Why we all need ...

an Aries: To support us in difficult times and make us delirious in good times.

a Taurus: To bring us back to earth and make us feel safe.

a Gemini: To spice up our lives and give us a smile.

a Cancer: To be there when everything collapses around us (and make us a nice little dish when we are hungry).

a Leo: To motivate us and challenge us.

a Virgo: To help us and give us valuable advice.

a Libra: To make our lives more enjoyable and make us feel special.

a Scorpio: To help us better understand ourselves.

a Sagittarius: To inspire us and help us discover the truth.

a Capricorn: To help us in our work and show us what true dedication is.

an Aquarius: To bring us to our limits, to take us into the unknown.

a Pisces: To make us understand what we really are capable of.

(sorry if there’re things that aren’t really english :’)  )



I always find myself questioning the things I do, even if I was the one who opted to do it from the beginning. I frequently ask myself whether I’m doing the right thing. Whether there’s any good in the things I choose to put myself in. The school I go to, the activities I join, the events I attend, the friends I choose to keep. Are my decisions going to benefit my future or are they just a waste of time? I wonder if I’m really doing anything right these days. You see, I have always had this fear in me. This fear I can’t specifically explain. I often am afraid if I make the wrong choices, especially when I have to make big important life decisions. What if my plans don’t work out? Who will I be in 10 years? Will I ever really figure it out?

I hate self-doubt. You know when they say we are our own biggest critics, they’re hella right.

Sometimes, the plans that I have for myself, are not exactly the plans that Allah has for me. I get myself in a relationship, and it ends tragically. I take up a course I thought I’m good at, and later fail miserably. I apply for a scholarship, but then find out I was rejected. I plan to graduate on time, but got sick and am told to defer my studies. All these circumstances, it all leads to self-doubt. Will I ever be good enough for anything?

A few days ago, I was reading Surah Al-Kahf and stumbled upon a verse that struck a chord with me. It was so beautiful I made it my phone’s wallpaper lol. The verse goes:

إِلَّا أَن يَشَاءَ اللَّهُ ۚ وَاذْكُر رَّبَّكَ إِذَا نَسِيتَ وَقُلْ عَسَىٰ أَن يَهْدِيَنِ رَبِّي لِأَقْرَبَ مِنْ هَٰذَا رَشَدًا 

“Except “if Allah wills.” And remember your Lord when you forget & say “May my Lord guide me to what is right” (18:24)

Perfect timing. This verse isn’t only a do’a but also a statement of optimism. “Asa” according to the arabic language is a verb used to express hope. Subhanallah, Allah is teaching us that the most fundmental thing we need is His guidance. He is teaching us that in the end, He knows best what is good for us and all we have to do is give our best in the things we do. The rest is Allah’s job. I learnt that if we do what is good, our effort will never go to waste, even if things don’t turn out the way we want it. Our compensation is with Allah. 

The verse screams optimism. It says “when you forget” because whenever something bad/failure befalls us, we tend to lose hope. We are bound to feel lost & confused. Been there a lot of time. So this powerful verse is telling us ‘no, don’t give up, hang in there and ask Allah to guide you’. He created us, He created the stars and the universe, so He definitely knows what is best for us. Whatever happens yesterday, stays there. If we have failed in the past, that failure should not dictate our future. 

“Amazing is the affair of the believer, verily all of his affair is good and this is not for no one except the believer. If something of good/happiness befalls him he is grateful and that is good for him. If something of harm befalls him he is patient and that is good for him” (Saheeh Muslim #2999)

So I guess we will never really have all the answers, but it’s perfectly okay, What we do know is that we can always ask Allah to guide us to what’s the best for us.

As long has we put our trust in him, we are in good hands.

This post was triggered by something that @roachpatrol​ said over here about the expectation for girls to be sweet and clean and harmless:

Holy shit, if I was eight years younger and wandering into fandom for the first time, I can guarantee that the culture right now would’ve fucked me up and ground me down and taken away all my healthy outlets.

Picture: you are a girl at the tender young age of mumbledyteen. Up until this point you have been taught that all dark thoughts are literally hand-delivered into your head by the devil, and that the only correct method of dealing with negativity is to ignore them and pray harder. Concentrate on what is good and righteous and pure to the exclusion of all else, this is how you be a good person.

You are also a fully-functioning human being, one who can feel stressed or lonely or angry or any number of bad things. Mostly, with emotions that are still working themselves out, you feel this rumbling, white-hot white noise under everything, all the time. Sometimes it rolls in like a thunderstorm and everything else gets drowned out, and sometimes it’s only quietly muttering in the distance. Either way it’s always there, and the sound shreds uncomfortably at the inside of your brain.

