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Discover social_livre's Instagram Até quando o mundo será para abençoar poucos e condenar muitos?
#capitalismo #capitalismoselvagem #capitalism #alienacao #proletariado #burguesia #injustiça #injustice 1627667465231933678_6005784187

Até quando o mundo será para abençoar poucos e condenar muitos? #capitalismo #capitalismoselvagem #capitalism #alienacao #proletariado #burguesia #injustiça #injustice

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Discover diewienerwerkstatte's Instagram Part III - #MeToo - But no one did. They saw and watched, briefly - some in disgust, some with incredulity or indifference - but then they looked away. Every single one of them. My throat was completely dry at this point. This man was still masturbating against my body in full view of all those surrounding us. And then, after what felt like an ice age, Holborn Station finally drew up. The double doors opened and I backed out almost blindly, throwing myself into the waiting crowd and practically stumbling up and out of the stuffy labyrinth with my head in a haze. He tried following me, but I managed to lose him. I do not remember much of the following days. I had been sexually harassed before in my life, but I had never before felt that violated. One detail I do remember, however, was my trying to confide in my so-called ‘friends’. Their reactions to my story were astounding. In truth, I do not know which is worse: their reactions, or the initial harassment itself. Whether female or male, my ‘friends’ barely acknowledged what I related as ‘possible’. Some even went so far as to suggest that I was delusional and desperate. I could easily call out each and every one of these cowards on Instagram today, right now, but I choose not to sink that low. I survived; I have forgiven, not forgotten; I have grown wiser; I have learned self-respect and I have learned what to do now, and to do it loudly. I was but one of millions of victims in this world who succumbed to silence out of the baseless guilt that only a sexually harassed person can feel as a result of the unforgivable act(s) inflicted upon them. But not anymore. Silence and denial permit sexual offenders to pursue their crimes; to violate and shame more innocents into idleness. Stepping up to such criminals is not only right, but immeasurably brave. No matter how small or insignificant you think your story may be, speak up. Try. Whatever it takes, do it. Now and forever. Send these immoral, bloated miscreants to hell. For yourself. 1627664775072529926_4638421149

Part III - #metoo- But no one did. They saw and watched, briefly - some in disgust, some with incredulity or indifference - but then they looked away. Every single one of them. My throat was completely dry at this point. This man was still masturbating against my body in full view of all those surrounding us. And then, after what felt like an ice age, Holborn Station finally drew up. The double doors opened and I backed out almost blindly, throwing myself into the waiting crowd and practically stumbling up and out of the stuffy labyrinth with my head in a haze. He tried following me, but I managed to lose him. I do not remember much of the following days. I had been sexually harassed before in my life, but I had never before felt that violated. One detail I do remember, however, was my trying to confide in my so-called ‘friends’. Their reactions to my story were astounding. In truth, I do not know which is worse: their reactions, or the initial harassment itself. Whether female or male, my ‘friends’ barely acknowledged what I related as ‘possible’. Some even went so far as to suggest that I was delusional and desperate. I could easily call out each and every one of these cowards on Instagram today, right now, but I choose not to sink that low. I survived; I have forgiven, not forgotten; I have grown wiser; I have learned self-respect and I have learned what to do now, and to do it loudly. I was but one of millions of victims in this world who succumbed to silence out of the baseless guilt that only a sexually harassed person can feel as a result of the unforgivable act(s) inflicted upon them. But not anymore. Silence and denial permit sexual offenders to pursue their crimes; to violate and shame more innocents into idleness. Stepping up to such criminals is not only right, but immeasurably brave. No matter how small or insignificant you think your story may be, speak up. Try. Whatever it takes, do it. Now and forever. Send these immoral, bloated miscreants to hell. For yourself.

