Moshi Moshi

Kelly Elkins. 22. Queer. Vegan. Welsh.

I drink a lot of tea and read a lot of books.

Start by wiping the blood off of his chin and
pretending to understand.
Repeat to yourself
“I won’t leave you, I won’t leave you”
until you fall asleep and dream of the place
where nothing is red.
When is a monster not a monster?
Oh, when you love it.

Caitlyn Siehl, Start Here (via alonesomes)

(Source: makingprxgress, via lyra-x)

humansofnewyork:

"I’m reading a classic piece of fantasy literature about a mercenary company in a sorcery world. I’m actually the treasurer of the Gay Geeks of New York club. Hey! Could you promote our trivia night? It’s tonight at Rock Bar at 7 PM. There’s all kinds of geek trivia: fantasy, gaming, anime, animation, sci-fi, stuff like that. Wait until I tell our PR Director about this. I’m gonna rub his nose in it. It’s gonna be awesome."

humansofnewyork:

"I’m reading a classic piece of fantasy literature about a mercenary company in a sorcery world. I’m actually the treasurer of the Gay Geeks of New York club. Hey! Could you promote our trivia night? It’s tonight at Rock Bar at 7 PM. There’s all kinds of geek trivia: fantasy, gaming, anime, animation, sci-fi, stuff like that. Wait until I tell our PR Director about this. I’m gonna rub his nose in it. It’s gonna be awesome."

humansofnewyork:

"We were twenty-five and twenty-eight, but we acted like fifteen year olds. Fighting over little things, storming off, breaking up for a week and then getting back together. But developmentally, we were fifteen year olds. We’d been in the closet our whole lives, so we didn’t have any practice with relationships. He still hadn’t come out to his family and a lot of his friends. We were on one of our ‘little breaks’ when he died suddenly from a seizure. And nobody in his family or circle knew I existed. It took me four months to find out that he died. I thought he’d just decided never to talk to me again. His family never found out about me. Or him, for that matter."

humansofnewyork:

"We were twenty-five and twenty-eight, but we acted like fifteen year olds. Fighting over little things, storming off, breaking up for a week and then getting back together. But developmentally, we were fifteen year olds. We’d been in the closet our whole lives, so we didn’t have any practice with relationships. He still hadn’t come out to his family and a lot of his friends. We were on one of our ‘little breaks’ when he died suddenly from a seizure. And nobody in his family or circle knew I existed. It took me four months to find out that he died. I thought he’d just decided never to talk to me again. His family never found out about me. Or him, for that matter."

humansofnewyork:


He seemed a bit intimidated when I approached him, and nodded meekly when I asked for his photo. Then he stepped back, paused for a second, and did this. He held the pose for about ten seconds, snapped back to normal, then continued on his way.

humansofnewyork:

He seemed a bit intimidated when I approached him, and nodded meekly when I asked for his photo. Then he stepped back, paused for a second, and did this. He held the pose for about ten seconds, snapped back to normal, then continued on his way.

humansofnewyork:

"My son worked on the 91st floor of the North Tower. The whole family came over to my apartment and gathered around the TV. When we saw the building come down, we all looked at each other, and said: ‘That’s it.’"

humansofnewyork:

"My son worked on the 91st floor of the North Tower. The whole family came over to my apartment and gathered around the TV. When we saw the building come down, we all looked at each other, and said: ‘That’s it.’"

misandry-mermaid:

totallynotagentphilcoulson:

theriotmag:

booksomewench:

broodingsoul:

prettyydoppe:

kenobi-wan-obi:

chillona:

latenightwithicewaterjones:

cultureunseen:

Salute to the enduring spirit of the children of the slaves…

A lot of the men and women that had to endure this are still alive. Don’t let white people act like this is the distant past. It’s not.

Fucking monsters.

American history. American present.

Never forget

I didn’t want to reblog this because of how uncomfortable it made me feel and then I realized, that’s the exact reason I need to reblog it.

Look at these images, America. Look at them. This is your history. This is one of the things that has made you what you are. Do you know what these are from? Have you ever heard of the Detroit Race Riot of ‘43? Do you know about the Deacons of Defense? Can you imagine the kind of “crimes” that could necessitate beatings like the ones viewed here? Crimes like: being involved with a white woman. Being suspected of being involved with a white woman. Trying to vote. Using a white’s only bathroom. Integrating schools or churches or anything else.

Look at these images. This is your story and mine. This isn’t the distant past! This isn’t some kind of ancient history that we can gloss over. People who participated in these events—on either side—are still alive today. Their children and grandchildren may be reading this right now.

Look at them, damn you! Study them. Think about how they make you feel. How it must have felt for the victims. For their families. Put yourself back there. Imagine this. Picture living with this kind of fear.

Look at these images.

Bolding is mine.

I do want to point out the photo of the two white guys with the one in a US Army sweatshirt are actually helping, but the only reason I want to point that out is thus far that photo and a second photo of those three men are the only photos of the Detroit Race Riot I have seen of white people openly defending any of the black victims that were attacked. Literally every other photo I have seen of the Detroit Race Riots have been like the others: white people dehumanizing and beating black people. Or they have been aftermath photos.

Whenever you hear “You can’t fight fire with fire” or “Don’t fight hate with hate.”
I want you to think of these images.
And how else the fuck is hate supposed to be fought when THIS is what it looks like.

(via tiqachu)