When you were younger, before you were in charge of your own media consumption, your brain would shred up a myriad of saccharine stories to try and match the noise of the shredder in your head. Bad things happening, people getting hurt, characters trapped in unhealthy relationships of all kinds.

Fanfiction, the product of a hundred thousand other mumbledyteens whose brains are all screaming the same way, makes something in your brain go ping

Unfortunately, if the planet had ever been united on any single message, it was probably that no matter how you feel: 1) your feelings weren’t unique 2) they didn’t matter 3) they didn’t matter because they weren’t unique, they were shared among millions of hysterical, worthless teenaged girls just like you.

Fandom was confirmation of the first, but (with some hiccups along the way) outright rejection of the last two. Fuck you, our feelings do matter, and this is a story just for us.

A disclaimer: these aren’t good stories, otherwise they wouldn’t have to be defended. Their flavor of topic is not within societally acceptable bounds. Fictional characters have sex and get tortured and raped and abused, but their screaming harmonizes with the pitch of the shredder when it’s burrowing deepest.

As a teenager I never thought that my feelings were important enough to deal with, but these stories let me look at them sideways. Audience catharsis is the whole point of tragedy, after all.

And hell, these days I’m a happy, healthy adult who barely even has the urge to go looking for whump fic when I’ve had a bad week. I’m not going to forget just how much bad stuff that fic helped me air out, though, not ever. (Not to mention that thanks to all of those abuse!fics, I can recognize an unhealthy relationship at 500 paces, even if the fictional abuse was depicted as something loving and romantic. Abusers in real life don’t go around with helpful warning tags on their sleeves anyway.)

But holy shit, can you imagine if I’d found fandom as it is today.

Yes, your church is right, your family is right. Horrible things in stories are only there because they were written by horrible people, and they’re only popular because horrible people read them. The very concepts they address corrupt everything they touch.

That shredder in your head, the one that takes innocent cartoons but then shits out sadness and mayhem? That’s disgusting, you’re disgusting. How dare you think about minors having underaged sex, you minor? How dare you consider another person getting hurt? Your feelings don’t matter, they aren’t unique, they’re shared with all kinds of worthless shitbags just like you.

Every ounce of what you read and write and enjoy is going to be weighed for sin and tested for purity. You know, just like the rest of your life, except this time there’s no deity who’s handing out second chances.

Maybe that’s what bothers me most about all of this. It’s the same petty fandom bullshit as always, but “you’re wrong for liking a ship because IT WILL NEVER BE CANON” is a hell of a lot easier to laugh off when you’re young than “you’re wrong for liking a ship because YOU’RE AN ABUSIVE PEDOPHILE AND IF SOMETHING BAD HAPPENS IT’S YOUR FAULT FOR PERPETUATING IT.”

My fault, my bad thoughts, no outlet for any of them. The message to repress all the bad things so I can look like a good person, but my brain is so full of unprocessed shit that it’s solidified. Nobody actually saved any real children, but my brain sure is getting a second dose of fucked-up.

Are the people getting attacked going to be okay, will they be able to go and address their braingremlins somewhere else? I’d also ask if the people doing the attacking are okay, with all of the denial and repression they must deal with, but it seems like they’ve got venting pretty well handled by taking it out on strangers. 

Hey, c’mon, calm down friends. I bet I’ve read a story that’s got a character screaming at just the same pitch you are.

It helps to read one of those and harmonize your voices, I promise.

The girl no one noticed 2 || D.H.

A/N: I wrote a little second part to this story. This week so damn stressful for me and I’m just glad it’s Friday now.

Word Count: 1.1K

POV: Dan


Originally posted by shinyphan

“Who are you?”

I couldn’t stop staring at her or at all those amazing things in her room. A small smirk played with Y/n’s lips. She knew that most people would never get to know her well enough to see this side of her. There was barely anybody who knew her like this and that was the way she wanted it to be.

What I didn’t know was that she had decided that I was worthy enough to find out a bit more about who she really was. Little by little.

“Do you want to order some food now?” she asked instead of answering my question and unlocked her phone.

We decided to get some pizza and after it arrived we devoured it sitting on her bed. We even started talking about school, complained about teachers and we also talked about our favourite bands. I couldn’t stop mentioning how amazing her room was and how much I loved Green Day and playing video games.

After eating as much as she could Y/N asked me if I wanted her last two slices of pizza and I gladly took them.

“We should probably start with the assignment.” Y/N then said, holding her full belly.

It took us  three full hours to finish our presentation on the book. I tried to distract her a lot and constantly fooled around but I think I was also helpful from time to time.  

“Can we please play The Last of us 2 now?” I pleaded, after Y/N had written down the last sentence. She put away all of her notes and pens and finally closed her book.

I was stretched out on her bed, feeling extremely exhausted. I was in desperate need of a break and some fun. After concentrating for three straight hours my brain had become useless.