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Discover diewienerwerkstatte's Instagram Part II - #MeToo - He wore a white polyester track suit, somewhat baggy. His hands, both dug deeply into his pockets, were guilefully massaging his balls. I looked away at once, simultaneously in disbelief and revulsion. The skin on my neck automatically began to prickle with the sensation of thousands of minute hot needles trying to pierce through. I reasoned with myself that if I did not look again, if I ignored him, he would then give up. But this man was eager; who knows for how long he had been preying on me. Within seconds he stood up, casually, never taking his eyes off my figure, and began slowly traipsing nearer. My hand tightened on the yellow handle bar that I was already so desperately clutching. Two business colleagues, a woman and a man, stepped aside to let him pass, allowing him to comfortably sidle into the narrow space left between myself and the double doors. I did nothing but wait, barely breathing, fixedly staring at the elbow of the woman standing in front of me. The train swerved around a bend and began to sway and then, suddenly, so did this man. With both hands now gripping the handle bar above us, he galvanised the natural movements of the compartment to begin thrusting his penis against my right hand resting at my hip, a considerable distance from him of no less than half a metre. Within moments his erection was tangible. His breathing intensified, blasting in waves a putrid gas against my hair and ear. I had no voice. I had frozen. I did not even have the initiative to draw my hand away; I simply let it hang there. The only things left in my control were my eyes. I rapidly stared into the faces of my fellow passengers, maintaining solid eye-to-eye contact with over five of them. In turn, some of their eyes flickered over to this man on my right. His concentration on his act was by then so strong that he was no longer feigning discreetness. And I thought that now, of all moments, someone would surely come to my aid. 1627665067163928269_4638421149

Part II - #metoo- He wore a white polyester track suit, somewhat baggy. His hands, both dug deeply into his pockets, were guilefully massaging his balls. I looked away at once, simultaneously in disbelief and revulsion. The skin on my neck automatically began to prickle with the sensation of thousands of minute hot needles trying to pierce through. I reasoned with myself that if I did not look again, if I ignored him, he would then give up. But this man was eager; who knows for how long he had been preying on me. Within seconds he stood up, casually, never taking his eyes off my figure, and began slowly traipsing nearer. My hand tightened on the yellow handle bar that I was already so desperately clutching. Two business colleagues, a woman and a man, stepped aside to let him pass, allowing him to comfortably sidle into the narrow space left between myself and the double doors. I did nothing but wait, barely breathing, fixedly staring at the elbow of the woman standing in front of me. The train swerved around a bend and began to sway and then, suddenly, so did this man. With both hands now gripping the handle bar above us, he galvanised the natural movements of the compartment to begin thrusting his penis against my right hand resting at my hip, a considerable distance from him of no less than half a metre. Within moments his erection was tangible. His breathing intensified, blasting in waves a putrid gas against my hair and ear. I had no voice. I had frozen. I did not even have the initiative to draw my hand away; I simply let it hang there. The only things left in my control were my eyes. I rapidly stared into the faces of my fellow passengers, maintaining solid eye-to-eye contact with over five of them. In turn, some of their eyes flickered over to this man on my right. His concentration on his act was by then so strong that he was no longer feigning discreetness. And I thought that now, of all moments, someone would surely come to my aid.

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Discover diewienerwerkstatte's Instagram Part I - #MeToo - I am 27 years old. I am talented, insecure, loved and scarred. I am also very strong, even in my weak moments. I have not been molested by Harvey Weinstein, but I have certainly faced unjustified degradation and fear at the hands of men who share Weinstein’s repulsive, if not identical, mind-frame. Today I am putting aside my work so that I may dedicate myself to relating the following story to you, my public. I have numerous stories, too many of which my subconscious has pillowed away with time, humiliated by the details. But I feel ready, finally, to not only uncover them once and for all, for myself, but to share them with those who may not realise that they need to hear them. During my late formative years, I lived in London. I had everything at my fingertips - museums and education, opportunities and freedom - but what I did not have were friends. I am a naturally introverted person, something that, perhaps, lessened the chances I had of really finding those one or two genuine others whom I could count on in a city as London. After a time I began to lie to myself, solely out of what I now know was an odd mixture of pride and debilitating loneliness. I told myself that my superficial, image-loving acquaintances were indeed my friends and that should any serious situation arise, they would have my back without hesitation. The downfall of this naïve figment of my imagination came to light when I was travelling alone by Tube one day. I had places to go and friends to meet - time was short - so of course I once again disregarded the dire warnings my mother gave me about so unwisely and so frequently using the Tube as my ‘safe’ means of transport. Disliking being squashed so closely between strangers in the seating bays, that day I chose to stand near the tram car’s double doors. My expression, by then well accustomed to the grey mask donned by so many fellow Londoners, was placidly staring into empty space. I was on the Piccadilly Line, soon to dismount at Holborn. Shifting my footing a bit, I quickly noticed a man staring up at me from a seat a few metres away, subtly licking his lips. 1627665374782477303_4638421149

