#but this was so challenging to write for some reason

[imsiriuslyreading]

being a POC in the Marauders/HP fandom is really interesting to me because it seems and feels like a really predominantly white space, which, hey, nothing new! and that does come with some challenges. for the most part, they're fairly under the radar.

it's things like being able to count the POC in a discord server on one hand, even though there's 100+ people in the community.

it's people not taking into account racial dynamics whether that be in a fic, or in a tiktok, tumblr, whatever. there are innate power imbalances in our society (regardless of what country you live in) and to assume because this fandom is a largely open, liberal and leftist space, that they don't carry over to fandom, is exceptionally naive. buuuuut, we live and learn, so people can and should be given a certain amount of grace. but what is unforgivable is to have them pointed out to you and for you to dismiss, ignore or belittle them. Not only that, but you as a white person, do not get to be the forgiving voice to another white person when they make one of these mistakes. please please please respect and understand that.

there's also (and i'm sorry if this is controversial and frankly it makes me really nervous to even write this), a trend of assigning ethnicities, cultures and races to characters in stories without having a proper understanding of them, or having a particular reason for doing so. I'm never going to sit here and say "you as a white person shouldn't write about ____ race!", because I don't believe that. but what I would really, really love to see, is for white creators and writers to ask themselves some questions beforehand:

what does the race of this character add to the story outside of me chasing clout with a particular group of people/is it necessary for me to be writing the lived experience of a culture/ethnicity I've never taken the time to learn about?

if so, why?

am i the right person to be doing this?

are my actions outside of my writing towards these POC reflective of this?

i also think it's really important to remember that unconscious bias is a thing, and it's really easy for us to spot in your writing if it isn't something you've addressed. Not only that, but even if you write the most well-researched POC in your fic, even if you're sharing posts about Lebanon and Palestine, none of that matters if your actions when interacting with us show us that you are indifferent to the power dynamics at play with you being a white person, often with a large audience, in this space. virtue signalling is spectacularly unhelpful if you're writing checks your ass can't cash.

that being said, I think throwing 'racist' around as a term at people who make mistakes is really unhelpful. because every situation has context and nuance, and dogpiling never helps anybody. there are opportunities for learning, developing and understanding here. but please remember, if a POC tells you something is upsetting, harmful or offensive - even if other POC haven't said that to you - it's not your place as a white person to dismiss that.

anyway, hope that helps, love u very much xo

[dreamerwriternstargazer]

Something I like to note in my interaction with media is always “am I taking this as education, or inspiration?”

And that’s the important difference I believe.

If your worldview was opened and inspired by AT:LA, if you (assuming you’re a very privileged, sheltered adult I guess) learnt about say revolutions and genocide and imperialism and so on and so forth for the first time from AT;LA and it inspired you to read more articles and more reliable sources of media to gain a proper perspective, grounded in reality? That’s actually pretty great

If you refuse to interact with political content beyond a child’s show, beyond the very simplified representation of censorship in Ba Sing Se, beyond Zuko’s redemption arc/efforts in recovering from abuse, beyond the wipeout of the Airbenders and their culture, then we have a problem

Stories… are fiction, but they can teach a little, not a lot, a kernel of truth, and that is enough to serve their true purpose of inspiration.

Yes there’s such incredible skill in these stories, in Suzanne Collins’ biting and fiery allegory for the Hollywood machine (and reflection of the extremely corrupt class system + political empire of the US), in Princess Mononoke’s sincere heartfelt plea for environmentalism and balance between nature and humanity

But they are not the be all and end all. Miyazaki did not write Howl’s Moving Castle to teach you to lock yourselves out of the wider political environment around you, to passively call for pacifism as bombs are dropped by those you know, nor was it written to encourage you to condemn every leader or war started. It was written to present his perspective and personal anger over the Iraq War, writing a film he “felt would be poorly received in the US” (Wikipedia) Yes the story it’s telling you of pacifism and integrity is important, but as inspiration, it will not and should not be your guide to war. What is important here is what it could lead you to read, hell if you were as enchanted and interested as I was by this movie then it could lead you right back to the context, the reason for it being written. This could then lead you to researching the Iraq war, to learning why Miyazaki felt strongly, to look at further criticisms against the Bush administration.