“Fine.” She gave in, unable to hide a smile as she turned on her TV and PS4.

“Catch!” She then shouted after she had thrown a controller at me. Since she didn’t warn me early enough I wasn’t able to react soon enough. The hard controller hit my chest and I yelped in pain. Y/N stuck her tongue out at me and giggled, making it impossible for me to be mad at her.

She sat down next to me on the bed, we both had a controller in our hands. As we were fighting zombies our knees and shoulders accidently brushed a couple of times but I didn’t want to move away and neither did she.

I felt like electricity was rushing through my body every time we touched and it was a feeling a had never experienced before.

I totally forgot that time was something that existed while being with her. While we were having fun playing, it was already getting dark outside. At 7pm there was a knock on the door to her room. The sudden noise made me jump in fear because I was focusing so hard on escaping from a few zombies. Sitting in a dark room wasn’t helping either.

“Come in.” Y/n shouted, after she had recovered from the shock. A little squeal had actually left her mouth as the knock on the door jump scared us.

A middle-aged woman walked into the room. She had the same hair colour and height as Y/N.

“Honey, I am h-“ she started but stopped as her eyes landed on me. There was surprise written all over her face.

“I didn’t know that we have a visitor.” She smiled, her eyes were filled with curiosity. I guess Y/N didn’t invite a lot of people over to her house.

I got up to introduce myself to Y/N’s mum. “Hi, my name is Dan.” I politely said, shaking her hand.

“Y/N never told me about her charming boyfriend.” Mrs Y/L/N raised an eyebrow and smiled.

I could hear Y/N groan in the background. I glanced over my shoulder to look at her. She was still sitting on her bed, her cheeks bright red.

“Muuumm!” she groaned in embarrassment much to her mother’s amusement.

“We- we are like uhm. We are not uhm dating.” I stuttered, not sure if what I said even made sense.

“Sure.” Mrs Y/L/N said with a wink. “Why don’t you stay for Dinner, Dan?” she then added and I gladly accepted her kind offer.

“Sorry for my mum, she’s just excited that I invited somebody over.” Y/N apologized as soon as the middle-aged lady had left the room to prepare dinner.

“Yeah.. don’t worry.” I awkwardly told her, as I plopped down next to her on the bed again.

“I don’t know why she thought we are dating.” Y/N added, avoiding my eyes.

“Right? Crazy idea.” I continued, scratching the back of my neck.

“Totally.” Y/N agreed, looking up from the ground.

And then it happened. In the matter of a second. I saw the beautiful colour of her eyes shortly before our lips got so close they were touching. We were both surprised by our own actions. It felt like my body was a ticking time bomb that exploded as soon as her lips finally met mine.

The explosion tore down a wall somewhere inside my body that had previously captured some of the most fantastic emotions and they were all free now. I had never felt like this before. It was the first time ever that I felt that wholesome.

It was like my brain was smiling while our lips moved against each other.

Her hand quickly travelled to my cheek as she deepened the kiss.

I had never thought it was possible for my heart to beat that fast, but it did.

Then the downfall. The low after the high.

“Dinner is rea-“ I heard somebody shout. Y/N quickly pulled away. Her mother stopped in the middle of her tracks. She was halfway through the door still holding the door handle.

“I’m so sorry.” She genuinely apologized as Y/N buried her face in her hands out of embarrassment.

“Dinner is ready.” Her mother quickly repeated before she headed out of the room.

As soon as she left we suddenly busted into laughter. Both of our cheeks were bright red and it was such an absurd situation. We had kissed! And then her mother interrupted us… We were too speechless to say anything, so we laughed. And that was enough. 

After we had calmed down we walked downstairs to not let her mum wait too long. On the way, I shyly took Y/N’s hand.  

As soon as we sat down on the dinner table Y/N’s mum looked at her daughter and then at me.

“Not dating, huh?” she then asked, cocking one eyebrow.

Happier (any of them sad imagine)

Summary: he sees you with someone new, based on Ed Sheeran’s Happier

Pairing: reader x any of the boys

Any Of The Boy’s POV

The cupcake in front of me is pretty. Beautiful, fancy even. Too fancy to eat. Usually I would never think such considerate over something so simple, meaningless, little stuff. But after that day, I learnt something a hard way. 

Appreciate what you have while you can.

Shrugging my head I started to peel off the wrapper and eat it slowly. On the corner of my eye, I saw something. 


She’s waiting for something, I can tell from her constant fidget and checking the phone. She used to do that with me because she thinks ‘it’s awkward just standing there with people passing and not doing anything’ so instead she would pretend to play at her phone or just constant clock check.

As I was about to get up, I was going to say hi to her, well talk how much i miss us.

