https://archiveofourown.org/works/26073844

Neku and Shiki have a moment, after they comfort Beat in the hospital with Neku’s presence: as he’d sort of just given up on living when he saw his best friend die:( Post-A New Day.

For NeShiki Day:)

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“Fun fact! Baby elephants, much like human babies, aren’t able to fully control their trunks because their motor skills haven’t fully developed so they plunge their face into the water to drink =)

Although this cutie is obviously playing lol 😍” 

(Source)

My notifs straight up spitting facts

It became clear to Kairi then, the tears that make their way down Riku’s face.

Neither was more important than the other in his eyes.

Because no matter who came home, who made it back - he would still feel the pain, would still mourn for them equally.

Either which way, Riku would lose what matters to him most. 

EDIT REQUEST MEME

Anyone want to hear another wholesome story about my dad?

Okay so.

My dad is actually my step-dad. He and my mom got together when I was eight, and got married a few years later. I never actually call him my step-dad, because as far as I’m concerned he’s just my dad.

My bio-dad has never been in the picture. I’ve never even met him. So my formative years were spent having a very complicated relationship with the concept of fathers. I both wanted a dad and didn’t need one, because my family is fairly large and I had no shortage of grandparents and aunts and uncles and cousins stepping in to help my mom out.

But I still always felt sad about not having a dad, y'know? Everyone else did. It made me feel lonely and kind of abandoned.

My favorite book when I was little was Papa Please Get the Moon for Me, by Eric Carle. If you’re unfamiliar, the plot is basically that this guy loves his child so much that he literally steals the moon from the sky when she asks. I LOVED that book, but, like…it also made me kind of sad, because I didn’t have a dad who would do that for me.

Fast forward to when I was older, and my (step)dad and my mom had my little brothers. When I was in high school, they were both really little, and one of them got his hands on my copy of Papa Please Get the Moon for Me, which I’d kept for nostalgia’s sake.

Little shit destroyed it. He was little, he didn’t really know any better yet, but I was DEVASTATED. I full-on sobbed. Sure, I could get another one, but it wouldn’t be the same, y'know?

Christmas that year, I open up my gifts, and there’s one from my dad in particular. It was kinda weird, because my parents never really specify when a Christmas gift is from one specifically; they just get all the kids gifts and only label who they’re to.

So I open it, intrigued, and y'all know what it was?

It was NOT a new copy of Papa Please Get the Moon for Me.

But it WAS a light-up model of the moon, that still to this day hangs on the wall in my living room and makes me get a little emotional every time I look at it.

I love genuinely innocent “boys will be boys.” Just saw a guy come out of a frat house to poke a pair of jeans they’d left outside - they were frozen solid, and as soon as he confirmed that, like twenty more boys came rushing out of the house going “YOOOOOOOOOO”

I heard grunting outside my window the other night and there were four boys struggling to push this giant snowball (like 7 foot diameter) down the sidewalk.

I once lost my keys at a frat house.

My drunk ass had actually walked home without them, pounded on my apartment door, gotten let in by my rightfully-disgruntled roommate, and proceeded to pass out on the couch.  Apparently I puked in the toilet before passing out.  I do not remember this part.

The next morning, I schlepped back to the frat house.  I stood there, right in front of the front door.  This was a novel experience for me.  I’d never been at a frat house in broad daylight before.

A boy, presumably, of the house, asked me what I was doing. 

“I lost my keys in here last night,” I called back.  “I was seeing if I could go in and look for them?”

He opened the door and gestured for me to come in.

“Go wherever you want.”

I’d never seen a frat house post-party before.  Wandering up the stairs and through the halls, I was surrounded by hungover and still-drunk frat boys stumbling around in their socks and sandals and gym shorts, seeking out food and showers like moths to a porch light.  A few of them threw puzzled glances my way.  I’m sure they thought I was some post-bacchanalia hallucination.

I entered one room where a boy was drunkenly watching some Old Yeller-esque movie on a tiny TV in the corner of his room from his bed.

“Do you like dog movies?” he asked, voice all mumbly from grogginess and also from the fact that his face was squished against his pillow and half-buried by his blanket.

I told him I did.

He mumbled again, pleased, and asked what I was doing.  I told him I was looking for my keys.

“Sorry, I haven’t seen any keys around here.”

I didn’t doubt him.

Twenty minutes had passed.  I’d searched just about every bedroom and nuclear-waste-dump-site of a bathroom in that house.  I’d given up on ever finding my keys and was prepared to beg my roommates’ forgiveness and get a new set copied.

As I stood there in the hallway, silently bewailing my predicament, a particularly-burly frat boy approached me.

“You need help with something?”

“I lost my keys here last night and I can’t find them, I’ve looked everywhere.”

“What do they look like?  I’ll put it into the group chat.”  He was already pulling out his phone.

No one ever checks a group chat, I thought, but what the hell.  It was worth a shot.  “Um, it’s just a ring of keys.  The keychain is a pink plastic cat, though, like yea big.  Like bright pink, you can’t miss it.”