That’s what it did for me. I didn’t know anything about American politics, but while studying the story for some other reasons (Heroine’s Journey related of course) I noticed why pacifism was an important theme. It wasn’t enough to get me interested, American politics weren’t necessarily linked to me (or at least that’s the default I submitted to thinking) but it opened my mind a bit. Okay huh that’s interesting, keep a note on that

It’s a note that then got added to when I read several Tumblr posts on issues with the Bush administration, then others on America and its founding. It got added to further when I learnt about Israel and Palestine, and then given some emotional, moral context as I learnt of Israel and Palestine and the atrocities occurring there and how many were likening it to what America did in Iraq and Afghanistan (since I really was too young to remember or think critically over them when they were going on)

There’s still so much I don’t know, I’m so young and even younger in my political knowledge.

What’s important is that as I grow the sources of information grow with me. Stories are important for so much, they are empowering and cathartic, a way to challenge you and inspire you, they are an expression, a call to arms, a hug around your shoulders on cold rainy days, but you cannot and should not live on a diet of fairytales and fantasies.

only reading ya or only watching kids shows is tremendously destructive to your ability to create or understand fiction (as any extremely narrow fiction intake is) but also ultimately that is not a super important skill in life or indicative of any deficiency of character

[ickyrafe]

i fuckin love Rafe’s complex about ward. Like in season 2 when he starts wearing ward’s clothes and rings - he’s so pathetic oh my god. He’ll do anything to feel like the man of the house. I think this ties in w a lot of your au’s. Like old-fashioned misogynistic Rafe (housewife kink loud and proud) bc he just uses reader to feel like some alpha male 💀

i think you touched on it before about him fucking reader in ward’s bed - can you elaborate or write a drabble perhaps on how else this complex affects his (could be an any rafe from an au of your choice) relationship with (again- any) reader? I think it’s so twisted and sexy at the same time.

love your work!

-sadie

♥︎_♥︎ his complex with ward & how it effects housewife!reader specifically is speaking to me… cw -> noncon themes, unhingedabuser!rafe, housewife / marriage kink.

it starts with him sending you a glance as you sit at his family’s dining room table. one that you meet with a knowing look, just before he clears his throat and excuses himself, challenging you to come find him like the attentive wife everyone knows you are. and of course you do, ward sending you a warm smile and cracking a joke about rafe’s temper that makes your own smile falter, already feeling his fingers around your throat just from the implication.

when you tiptoe up the staircase, you see the door to the master bedroom— ward and rose’s room, formerly ward and rafe’s mother’s room long ago— cracked open, rafe clearly pacing about. footsteps muffled by the century old rug beneath his feet as your own are light and calculated, voice airy as you approach him and place a hand on the tense muscles of his upper back.

“rafe, are you okay?”

“yeah, everything’s fuckin’ great,” he sniffles, words bitter as the roll off of his tongue, “he thinks i’m a fuckin’ joke— he thinks that we’re a joke.”

“what are you talking about?”

the way you ask must make something in rafe snap. you’re shoved down onto the crisp duvet, tummy down as your protests are completely ignored and your dress is hitched up around your hips.

“rafe, we can’t here.” your words come out in hushed cries as you try your best to reason with him, but also not wanting to alarm anyone of what’s happening by any means.