Part I - #metoo- I am 27 years old. I am talented, insecure, loved and scarred. I am also very strong, even in my weak moments. I have not been molested by Harvey Weinstein, but I have certainly faced unjustified degradation and fear at the hands of men who share Weinstein’s repulsive, if not identical, mind-frame. Today I am putting aside my work so that I may dedicate myself to relating the following story to you, my public. I have numerous stories, too many of which my subconscious has pillowed away with time, humiliated by the details. But I feel ready, finally, to not only uncover them once and for all, for myself, but to share them with those who may not realise that they need to hear them. During my late formative years, I lived in London. I had everything at my fingertips - museums and education, opportunities and freedom - but what I did not have were friends. I am a naturally introverted person, something that, perhaps, lessened the chances I had of really finding those one or two genuine others whom I could count on in a city as London. After a time I began to lie to myself, solely out of what I now know was an odd mixture of pride and debilitating loneliness. I told myself that my superficial, image-loving acquaintances were indeed my friends and that should any serious situation arise, they would have my back without hesitation. The downfall of this naïve figment of my imagination came to light when I was travelling alone by Tube one day. I had places to go and friends to meet - time was short - so of course I once again disregarded the dire warnings my mother gave me about so unwisely and so frequently using the Tube as my ‘safe’ means of transport. Disliking being squashed so closely between strangers in the seating bays, that day I chose to stand near the tram car’s double doors. My expression, by then well accustomed to the grey mask donned by so many fellow Londoners, was placidly staring into empty space. I was on the Piccadilly Line, soon to dismount at Holborn. Shifting my footing a bit, I quickly noticed a man staring up at me from a seat a few metres away, subtly licking his lips.

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Discover mrquinn305's Instagram Throwback to Supercon 2016 with @tarastrong The voice behind Harley Quinn. She was super cool btw. #TaraStrong 1627663088348091766_3237642292

Throwback to Supercon 2016 with @tarastrong The voice behind Harley Quinn. She was super cool btw. #tarastrong

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Discover marvel_vs_dc_comics_movies's Instagram New animated Batman film.  #batman #dc #justiceleague #flash #comics #injustice #superman 1627661890363991907_6232710851

New animated Batman film. #batman #dc #justiceleague #flash #comics #injustice #superman

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Discover theburrowofbells's Instagram Part I - #MeToo - I am 27 years old. I am talented, insecure, loved and scarred. I am also very strong, even in my weak moments. I have not been molested by Harvey Weinstein, but I have certainly faced unjustified degradation and fear at the hands of men who share Weinstein’s repulsive, if not identical, mind-frame. Today I am putting aside my work so that I may dedicate myself to relating the following story to you, my public. I have numerous stories, too many of which my subconscious has pillowed away with time, humiliated by the details. But I feel ready, finally, to not only uncover them once and for all, for myself, but to share them with those who may not realise that they need to hear them. During my late formative years, I lived in London. I had everything at my fingertips - museums and education, opportunities and freedom - but what I did not have were friends. I am a naturally introverted person, something that, perhaps, lessened the chances I had of really finding those one or two genuine others whom I could count on in a city as London. After a time I began to lie to myself, solely out of what I now know was an odd mixture of pride and debilitating loneliness. I told myself that my superficial, image-loving acquaintances were indeed my friends and that should any serious situation arise, they would have my back without hesitation. The downfall of this naïve figment of my imagination came to light when I was travelling alone by Tube one day. I had places to go and friends to meet - time was short - so of course I once again disregarded the dire warnings my mother gave me about so unwisely and so frequently using the Tube as my ‘safe’ means of transport. Disliking being squashed so closely between strangers in the seating bays, that day I chose to stand near the tram car’s double doors. My expression, by then well accustomed to the grey mask donned by so many fellow Londoners, was placidly staring into empty space. I was on the Piccadilly Line, soon to dismount at Holborn. Shifting my footing a bit, I quickly noticed a man staring up at me from a seat a few metres away, subtly licking his lips. 1627659172605050131_3894018461

