#one simple wish drive 2022

[lyra-brie]

Reddit does this thing where they try to crash a charity site by donating too much once a year

TL;DR: here's a super cool charity that gives gifts to foster kids, donate if you can or reblog to signal boost.

The charity is One Simple Wish, where you send money to pay for things for kids in foster care. There are over 500 thousand kids in foster care each year just in the United States, and 22 thousand of those kids will age out alone without stable conditions and with little resources and knowledge to survive.

One Simple Wish helps by allowing you to grant a wish for a foster kid or former foster youth, which could be anything from a new pair of shoes for Christmas to helping former foster youth stock their pantries to bed frames and bikes. And you get to leave them a note that shows how much you care. A lot of these are expensive though, so you also have the option of donating any amount of money you're able to directly to the charity.

Are we going to let Reddit be better at this than us? Sure, we can be known as the site that creates a fandom for a nonexistent movie. That's awesome, and I love it. But we could also be known as the site that was better than reddit at breaking this charity's website by donating so much their servers were overloaded.

This doesn't mean we have to grant every wish possible and spend hundreds of dollars each. If we all rally together, giving whatever we can, even if that's only two or three dollars for you, we can do this. And if you can't give anything, that's fine, too. Reblog and boost this post. Tell your friends. Spread the word.

Most of these kids just want something special for Christmas because they don't have much. Can we help them get that?

And if for whatever reason, you don't want to donate to them, my next reccomendation is @sharonsaysso on insta. She's holding her holiday giving drive, where her followers have donated over 500 thousand dollars to help people in need over the past few days. Her community over there is wonderful, too. Her drive is only lasting a few more days, though, so you have to donate fast for hers.

So what do you say guys? Can we work together one step at a time to make the world a little bit better (and to beat reddit at this)? Click here to go donate or grant a wish.

If you do end up donating, feel free to reblog this or make your own post and tag me, so we can all celebrate each other's contributions, no matter how big or small. So far, I've granted a $100 wish for a kid named Haley to get a hoverboard for Christmas and $50 a few days ago for Sharon.

[thewulf]

Authority Thing || Pete "Maverick" Mitchell

Summary: Request - Hi can you write a request about Maverick x a shy pilot reader and make it fluffy. Like Maverick pulls reader out of her shell?

A/N: Kinda made this a shy pilot because she’s crushing on him not because she’s shy in general. Also turned out way more angsty than I was planning but it’s still super fluffy! Hope you still enjoy :)

Pairing: Pete "Maverick" Mitchell x Y/N (2022 Version)

Word Count: 3.7k +

Edited again 3/11/24 after finding lots of issues - sorry!

He knew from the moment he spotted you in the back of the classroom on that very first day he was a goner. Physically, you were perfect. Your hair framed your face perfectly, your eyes reflected the sunshine in a way he’d never seen, your smile was truly infectious, you were perfect in all the right places.

Mentally, you were a challenge for him. You were shy. So quiet. He couldn’t seem to get through to you either. You were close. So damn close to taking that next step. But it’s like you were afraid. You were scared to fail. You were an exceptional pilot. Right on par with Hangman. You were good enough to block him out and take him down. You were able to prove that you were the best of the literal best. But something was stopping you.

You were never afraid to challenge your classmates. He got a kick out of it when you’d snap back at Hangman with the venom dripping in your voice. You were beyond intimidating when you needed to be. You didn’t need to talk shit because your flying proved how good you really were. You knew you were good. You knew you were great. You also knew your limits. You knew you needed to become exceptional. There was something more for you to give. You just had to find it first.

But Pete, Maverick, Mitchell? Maverick terrified you, in the best way. He was a legend. Literally never lost. Almost had five live air kills… you could go on and on about him. Ad to find out he was your instructor for the next six or so weeks? You knew you were toast. Absolute toast. Then you actually laid eyes on the Captain, and you wish you could’ve just exploded right there on the spot. He was handsome. So, fucking handsome. You locked eyes with him for only seconds on that first day of class before your turned away. You didn’t look back to him at all that class. Too terrified you’d make a damn fool of yourself.

So, you kept it short with him. Quick ‘Yes’s and No’s’. You’d often just take his corrections without fighting back. It confused him. You were so damn different with him than anybody else. You’d even warmed up to Cyclone, the Admiral for God’s sake. He saw you walking, talking, and laughing with him on your way to lunch one day. He didn’t have a clue as to why you were so shy around him. Why you’d rather run in the opposite direction than have to pass him in the hallway. It’d only been two weeks and it was driving him mad. He needed to talk with you. Was it something he did?

He would he decided. At the end of your next classroom session. One way or another he’d get some answers out of you. He needed to know if he did something wrong. It was gnawing at the back of his head.

“Birdie, if you don’t mind. Stay back for a second?” You looked at Bob who just shrugged, unsure of what your instructor could have wanted. You packed up slowly letting everybody trickle out before walking towards the front of the classroom.

Birdie. Your callsign. You had a love and hate relationship with it. You’d always joked that you felt like a bird in the sky when you were in training to become a pilot. Your friends promptly started calling you Birdie and it just stuck. You kind of wished you had a more fun story to tell other than the boring one of how you got your callsign. But alas, you didn’t. It was simple. Cute. Basic. Kind of like you. You’d never seen yourself as anything but ordinary. Just Y/N. Good at her job Y/N.

“Captain.” You let out a shaky breath. He made you nervous. So damn nervous. People of authority always did. And then he looked like that on top of it? Forget it. You were a goner. It wasn’t right to be thinking such unsavory thoughts about your damn instructor in your head. It made you act like a fucking weirdo in front of him. Case and point. You couldn’t even look him in the eyes.

“Good job up there today. Four for four.” You looked up from where you standing just quickly enough to see him staring right at you. Why’d he have to be so handsome? It was an unfair game that was suddenly being played against you.

“Thank you.” A small smile crept to your face hearing the compliment. It felt good. A small praise from the man giving you a small bit of confidence to look up to him but give him no more.

He nodded walking down to you, standing across from you. Your heart rate picked up quickly feeling his presence right there. Right in front of you. Oh, how you’ve avoided this situation masterfully. Now look where you were. Stuck alone in the classroom with him right there in front of you. What could possibly go wrong?

He waited until you looked at him to continue. He knew curiosity would get the better of you sooner or later. He was right. After thirty seconds of silence, you looked up.

He smiled seeing your doe-eyed expression. He shouldn’t feel this way about you. He shouldn’t want to brush the strand of hair that fell out of your bun away from your face. He shouldn’t want to run a hand along your back. He shouldn’t want to fucking kiss you senseless. But he wanted it. He wanted it all and more. So much more. What the hell was wrong with him? You were so young. So lively. Had so much to look forward too. Hell, you even had a shot of becoming an admiral if you had the drive to do it.

“Sir?” You asked, waiting on his question. His reason for holding you back.

He hummed delaying a second, “Everything alright?”

Nodding quickly your head turned up to him again, “Yeah, why wouldn’t it be?”

He shrugged looking away for a moment. Giving you a second of reprieve from his gaze. Everything about the man was commanding. Everything, “No reason. You just seem to be a bit fidgety?”

What the hell was he going on about? You weren’t acting any different than you had been prior, “I do?” Of course, you were fucking fidgety. He was less than a foot from you not having a damn clue what he was doing to you. You could smell him. He smelled better than you imagined. Leather, oil, and cedar all mixed together. Way too good for a day instructing on base.

“Did I do something?” He spit it out. Well, it was out in the open now. It’s not like he could take it back. It sounded so terribly insecure when he spoke it out loud.

You shook your head, “No, not at all Captain.” Your heart started racing as he gave you a once over.

“Then what is it Lieutenant?” He asked with all the calmness in the world.

Your head was swimming. Swimming with thousands, millions of thoughts, “Sir?” Play dumb. That was always the easiest route to go.

“Why can’t you look me in the eye Y/N?” Why’d he have to use your name like that? It got your dumb hear racing faster than even you were used to.

Your eyes snapped to his. That was not the question you were expecting, “You… Authority makes me nervous.” You spoke quietly deciding to keep your eyes locked in on his. Not letting his statement completely reign true.

He grinned a wicked look before a much more innocent one came to face, you didn’t miss it though, “I make you nervous?”

You said nothing at first, nodding quickly in agreement instead, “Authority.” It was merely a whisper.

Mav’s face cracked into a simper while he studied your features, “There’s nothing to be nervous about.”

You didn’t move your head, but your eyes moved to look to him, “I suppose that’s easier said than realized.” You admitted.

He stepped forward. Probably crossing a line, he shouldn’t have. But he couldn’t stand it. Why were you comfortable with everybody else but him, “What can I do then?”

You cocked your head to the side, “What do you mean Mav?” You asked so softly he thought his knees were going to buckle right then and there. You said his name so sweetly it took him off guard. He really should just let you go. This was a bad idea. He shouldn’t be pressing you like this. He knew better than to. But he didn’t want to. He wanted to press on. Dig a little deeper. See you a little bit better. He was intrigued.

“Is there anything I can do to make you less nervous?”

You laughed softly. Get ugly? Stop looking like that? Stop being so hot in a flight suit? Stop being my flight instructor? “Afraid not Captain.” You sat back on the desk knowing this was likely not going to be over soon.

He took a seat next to you, “Why not?”