“just— shut the fuck up f’r a second.” he snarls, yanking your panties down your twitching thighs before the same hand he used trails up your back, holding you down by the scruff of your neck. “you shouldn’t be fightin’ me off like that— i put that pretty ring on your finger to use you how i want to, brat.”

the sound of his belt being undone makes your heart sink, while your face his pressed up against bedding that smells like his father— yet rafe’s own scent lingers, too. it’s something you recognize, something that makes you dizzy before he even spits on your cunt and stuffs you full of his cock. you keen, still fighting to get up despite the way you’re pinned down but it’s mostly because you want to see rafe’s face. you want to feel him deeper as he folds you in half, you want to be his good little wife…

but it’s not something you can afford at the moment it seems.

not when he’s baring his teeth and knocking the air out of your lungs with each of his thrusts, forcing you to muffle your hiccups with the plush surface underneath you as he bruises your cervix. the feel and god— the sound— of his hips smacking agaisnt the plush curve of your ass makes your face heat up until you’re burning from the inside out with embarrassment.

“i’m more of a fuckin’ man than he’ll ever be,” you hear him grit out through his teeth, as if he’s trying to prove it to himself rather than you, “isn’t that right, baby?”

you babble out in agreement, nodding the best you can despite feeling utterly fucked out already as he leans over you, caging you in with his bigger form and strong arms.

rafe’s the man of the house in your world, and that’s all that matters to either of you.

[italiangirlcoresblog]

main masterlist \\ f1 masterlist

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... 𝐢'𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮

✩ : as the 2024 season comes to an end, so does the time you have left to finally confess your feelings to carlos

𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐭. : carlos sainz

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 : pure A N G S T

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 1,7k

✍︎ : i'm SO SORRY it took me this long to write, but i was literally swamped with school work and i had no time to do anything. anyway, i hope you like it because i put my soul and tears into it (i'll probably write some cute christmas themed one-shots to recover from this, don't worry 🙃).

enjoy! 🩷❤️

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Wrong.

If you had to use any word to describe the situation you found yourself in, it would’ve been wrong.

Everything felt out of place: the laughs, the chattering, even the clinking of champagne glasses. It was all too loud, almost as if everyone was trying to fill the void that loomed in the air.

Though, now that you thought about it, ‘fake’ actually fit the scene better. To your ears, the jokes that rang across the motorhome were nothing but a lame attempt to lighten up the mood, every word sounding empty and meaningless. Each one of the persons crowding the room were just actors playing their part in a show they’d been rehearsing for months, and between them stood the main character, the best liar of them all.

Carlos had been smiling the entire night, going along with the setup for some reason that your brain really couldn’t seem to grasp. What was the point of celebrating his departure, even worse when the people he was hugging with such warmth were the same ones who’d dropped him from the team to replace him?

As for you, you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him: every time you did, you caught the flicker of hurt hiding behind the forced grin he'd carefully plastered on his face, the sight making you feel sick to your stomach.

To be honest, you didn’t try to approach him at all, the mere thought of confronting him keeping you away. What was the point, anyway? He was leaving Ferrari, and nothing you might say or do could ever change that.

You hated it. You hated that you had to stand there and watch him leave, you hated the team for making him, you hated yourself and how powerless you felt, you hated Carlos… especially the way you didn’t hate him at all.

It wasn’t something you’d planned: it just happened. Somewhere between the race debriefs, the jokes, and even the fights, you’d inevitably fell for him. What a shame you were only realizing it now.

You avoided him all night, slipping into the shadows every time he came too close or tried to approach you, ignoring the pang of guilt that hit you when you saw the half-smile he flashed falter. His eyes were questioning, almost pleading, burning holes right through you as you turned your back to him once again. You told yourself that was the only way you could survive the “party”… or so you thought.

You knew it was coming, and yet when the lights dimmed and your teammates’ voices lowered to whispers your heart dropped to your stomach, all the noise from before replaced by a piercing ringing in your ears.

The video.

The wide screen suddenly lit up, its brightness almost blinding in the dark room, the clips playing out on it in quick flashes: Carlos’ first podiums, his maiden victory with Ferrari, the celebrations with the team and the Tifosi, the challenges with Charles… each one of them was a dagger to the chest which twisted in a wound that had been bleeding for months now.

The motorhome had fallen silent, the stillness interrupted from time to time by a choked laugh or a quiet sniffle that echoed like gunshots. You kept your gaze fixed on the floor, unable to look at the taped moments without your sight getting blurry, forcing yourself not to let it wander over the faces that surrounded you—until you eventually did, and that was the worst mistake of your life.