Part I - #metoo- I am 27 years old. I am talented, insecure, loved and scarred. I am also very strong, even in my weak moments. I have not been molested by Harvey Weinstein, but I have certainly faced unjustified degradation and fear at the hands of men who share Weinstein’s repulsive, if not identical, mind-frame. Today I am putting aside my work so that I may dedicate myself to relating the following story to you, my public. I have numerous stories, too many of which my subconscious has pillowed away with time, humiliated by the details. But I feel ready, finally, to not only uncover them once and for all, for myself, but to share them with those who may not realise that they need to hear them. During my late formative years, I lived in London. I had everything at my fingertips - museums and education, opportunities and freedom - but what I did not have were friends. I am a naturally introverted person, something that, perhaps, lessened the chances I had of really finding those one or two genuine others whom I could count on in a city as London. After a time I began to lie to myself, solely out of what I now know was an odd mixture of pride and debilitating loneliness. I told myself that my superficial, image-loving acquaintances were indeed my friends and that should any serious situation arise, they would have my back without hesitation. The downfall of this naïve figment of my imagination came to light when I was travelling alone by Tube one day. I had places to go and friends to meet - time was short - so of course I once again disregarded the dire warnings my mother gave me about so unwisely and so frequently using the Tube as my ‘safe’ means of transport. Disliking being squashed so closely between strangers in the seating bays, that day I chose to stand near the tram car’s double doors. My expression, by then well accustomed to the grey mask donned by so many fellow Londoners, was placidly staring into empty space. I was on the Piccadilly Line, soon to dismount at Holborn. Shifting my footing a bit, I quickly noticed a man staring up at me from a seat a few metres away, subtly licking his lips.

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Discover theburrowofbells's Instagram Part II - #MeToo - He wore a white polyester track suit, somewhat baggy. His hands, both dug deeply into his pockets, were guilefully massaging his balls. I looked away at once, simultaneously in disbelief and revulsion. The skin on my neck automatically began to prickle with the sensation of thousands of minute hot needles trying to pierce through. I reasoned with myself that if I did not look again, if I ignored him, he would then give up. But this man was eager; who knows for how long he had been preying on me. Within seconds he stood up, casually, never taking his eyes off my figure, and began slowly traipsing nearer. My hand tightened on the yellow handle bar that I was already so desperately clutching. Two business colleagues, a woman and a man, stepped aside to let him pass, allowing him to comfortably sidle into the narrow space left between myself and the double doors. I did nothing but wait, barely breathing, fixedly staring at the elbow of the woman standing in front of me. The train swerved around a bend and began to sway and then, suddenly, so did this man. With both hands now gripping the handle bar above us, he galvanised the natural movements of the compartment to begin thrusting his penis against my right hand resting at my hip, a considerable distance from him of no less than half a metre. Within moments his erection was tangible. His breathing intensified, blasting in waves a putrid gas against my hair and ear. I had no voice. I had frozen. I did not even have the initiative to draw my hand away; I simply let it hang there. The only things left in my control were my eyes. I rapidly stared into the faces of my fellow passengers, maintaining solid eye-to-eye contact with over five of them. In turn, some of their eyes flickered over to this man on my right. His concentration on his act was by then so strong that he was no longer feigning discreetness. And I thought that now, of all moments, someone would surely come to my aid. 1627658781259535674_3894018461