A guy suddenly appeared and smile when he saw her. Her face lights up and she immediately was in his embrace. He said something that make her laugh. You look happier.

With a heavy heart, I decide it’s best to leave her be. After what I did to her, It’s only fair of me to leave her be, let her be happy. But, I know I was truly happy with her, nobody will make me happier than she will.

 I bump to someone, “Hey! What are you doing here?” my friend asked me. “Oh Hi man, long time no see you!” I smiled trying to shove my feelings away.

After another hour catching up, I am finally home. “Vodka? Whiskey?” I settled for vodka. Anything to make me forget about her. I thought about what I saw earlier. I was really close to begging her back, hell i beg right now if she would even consider us again. But I realised something, a sad hard truth.

You’re happier, both of your smiles were twice as wide as ours.

Pulling out my phone, drunk, honest words, I text her.

I’m sorry for everything, I saw you with him, I’m happy for you. You look happier, you do, but if he breaks your heart like lovers do, I just want you to know, I will always be here waiting for you. 

We Can Have Our Cake

(or, Autism as a Neurotype, Disability, and Disorder)

Recently I have seen a lot of conversation about autism spectrum disorder (ASD), and whether it is a disorder, or a neurotype. The conversation usually starts with one autistic declaring that autism is not a disorder, and usually escalates when an allistic accuses them of not being a real autistic. Or it starts with, it would not be a disability if society accommodates us. And sometimes, it is a disability but not a disorder.

We’ve all had this conversation, or at least seen it.

Of course, it is a neurotype and a disability. That is the point of a diagnosis; to find what is different, to create what we sociologists call an outgroup. Consider, however, that this does not exclude autism being a disorder.

ASD is primarily a social-communication disorder; it describes a group of people in which there are difficulties with certain types of social interaction, including but not limited to delays or deficits social and emotional reciprocity, language, implicit communication, subtext, and more.

The thing is, no matter how much accommodation we receive, no matter how much and how well we cope, we will always be at a disadvantage in this regard. Society could be 100% accessible to us, but the fact that we must cope at all by making use of accommodations – even if society grants them whole cloth – will set us apart.


Because at the end of the day, humans have biological wiring to recognize patterns – it is what the brain does – and allistic people follow biologically driven patterns of all the things that make us disabled. There are patterns to emotional and social reciprocity; there are patterns to the subtext, to the language. Allistics learn these implicit patterns naturally because their wiring dictates it.

“Ah-ha!” you say, “Aren’t autistics wired for patterns?”

Well, yes. But not in the same way, that is the point. When I watch autistics interact in social groups with other autistics, removed from the context of allistic social standards, I don’t see many, if any of the social standards. It does not matter if the communication does not involve emotional or social reciprocity because that is the expectation. Our pattern recognition works just fine, there is just a predisposition to recognize different patterns naturally.

And yes, this supports the idea that we are being pathologized based on an arbitrary social construct. Yes, it supports the idea that society labels us disabled based on social standards that should not apply to us. Absolutely, these things are true, and I feel that allistic society needs to correct these issues.

But even if they do correct these issues, my brain will still be different, my brain will still see difference, and even if I am perfectly acceptable to society standards, I will still need help interacting with society. My brain is, and always will have more to overcome because the clear majority of the world simply does not even perceive the world the same way I do, and that disadvantages me.

Equity is a laudable goal, but it does not change the biological basis that affects how I see and interact with the world. People will always have to go out of their way – even when socially expected – or I will always have to go out of my way to achieve the same social accomplishments.

Think of it this way: as crippled person, I cannot run up the stairs and usually cannot walk up or down stairs. That is a feature of my biology. My body just works that way. Equity means that in an emergency, someone will show up to escort me down the stairs for my safety, or even carry me.

But an able-bodied person can also take the stairs on their own. In a fire, they do not have to have someone carry them down the stairs. In an emergency, they can run down the stairs to escape danger. I must either wait for someone to rescue me, or I must go very slow and very carefully, putting me at greater risk. There simply is no way around this.

It is the same thing with me and social situations. No matter how slow or careful (no matter how accommodating) people are with regards to my social disability, it does not change that I will always have the equivalent of being socially crippled.

What about the stigma? I do believe that there is more stigma attached to the word “disorder” than there is disability. However, I do not believe that changing the name of autism spectrum disorder to autism spectrum condition, or autism spectrum neurology, or any other number of things will lessen that stigma.

The stigma does not exist because of the word we use; the word is stigmatizing because it is the word society uses for us. Call it autism spectrum peanut butter cookies, and peanut butter cookie will become the stigmatizing phrase; society will use peanut butter as an insult because of the association with us.

As a sociologist, I love the idea of changing the prevailing view of ASD to be less stigmatizing, and I believe we can do that. I do not, however, believe that doing so should come at the expense of recognizing disability.