Carlos’ eyes were glistening under the violent screen lighting, puffy and bloodshot from the tears he’d clearly already shed, which stained his cheeks and slightly parted mouth.

The walls started closing in on you, your breath coming out in shallow gasps as you felt a lump tightening your throat, panic rising in your chest. You couldn’t see him like that.

You should’ve stayed. For him. You should’ve been close and hugged him, like everyone else was doing now that the video had ended, but you couldn’t.

So you ran like a coward.

You stumbled back, bumping into people that you didn’t really see, mumbling weak ‘Sorry’ in their direction, until a hand on your shoulder stopped you in your tracks.

“Where are you going?” He put it as a question, but the concern in his tone made it sound more like a warning, almost as if he already knew the answer.

“Let me go. Please,” you breathed out, the words painfully scratching your throat as you let them out. He didn’t budge. “Charles–”

“No, listen to me,” he said firmly, his hold tightening slightly more to prevent you from getting away. “He needs us. All of us.” He searched your eyes with his, a quiet request in them: we have to be strong for him.

“He doesn’t need me. Not like this,” you muttered, shame washing over you as you shrugged his hand off and finally reached the door, rushing outside like your life depended on it.

It was pouring, but you couldn’t care less; in fact, the cool raindrops were soothing against your burning skin, their sound drowning out the thoughts that had been running through your mind relentlessly all night.

You didn’t hear his steps, either.

“Why are you out here?” Carlos’ voice cut through the storm like a knife, and you froze. He’d followed you.

You didn’t turn around. Instead, you swallowed back the tears you hadn’t even noticed had started streaming down your face, mixed with the rain that soaked through your clothes. “Go back inside. Everyone’s waiting for you.”

“I don’t care,” he shot back harshly, maybe more than he intended to, because he quickly added: “Why are you acting like this? Did I do something?”

“No,” you replied flatly, the genuine confusion in his tone making it harder to keep yours steady. “I just needed some air.”

“So what, you just left without saying anything?” He stepped closer, frustration bleeding through his words.

“It’s your party, Carlos, not mine. And it’s not that deep.”

“Not that–do you hear yourself? This ‘party’ is my last one here at Ferrari; we’re supposed to say goodbye.” His voice cracked, followed shortly after by the walls you were struggling to keep up.

“I’m sure there are plenty of people in there who are dying to say–”

“Dios mío, do you even care that I’m leaving?” he spit out, the venom in his words hitting you like a slap right in the face. “Of course I care–” “Then look at me! Please, at least look at me.” He was so close now that you could feel his shaky breaths ruffling your hair, his warmth inches away from you, so familiar and yet so distant.

Slowly, you turned around, your vision blurry as you took in the sight of him: he was completely drenched in rain, the fireproof he was still wearing from the race clinging to his body, his usually perfect hair sticking to his forehead, and he looked so effortlessly handsome it made your heart ache.

“And now?” You let out a bitter laugh that sounded more like a sob. “What do you expect me to say? That I’m happy for you? Because if that’s it, I’m sorry but I’m not. I don’t care if I sound selfish, and if that makes me a horrible teammate then be it, but at least I’m not a fake friend like half of the people in there. So yes, Carlos, I care, I care so much that I couldn’t stay inside and watch you act like you didn’t.” The words had spilled out of your mouth before you could stop them, leaving you breathless once you came to a halt.

Carlos blinked a few times, taken aback by your sudden outburst. Then, what you’d actually said clicked in his mind.

“I don’t care? You’re the one who’s been avoiding me all night–”

“Carlos, stop,” you choked out, tears welling up in your eyes once again at his sharp tone.

“No,” he said, firmly. “Not until you tell me what’s really going on.”

“It’s not that simple, okay?” Your voice cracked as it raised, trying to outshout both the storm that surrounded you and the one raging inside your chest.

“Then make it simple!” He yelled too, but his words sounded like a cry for help. That made you finally snap.

