african everything

As a proud member of the Lupita Army we will drag you.
This shriveled up bitter black man who hasn’t had anyone check for him since 1992 needs sit his Rogaine needing ass down.
Who says you are even in Lupita’s peripheral vision, you a desperate thirsty fly on her wall.
Gilbert Arenas who? Who is this nigga using Lupita name as a come up.

Lupita Nyong'o is an Oscar Winning Actress. She is high paid movie star. Your not even in her level to speak her name.

Black men be loving them some light skin ambiguous black women until they find them a perky blonde white women.

Black women been done with y'alls no loyalty white women loving asses, and needing black women to do your emotional and physical labor.

Bye bitch, good luck protecting yours from white folks when they pull a “get out” on you.

As if Dark Skin Black Women weren’t in the streets fighting for your lives. Who the fuck created BLM? Who the fuck created the Civil Rights Movement? Who the fuck was freeing black people from slavery? Who the fuck were fighting white colonizers?

I done y'all, I’m done with these fucking niggas. #BlackMenBeenTrash

#LupitaArmy 🥊


As I was accompanying a group of students from Odsherred Efterskole, Denmark on a trip to Malawi for a week, I took advantage of the little time off I had to take some pictures. In cooperation with Francis Botha, local citizen and employed at NGO Danish Church Aid, we toured the African country from South to North, helping me find diverse locations and scenes to best capture what I had in mind.

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Milestone Series

Author: birdnmouse

Milestone: Meeting the Parents

wc: 2998 | rating: T  | status: 1/10 complete

 Summary: A series looking at Rick and Michonne’s various relationship milestones. AU. Occurring in the Against Type universe after the events of that series.

“Can you put on–”

“–number 14?” Rick finished in conjunction with her, earning himself a sidelong glance from the beautiful woman sitting in the passenger’s seat.


“You know there are thirteen other songs on the CD.”

“Yeah, I’m well aware,” she assured him as she thought over the dozens of times she’d heard this album from start to finish while riding in his truck, “but this is the only one I like.”

“But it’s Johnny Cash.”

“You always say that,” she said, shaking her head with a slight smirk, as unmoved by his standard response as ever.

We got married in a fever, hotter than a pepper sprout,

We’ve been talkin’ ‘bout Jackson, ever since the fire went out.

I’m goin’ to Jackson, I’m gonna mess around,

Yeah, I’m goin’ to Jackson.

Their conversation came to a lull as the plucky guitar chords and driving beat of the song filled the car. She looked over at her boyfriend with one hand one the steering wheel and the other resting on the window sill. His lips were slightly pursed, and she couldn’t tell whether he was just focused on the road or smarting over her comment.

“It’s a good driving song,” she offered weakly. “When you’re in a truck…out in the country,” she rambled until he finally turned her way with a warning look. “I’m trying here.”

And he knew she truly was, bless her heart, but he was never going to convert her into a fan. Hell, if he’d been introduced to this music today, he couldn’t even be sure he’d like it himself, but it was what he grew up listening to in his father’s truck, so he’d never be able to judge it objectively.

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