The good news is that we do not have to. It is possible to reduce the stigma with a primary focus on acceptance and secondary focus on awareness of realistic understandings of autism, and it is possible to do it without erasing the disability that is writ in our biology.

We can have our cake and eat it, too.

Acaronar | II.

(v.) to tenderly pull or draw someone closer - to hold, as for affection, comfort, or warmth; to fondle, to caress; to embrace, to protect

01. | 02.

Pairing: Taehyung x Reader

Genre: Best friend!AU, fluff and light smut (no actual smut).

Warning(s): rated +17 for containing light mature content

Word count: 3145

Description: Letting go of someone was hard. Especially when this person was your best friend from childhood, but it was your fault for this. No one was to blame but you. You just had to build up feelings towards him in a different way, a way no relationship between friends should be.

A/N: This chapter is a bit shorter then the previous one but I promise to get some type of smut in there in the next chapter, hopefully.

Keep reading

Chicken Soup

“Chicken Soup”

When I was a child and would often get sick,
My mother used to make me chicken soup.
I never understood why she would do this,
Except that’s what mothers do.

She would tuck me in and read me a story,
Before offering a kiss good night.
She chased the scary monsters out of the closet,
Before turning out the lights.

And as I continued to grow older,
So did she too,
But she was always there for me.
She always made me chicken soup.

When my friends and I would be done,
Playing ball in the park.
She had a meal prepared for us.
A meal with many parts.

When I wished I was blind,
So I can’t see my life before me,
My mom was always there to help.
Moms can fix anything.

She never once stopped encouraging,
Morning, noon, or night.
She trusts with my decisions.
I trust with her advice.

And now that my mom is sick and aging,
I know what I have to do.
I can see that things are changing.
I have to make her chicken soup.

The Start of Something

shawn mendes x reader

prompt: based on the songs Honest by Shawn Mendes and Ivy by Frank Ocean.

“It’s that I hate to hurt you, but I got to be honest. I can’t give you what you need. You deserve more than I can promise”

“I thought that I was dreaming when you said you loved me, the start of nothing”

The start of something.

The sky was pitch black as the stars danced around and glimmered. The air was cool and our cheeks were flushed. Pointing out the different constellations, lost in our own world. This is how I always want it to be. The 2 of us, enjoying each other’s company, alone. Laughter filled my ears as we laid down on the grass, cracking jokes and being ourselves. The feeling was ethereal. It was almost like I was in some type of dream world. I could dream all night. The feeling deep down is good.

I glanced up at Shawn as I watched him laugh. The way his smile reflected the moon light, how his cheeks would gradually become a deep pink, how his eyes gleamed with joy. I couldn’t help but watch and smile. I guess he had noticed, as the laughter had died down. Shawn looked at me and smiled a weary smile, as if he were trying to figure something out.

Keep reading

I May Not Live To See Our Glory

John Laurens X Reader- Laurens Interlude

Warnings-Much sad, much unedited, song lyrics.


I may not live to see our glory.

He was coming home today, you were overcome with more joy than you you could ever explain. Your fiance, John Laurens was finally going to be yours forever, no more war, no more praying for his return. This was the end of something so miserable and the start of something hopeful and bright.

“Miss (Y/L/N)..there’s a letter for you..” Your maid stands in the doorway, her face is pale.

“Oh, It’s from John, isn’t it?” You smile, moving away from the window you were staring out of, you could hardly contain your excitement.

But I will gladly join the fight..

“Yes. It is..but it’s not exactly..” You waved her off, taking the letter from her hands. You knew he would be home soon but his words always left you with a love struck heart.

And when our children tell our stories

You scanned the words, you can’t breath. This was fake. It had to be. You refused to accept it.

My dearest, this will be delivered to you if something is to happen to me. I dream of your eyes every night in hopes that I will once again be able to stare into them. I wish we could have raised children together and gotten married as we had planned.

They’ll tell the story of tonight

You can no longer read, your body is weak. He can’t be..gone.

“Miss, are you alright?” Your maids voice is so soft, she must have already known.

Your voice is cracked, when you try to speak only a soft cry can leave your lips, your knees feel weak. He can’t be gone

Tomorrow they’ll be more of us.


anonymous asked:

How do you combine science and religion? They're basically the opposite. I wish I could without feeling one is a lie.

Ahhhhhhh, nonny, nonny, nonny.

The answer is because, truly, nothing fuels my love for & faith in my religion more than science. And nothing keeps me motivated & driven to keep learning and working in science more than my religion.

I don’t try to analyse my Gods with the scientific method, the same way I don’t try to analyse my experience of being in love. Even if there is specific phenomenology one could identify, neurotransmitters being released, activity in parts of the brain, that’s not what those things are fundamentally about. Science does not hold all the answers to all the facets of the universe or life or the human condition. And a good scientist must always remember the limits of her theory and her experimentation.