“I love you, Carlos! Is that simple enough for you? Because for me it’s not. It hurts so fucking much knowing that I can’t do anything anymore, that I’m too late, and it’s… easier this way. Distancing myself, I mean. I prefer walking away from you on my own than having you taken away from me.”

Heavy silence stretched between the two of you after your voice trailed off, your words still lingering in the damp air as you just stared at each other for what felt like ages.

“Say something, please.” You were the one begging now, his numbness worse than any sentence you’d heard tonight. “Shout, scream, just–”

He didn’t let you finish, his lips finding yours in a desperate, urgent kiss that tasted like tears and regrets. You poured every ounce of you into it, your hands roaming over each other and pulling you impossibly closer, almost as if you wanted to melt together and become a whole, so that nothing could ever separate you anymore.

When you parted, he pressed his mouth to your forehead, his hands cradling your face like you were the most delicate and precious porcelain doll in the world and he was afraid he might break you; too bad he already had.

“I love you,” he then whispered against your wet skin, before letting his lips fall to your right cheek. “And I’ll miss you…” he pressed a kiss on it, then moved to the other. “… so much,” he left a third one, capturing the single tear that had escaped your eye.

“I’ll miss you, too,” you breathed out, words getting lost in the howling wind.

You stayed like that for a while, wrapped in each other’s arms as the rain soaked you both, washing away the tears that silently strolled down your face, and with them the promise of a future that ended before it even started.

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©italiangirlcoresblog // do not copy, rewrite, or translate any of my work on any platforms

[zepskies]

Merry Christmas Eve Eve!!!!!! 🥳❄️❄️

It's my favorite holiday for sure! And thanks for this little gift you've given me, Wayne. 😘❤️💚

Ooooh, snappy 😆 I've been diving into the books a bit and I do think they still have some tough things to talk out. The show's making it look way too easy lol

Ok more and more you're making me want to dive into the actual books!! It's true, the show really did shoulder through that pretty quickly lol.

But I loved all the kindergarten teasing and bantering between them. Such a fun moment! 🤍

Aw thank you!! 💜💜 I had a lot of fun creating the sibling banter moments between Russell and Colter, whether it was light and teasing or tense and angsty.

Read this fully in Bobby's voice. You totally nailed his cadence too! You're killing it here, Alex!! 👏👏

Omg thank youuu! I watched some episodes over again to try and get Bobby's voice right, even in this small moment. 🥰🥰

Ahaha knew it! Right on time too 😂 He really cares for her a lot after such a short amount of time already 🥹❤️

He really does. 🥹 I really tried my best to show that they do have this connection that's special (and worth not letting go of?), despite only knowing each other for a short time. 💕

You're a hopeless romantic. You wouldn't do this to me, right? Right, Alex???? 😭

They do share similarities 🤣🤣

Lmfaoo right?!! And not just because they're both actually "Justin."

(They could actually be bros, like what? 🤣)

I do love how resourceful he always is 🤓👏

See, that for me was actually the challenge narratively. Writing Colter and his intelligence believably, since of course, I'm not the brilliant author of the actual books. 😅😅 But I hope I faked it well enough in this story! lol

Like the reader, I'm not surprised but was hoping it wouldn't be this bad. Geez, Charlie, you call this getting your shit together? 🙄

Oh, Charlie's a ridiculous hot mess lmaoo. He's not doing himself any favors, even when he tries to "fix it."

Why? No, not the woods!! 😂 (Being lost in a forest is one of my worst nightmares lol)

Ya know, I totally get that. 😂 I don't live near forests, but I'm pretty sure Colter would have to come find my ass after 1 hour alone out there in the wilderness.

Russell's dark side is doing things to me... 🫠🫠

Ooof, why do I love a rugged, dangerous but protective man so much?

Figured something like this happened. I do feel for him, though. It's called addiction for a reason ❤️‍🩹 His argument for stealing was hilarious, however. Like, boo, really? Don't pretend you care about the Native Americans now. I think he knows his sister too well and figured this might work 😂

Oooh yeah. ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹 It's certainly not cut and dry.

