the glass. “Thanks, dollface.”

The small bell hung over the door jingles, signifying someone is coming in. Deciding it’s best to be out of sight, you scurry back around the counter, keeping your eyes focused on the restaurant’s telephone. “Allen. Nice to see you again.” the muscular blond sneers, “Have you considered my proposal?” he questions, fixing his leather jacket as he sits across from ‘Allen’.

One of the men steps forward protectively but the boss stops him. “Easy, Cisco.” he smirks, eyes never leaving the blond. “I’ve given it some thought, Mr. Queen. Maybe up the price, then we’ll talk.” he muses, watching you bring the basket of fries to the table, “Ah, wonderful! Thanks doll.”

You blush, cracking a little grin. ‘Queen’ suddenly pulls a gun from the waistband of his jeans, aiming it at the brown haired man, who doesn’t flinch. “Barry, I need this. I’m begging you. Make the damn deal.” he growls through gritted teeth, blue eyes squinted in rage. You hold your breath, fear bubbling inside you.

Barry rises from his seat, leaning on the table with his hands clutched to the sides. “Now, now, Oliver, no need for weapons. It’s simple, I will do it, if you up the price. I don’t work for nothin’.” he smirks, waving one of his hands. “Going once.” he says in a demanding voice, eyeing Oliver. “Going twice.” he warns.

“Deal. I’ll get you the money next Tuesday.” Oliver grunts, tucking the gun behind his back with his jaw set.

A coy grin creeps on Barry’s face, “Good. Now, get outta my sight.” he waves his hand towards the door, picking up a crispy fry and munching on it. Oliver scowls, leaving the building. You just stand there in pure shock. He chews, glancing at you. “Sorry you had to see that, baby. But you did…” he sighs, dropping the fry in the basket, rubbing his index and thumb together, dusting off the salt.

You shake your head, clutching the pale green skirt of your uniform, “I…I won’t tell anyone, I swear!”

His hands clap together, rings clinking as his dress shoes waltz over to you. He smiles at you reassuringly, “I know you won’t.” he pouts almost mockingly, cupping your cheek; the cold rings press against your skin. “But, you belong to the Flash now.” he shrugs nonchalantly, spinning on his heel, and snapping at the door. His men open it for him and he struts out.

It is also clear that the more powerful men become, the more they speak. This would seem a natural correlation, but the same is not true for women. The reason for this, according to a Yale study, is that women worry about “negative consequences” — that is, a backlash — if they are more voluble. Troublingly, the study found that their fears were well founded, as both male and female listeners were quick to think these women were talking too much, too aggressively. In other words, men are rewarded for speaking, while women are punished.


So here is the conundrum: Including women is not the same as hearing women. As the Princeton and Brigham Young study noted, “having a seat at the table is very different than having a voice.” Women at the table will attest to finding themselves talked over, cut off, interrupted or forced to politely listen to reams of lengthy speeches. The conditions required for women to speak more are, not surprisingly, that more women are present, and that women are leading. According to a Harvard study, female students spoke more when a female instructor was in the classroom.

—  Julia Baird, How to Explain Mansplaining
  • Pansy: [While admiring Theo as he walks by] Ooohhh, he's delicious, isn't he? I'd serve tea on that ass.
  • Blaise: Do you have to be so vulgar about men? Like they're pieces of meat?
  • Pansy: Sorry, Blaise. I forgot you're sensitive about your flat ass.
  • Blaise: [scoffs] You know, Pans, that's why you're not dating. Women act like men, then they complain men don't want them.
  • Pansy: Oh, is that why? [fake smile] Oh. Okay. Because I thought it was something different. I thought that it was because I thought I deserved the best and he's out there. He's just with all the wrong women. And let me be clear; After years of men looking at my tits instead of my eyes and pinching my ass instead of shaking my hand, I now have the divine right to stare at a man's backside with vulgar, cheap appreciation if I want to!
  • Hermione: Well said! [clinks her glass]
  • Pansy: I thought so.
Old Money

One of the mysteries of this arc was was Bravat getting the money. They had the elaborate costumes, silver bracelets, first rate food, etc. This was not cheap, but Bravat offered everything for free. It seems now that the answer might lie with these old men.

One of the men even says he gave a generous donation in order to regain radiance.

While it’s not clearly state what is meant by radiance, I would guess it might be there youth. It seems that Bravat had a bit of a scam going. He found wealthy, older men and promised to help them regain their radiance. They donated money. They were given blood, but it was only the ‘leftovers.’

It’s clear that these men are not the four lords, although it’s possible they thought they were more special. They probably understood that Bravat was tricking people into taking their blood, but they might have thought it was all for them.

Bravat tells them that’s is really all for the blue star.

Although these men sang about the star, it seems that maybe they didn’t realize that Sirius was real and not just a con Bravat used to fool the masses.

So, these old men were probably the ones providing the money. I wonder who else Bravat is using and how they are being used.

tender

MUSIC, for the carry on countdown!

Simon screamed out and jerked awake, tears staining his face and shaking heavily.

Baz was immediately there, pulling him close and rubbing his back tenderly, whispering, “It’s alright, love, everything’s okay.”

“It was him again,” Simon choked out, burying his head in Baz’ chest, sobbing violently.

“Shhhh, he’s gone Simon,” Baz soothed him, gently stroking his hair, “he can’t hurt you anymore.”

Simon nodded and sniffed, hugging Baz fiercer. “C-Can you sing a song for me?”

“Of course,” Baz replied softly, and planted a kiss on Simon’s forehead. He sat up a little straighter, holding Simon tight and cleared his throat.

Wise men say, only fools rush in. But I can’t help, falling in love with you”

He sang and rocked Simon slowly back and forth, and when the song was over, they both sat in silence.

After a while, Baz lied down again, never letting go of Simon, and when his eyes fell close, he heard Simon whisper, “I love you, Baz.”

Baz lifted Simon’s head a bit and kissed him delicately. “I love you too, Simon. Goodnight, sweetheart.”

And a few moments later he heard Simon snore quietly.

Listening To Scattered Traffic Buzz Back And Forth With The Wind

Watching shadows dance along my walls
Restless in bed
Words slowly spiral out into a vast nothingness
My bones grow hollow
4 A.M.
Hacking and tossing and turning
With a stuffy nose and a dry mouth
Gasping for air
Poetry sleeps on a dusty shelf
The poet sleeps in the bathtub
Clear my mind
Clear my lungs
Clear my name
Scream psychedelic ambient hardcore bullshit at the top of your lungs
Passively twitch strange doodles until your fingers fall off
Vomit unmetered duets with homeless men into the face of oblivion
10,000 artists
10,000 faces
10,000 points and 10,000 anti-points
All trying to get fucked
All offering fortune cookie wisdom
All pricking their fingers so they can say they once bled for art
I see the sun start peek from the treetops
I hear the homebodies getting ready for work
I sigh aloud
Listening to scattered traffic buzz back and forth with the wind