But -

On Sunday night I watched David Attenborough’s Planet Earth II and had tears in my eyes at the infinite diversity and beauty of the natural world. Watching thunder clouds rolling over steppes and feeling filled up with love for Sif and Thor. Every sequence of predators chasing down prey resonating so deeply with the part of me that works with the Wild Hunt. And looking at every incredible living thing shown and knowing - that by the wonder of evolution - we are all cousins - all related - our ancestors are the same.

But everything I learn about molecular biology, the incredible, incomprehensible complexity of every cell in every living organism and how they interact - all hewn out of twenty amino acids, coded by four bases, all evolved from a single cell across billions of years - just increases my sense of awe and wonder and faith in the Gods. This is what they gave us.

As does the stunning beauty and elegance of the laws of physics. The wave equation. Dirac’s equation that knew more than he did. The energy-matter equivalence. Quantum-electro-dynamics, which is accurate to a degree equivalent to measuring the distance between New York and Los Angeles to within the breadth of a single hair. The fact that I can look up at the night sky and see light from millions of years ago. 

This is beauty, this is poetry, this is magic, this is where I find my Gods.

The True Life of Dan Phil - Part 10


This will most likely be my final update. I’m here to reveal to you the rest of the truth about Dan and Phil. All of the secrets will finally be out in the open.

To begin with, Dan is not exactly the person he has always claimed to be. In fact, you may also know him as author Stephanie Meyer. The popular Twilight series was actually written by Dan under this pen name. All the money from the book and movie sales was how he could afford the apartment after Phil temporarily moved out. In fact, he doesn’t make any YouTube money at all.

This brings me to the final truth about Phil. There have been many questions about how Phil was able to make videos, seeming to still live in the apartment with Dan. The person living with Dan was actually Phil’s clone/alter ego Lukas. He was often used to make videos when Phil was with Janice and not available. However, since they have filed for divorce, Phil has continued to make videos as himself. Lukas is no longer with us.

As for Dan and Phil, they once again live in the apartment together. Phil is much happier since the separation and is still eagerly awaiting the birth of his son. The name him and Janice have chosen is Lycanthropy, pronounced Leo. Dan is the intended godfather, who will be raising Lycanthropy with Phil when he is not staying with his mother.

While recent events have come to an end, the bond between Dan and Phil has never been stronger. If anything, they have been brought closer together and have been able to focus more on themselves than anything. As for what the future holds, who’s to say?

That’s all for now. I hope the information presented over the last couple of months was as beneficial to everyone as intended. It certainly took a turn that I wasn’t expecting.

For the last time,


This is how Leila Khalid views/viewed “western leftism” and it’s so, so incredibly accurate. I made it a bit easier to read:

“The training schedule was exacting, but occasionally left us time for a little fun. We were “entertaining” a group of foreign students and trying to lead a Bedouin kind of life in order to politicize our Bedouin population. The students had been attending an international solidarity meeting in Amman held under the auspices of the General union of Palestinian Students. Most were graduates of the 1968 university upheavals in the West. We found it very amusing that they honestly believed they were making a “revolution” if they undressed in public, seized a university building, or shouted an obscenity at bureaucrats. I was initially opposed and refused to talk to them, even though some believed in violent revolution, because I didn’t want to be another experimental “guinea-pig” to Westerners.

I finally relented and I am glad I did. I hadn’t met Western “revolutionaries” before. It turned out they represented an unfamiliar cultural rather than a political phenomenon. Some seemed to have read the history political literature of the left, but most regarded the Marxist-Leninist leaders disdainfully, with the exception of the “Young Marx”, who held some sort of fascination for revolution. Some Americans were quite serious and believed in the historic mission of the working class and were making plants to integrate themselves with the masses. 

What astonished us most about this group was that they were opposed to nationalism, a doctrine we hold dearly as a colonized and dissipated people. Some believed in violence for “the hell of it” and in students as revolutionary agents of history. But the majority were inclined towards guerrilla theatre as a means of “making revolution”. They performed a little for us.

As they were departing I was rather struck by a French anarchist student who proclaimed “Let chaos reign” and by a German who echoed the same sentiment. I exclaimed that the Palestinian people were an example of a society in chaos without authority and leadership, which as a result, was left at the mercy of the Zionist oppressor. I asked them what could they prescribe for us in order to overcome our kind of “alienation” -beards, long hair, and toy guns? They merely paused, they smiled, they reflected, they inhaled and passed their joints on in universal wonder.”

Paul's Imprint

Request: Hello! I absolutely adore your writing style and was wondering if I could get a twilight imagine. Nothing too specific but where Paul Lahote imprints on the reader and there is some angst and it ends really fluffy. Thank you so much and I hope you have an amazing day!