Oh, you're totally valid for calling Charlie out like that lmaooo. Even the reader is calling him out on his BS. 😂 The way he tries to get "noble" about those Native American artifacts isn't fooling anybody.

You did it, too!!!! The "I love you" goodbye!! 🤣

Omggg you really caught me! 🤣🤣 What can I say, it's the perfect dramatic moment. 😏

Anything can happen from here, and I so hope you enjoy the rest of the ride down the cliffhanger!! 😘💕

Every Second Counts - Part 3

Pairing: Russell Shaw x F. Reader

Summary: One date with your best friend’s brother leaves you wanting more, even though his questionable job and vagabond lifestyle make you want to guard your heart. When your brother falls into trouble, however, Russell is the one you trust to help you find him. 

AN: *Deep breaths* Are you ready? 😉

Word Count: 4.4K

Tags/Warnings: Angst, protective Russell, perilous situations, violence, character death, and another (literal) cliffhanger…

💜 Series Masterlist

Part 3: "Timer Starts Now"

As he drove away from the museum, Colter could see it even more clearly. 

“You like her,” he said, giving his older brother a smile. 

Russell glanced at him, then rolled his eyes. 

“Focus on the road,” he said. 

“Just admit it. You like her,” Colter smirked. “And the fact that she called you for help isn’t a coincidence.”

Russell made a sound of annoyance and shook his head. At this point, he knew Colter wasn’t going to drop the subject.

“All right, we went out on one date,” Russell held up a finger. “It was fun, but we agreed that I’m just not relationship material.”

Colter sobered at that, at the wry tone of his voice. It sounded like Russell liked you even more than he was willing to admit.

“Do you have a timeline on that brewery?” Colter asked.

Russell chuckled humorlessly. “Yeah, I’m just a few dollars short on that one.”

He stared out the window for a while, but he eventually turned back to his brother.

“She called me because her brother’s a vet. Because I know what it’s like to deal with the assimilation process, coming back to civilian life. Trying to figure out where you belong, you know?” he said.

“You think you’ve assimilated?” Colter asked.

Russell shrugged. “Best I know how, anyway.”

“You can’t really call yourself a civilian though, can you?” Colter pointed out. 

Russell shot him a look. “Yeah well, neither can you, Colt.”

That created a kind of tension in the car. A call from Bobby, Colter’s analyst, mercifully broke the silence. He’d gotten some useful information on Eddie Mendez, the man Charlie was supposedly working with, or for.

“Well, he’s not the most upstanding citizen,” Bobby said. “He’s a cocaine dealer by trade. Other fun items on his rap sheet include illegal gun possession, theft, and domestic violence.”

“All right, thanks, Bobby,” Colter said.

Great, Russell shook his head. Just what had your brother gotten himself into?

They were getting closer to the bar, and it mentally brought him back to his date with you.

Okay, maybe he did like you. But he also respected and understood your reasons for cutting things short that night. Usually, he was okay with being in a new town every other week, the occasional one-night stands, the skeevy motel rooms and the fast food. It was all with a goal in mind, and that made the hustle easier.

He’d started to wonder though, what it would be like to set down roots somewhere. Doug made it work with his wife and still did his contract work, even if there were some major pros and cons to that too…

Russell was only broken out of his thoughts when he got a call himself, from Dory. He answered it and held the phone to his ear.

“Hey, D. What’s up?” he asked.

“Russell, something’s wrong,” she said. Her voice was panicked.

He frowned, his brows furrowing. “What? What happened?”

The more he listened, the more his eyes widened in shock. He looked to his brother.

“Colter, turn around. Now.”

Russell and Colter arrived back at your house, where Dory was parked out front. She came out of the safety of her car when she saw them. Russell got to her first. He laid a hand on her shoulder in the driveway.

“What happened?” he asked. 

She tearfully explained that she found your purse in the bushes, but your phone was missing. She had just picked up your call when it suddenly cut off. 