You shrugged, “It’s the authority thing. Call it trauma.” You joked.

He smiled along with you, “So, say I wasn’t your instructor…”

Cutting him off quickly you felt your blood run cold, “You’re not going to kick me off the squadron are you?” your panicked look made him feel awful

He shook his head quickly, “No, no never. It’s a hypothetical.”

You sighed softly, “Sorry.” You felt an overwhelming amount of embarrassment consume you. You’d worked so hard to get to where you are that even a little bit of an inkling of a threat sent you into overthinking mode. You weren’t proud of it by any means. It was something you were working on.

“It’s fine.” He smiled feeling your tension just radiate off your body. He seemed to pick up on anything relating to you. Again, he had to wonder. What the hell was wrong with him?

“Would you be as nervous around me if I wasn’t your instructor?” He quirked up a brow all too curious to hear your answer.

You laughed softly, “Yes, I would.” It was starting to become easier to talk to him. But he still intimidated the hell out of you. You hadn’t a clue how to navigate your superior being hot as hell. Normally they were old dudes who had kids your age. Not Maverick.

He huffed in almost frustration. He appreciated thar you were being honest with him, but he wasn’t sure what it was about him, “But why?”

You shrugged, “Still an authority, Captain.”

He placed a hand a little too close to yours, “You seemed just fine with Cyclone earlier.” He leaned in almost challenging you. He loved talking to you, but this conversation had gone of for too long now. Curiosity was literally killing the cat.

You nodded along with him, “Well yeah, that’s different.”

He looked at you incredulously, “How?”

It slipped out before you really meant to say it, “He’s married.” And then it was out there. It didn’t take Pete long to put two and two together. You were basically screaming that he was off limits and that Pete wasn’t. You didn’t mean to all but admit it but here you were. Heart hammering in your chest.

“I mean. He’s established. He’s not my direct authority. You know what I mean?” Even you didn’t know what you meant. You were caught red handed. Hand in the cookie jar. Damn. It is what it is now.

Mav shook his head with a lopsided grin, “I think I know exactly what you mean Y/N.” He also knew you’d never outright admit it either. He realized just how damn weird the whole thing was for you as well. He was your superior. You couldn’t cross that line either. Not unless you knew for sure that it was alright. The game the both of you were playing was dangerous. Very dangerous.

Thick tension hung in the air. You hadn’t a clue what to say to your instructor after accidentally telling him the real reason he made you so nervous. Not outright spilling the truth but putting making it rather obvious in your wake instead.

“I should get going.” You stood from the table you were sitting on.

He mimicked your actions, “Should you?”

Nodding your head you gave him a flash of a smile, “Yeah, long day tomorrow. You said so yourself. Right?” Raising your eyebrows, you knew you had him there.

His otherworldly smile lit up his face. God, he was so handsome. That just wasn’t fair.

“Right. Sleep well Y/N. See you in the morning.”

“You too Pete.” You weren’t sure why you used his first name, but it felt right. Felt like a step you wanted to take for yourself.

You didn’t catch the furious blush that rose to his cheeks at that. He knew he needed to pull back immediately, or he’d get himself, or you, in trouble. He couldn’t be blushing around Cyclone when you came around. He’d just have to ignore it. He could do that. Or so he thought he could.

Maverick must have gotten in your head. The next day was... less than stellar. You had a bad day. A very bad day. You landed without a single victory. With Rooster shooting you down for the second time that afternoon.

Sitting in the jet cockpit of the hangar you’d pulled your helmet off without much thought and just sat there. Thinking. You were fine yesterday. What the hell happened today? You’d been shot down five times. Twice by Hangman, twice by Rooster and once by Phoenix. You weren’t even close to shooting them down.

You were too eager with you grip making dumb rookie mistakes. Mistakes that’d have you shot down in an instant up in the air. All of them were able to see it and exploit it. A bad day. That’s all it was. It didn’t make you a bad pilot. Not in the slightest. You had to remember that. Drop today and remember how good you really were.

“Are you going to come down Lieutenant?” That voice broke you from the thoughts that were seemingly tormenting you in the cockpit. The ones that kept seeming to tell you that you weren’t good enough. You might’ve been the best at your home base but not here. No. You were average amongst the best.

Your eyes snapped open. Pete? What was he doing down there? He hardly came out here after training, “Yeah.” You answered quickly not wanting to leave him waiting. He wasn't one for patience, “Just thinking.” You knew you needed an excuse or he would press. No matter how lame it may be. But it wasn’t a lie. You really were just thinking.

He didn’t say a word as you came down the ladder. When you got a good look at him he almost looked, angry? His lips were drawn in a thin line. He had a hard time looking at you. Eyebrows stitched too close together for him to be in a good mood.

“What the hell was that?” His normally chipper tone had vanished. He sounded too much like an instructor now. He didn’t even sound like the Maverick you had gotten to know. No, a drill sergeant instead. He noticed your expression change as you realized this wasn’t going to be a fun conversation.

He felt bad doing such a 180 on you like that. But he had to, for your sake. Or so he thought.

“I’m not sure sir… I...” You stammered trying to come up with something. He’d already made you nervous and now this? You were a blubbering mess. Sure to look like the fool of a woman you knew they were likely expecting of you. See, the men could make mistakes. You couldn't. Women couldn't.

“Not a single kill today Lieutenant?” His voice stayed icy as you stood there forward like he was a drill Sargant. It suddenly felt like you were back in basic training all over again.

You looked down in what felt like shame, “No, Captain.” The voice that came out of you sounded weak. Likely because you felt weak. You didn’t feel like you were good enough to be here. Like all those kills you got against Hangman and Rooster prior to this day was just all just luck. Straight luck. Rationally, you knew better. You knew how good of pilot you were. You wouldn’t be good enough to get here. But your own mind was playing tricks on you. Planting seeds that should’ve never been dug.

He pressed further not seeing that he was beginning to push you past your breaking point. Further than even you would have expected from him. Your head was already coming down too hard on yourself. His words only seemed to dig that dagger in a little further that drove the final nail in the coffin of your confidence.

“What’s the problem then Lieutenant?” He stepped closer, challenging you. You weren’t in the right headspace for this. Not in the slightest.

You shook your head slowly, “I don’t know Mav.” Looking down at your boots you couldn’t bear to look up at his disappointed expression. You were just trying to hold back the tears at this point.

“You don’t know?” He sounded patronizing as if he was talking to a toddler.

“I…no.” Your voice was too shaky, so you stopped. Collect yourself. You could do this. You’ve done this hundreds of times before.

He must’ve not noticed the tears that were threatening to spill over as you looked up at him finally, “I can’t put somebody on a team who doesn't know what's going on. I need somebody who knows what they do wrong!" His voice grew from anger to frustration as he spoke. Yet he failed to see your utterly devastated gaze as he went on and on about things you had already known. Each word felt like a knife as he continued on, "You won't get a second chance on this mission. If you get shot down you're as good as dead."

Your heart ran cold, feeling as though it was shattering into a million pieces right then and there, “You don’t think I know that sir?” Your voice nearly broke as it wobbled through trying to finish the sentence.

He’d certainly noticed it then as his eyes finally found your tear stained cheeks. He usually knew how hard he could push. He could usually push you a whole lot harder, but he’d gone too far today. He knew when he heard that unusual waver in your voice.

He hadn't planned it but he knew he needed to back off, “It’s a bad day. It happens. Shake it off Birdie." The words come out of his mouth so fast he was sure you felt like you were getting whiplash from his hot and cold behavior. One moment he was nearly flirting with you then the next he scolding you.

He didn’t mean it. Not a bit of it. He didn’t even like being an asshole to Hangman, although it was fun sometimes. Being one to you made him feel awful. But he had to. He wasn't kidding when he said you didn't get second chances out there.

You shook your head, “I’ll do better tomorrow. I don’t know…”

He cut you off by placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. He hadn’t noticed how wound up about the day you had already been. He didn’t mean to push you further. He was just trying to be the instructor you needed to succeed on this mission that didn't have amazing outcomes.

This was the opposite of being tough on you though, “It’s fine Y/N. Go home. Read a book or watch some TV. Come back tomorrow. You’ll be just fine.”

You looked at his hand on his shoulder before looking at him, giving him a curt nod, “Sure. I’ll see you tomorrow.” You turned to walk away, brushing the tears away from your eyes.

Before you could walk through the locker room door you tuned back to him. After today you weren't sure if you even deserved the consideration,“You shouldn’t pick me.” You said so quiet you weren’t even sure if he heard it.

By the way he walked right over he must have. He grabbed your arm suddenly, not forcefully by any means, “Don’t say that. Why would you say that?” He genuinely felt awful for pushing too hard now. This didn't seem like you. You were headstrong. Stronger than even he seemed.

You looked down almost ashamed to admit it to him, “Because… because I’m not good enough sir. You saw me out there today. I'm as good as dead.” You were supposed to be the best of the best, but you hardly felt like it today. You were getting your ass handed to you left and right. Hangman was laying it on thick today too. He did that whenever he got the chance.

The day started bad when Rooster knocked you out almost immediately. And only got worse on subsequent runs. You were zero for four by the time you went up for the last round of the day. You got in your own damn head. It happened. It happened to everyone. You knew it. Still didn’t make it sting worse when you were on your thousandth pushup for the day.