Warnings: Angst and fluff?

A/N: Enjoy! Thank you so much for the compliment! I hope you have a wonderful day!

You and Paul had been best friends since you guys were three. You grew up on the res just like him. You guys were practically conjoined at the hip because you never left each other’s side Until one day in your sophomore year when Paul started acting strange; he would get feverish, his temper grew thinner, and then one day he was gone from school on the res. You called his mom asking where he was and she simply replied that he had mono.

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Morning After (Sequel to Two for One)

Warnings: more smut, oral sex (receiving), fingering, dirty talk, yeah

Pairings: StevexBuckyxOc

Words: 760

Originally posted by leafierleaf

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Trust me

Got7 Yugyeom


gif not mine


“I swear no one is home.” Yugyeom said and opened the door to his dorm. “I don’t know, maybe we could just go to my place.” I said and stepped in. “No, it’s too far, I need you now.” Yugyeom whined. 

“Fine but if one of the guys walk in on us I’m going to kill you.” I said and took my shoes off. “Trust me.” Yugyeom said and kissed my lips. It was soft caring, perfect. “Trust you? After the time you told me that Jackson wouldn’t hug me when you brought me to meet the guys first time.” I said. Yugyeom didn’t answer he just shushed me with his soft lips. “What’s bad with hugs.” Yugyeom asked and moved his hands to the hem of my shirt. “His hands were on my butt.” I said and got my hands on Yugyeom’s shirt. He kissed my cheek and took my shirt off. “You have a great ass.” he hummed, kissed my neck and moved his hands on my butt. “Yes but do you want Jackson to touch it?” I asked. Yugyeom squeezed my butt. “No, because this is mine.” he said and started to lead me to the couch.

I took off his pants before he lied down. He removed his shirt and helped me out of my jeans. I hovered over Yugyeom. He brought his hands to my breasts. I leaned to kiss his lips as I took his cock in my hand. “No, put it in. Didn’t you tease me enough at the lunch?” Yugyeom whined. I sunk down on to Yugyeom’s dick and started to ride him slowly. Yugyeom’s hands moved from my breasts to my hips so he could make me go faster. Yugyeom pulled my hips down and pushed them up. I started going little bit faster and my lips left a soft moan. Yugyeom pulled my face down to kiss him. I was starting to be close when someone coughed behind us.

A black fabric hit me “Y/N, here is one of Yugyeom’s shirts. Maybe you wanna cover up before you turn around.” I heard Jaebum say. I quickly got off from Yugyeom, who left a whiny whimper from his lips, and I put on the shirt. It was long enough to cover all that was needed “Yugyeom this is not how I raised you. Other people sit on this couch.” Jinyoung sighed dramatically. Yugyeom resembled a tomato at this point. “What is happening? Why don’t you let me see?” I heard Youngjae whine.

“You are too young and innocent. We need a innocent member in our group and we lost Yugyeom.” Jinyoung said while covering Youngjae’s eyes. “Can we move somewhere…We have food in these bags.” Mark said and pushed himself trough all four of the guys. “Hi Y/N, didn’t expect to see so much of you.” He smirked and walked to the kitchen. “So, are rest of us getting the same welcoming, or is this only for Yugyeom?” Jackson asked when he got trough Jaebum and Jinyoung. “Yugyeom, my man…” BamBam laughed and ran to Yugyeom to get a high five but poor Yugyeom was too embarrassed. 

I put my jeans back on and looked at frozen Yugyeom. “So, I’m gonna go home. If you want to…we can you know, continue this there.” I whispered to him. Like a lighting he got up and got dressed. “Let’s go.” he said and pulled me out.

Originally posted by yugyeomism


Bringing Your Shadow Out of the Dark

Deep shadow-work does not leave us intact; it is not some neat and tidy process but rather an inherently messy one, as vital and unpredictably alive as birth. The pain it brings up is the pain we’ve been fleeing or suppressing most of our life; the psychoemotional breakdowns it catalyzes are the precursors to hugely relevant breakthroughs; the doors it opens are portals that have shown up year after year in our dreams, awaiting our entry. Such shadow-work not only breaks us down but also breaks us open, turning frozen yesterday into fluid now.

The terms “shadow” and “shadow work” have become increasingly common in psychological, spiritual, and personal growth circles. A significant number of us talk about our particular shadow and its constituent elements, in many cases acknowledging the need to do more about it than just admit that it’s there — hence the notion of “shadow-work.”

What I mean by our “shadow” is whatever in us we’re disconnected from or out of touch with, whatever we’ve denied or disowned in ourselves, whatever we’ve not illuminated or will not illuminate in ourselves, whatever in us we’re keeping out of sight.