“But I heard her scream,” Dory said, with a stifled breath.

Russell’s mood darkened in response, and the longer he took in the scene. He looked over at Colter, who also wore a frown. 

The tracker examined your car and driveway first. Already he found signs of struggle. He noticed a couple pieces of dark glass on the pavement, and when he scrutinized his surroundings further, he picked your broken phone out of the grass. The screen was cracked beyond repair.

Next, he climbed the three short steps of the porch, up to the front door of the house. There were marks on the doorknob, likely scratched by a key. He spotted the Ring Camera next.

Good. He took it right off the wall.  

“Do you have her keys there?” he asked his sister. Dory handed them to him and he let himself in. “Let’s see what we’re dealing with.”

The three of them entered your house and found it dark and empty. Colter switched the lights on and got to work, after going back to grab his laptop from the car.

Russell stayed with his sister on the couch, a supportive hand on her back. He tried to shove his anger and upset deeper below the surface.

Meanwhile, Colter had Bobby retrieve the data from the camera. Within a few minutes, he sent Colter a video file, which Colter then played on his laptop. The three of them watched you approach the door.

Someone with a man’s build grabbed you from behind, wearing dark clothes and a mask that obscured his face. You screamed and tried to fight, but the man dragged you away as you struggled.

Russell’s frown deepened as his body tensed with anger again, his jaw ticking as it clenched. And then came the self-loathing.

Rookie fucking move. Should’ve made sure she got home safe, he thought. Better yet, should’ve kept her with me.

Dory covered her trembling mouth and dissolved into tears. Russell tucked her against his side, rubbing her arm. Colter laid a hand on her shoulder as well, but he continued to analyze the footage. He couldn’t make out the attacker’s face with the mask he was wearing, but Colter saw a blue sedan in the background. It peeled off after you were hauled off-screen.  

“Why would they take her? What the hell is Charlie into?” Dory said. She sniffled and wiped at her face.

“To keep her quiet after she started digging into his disappearance, possibly. Or for leverage against him,” Colter said, leveling her with honesty. “Someone doesn’t want us to find Charlie. I’m betting it’s whoever he’s working for.”

He thought it was safer if he didn’t tell his sister exactly who Charlie’s employer was.  

Dory shook her head in worry. “We need to call the police.”

Colter shared a grim look with his brother. He knew Russell understood the score here. 

“If we get the police involved, it’s at least a 50% chance that whoever has her and Charlie…will kill both of them,” Colter said. Dory sucked in a trembling breath. 

“Our best bet is to keep digging,” Colter said.

“Let’s go,” Russell said, nodding at him. He stood, parting from his sister with a hand squeezing her shoulder.

“Where are you going?” Dory asked. She got up to her feet along with her brothers.

“Howley’s. It’s our only lead on Charlie’s employer,” Colter replied. 

“Okay, but wait—” Dory reached out for Russell’s arm. It was a reflex as she tried to wrap her mind around all of this. 

Russell grasped her shoulders gently enough, but he made sure she saw the sense of urgency in his eyes.

“We don’t have time,” he said. “From here on out, every second counts.” 

After a beat, Dory nodded in acceptance. She let go of his jacket. 

“Okay, keep me updated.”

“Will do,” he said, and he swiftly followed Colter out the door.

The brothers drove in silence to the bar. Colter noted his brother’s tension, and the grim set to his jaw. 

“Hey,” Colter said, earning Russell’s attention. Colter gave him a reassuring look. “We’re gonna find her. We’ll find both of them.”

Russell exhaled. “Yeah.”  

Oh, he knew he’d find you eventually, and your brother. He just didn’t want to think about how he might find you.

Once they got back to Howley’s, they started by questioning the bartender about Eddie Mendez. 

“He’s not here. But that’s a couple of his friends over there,” the bartender said. He pointed them in the direction of a couple of guys drinking near the back. Three of them were sitting at a table playing cards. 

Russell recognized two of them. One was the same guy who made the mistake of hassling you by the pool table. He’d gotten a bloody nose for his trouble. Russell smirked at the memory. 