He shook his head grabbing your hand quickly, “What are you talking about? You’re one of the best pilots I’ve ever worked with. You’re a fucking menace out there Y/N.”

You shook your head, “You’re just saying that because I’m about to cry.” You wanted to believe him. Maybe any other day you’d believe him. It was a no good, very bad day for you.

He only dropped his hand from your arm to bring it to your shoulder once again, giving it a gentle squeeze, “I’m not. I’m really not. Believe it or not.” He sighed collecting his thoughts once more, “I’m sorry. Really. I only come down hard on you because I know you can handle it. But I need you to not think like that. If you do get picked I need your head screwed all the way on. It’s not your run of the mill mission and you know that. You’ve got to be all the way there. All the way present. You hear me?”He asked.

You turned your head to look up to him, “Yeah. I hear you.” Your voice was much more you, more controlled.

He didn’t quite believe you though so he continued, “You are an exceptional pilot Y/N. The rest of the squad needs you to be. Bad days happen. Don’t let that asshole get to you.”

You smiled for the first time that day. It felt good talking with him. Actually, talking and not being afraid of him. A dramatic shift from that of moments ago, “You got it. Thanks Mav.” You wanted to thank him as a friend. Maybe a potential suitor. Not as a student. Not as a subordinate. But as a person.

He smiled for the first time that day as well. He had a long way yet to go with you, but it was a start. Something. He knew one thing that was sure. He was excited to get this damn mission over with. He didn’t want to be your superior anymore. He wanted to be your co-worker. The person you turned and laughed with whenever the most outrageous orders were given. He wanted to get there, was determined to get there.

“Sure thing, Y/N.” He let his hand fall, “See you at the Hard Deck tonight?” He asked curiously.

“You’re coming?” You’d seen him there the first night. You’d thought he was the most handsome thing in the bar. Hangman did not. Kept giving you shit for giving the ‘old man’ eyes. Whatever. You hadn’t seen him at the bar sense that night though. But he knew you guys went every Thursday. He listened.

“Maybe.”

You smiled once more, “You should. It’d be fun to see you kick Hangman’s ass in trivia.”

He laughed, a genuine one, one he hadn’t felt in quite some time, “How do you know I’m any good at trivia?”

You shrugged, “Have a feeling. Hope to see you tonight Pete.” The wink you sent him sent butterflies aflame throughout your body. Where in the hell did that confidence come from?

Pete legs went to jelly for a second as he watched you walk away. That you would. He was sure of it.

Permanent Taglist (Message me or comment below if you want to be added!): @loving-and-dreaming @kmc1989 @memeorydotcom @matisse556 @dempy

[random-mailbox]

Random-Mailbox's Favorite Sailor Moon Fics - College AU

I am back this week with some College AU stories! You can check out the previous 52 weeks of recs at the end of this Crystal Tokyo post (link).

As always, my apologies in advance for spoiling some of these for you (Fic Titles are linked to either FFN or AO3 entries).

Party On Campus - Luvdarain5

A bit of OG anime characterization on aged up Serena and Darien. Amy and Serena get invited to a college party by Zoi, which goes swimmingly until it doesn't.

i send you a sign, send you a signal - @hellomomo

Usagi decides to take a 300-level Emotion and Motivation Psychology class, solely because Mamoru mentioned he would be in it, making her term project on "goals" - getting Mamoru to fall in love with her (and writing a paper about it).

Wish You Would - @idesofnovember

Usagi slipped into a college party for the food, claiming to know the host's roommate TO the host's roommate, launching a sequence of exchanges that will drive Mamoru to seriously consider what he wants.

Better Than Dreaming - @wishwars

Returning a textbook Mamoru left behind at her library table should be quite simple. Except Usagi may have gotten more than she bargained for by going inside after hearing sounds emanating from his dorm room.

Stuff Tippy Wrote -- Sailor Moon edition: Chapter 5: right hand, yellow /Chapter 6: The day after Twister - @tiptoe39

At a college party, Usagi gets pushed into playing Twister by Rei and Minako against the one person who has been poking fun at her (no matter how cute he looks when he actually smiles!). 

And we are lucky to get a peek at the day after too! Where Usagi and Mamoru try to figure what happened and what's next.

Summer's Day - Please, more like Moonlight- @midnightdrops

Starting with a disclaimer: this story is amazing BUT it is not complete - Dr @midnightdrops has an outline for the remaining chapters already completed but is currently drowning in work. 

In this non-senshi College AU, Mamoru tries to figure out how he is feeling about his polar-opposite girlfriend, while external forces work on ripping them apart. 

The Secrets We Bear - Tumblr Snippets -  @lilliebellfanfics

This link is to some of the shorts that were published for Dendy Week 2022 (are part of a larger story that @lilliebellfanfics is working on) but are amazing as stand-alone chapters, exploring Mamoru navigating his new powers, university life and priorities. 

And last but not least, you should explore @caelenath 's musings in her Mamoru in College tag here on Tumblr - amazing little snippets in there!

That's it for now! I will do another fic list post soon. In the meantime, you should explore some of the prior lists and all the amazing content coming from the @senshixshitennouweeks!

[silentreigns]

Random thoughts about this current F1 season that I have been meaning to write about but I keep forgetting so I am just gonna make this long post

Carlos has been the most consistent qualifier on the entire grid this season but this gets overshadowed by Ferrari finding creative ways to screw him and Charles over. I wish his consistency was praised more

Valterri has got to retire like there is not much else for him to do in this sport. He was in a top team for 5 years but Zhou has been out-performing him for a while now. I feel like it's time for someone else to start their F1 career. Like look at this graphic 😭😭😭

The lack of safety cars and all 20 cars finishing the races is simultaneously a good and bad thing. Good because it means the cars are more reliable, bad because race outcomes are way more predictable. Once Max builds a 20s+ gap it will be virtually impossible to close it.

I will be very surprised if Checo is still in F1 after 2024. He ain't doing so bad when it comes to points, but if your teammate has been in first place for more than half of the laps in this entire season and you can't come close to it, then you look even worse. He built a 50+ point gap to you , and at one stage y'all were just 1 point apart in the driver's standings. I would be shaking crying screaming throwing up

If they put Daniel in the RedBull seat after Checo's contract is up instead of Yuki I am going to be extremely salty. Yuki has been putting that car with no breaks in the points consistently like quit playing with him

Monza 2022 really tricked people because they thought Nyck de Vries would be more of a leader in Alpha Tauri. I ain't forger how he was shown in Drive to Survive. However, I don't agree with how people bully him like some people do too much

They should consider raising the cost cap because I know these teams know what the problem is with their cars, they just don't have the ~money~. And we all saw how useless the cost cap was last season

What is it going to take for Xavi to get fired like bro basically cost Charles a podium in Monaco. And he's just overall bad at communicating compared to the other race engineers.

Lando being stuck in McLaren and not even being able to fight for points consistently is heartbreaking. 😔. He is way too talented to be finishing like P17 all the time

Britcedes won't ever implode like Brocedes did but if George tries to suggest team orders for him and Lewis to swap places again I'm gonna cry. There's only so much I can take

Alex just might be the greatest driver of all time for being able to get the current Williams car a point and into Q3 in Austrailia. Out of straight line speed the car really doesn't have much going for it. I was gagged at how simple to floor is

I don't really have any huge observations about Aston Martin and Alpine but I do think it's cool to see how much their cars have developed and I hope they get to consistently fight for higher positions

[srbachchan]

DAY 5422

koho,hyd                    Dec  19/20,  2022               Mon/Tue  1:04 AM

Birthday - EF Binita Sarkar .. Tuesday, 20 December .. greetings from the entire Ef family for happiness and joy .. 

Wishes to the Ef .. 🪔💖 December 20 .. birthday of Ef Binita SARKAR .. 🙏🏻 December 19 .. birthday of Ef Shefali Jain from Toronto , Canada .. 🇨🇦 December 17 .. birthday of Ef Ef Divya Bambhania .. ✨ Happiness and the fulfilment of all your good desires .. love .. ❤️❤️❤️🌿

oh the joys of the little pleasures of life .. like finding the correct way to tie your wrist band for support as age and injury make it difficult for them to function in their maximum strength ..

oh what a joy to be able to replace the app emojis on the face page of the mobile according to the sequence you want it to be .. 

oh what a joy to be able to set your Apple watch in order to read your heart rate and to be able to control your bluetoothed music being played on the device during work outs ..

oh what a joy to be able to hear your playlist on the bluetooth car device as you drive to work, spurring you on to give the best , and to reminisce those moments with loved ones as the ‘dhun’ plays around you .. 

oh what a joy to find out that simple press of  button on the laptop and get back to the page you were working on .. 

oh what a joy to be able to put all this down and allow the common ness in this description, to find a voice here on this public platform ..

and despite the hour being close to the AM of 2 o’clock in the morn of the next day the 20th , to be able to reconnect with the Ef ..

.. and they send me this .. and there is gratitude and well being reflected all over for the honour ..

yes what a final to the FIFA .. edge of the seat .. hearts pounding .. and the joy of watching winning hearts and the absolute distress in seeing the emotional break downs of those that lost their hopes .. 

when exhilaration and emotion gets stifled, there can never be a more distressing site  ..

the only reconciliation is .. next time ..