He nodded, presumably typing this description faithfully into the group chat.

“Alright, I sent the message out.  Good luck.”

And with that, he turned and left.

A few moments later, I heard a distant thundering.  It was coming from upstairs, and it was getting louder and louder.  One assumes that how I felt in that moment was how Simba felt seeing the wildebeest stampede through the ravine as a horde of large young men all thundered down the stairs, making a beeling for me.

“Someone tell the girl!” One of them shouted, faceless in the mob.  “Girl!  Hey, GIRL!!!  We found your keys, girl!!!”

They circled around me.  I hadn’t felt that small since I was maybe eleven years old.  One of them split himself off from the crowd.

“Are these -” he pulled out a ring of keys from his pocket, “your keys?”

And lo, there was the distinctive bright millennial pink cat keychain dangling off the ring.

“Yes,” I whispered.  “Oh my god, yes.”

“EYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!”

The cheer went up.

Turns out he found them in the bathroom upstairs.  I thanked them again profusely.  There was a scattered round of “no problems” and then, just as suddenly as they descended, they all dispersed, like ships in the night.

21 year old Thomas Cottingham of Wilmington, DE sacrificed his life so that way a stranger and her baby could live. He was black AND a Juggalo. I had the chance to see him perform at this year’s GOTJ but did not know him personally. PLEASE, REBLOG because chances are, the media won’t bother much! http://m.wdel.com/story.php?id=70619

Let’s talk about Satoru Iwata

Satoru Iwata, president of Nintendo, is gone. Since he was more visible to the public in recent years, people will most likely remember him as a guy who showed up in Nintendo Direct videos, but he was so much more than that:

He was a kick-ass programmer and had a tremendous influence on some of Nintendo’s most memorable games. He will be sorely missed.

There’s a blind boy in one of my English teacher’s classes and last week our assignment was to write poetry about nature… this is what he turned in:

“Love is always stronger than hate” - Chris Singleton

Okay, so I rarely if ever post any art related to social events, but this time I felt that I had to.

Charleston has caused so many people so much pain. It’s only one of the many brutal events that have been all over the news lately, all stemming from hate and racial tension. It breaks my heart, and makes me so sad, that as a human species we can’t seem to just love and embrace one another. There’s no basis for the hate, there’s no sense to it at all. 

Chris Singleton, the son of one of the victims of Charleston, gave this quote when speaking about his mother, and it really just inspired me. The strength being shown by him, and Charleston, and the entire community lobbying for change right now has me awestruck.

This involves all of us, and yes, love is always stronger than hate. No matter what color you are, what you wear, what gender you express, who you love, what language you speak, where you live, anything, we are all of the same species. And now more than ever we need to band together and make a change. 

I just hope this piece reminds everyone to love one another, and be kind. It’s so important right now.

“We were told we were fighting terrorists. The real terrorist was me. The real terrorism is this occupation.“ Mike prysner - US soldier fought in Iraq 2003.

“قالوا لنا أننا جئنا لنحارب الإرهاب، الإرهابي الحقيقي هو أنا والإرهاب الحقيقي هو هذا الإحتلال” مايك برسنر - جندي أمريكي قاتل أثناء الإحتلال الأمريكي للعراق 2003.

Reality vs. Hollywood’s propaganda

Reality vs American Sniper

this made me teary eyed

What I really love about this ‘mattress performance’ is that other students helped her carry her mattress across campus.

All those people reminded her that she didn’t have to carry that weight alone. That’s amazing.

Kiss From a Stranger Saves a Suicidal Man

In Shenzhen, Guangdong, China, a sixteen-year-old boy was standing on a bridge, threatening to jump off and end his life. Hundreds of onlookers watched in horror as he refused to cross back onto the safe side of the guardrail. Police had arrived and were talking to the boy, but no one could get through to him. Just then, Liu Wenxiu, a nineteen-year-old hotel waitress, was walking home from work when she saw the boy and knew that she had to do something to help him. Wenxiu had once been suicidal herself, so she knew how the boy felt. Telling police that she was his girlfriend, the girl managed to get close enough to talk to the boy. She shared her own sad and difficult life story, listened to his, and showed him the scar on her wrist from where she had tried to commit suicide herself. “He said he’s hopeless, ‘so don’t waste your time to save me’. But I told him, ‘I’m not saving your life, I just want you to realize how silly you are being. Look at me, I’ve been there and I’m now here,’” Wenxiu said. Finally, the girl was able to lean in and give him a hug, and then she unexpectedly gave him a kiss, as well. Police were then able to take the knife that the boy was holding and lead him back over to the safe side of the bridge.

I could not ignore this. 

no one could

Unheard voices: sexual abuse in the Muslim community

For more, please visit: http://themuslimvi.be/1Bf1fPX

The Holy Prophet [s] said: "Only great people respect women and only vile people disrespect women." Nahj-ul Fasahah, Page 318

Thank you to whoever made this.