So our shadow is that zone of us that’s occupied by what we have not faced or can’t/won’t face about ourselves.

To the extent that our conditioning (especially that originating in our early years) is allowed to run or operate us, it is our shadow. Or put another way, to the extent that our conditioning is kept in the dark, it is our shadow.

When we are both aware of our conditioning and are not letting it drive us or dictate our direction, it cannot at such times be categorized as our shadow. However much we may still have to change our relationship to our conditioning, it’s now out in the open, lit up and held in a grounded awareness.

When we are acting out our shadow material — looking through its eyes and embodying its viewpoint — we usually don’t know we are doing so at the time. For example, we may be righteously condemning another for not listening to us (even though they actually are, but are not agreeing with what we’re saying), not realizing that we have not been listening to them — nor that we generally are a poor listener. In this, we are projecting our own shortcoming onto another with such conviction that we block ourselves from really seeing that we doin fact have such a shortcoming.

(Note: It’s important to remember that just because we are projecting a certain quality onto another — like inconsiderateness — that this doesn’t necessarily mean that they are not being inconsiderate! What matters is that we don’t solely focus on what they are doing, but also focus on what we are doing.)

To know our shadow is to bring it out where we can clearly see it and recognize its detailing, its constituent parts, its modes of operation. And, eventually, its origins.

To get more familiar with our shadow, we can begin with doing our best to answer questions such as the following (however partial our answers might be):

  • What do I least want others to know about me?
  • What do I tend to have a disproportionate reaction to?
  • What qualities of mine do I often feel aversion toward?
  • What do I most easily project onto others?
  • Which emotions do I consider to be negative?
  • Which emotions am I the least comfortable expressing?
  • Who or what specifically was I trying to get away from in those dreams of mine in which I was trapped or being pursued?
  • What am I most scared to openly express or share in a relationship?

Don’t worry if you don’t have clear answers for all of these questions. To even attempt to answer them brings you into the domain of your shadow, however slightly. The lighting may be dim and your steps tentative, but at least you are approaching your shadow. The very act of turning toward it is a major step in our evolution, no matter how slight such movement initially may be.

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Chronic Illness and Gaslighting

Editor Diane here, and I want to share a story and an issue that affects all of us.

A few weeks ago, I made a very big life decision. I had thought about it for a good long time, and only took action when I was 100% sure of myself. I approached my doctor for assistance… only for him to misunderstand my intent, despite multiple explanations and rephrasing. Not only that, but he consistently encouraged me to do the exact opposite of what I’d planned. He brought up the fact that I should consider cognitive behavioral therapy, despite the fact that my concerns were physical, not mental. 

You know how this story ends. I doubted myself. I wondered if I was truly making the right decision, even though I had thought about it for ages, even though I had just been feeling incredibly self-assured… I believed in myself, and it only took one person to shut that down. Now, my plans are on hold as I search for a doctor who will take me seriously, and I am constantly thinking things like “maybe I was just being a wuss, maybe he’s right, maybe I’m going about it all wrong, maybe I’m imagining it, maybe I’m just being dramatic.“ 

Like I said, this is probably very, very familiar to you.

True story: after about two years of chronic illness, I no longer trust myself and my judgement. And it’s not because my judgement has turned out to be wrong–in fact, my judgement has been proven correct 99% of the time. But with the constant contradictory input I receive from others, that confidence just collapses. 

Enter the concept of gaslighting. Wikipedia describes gaslighting as:

a form of mental abuse in which information is twisted/spun, selectively omitted to favor the abuser, or false information is presented with the intent of making victims doubt their own memory, perception and sanity. Instances may range simply from the denial by an abuser that previous abusive incidents ever occurred, up to the staging of bizarre events by the abuser with the intention of disorienting the victim.

Now, as much as I’d like to believe it, there is no conspiracy, no underground group of people committed to messing with you. In most cases, there isn’t even a plan or an intent to abuse. Nonetheless, this is still abuse, and the dynamic described here is spot-on: spoonies are incredibly likely to experience gaslighting, and its emotional impact, throughout their medical journey.

Think about all the times a few words from a doctor or a loved one have left you wondering if you were just imagining your symptoms. Think about all the times when you’ve pushed yourself to do something you know you can’t do, because someone else told you you could and should. Think about the state of your self-confidence when it comes to your health. It may stand tall, but it topples at the slightest of breezes.

You are being gaslit. By doctors, by society, even by friends and family. Every day, the small contradictions chip away at your confidence, your belief in your ability to determine what’s best for you.

So remember this the next time you don’t trust your own judgement. Remember that your judgement is digging through layers upon layers of self-doubt to get to you. Respect all that it’s overcome to give you whatever signal you’re getting, and listen to yourself above all others.