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Amitabh Bachchan

[profoundsubmissive]

Enneagram Instinctual Variants Write-Up (03/12/2022)

The following is merely a port of an entry I wrote in my diary in an attempt to understand my instinctual variant stack, which then evolved into a brief extrapolation of what I believe the instincts truly are. Nothing more. If I conceptually understand the instincts, then even replication of each one should be relatively easy. Further, though I wish to know my instincts, it's a relatively useless concept that is more in the realm of spirituality than psychology. That is—it seeks to explain that which isolates humanity from any other animal, as well as that which keeps it in the kingdom of animalia. The question of old, "do humans have souls?" It seeks to derive from your interpersonal influence, as well as our drives fundamentally. If I avoid the use of instinct, readily this becomes somewhat akin to a, "soul journey," or that which spiritualists may describe as your "karmic path". The dominant instinct being that which is safe, what you know and what you are drawn towards the most. With the auxiliary, a ~~function~~ *instinct* that under normal circumstance of, "synflow" being that which the dominant instinct uses to fulfill its desire. Interestingly, while in synflow Sp -> So -> Sx, the way that the instincts are used is actually in reverse. In Sp/So, the social instinct reinforces the Sp, not the other way around. So since the auxiliary is seen as more of a tool than a basic necessity, it gets relegated to the healthiest expression. However in contraflow, the order of use is actually the opposite, the Sp would flow into the So, this would mean reinforcing the social realm with barriers, walls, likely a melting of one's self conception as isolated, with the social realm, ultimately viewing the social realm as an extension of the self and as such that general concept of "dying on the hill of one's beliefs". *The body as a social statement.* Cutting is an inherently So/Sp act. Ah yes, first we must define something: SP = Self Social = Others Sexual = Genes Yes, it really is this simple. No one is "blind" to an instinct, and a majority of people harmonize with those instincts to live fulling (as defined by their enneatype and instinctual variant order) lives. What the concept of "blindness" attempts to describe is a turning away from that instinct so that it's relegated from conscious action, and instead becomes an underlying thread within the unconscious. It becomes fully supplemental in the triad of instincts. Some people seem to think that in this instance, the instinctual variants are acted upon as 3 equidistant, intersecting, lines and that one can only move along the perimeter of the triangle. Shift your perception to include the fact that one can move *inside* of the triangle, within the area, and it becomes clearer. In fact, someone can stand right in the center of the triangle. Further, is that not the goal? Bodily closeness is an inherently Sp/So and So/Sp act. The body, Sp, reaches out towards another (So) and pulls them in to be as close as possible. Seeing touching, melting into each other's bodies, coexistence and bodily mixing as intimacy. Those that fall furthest from Sx, look towards those of their romantic interest as their body parts first. They wish to get as close as possible, your look and appeal. Collages made by them will feature isolated body parts or wishing to be swallowed whole into a higher concept, such as water (their emotion), absolving themselves of self concept because to exist is to survive. Endure. Looking to the stars, looking towards the unknown, do they wish to place their trust in that higher forces will take care of them. On the other hand, rather than reduce to the body, the Sexual instinct reduces others to their *genes* or *traits* which they will release into the gene pool. It's looking for the perfect *mate*. It's a fully objectifying lens, not seeking closeness but replication as a form of intimacy. The act of sex itself: to penetrate (live), to cum (die), to inseminate/birth (replicate). Thus you will see the femme fatale is a Sexual archetype. There is no use for another when the act of sex has been completed; the object of attraction is granted permission to die. Integrating back into broad definitions of the instinctual variants' individual roles in the personality, the tertiary instinct, *not* the blindspot, is supplementary. If SP is at L2 and SO is at L4, then the sexual instinct still has a gravitational effect on SP and SO, as do they have one on it. You could describe the person as the sun, the Dom as the Earth, Aux as the moon, and Tert as Theia(ignoring the fact that the moon and Theia logically can't coexist, as Theia's impact with Earth is what created the moon. Bare with me though). Curiously, this means that the instincts do not have complete control over one or the other, or that they are subservient to the Dom, but rather they have their own individual influences. However, it is the person themselves which anchors the instincts, not the other way around. Yes, instincts play the most significant role in our lives, but those instincts don't begin to manifest until just before birth. Ultimately more metaphorical approach, this means that Theia or the Tertiary instinct still falls into step along with the other instincts, it's just dancing to the beat of its own drum unlike the moon, the Auxiliary instinct, which is tidal locked. Certain concepts deal with the harmony of the personality, not its discordance and as such when you do introduce concepts such as tri-fix or tritype, you can only use it as a typing maneuver to encompass that which harmonizes, not the cacophony. Some use tritype to explain a push and a pull within their personalities, such as a push and pull between wanting individuality, feeling unique and disconnected from everyone else but also being chronically attached to others, desiring connection and sharing their life. Unfortunately, this is not a 94x, this is simply a 9. An axis between individuality and self-narcotization perfectly describes the inner turmoil of the 9: dissolution in others or complete stagnancy to hold onto what is them. "Do humans have souls?"

Enneagrammer answers this question through pointing to the Social instinct. It's the most traditional view of transcending or absolving oneself of karmic debt. Luckovich specifically references the social instinct as the instinct which searches for the meaning of life; the one would posit the premise of this altogether. To them, the social instinct is the journey to transcendence, as transcendence is to absolve oneself of the self entirely, and instead connect or attach oneself to a higher collective / the collective unconscious / the universe / God / Kami, etc. As they utilize the bhavacakra as a representation of the 6 instinct types, with Sx/So beginning life as the closest to transcendence and as such the easiest life or as they've so titled, "God" for they have already transcended. On the opposite end of the spectrum you have the Sp/Sx, but rather than refer to it as the "Devil," it is instead referred to as "Hell". This is entirely intentional, as to be the devil, one would have transcended to godhood and be aware or at the very least oriented and connected enough into the social realm to act as an antagonistic force against it. In limiting Sp/Sx to, "Hell," Gray attempts to dehumanize the social blinds stemming from the conclusion that they don't have enough personhood to be referred to as a *being* of representation. They are simply, humans in the most animalistic way possible. You'll hear this tooted often on the podcast, how social blinds lack the ability to connect altogether, and as such have no hope of ever being human or even a person. Through my interpretation, I'm actually awarding *more* humanity to social blinds than Gray does. Sx/Sp is referred to as the "Hungry Ghost" because it's looking to restore its humanity by feasting on the souls of those who are worth replicating through based on the gene pool. Obviously, it's determined through the realm of sex. Through feasting on a soul, it's able to take in as much energy as theoretically possible to change and transform itself in hopes of becoming something higher, or perhaps, in his interpretation they aren't even aware of that desire and instead feast aimlessly. You could think of it like a black hole, keeping up with my more astronomical reference of the instinctual variants. To eat and absorb as much energy as possible (live), feel it well up inside like a witch burning at the stake and lose oneself to the scalding of flesh and the melting of innards (die), and then reassimilate, born anew wearing a completely different skin, but retaining the gene pool of the mate and themselves (replicate). A common misinterpretation of the Sexual instinct is that it must be interested in others, intensifies *outward* experiences, is easily visible *outwardly*, wrenches attention towards it, and that it can't go unhidden or veiled even by the deftest of chameleons. Unfortunately, this is actually an incredible social view of the instinct. If someone is constantly looking to incite ire, flame, disrupt the social environment, intensify the social experience, lock onto others, they are using the *social* instinct. To put it simply, Sexual instinct when influenced by Sp intensifies the *inward* experience, and when it's influenced by Social it intensifies the *outward* experience. Social blinds are known for being able to entertain themselves without reaching outward because they are intensifying their own experiences without needing to be other referencing or receive reciprocation or reciprocity. However there's an interesting conundrum. If this possibility exists, why would the Sx/Sp be referred to as the, "Hungry Ghost" if it could simply feast on its own innards and asexually reproduce? That's the thing, *it doesn't*. Sp/Sx is what does that, *NOT* Sx/Sp. There's a difference between looking outward or pushing outward, and looking for *genes* to intensify the *self* or internal experience. In this instance, David Gray's Interpretation makes sense, because then Sx/Sp and Sp/Sx have no reason to be interested in anyone but themselves and the genes they want. Earlier, I referenced cutting as an inherently So/Sp act; using the body as a social statement; "I show my cuts so the world knows my pain and that they're not alone." The Sx/Sp uses cuts as a symbol of *sexual attraction*, the body itself, as a symbol of sexual attraction. It's a way to maneuver the gene pool by showing off their traits, their mating dance, to the person who will cause such visceral change in them that it is akin to self-rebirth. Their tune isn't as visible, or rather, they aren't trying to appeal to as many people as possible for mating purposes, but rather the *one* in the room. Referring back to "God," the Sx/So, we will see that it's referred to as such because it's injecting flame into the social environment, piercing it to the traits that it desires to evolve. So/Sx, dutifly referred to as simply, "Human" because it's what flows naturally, sorting through and orienting one's lens towards others, taking on the beliefs and convictions of others, putting the self out there in order to take care of the off spring as well as use those connections to find the genes that one would wish to spread. Perhaps one could refer to it as a maternal view of the social instinct in this case, because the dominance of the social instinct forces sexual into a more nurturing role. Here, the social instinct is viewed as a softer instinct. What Gray and Luckovich posit with "Sp blindness" is that here none of the energy is taken inward to protect oneself, create boundaries, and intensify one's own; self sacrifice for the sake of the whole. "God," "Humans," and, "Titans," represented by So/Sp; the Titans which procreate and create the gods or rather, facilitate the creation of a world which allows them altogether. The focus is not on procreation, but everything afterwards: society, nurturing, sowing the seeds of creation, dying for their causes, creating a world for others to live in and subsequently, food for the Gods to eat as they are birthed by the Humans on the other side of the heavens. Curiously, they also act as a symbol of reigning in the power of the gods, and acting as a stifling force to stop humanity from going out of bounds and destroying their foundation. This is the dampening effect of Sp, represented by the element of Earth. If you inject the social, represented by the element of Air into the Earth, all that is happening is an expansion of the crust. More space inside of the perimeter is created, but the bounds still exist. Much like when Chronus ate the Gods when they were born and trapped them in his stomach, limiting their growth, ambitions, and imposing a set area of which they were allowed to act. Hopefully, all of this will help everyone understand why this theory refers to Sp/So as, "Animal". The beings which exist in the bounds created by everything else, are poached as food for the Hungry Ghosts, forced into the rules and bounds of the Titans, and endure the revolutions of the Gods attempting to destroy or push the bounds, so that they can escape the limiters. It doesn't grant them significance, it doesn't grant them autonomy, it lowers them to food or fodder.