Part II - #metoo- He wore a white polyester track suit, somewhat baggy. His hands, both dug deeply into his pockets, were guilefully massaging his balls. I looked away at once, simultaneously in disbelief and revulsion. The skin on my neck automatically began to prickle with the sensation of thousands of minute hot needles trying to pierce through. I reasoned with myself that if I did not look again, if I ignored him, he would then give up. But this man was eager; who knows for how long he had been preying on me. Within seconds he stood up, casually, never taking his eyes off my figure, and began slowly traipsing nearer. My hand tightened on the yellow handle bar that I was already so desperately clutching. Two business colleagues, a woman and a man, stepped aside to let him pass, allowing him to comfortably sidle into the narrow space left between myself and the double doors. I did nothing but wait, barely breathing, fixedly staring at the elbow of the woman standing in front of me. The train swerved around a bend and began to sway and then, suddenly, so did this man. With both hands now gripping the handle bar above us, he galvanised the natural movements of the compartment to begin thrusting his penis against my right hand resting at my hip, a considerable distance from him of no less than half a metre. Within moments his erection was tangible. His breathing intensified, blasting in waves a putrid gas against my hair and ear. I had no voice. I had frozen. I did not even have the initiative to draw my hand away; I simply let it hang there. The only things left in my control were my eyes. I rapidly stared into the faces of my fellow passengers, maintaining solid eye-to-eye contact with over five of them. In turn, some of their eyes flickered over to this man on my right. His concentration on his act was by then so strong that he was no longer feigning discreetness. And I thought that now, of all moments, someone would surely come to my aid.

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Discover theburrowofbells's Instagram Part III - #MeToo - But no one did. They saw and watched, briefly - some in disgust, some with incredulity or indifference - but then they looked away. Every single one of them. My throat was completely dry at this point. This man was still masturbating against my body in full view of all those surrounding us. And then, after what felt like an ice age, Holborn Station finally drew up. The double doors opened and I backed out almost blindly, throwing myself into the waiting crowd and practically stumbling up and out of the stuffy labyrinth with my head in a haze. He tried following me, but I managed to lose him. I do not remember much of the following days. I had been sexually harassed before in my life, but I had never before felt that violated. One detail I do remember, however, was my trying to confide in my so-called ‘friends’. Their reactions to my story were astounding. In truth, I do not know which is worse: their reactions, or the initial harassment itself. Whether female or male, my ‘friends’ barely acknowledged what I related as ‘possible’. Some even went so far as to suggest that I was delusional and desperate. I could easily call out each and every one of these cowards on Instagram today, right now, but I choose not to sink that low. I survived; I have forgiven, not forgotten; I have grown wiser; I have learned self-respect and I have learned what to do now, and to do it loudly. I was but one of millions of victims in this world who succumbed to silence out of the baseless guilt that only a sexually harassed person can feel as a result of the unforgivable act(s) inflicted upon them. But not anymore. Silence and denial permit sexual offenders to pursue their crimes; to violate and shame more innocents into idleness. Stepping up to such criminals is not only right, but immeasurably brave. No matter how small or insignificant you think your story may be, speak up. Try. Whatever it takes, do it. Now and forever. Send these immoral, bloated miscreants to hell. For yourself. 1627658438190689915_3894018461