[ardent-fox]

✨ (A long overdue) Tag Game Tuesday ✨

Four score and a million years ago, my dear @celestialmickey, @energievie, @creepkinginc, @mmmichyyy, @suzy-queued, @lingy910y, @juliakayyy and @deedala tagged me to participate in this Tag Game Twosday, thank you, my lovelies! 💖 I figured better late than never, right? 🙃

Name: Lyds 🌿

Your birthday: April 26th.

Where in the world are you? In my apartment.

When did you join tumblr? Apparently I've had an account for about 7 years although I don't remember making one, been active since April 2022.

Do you have any sideblogs? No, just the one.

Mobile or desktop? Desktop for creating longer posts, mobile for everything else.

Your perfect sleeping conditions: Dark and quiet as a tomb, duvet and blankets piled up, heater on a 20 minute timer in the winter 👌

A movie you think everyone should see at least once: Dog Day Afternoon.

What shoes do you wear the most often? Simple white sneakers to wear on skirts and dresses, black and white polka dot Adidas for walking about, chunky boots in colder weather.

Describe your keys to me: 6-7 keys on one ring, a laminated genie lamp pendant that I took off the zipper from my Aladdin school bag as a kid, along with a fox and Eiffel Tower pendant that I got as gifts.

Find the book closest to you. Turn to page 7. What’s the 7th word? Slender.

What’s your favorite snack? Lays and cheese dip. Or cheese and wine. Or just cheese. Yes.

One of your aspirations: Got many, but my main one is to lead a happy, fulfilled, mentally and physically healthy life 💕

And finally, tell me a random fact about yourself: I've never learned to drive and considering my fear of assholes on the road, most likely never will.

And a picrew: This looks nothing like me, but as you wish 😁

Not tagging anyone due to being incredibly late with this one, however if you see this and want to make your own, please do! 💙✨

[buckyismybicycle]

ROBBED: “name your price” - Chapter 1 of 2

Pairing: Bucky/Tony Stark Rating: Explicit (eventually) Tags: Enemies, Biker Bucky Barnes, like some emo sexy robinhood with Found Family, Warlord Tony Stark (who is actually just very lonely), sacrifice, bargaining with freedom,  Summary: A small group of practiced individuals, headed by the “Winter Soldier” keep fucking with Tony’s shipments and he’s had enough of it. 

For @buckybarnesbingo Y1: "Thief" For @starkbucksbingo I3: "Robbed" For @whumpcember 2022: "Sacrifice"

It’s always a clean job, Tony can admit that much. They’re fast and practiced, without a single error in their actions.

Tony watches the footage a dozen times, his eyes tracking their movements. Two motorcycles — a redheaded woman on one, and one the other, a blonde woman behind a man clad in black — the Winter Soldier, people call him. Their leader.

They follow behind a heavily modded, matte black muscle car before swerving and surrounding the transport truck. The blonde woman stands up on the back of the bike like she has a death wish, hands on the shoulders of the man driving.

They kick up speed to the driver side door, and the Soldier fires before slowing down, avoiding the following detonation that takes the door right off the vehicle. In the next second, they’ve caught up again and he hauls the driver out with a grappling hook while the blonde one jumps in smoothly to take over the vehicle, opening the back hatch, the small ramp dropping down and sending sparks flying as it drags across the road. The second motorcycle roars as she runs up the ramp.

The shipment is emptied in under five minutes, and four fucking assholes just took off with $210,000. Robbed. Again.

It’s been happening for months, and nobody’s been close to handing the Winter Soldier and his little gang over.

“Happy,” Tony barks with a snap. “Up the reward to $500,000. To anyone who brings me this motherfucker.”

—-

“Really? This is the guy?” Tony asks Happy with an incredulous look. When he had demanded the head of one Winter Soldier, he wasn’t sure what he had expected, but it wasn’t for the man to look so…

Aesthetically pleasing.

He’s never seen the Winter Soldier without the mask and goggles, without a gun or motorcycle. Standing in front of him, though? He looks like just a man, simple as that. How can one man create so much chaos, he wonders.

“You’ve been causing me problems,” Tony states plainly, looking right at his — prisoner? Hostage? He hasn’t decided yet.

“You’re the problem,” comes the retort.

Tony has to remember not to laugh. The guy’s got some snarkiness, which was also unexpected. Not entirely unwelcome, either — it’s a nice change of pace.

“S’that so?” Tony asks rhetorically, pursing his lips as he uncrosses his legs. He’s not particularly thrown by the comment considering he gets at least a dozen death threats a day.

His chair — and it’s really more of a throne — sits atop a small set of stairs, which Tony walks down slowly. He’s not afraid of the Winter Soldier, but he is annoyed that this guy keeps hijacking Tony’s shipments.

“Tell me, what kind of a name is the Winter Soldier, anyway? Sounds like a made up superhero that you desperately wanted to be when you were seven.”

“When I was seven, I was praying your father would keel over and die.”

Tony pauses then. He didn’t think that someone would be so brazen with comments like this. Instantly, Happy has his gun drawn, and to the Soldier’s credit, he doesn’t even blink.

“Cute,” Tony replies. “Guess what? So was I.”

Tony’s grin grows, making him look a little insane, he’s sure. His father may have conquered and ruled, but he had no ambition. Not like Tony did. When his father died and Zen-Whoberi was up for grabs, Tony had wasted no time. This world was his for the taking, and take it he did.

“Funny, because now I’m almost thirty-seven and I find myself praying you end up the same.”

“Watch your mouth, thief,” Happy spits. It’s followed by the click as he takes the safety off of his gun.

“Easy, Hap,” Tony soothes with one hand waving the gun down. The other remains curled behind his back, the rest of him open to the crook that kneels before him. “I’ll give it to you, you’re an honest one.”

The Soldier snorts. “Look, if you brought me here to behead me or whatever medieval shit you wanna do, let’s get it over with. Otherwise you might lose your chance ‘cause I’ll die of boredom.”

This time, Tony does let out a bark of laughter. “Beheading? Come on, that seems messy. Do I look like someone who likes messy?”

For the first time, his captive is quiet, so Tony turns around to see the Soldier wearing a lopsided smirk. “Yeah, actually. Y’look like someone who likes it pretty filthy.”

Tony only just manages to talk Happy down from pistol-whipping the guy. He doesn’t like the way desire flares up and through his body at just a simple, insinuative line.

“Funny,” he responds flatly. “You know what I do like? I like when people pay me back for all the shit they’ve stolen from me. So, when can I expect my $3,744,000 back? Give or take a few dollars.”

“Tch,” the Soldier scoffs. “You don’t need it. Look around, fancy pants. You already have everything you’ve ever wanted while some people don’t even have what they need.”

Not everything, Tony thinks privately to himself. It’s true, he does have a lot of things that most people want — the lavish house, the luxurious clothes, the personal staff to guard him, cook and clean for him. He spoils himself because his father never did — his father never gave him anything. Not so much as an ounce of affection, not a minute of his time.

From a young age, his father had taught him one lesson, and one lesson only: Money is power, and nothing can be more important than that.

“If you’re not going to repay me, then you’ll have to give up your little gang, because I’m tired of your meddling,” Tony says at last. “You’re costing me a lot of money, here.”

“Good. And I don’t have a gang, no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Cut the crap, tin man,” Tony snaps. “We see you rollin’ with the same crew day in and day out. Give them up, I might even let you live.”

“No chance in hell,” the Soldier replies, steadfast and without hesitation.

It makes him burn with fury, like a spark has been thrown into kindling inside his body that makes him want to snap. How is it that this man — this fugitive has such loyalty wearing nothing but rags while Tony has no one?

“Hap? Give us the room,” Tony orders.

At first, his guard looks unsure. The Soldier, even though his arms are tied behind his back, is still an imposing figure. He’s broader than Tony, packed with muscle, and one of the most dangerous men in the world.

“Go on,” Tony encourages with a shooing motion. “I’ll take your gun, though.”

Silently, Happy hands it over and leaves the room with one last look.

“Gonna shoot me yourself? Color me impressed, I didn’t think you’d have it in you.”

“You don’t know me,” Tony says simply, twirling the gun in his finger like it isn’t a loaded weapon. Neither of them flinch.

“I don’t want to,” the Soldier snarls. “You know what I do know, though? I know that you’re killing your people and I know that you’re a selfish shithead who probably hasn’t stepped outside this palace in years, because if you did, you’d see that people are dying on the streets because they can’t get by, while you sit on your hoard of wealth.”

Tony’s used to the ire, the insults, the accusations and assumptions. He doesn’t blink during the little rant, but there is something different about the Soldier’s tone when he speaks of “the people”. He’s a little too heated, too invested.

Not people — subjects, his dad had called them.

“You care a lot about people you don’t know,” Tony ventures. He catches a small squint on the Soldier’s face, which more or less confirms his suspicions that someone the Soldier cares — or cared — about likely is or was in a poor state. “Who is it?”

“Dunno what you’re talking about.” His tone is flat again as he stares ahead, face stoic once more.

“What’s wrong with them?” He asks, genuinely curious what ailment would make someone rob over a million dollars. After pointed silence, he sighs dramatically. “Look, tell me what their problem is, and maybe — maybe — there’s something that can be done.”

The Soldier narrows his eyes. “I don’t trust you.”

“Fine, let them continue to suffer, or whatever,” Tony says with a roll of his eyes. He walks nonchalantly back to his seat, looking down at the thief, swirling his drink.

“Everything,” the Soldier whispers at last. “Bad asthma that makes him wheeze… Fevers all the time, sinusitis, heart problems and his bones grew in wrong. He can’t — his back ain’t straight. It’s got his nerves all pinched.”

Tony’s rendered speechless for a moment. One or two issues? Common. Three or four? Highly unlikely. This list? Doesn’t even sound real.

“No Mecha-Gear?” Tony asks, bewildered. Usually anyone showing such dire signs of physical detriment would be enhanced with Gear. Much like Tony’s own arc reactor. Much like the arm that the Soldier wears, though Tony doesn’t recognize the design.

“His body can’t handle it,” the Soldier manages through gritted teeth.

At first, Tony saw nothing but a criminal, a shit-disturbing, meddlesome culprit that existed only to make Tony’s life more difficult. Now, he sees a desperate man trying to save a life that isn’t his.

“What would you give for a cure?” He asks. He doesn’t know why, it’s not like he has a solution, but he wants to see how much his friend’s life is worth.

“There isn’t one.” The Soldier’s voice is barely more than a growl as he remains steadfast.

“That you know of,” Tony counters. “Or that you have access to.”

The Soldier’s eyes are hard, unwavering, and astonishingly blue. He’s got the look of someone who’s about to surrender begrudgingly, someone who’s about to sacrifice his own freedom.

Tony waits as the man weighs his options before finally speaking, even if Tony knows the answer even before he does. “Guarantee it, first. I wanna see it work… Then you can name your price.”

Tony’s smile grows. “And if my price is you?”

There’s a pause, and a click as the Soldier’s jaw works, no doubt grinding his teeth. “Then so be it.”

[aliiciaecho]

A fallen dream

September 6th, 2022 by Echo

// this is a ramble i wrote when i had a very bad depressive episode about feeling stuck and hopeless in life. still applies now lol //

I’m holding on to a dead dream, a dead passion that doesn’t exist anymore.

The promise I made when I was younger is holding me back, yet it’s supposed to be the one that drives me forward.

It hurts and it's tearing me apart.

I can't let go of the dream because I start getting delusional. I cant let go because I start thinking that maybe it's a sign that I'm not supposed to give up and that it is my destined path and the Universe is guiding me. It's a never-ending cycle.

Younger me told myself that I can't quit no matter what until I reach the goal— the goal I'm not even able to describe. I myself don’t even know what it is but I just know that I’m not supposed to give up...

I wish I could tell my younger self to stop dreaming, stop being delusional, be realistic.

I wish I could erase my memory of that pact I made with myself that I just cant let go of.

I wish i could just let the dream die peacefully, for it to stop trying to feel so alive, stop trying to catch that last breath, to just surrender...

I wish I could stop dreaming on.

I wish I could stop being so hard-headed.

I wish I could restart.

I wish the Universe didn't plant this chimeric dream inside of me.

I wish I didn't have the opportunity to think this way.

I wish I didn't have the opportunity to feel this way.

I wish I could just be simple — a simple, thoughtless creature.

I wish I could just not be so hopeful and dreaming.

I wish I wasn't so ambitious.

I wish my mind wasn't so complicated.

I wish I could forget.

I wish I could let go.

I want to be at peace.

I'll just keep hoping that somewhere out there, in another timeline, everything goes my way.

[badger-bear]

Books

How To Stop Time by Matt Haig

Fics

Word Play 2022

One To Grow On by @uhoh-but-yeah-alright

Liam’s booked himself a private session for his birthday to finally properly explore his interest in spanking. After all the months of build up, a simple 29 spankings for 29 years would probably be celebration enough. But he and Louis might each have a surprise in store, too.

Darling, Can't You See by @tommokat

“You’re joking.”

“I am very much not joking. There are a total of thirteen royal pets I’m to look after, and ten of those pets are cats and they’re all the Prince’s.”

~

Louis’ the new caretaker of the royal pets and Harry is the prince with a gentle heart and countless felines.

Close Enough To Touch by @louandhazaf

There had been chart topping singles and sold out arenas when Louis Tomlinson was one fifth of the world's most successful boyband.

Embarking on his first solo tour was stressful enough without his closest friends encouraging him to push even further outside of his comfort zone. Louis definitely did not need a masseuse on tour. Not even if that masseuse turned out to be gorgeous, kind, and lovely. It was the last thing Louis thought he needed.

He was wrong.

Fangs Yells by @larrieblr

Louis can never remember that he’s invisible in mirrors.

Without the ability to assess his appearance, Louis instead uses the judgment of his two-thousand years on this world to style his hair, palms carefully perfecting the frizzy mullet the band had decided on as their signature look. A stick of kohl rolls around on the counter; he stops it with a knuckle, then draws two strong black lines on his eyelids. A leather vest hugs his shoulders, and a Gibson Les Paul accompanies him to the stage of the castle they’ve seized as their regular performance venue.

Or, a vampire rock band au.

Just Enough by @neondiamond

Harry and Louis meet up in Venice.

If Only You Know How Bad I Want This Scandal by @fallinglikethis

Louis sees a late night ad for a phone sex line and thinks he'd like to get off to the puppy eyed lad staring out at him. Fate has other plans.

You'll Be My Resolution by @harryventura

Louis liked reading best because he saw these characters as just people with their lives taken out of their own hands. Their world came from the mind of someone else, and Louis wished he had that privilege. He wished that his problems existed because someone else gave them to him and so could just as easily take them away. But he didn’t believe in any kind of higher power. The only thing controlling him was fear, and ultimately that was all on him.

Louis is severely agoraphobic and Harry is the phone sex operator who gives him that little bit of sanity.

Puppy Love by @neondiamond

Louis is a dog trainer and Liam just got a puppy for the first time. Dogs are sometimes smarter than one might think.

Here Take My Sweater by @tommokat

“Just with me for my foot rubs and my sweaters, huh?”

“You got it!”

~

Nesting ft. The Green Sweater

wanna die, wanna die, wanna die tonight by @mercutionotromeo

Wherein Louis is a phone sex operator who would much rather listen to his pretty curly-haired neighbor get off through the wall than do his job.

honey, baby by @grimmpitch

“Here,” Louis breathes when the waiter steps away, holding his jacket up like a peace offering. “I know it’s kind of wet,” he winces; it’s more than a little wet, “but it’ll warm you up a bit.”

The corner of the shop they’re crammed cosily into is just beside the newly turned on heaters, but it’s still too chilly to warm up naturally cold omega bodies quickly enough. Louis gets a tiny smile in answer and dainty hands plucking the jacket to slip it on, the anxious scent of citrus melting slowly as they rub sweater paws on their flushed cheeks and exhale a light breath.

The Refferal by @disgruntledkittenface

Louis has noticed that since he turned fifty, his sex drive has started to slow down. Unfortunately, that’s not the case for his younger boyfriend Harry. A problem solver by nature, Louis wants to do something special for Harry, to show him how much he appreciates him even after ten years together. When he suggests getting a referral for a sex worker to give Harry what he hasn’t been lately, it doesn’t take long for Harry to agree.

And then they meet Tom.

Grape Juice Blues by @tommokat

“Daddy? Daddy, how much longer?”

Louis spares a glance off the road, frowning when he finds Harry squirming in his seat. “Honeybunch, this is why I said to chill on the juice.”

“I did!” Harry protests. “I stopped when you said that! But I drank too much already and now I really have to potty!”

Just The Start by @littleroverlouis

Louis is a fifty-two year old divorcé who has fallen into rut. He never anticipated a forced day of self care, and a chance meeting with a charming salon owner would shake him out of his comfort zone.

To Voice My Love by @larrysballetslippers

“It’s nothing” It came out too high, his body betrayed him again. Harry sighed when Andrew’s frowny face got even worse. “Okay, I had a umm question.”