Part III - #metoo- But no one did. They saw and watched, briefly - some in disgust, some with incredulity or indifference - but then they looked away. Every single one of them. My throat was completely dry at this point. This man was still masturbating against my body in full view of all those surrounding us. And then, after what felt like an ice age, Holborn Station finally drew up. The double doors opened and I backed out almost blindly, throwing myself into the waiting crowd and practically stumbling up and out of the stuffy labyrinth with my head in a haze. He tried following me, but I managed to lose him. I do not remember much of the following days. I had been sexually harassed before in my life, but I had never before felt that violated. One detail I do remember, however, was my trying to confide in my so-called ‘friends’. Their reactions to my story were astounding. In truth, I do not know which is worse: their reactions, or the initial harassment itself. Whether female or male, my ‘friends’ barely acknowledged what I related as ‘possible’. Some even went so far as to suggest that I was delusional and desperate. I could easily call out each and every one of these cowards on Instagram today, right now, but I choose not to sink that low. I survived; I have forgiven, not forgotten; I have grown wiser; I have learned self-respect and I have learned what to do now, and to do it loudly. I was but one of millions of victims in this world who succumbed to silence out of the baseless guilt that only a sexually harassed person can feel as a result of the unforgivable act(s) inflicted upon them. But not anymore. Silence and denial permit sexual offenders to pursue their crimes; to violate and shame more innocents into idleness. Stepping up to such criminals is not only right, but immeasurably brave. No matter how small or insignificant you think your story may be, speak up. Try. Whatever it takes, do it. Now and forever. Send these immoral, bloated miscreants to hell. For yourself.

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Discover sadiepingsadie's Instagram Establishing a Proper Relationship With God Is Very Important

People believe in God, love God, and satisfy God by touching the Spirit of God with their heart, thereby obtaining His satisfaction; when engaging with God’s words with their heart, they are therefore moved by the Spirit of God. If you wish to achieve a proper spiritual life and establish a proper relationship with God, you must first give your heart to Him, and quiet your heart before Him.

read more:https://goo.gl/unXyAs

#judgment #refine #trial #perfect #conquer #Satan #punish #destroy #perish #disobey #resist #blaspheme #judge #condemn #persecute #revere #seek #arrogant #destination #fate #gooddeeds #perdition #laws #commandments #justice #injustice #fast 1627654969132751989_6223775377

Establishing a Proper Relationship With God Is Very Important People believe in God, love God, and satisfy God by touching the Spirit of God with their heart, thereby obtaining His satisfaction; when engaging with God’s words with their heart, they are therefore moved by the Spirit of God. If you wish to achieve a proper spiritual life and establish a proper relationship with God, you must first give your heart to Him, and quiet your heart before Him. read more:https://goo.gl/unXyAs #judgment #refine #trial #perfect #conquer #satan #punish #destroy #perish #disobey #resist #blaspheme #judge #condemn #persecute #revere #seek #arrogant #destination #fate #gooddeeds #perdition #laws #commandments #justice #injustice #fast

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Discover dc_fans_united's Instagram Exactly 1 Month left for Justice League ! Are you hyped ?! 
Follow @dc_fans_united for DC memes 
Fan edit by : robinverracas
. . . 
#batman #superman #wonderwoman #aquaman #theflash #dc #dceu #dccomics #justiceleague #batmanvsuperman #thor #marvel #infinitywar #spiderman #ironman #avengers #guardiansofthegalaxy #blackpanther #unitetheleague #gameofthrones 1627650074286798942_4270520962

Exactly 1 Month left for Justice League ! Are you hyped ?! Follow @dc_fans_united for DC memes Fan edit by : robinverracas . . . #batman #superman #wonderwoman #aquaman #theflash #dc #dceu #dccomics #justiceleague #batmanvsuperman #thor #marvel #infinitywar #spiderman #ironman #avengers #guardiansofthegalaxy #blackpanther #unitetheleague #gameofthrones

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Discover thegeektopia's Instagram The Bat & The Cat
#TheGeektopia 
Artwork by Unknown
Find Pop Culture T-Shirts, knives, & Leggings here @GeektopiaWorld☟
www.GeektopiaWorld.com
Free Worldwide Shipping  1627648587768138705_3647850743

The Bat & The Cat #thegeektopia Artwork by Unknown Find Pop Culture T-Shirts, knives, & Leggings here @GeektopiaWorld☟ www.GeektopiaWorld.com Free Worldwide Shipping

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Discover vigilante_dceu's Instagram one of my favorite scenes what’s your favorite movie of the trilogy? 1627648072714731922_4305131273

one of my favorite scenes what’s your favorite movie of the trilogy?

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