“Spill it, Styles.” Andrew said in a stern voice, he could easily dominate Harry if he wanted to. Andrew was a switch, but he never tried to do anything to Harry, maybe Louis didn’t let him. Harry wouldn’t mind being tied up and bossed around by him.

“I… umm.” Harry started blushing. “How do you like, make Louis tick?”

Or, Harry wants to be spanked but doesn’t know how to tell Louis, so he asks his other boyfriend, Andrew, for help.

[ingek73]

In Buckingham Palace and outside it, we know what it means when people ask ‘where are you from’

Kohinoor Sahota

When Susan Hussey asked that of a black British charity boss, she echoed the words of many who alienate people of colour

Wed 30 Nov 2022 18.22 GMT

Follow Kohinoor Sahota

Charity leader Ngozi Fulani, centre left, at Buckingham Palace

“Where are you from?” is a question that every person in my family has been asked, from my parents in the 1960s to my little nephew, crying on his way back from school. I’ve faced the question from schoolteachers who want to know if I speak English, dates trying to exoticise me – and a manager who laughed afterwards, knowing he should not have asked.

“Where are you really from?” is the follow-up, if you don’t give someone what they want. While the question can come from a place of curiosity, it is hard to ignore the sinister undertones, especially when it’s repeated.

So, when I read that Ngozi Fulani, the head of a domestic abuse charity, was questioned where she was from while in Buckingham Palace, I wasn’t surprised. What did surprise me, however, is how it has become headline news and a sackable offence, as the honorary member of the royal household who asked the question has since apologised and resigned. Dear, oh dear.

Fulani’s story is every person of colour’s story. I wish I could say it’s unique. I wish I could say that nobody else has been asked such a thing. But that isn’t the case; if it seems unique it is simply because not all of the people of colour get the chance to tell their story. I have had my own day out at Buckingham Palace, and found it similarly unwelcoming.

The grandest invitation I ever received as a journalist was to attend an exhibition at the palace. It arrived in a small cream envelope, with my name – spelt correctly – in calligraphy.

Regardless of whether you’re a kid from a council estate like me, or a prime minister going to a weekly audience with the monarch, I imagine that everyone feels some sense of wonderment when they drive up the Mall. Fulani probably felt the same. In the palace, your eyes widen as you are blinded by the bling – there’s lots to take in, after all – with the sky-high ceiling, crystal chandeliers and that balcony.

‘In the palace, your eyes widen as you are blinded by the bling.’ Camilla, the Queen Consort gives a speech at Buckingham Palace. Photograph: Kirsty O’Connor/AFP/Getty Images

The crowd was all establishment figures in Savile Row-worthy suits and designer dresses: Tory politicians, mid-level royals, a David Attenborough here (talking in that wisdom-filled staccato tone), and a David Starkey there. There’s feeling out of place, but then, sure, there is this. Almost any person would feel some discomfort, but when you also realise that every single person in the room is oh-so white, darling, it’s one of the most uncomfortable feelings in the world.

There were jokes about the “exotic” art in reference to the Asian pieces. Someone recognised one of their aristocratic ancestors in a portrait on display as if that were ordinary – it consolidated how somebody like me could never belong in the establishment.

The only person I saw all night that looked like me – aside from a glimpse of Patricia Scotland – was a single Asian man. We locked eyes and smiled at each other. I’m sure if we’d have spoken I’d have had more in common with him than anyone else at the party. But he was a waiter, and I was a guest. In that moment, you are reminded that it’s merely by an accident of birth – or, more accurately, the aftereffects of colonialism – that you’re on one side and they’re on the other.

It all reminded me of the pervasive feeling of not belonging. That is why “where are you from” is such a politically loaded question. The answer should be simple, but it is a way for people – white people – to rank you on the social ladder. I know what I am actually being asked: why is the colour of your skin different? Why are you brown? Why aren’t you white? Why are you here? Should you be here?

Since I am brown-skinned and Indian, time and time again I have to prove my Britishness. When people ask me where I’m from, saying “Oxford” never meets their expectations. I’ve had enough. If I don’t call out the question, I allow the problem to persist; if I do call out the question, I make white people uncomfortable.

The thing is, I’ve assimilated into their version of Britain, so it’s time for them to assimilate into mine and the “minority” version – a multicultural, truly British society. The face of Britain is changing. Whether you like it or not, there are more and more people who look like me. The British story is a multicultural story. Whether it’s Labour MP Robin Cook hailing curry as the national dish, the most diverse team making up the England football squad, and now the first British prime minister of colour being of Indian descent – we are part of the fabric of Britain.

But who gets the privilege of being labelled British has always been a controversial subject. Ever since Britain began its overseas expansion, people of colour have been made to feel like guests in our own home as well as our new home – welcomed with one hand and scolded with the other.

Working-class people of colour are unlikely to stumble upon people that share their melanin, let alone long-lost relatives on the walls of galleries, museums or Buckingham bloody Palace. So, let’s make everyone feel welcome.

It’s time to start asking new questions.

Kohinoor Sahota is an arts and culture journalist. She is working on a book titled Where Are You Really From?

[imtalkin]

My Madison story 🤍

I decided to tell you guys this one next because we are just a day or two away from my one year anniversary of the first time I ever listened to Madison - March 29th, 2022! 🤍

Okay so most of the people I follow on twitter are stan accounts for different artists. At the time it was mostly Taylor and a lot of Ariana as well! It seemed like so many people kept listing Life Support when recommending albums to listen to. I hadn’t heard of it and I didn’t know who Madison was but through a couple months of seeing her / the album’s name so much I decided to check her out on Spotify. The first song I actually listened to was Reckless so not a Life Support song haha. I fell in love with it right away though! Immediately after that I listened to Life Support. Then I listened to it again. And I listened to it again… 😅 Basically I haven’t stopped listening to it! I’ve listened to everything she ever put out on Spotify and I love it all so much.

I really love listening to it while driving. Ryan and I went to Alaska last August and I played the album for him while we drove through the mountains. He knew Madison from singing in KDA 🏔 Dangerous actually released while we were there! I remember listening to it while I was trying to see if I could see the northern lights (I never did 💔).

Although I’m new to being a Madison fan, I really love what I know about her so far! I’ve watched as many interviews of her that I can because idk I like to get to know the artist and not just the music. I think it’s really cool that she’s bisexual because I feel like I’m not a fan of that many celebrities that are bi! It’s just cool to have that connection. Also, we’re both from Long Island 🤍 I can’t wait to know more about her as the years go on. I wish I had been a fan sooner but I’m glad I’m here now! I pre-ordered her memoir and I’m getting to see her on her book tour next month! I can’t wait for her next album and I really hope to see her if she tours. This is one of my more simple fan stories but it’s a cute one anyway! 🤍🎻

[stfucal]

In 2022, I began the year at about 198 pounds. As of January 1, 2023, I was 154.4 pounds. I did lose those 40 pounds in 100 days, as I joined a 100 day challenge with my mother and her friends. My mother convinced me by telling me it would not encourage ED behavior, yet I won $1200 by refusing to eat. as of yesterday, I got below 150 pounds, and I looked back on my last year, and noticed my facial shape change. None of my rings fit me anymore. I am currently wearing a shirt that used to be tight on me, but is now a pajama shirt due to how large is on me. I wonder why I am at about 150 pounds, yet I feel smaller than I was at 120 pounds. I remember being young and getting addicted to losing weight, as we all did, and thinking that 127 was too large. What I don’t remember, is what I actually looked like. I have no photos of my body or anything other than my collar bones or hands, or just a simple selfie of my face at that age, and I wonder if I looked emaciated. I don’t want to have looked emaciated, but I wonder if one day I will look back on this time in my life and think I was the same as always. I was never officially diagnosed with body dysmorphia, but I don’t believe I have to be in order to understand that I have no idea what I look like. It is the one thing I will allow myself to be self diagnosed with, because I genuinely don’t know the difference between what I looked like at 120 pounds vs. 198 pounds. All I know is that I’ve begun to get that familiar rush of endorphins when I forget to eat. I’ve had multiple father figures in my life tell me that they’ve noticed how small I’m getting, and I think often about what my best friend looks like. I worry about her, and I think about what it felt like to hug her last, and how I was worried that I would hug her so tightly that she would disappear. How is it not OK for her, but it’s encouraged in my own mind for myself? I do not want to become the monster I was when I was counting calories and counting food and counting steps. however, there’s something so addictive about trying to one-up yourself continuously. It’s making the same drive every day and trying to beat your time by one minute. Maybe today I will get there at 12:42 as opposed to 12:45. Going 75 down a 60 mph road is fine, as long as I win. I just have to win.

I wish I could formulate these into scenes and create art with what I am speaking right now. Instead, I am just getting drunk off of three beers because I haven’t eaten anything except for a coffee, a piece of a cookie, and a couple of potato chips. See what I mean? Even when I am not doing it on purpose, I count exactly every single thing that I eat. Will I ever get better? I don’t want to worry about what I’m putting into my body every single second of every single day, if I’m going to die anyway. all I think about is my mortality and my age, and the fact that every person I love will die, and a lot sooner than I think it will happen. Yet, somehow, I focus on my physical form, and use a vape because I need something in my mouth. I perpetuate the idea that vaping is OK, while the ringing in my ears daily is really the bad thing that probably will kill me. how can someone be a hypochondriac while also doing what feels good in the moment? It’s as if I hear young me telling me that nothing matters, and that I’m going to die anyway, so I might as well do the things I enjoy while I can, but also having adult me understand that I am doing a job that drains me, because I’ve never been offered something better. And what if I get nothing better? What if my art isn’t good, and I am just like every single other white girl, very basic and talking about my daddy issues that don’t matter. What if I quit the best job I’ll ever have, because I want something more, and I never get that more? What if everyone I love is better than me. I don’t want to compete, and I’m not competing, but I want to at least be in the race. I want to be involved with everyone I love, and I want to also be an artist, and I want to also feel the things that they feel. I feel like I am a robot, waking up too late, rushing through a shower, going to work, coming home, late, and then going to bed. What do I do to make myself feel anything? Cry on the way to pick up a child, so that they can see their fucked up parents? Is that who I am? Is that all that I am, just a chauffeur for a child to get traumatized?

I wish I could control other people, and not in a God sense, but in a savior sense. I’m not naïve enough to think that I could save the world, but if I could save this one woman from getting murdered this one long weekend, maybe it would be worth it. She’s a wonderful mother, and I genuinely believe that she could have her child back very soon, if the father was not in the picture. Is that my own trauma coming through? Possibly, but I genuinely believe that my life would have been better with no father figures in it at all. I still would have had daddy issues, but they would be ABANDONMENT daddy issues. I am lucky enough to get all different types of fatherless trauma: one from a dad who abused/neglected me, and then later abandoned me; one from a father who lingered my whole life and refuses to let me go, as I am pretty much, the whole reason he’s alive. He refuses to listen to me speak, and only wants to speak of his suicide attempt (which was definitely reaching for attention), even though I have made it clear that a was pretty traumatized by that experience. He continues to ask me for money, and tell me that my mother is a bitch for not accepting his mental illness (the same exact illness that I have) as a disability. How is it OK for me to work two jobs in order to pay for his TV and booze habit, but he is unable to work because “being bipolar is hard”. Every day I wake up with my brain deciding for me, how well my day is going to go. it always has to go well enough that my father will get what he wants out of me. Sometimes I think that he stayed with my mother for so long and he is unaware of how to find another young woman to pay his bills, so he went to me as the next youngest woman he knew. He knows I am my mothers child, and that I will pay the bills and get the job done, and he knows that I will overwork myself to death. Because of this, he knows that he can come to me for money, and he uses the words and terminology that he knows will get him what he wants.

All I am is a servant for everyone I care about. I was created in my mothers womb as an excuse for her to leave my father, and every day since then has been about what I can give other people. if I ever have the audacity to bring up my own thoughts and emotions, I am called selfish and rude and needy.

No one has ever loved me as much as I love them. 

[justjerry]

Remembering Robin Williams Today

12/15/2022 

Missing Robin a lot today. Went down a worm hole, and just venting. I just gotta say... I still see so many comments online, stories, people's responses to Robin's passing; and a lot of them include comments referring to straight depression. Or statements insinuating that Robin took his life solely because he was depressed and apathetic. Comments like: "He was not perfect and he had his demons but he made this world so much better with him in it." or "It sucks to see one of the greatest hate his life, and want to end it" or even "I still can't believe he killed himself." But it's not that simple, and that is not what happened. It drives me crazy that, after all these years, after released information, and specials coming out about him (by his wife), explaining the dementia and disease Robin had - Lewy Body Dementia -- that after all that, people are still in the dark. People still refer to him by discussing the importance of getting help with depression. As if that was the issue, end of story....when it's not. Even after this huge announcement to the world, this explanation, some people still just don't know. I think it's because they don't understand, or maybe they just want to make it easer on themselves and categorize it as they see fit. Who knows. The disease consumes: increasing anxiety, causing sporadic behavior, causing uncontrollable body movements, sporadic thoughts, and causing delusions that have never been present in someone, and much much more. It's complex and horrible. *I'm not claiming to know what happened to him - end game. Facts are: he was privately in his home other than his wife, when this happened. So no one truly knows, no one could ever, but I'll take his Wife's word on it. Please, if you still haven't watched "Robin's Wish" - watch it. its on peacock. its very informative. Or, continue celebrating him and watch 'Come Inside My Mind' on HBO. I think, he used more parts of his brain and used his brain more often, and for longer periods, than the rest of the world. He was able to say things and perform in such a unique way, and construct jokes and thoughts instantaneously that were on a different level, and work magic. This is a gift, a part of the brain most don't access. And I think, consequently, that he over used it after a while. He used this talent for us, for everyone, for happiness. He was always selfless. He left us, but he gave use more than he could've ever truly known. I will say this: it is so nice to see the amount of love for Robin. To this day, you say his name, and almost always, instant appreciation. He helped a lot of people and did a lot for so many. Some may think it's weird when I post about Robin, or the extent of my admiration for him is weird. But what does weird mean?!  Who cares. I don't think I'm special or different in the way of admiring Robin, I never even met him; I know millions, billions, adore him. I am just one of the many, and I am an emotional person. We all watched his movies, his stand up, his performances, incessantly for years. Some of us while we grew from adolescence to adulthood, and allowed it to form us. i just miss his energy. I wish I saw him live. I wish I saw him on Broadway, I wish he was still with us, creating. Talk about GOATS. Here's a a segment from 60 minutes Australia on it as well for those who have shorter attention spans haha. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lBsEiZX5w8U

[ariminiria]

I posted 9,486 times in 2022

That's 2,704 more posts than 2021!

476 posts created (5%)

9,010 posts reblogged (95%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@schrodingers-blursed-kitty

@timetravelingshark

@yu-gi-oh-slavia

@thisbibliomaniac

I tagged 1,792 of my posts in 2022

#hollywood hate - 106 posts

#iswm - 83 posts

#iswm spoilers - 80 posts

#lotr posting - 71 posts

#anti rings of power - 63 posts

#iswm 2 spoilers - 38 posts

#markiplier - 14 posts

#cast it into the fire - 13 posts

#it's morbin time - 13 posts

#anti taika waititi - 12 posts

Longest Tag: 135 characters

#its so hardcore live youre just sitting there like 👁👄👁 bc scrooge is witnessing the whole thing and at first he thinks they love him

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

I think we should do a GamerStonks move and hype up Webkinz nostalgia so hard that it becomes a solid enough investment for them to start manufacturing the plushies again

158 notes - Posted September 28, 2022

#4

Regarding the “just watch Rings of Power as fanfic!!!” - it drives me crazy. Do people not realize how fanfics work anymore? If you don’t like a fanfic, you close it and open another one, since everyone can make their own and there are probably a few thousand more around.

With Rings of Power - those are the people who own Tolkien’s Intellectual Property for the foreseeable future. RoP is the ONLY thing we get right now, there are no alternatives.

So no, it’s not as simple as “just enjoy it as a fanfic!”

That's also like... no. Hollywood is not allowed to make fanfic. Not like this. It would be one thing if they had come out of the gate saying they're going to do a vaguely Tolkien adaptation or spinoff. The whole "fanon" angle would've worked if they'd written an original story that didn't clash with canon, like taking a look into the Haradrim, for example.

But they keep claiming that what they're doing is SO true to Tolkien its EXACTLY accurate and if you don't like it YOU clearly haven't read the books. But also, we're writing the novel Tolkien never wrote because we secretly hate him and think we can do it better.

It can't possibly be fanfiction because none of the people involved are actually fans, and it's painfully obvious.

200 notes - Posted October 6, 2022

#3

1,143 notes - Posted June 19, 2022

#2

I wish Mythbusters would do a special comeback season just to bust all the nonsense TikTok has brought into the world

28,400 notes - Posted May 22, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

remember to do your part by giving Amazon's Rings of Power show the Morbius treatment

47,816 notes - Posted July 23, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[megameryl]

Were you "Bigger Than the Whole Sky?"

Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye...you were bigger than the whole sky. You were more than just a short time. And I've got a lot to pine about, I've got a lot to live without.

On December 25th, 2022, she received a simple text message from somebody that she hadn't seen in a couple of years, who (at one point) she would see every day: "Merry Christmas!" Should she respond? Perhaps just wish a happy holiday back, and leave it at that?

She decides to ask how they're doing, what's new. As they text back and forth for a little while, she marvels at how- despite the time gaps- they always seem to pickup right where they left off. Like nothing had ever transpired in their friendship or in the world. As if she were still in college (it's been a decade now), and they were still her beloved professor.

But the saddest part is that things have changed. She finds out that they've moved to Bethlehem (how fitting for today) with their family, and that there's a decent chance that she may not ever see them again. And still fresh in her mind, is how after the 2016 election and the pandemic, they seemed to go off the deep end a bit. Casually talking about a seemingly-impending apocalypse and cancel culture, their political beliefs straying more and more away from those of the friendship circles she had been building in her field. What if they knew about this soft spot in her heart for "the enemy?"

The situation drives home, for her, how terrible the American divide has become. Nevertheless...there's one thing that she cannot deny. This person, this mentor- helped with getting her through one of the toughest times in her life. They supported her in a way that few others could have, at that time. Their guidance was instrumental in her recovery, and in her ultimate ability to find out who she truly was...and be satisfied with it.

Can she be forever grateful for that? Simultaneously, does she need to keep them at a tender distance from the life she has now? I don't know the answer. Neither does she...