“Pete, make a fucking move already,” said one of the guy’s buddies.

Russell caught it as he and Colter approached them. This time, Pete seemed at least somewhat sober, even with his second beer in hand. Another bottle sat empty beside his arm.

“Hey, fellas,” Russell greeted the table. “Little Blackjack, little booze. Looks like a good night you’re having.”

“Do I know you?” Pete asked. His face showed a spark of recognition when he took in Russell. 

“Well, you’re about to. We’re looking for one of your friends, Eddie,” he replied. 

Pete set his beer down on the table. Predictably, he crossed his arms and closed up.

“I don’t know no Eddie.”

Russell resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

“I realize it’s hard for you, but don’t be dumb. Eddie Mendez,” he pressed. 

Pete glanced at his friends, then he stood from the table, drawing himself to his full height. He was a bit bigger than Russell, but a beer gut wasn’t everything.  

Russell seized up the man in front of him with an almost lazy grin. By contrast, his eyes were sharp, betraying his true thoughts. 

“Now remember. Whatever you start, I’m gonna damn well finish,” he said. 

That sure ignited Pete’s memory. He seemed to be remembering your smaller fist nearly breaking his nose. His face fell with an angry frown. Russell smirked.

Colter laid a warning hand on his brother’s arm.

“We’re not looking for trouble. We’re just trying to find someone Eddie might know. Charlie,” Colter said. “Do you know him?”

“No, I don’t,” Pete claimed.  

“Like you didn’t know Eddie?” Colter replied, raising a brow. “Where can we find him?”

“Now you are looking for trouble,” Pete spat. “Fuck off, Timberlake.”

Just then, Colter’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He took it out and saw a text from Dory, asking for an update. He ignored the message for now and put his phone away.

Hearing a commotion, he quickly looked up in time to realize that Russell had wrangled Pete into a stronghold with his arm behind his back and had slammed him onto the table. Drinks and bottles rattled and spilled; playing cards fell to the floor. Pete’s friends got up with angry, threatening gaits.

“I think you can point us in the right direction before I break this meaty arm of yours. How about that?” Russell said. 

“Hey! No fighting!” the bartender called from the front. “Take that shit outside.”

Colter internally sighed, but he’d have to roll with this, even though this wasn’t how he’d wanted to play it. 

“I wouldn’t test him,” Colter advised. “That’s gonna be a bad break. You got good health insurance, Pete? You’ll probably need surgery, expensive bills, a little physical therapy, a few months of recovery time.”

Pete seemed to weigh Colter’s logic, albeit with an angry huff. He waved off his friends and caught his breath while pinned against the table. 

“I can’t talk to you,” he said. “I’ll get myself killed.”

“I’d worry more about your odds right now, Pete,” Russell said. He tightened his twisted hold on the man’s arm, earning a strangled sound of pain. 

Colter weighed the options here in record time, and he came to a decision. He grasped Russell’s arm firmly.

“Let him go,” he said.  

Russell gave him a look of disbelief. “Colt?”

Colter implored him with his eyes. Trust me.

After a few more seconds, Russell’s lips pursed, but he let the guy go. 

“Ah, fuck,” Pete muttered. After he was able to straighten up, he rubbed his aching arm and shot them both a red-faced glare. 

Colter steered his brother out of the bar before a real fight could break out. He knew it’d become a bloody mess, and they didn’t have time for a night stay in a county jail cell this time.  

“You better have a damn plan,” Russell whispered, as they neared the front doors of the bar.

“You know I do,” Colter replied.

They later sat in his truck while it was still turned off. Just waiting in silence.

A few minutes went by before the back doors of the bar opened to Pete and his gaggle of delinquent friends. As Colter suspected, one of them made a call. It lasted no more than a couple of minutes. Then, they piled into Pete’s car and pulled out of the parking lot.

Colter started up his own car, and he followed them.

You were led into what sounded like a warehouse. You couldn’t know for sure with this musty bag over your head and your wrists bound together with zip ties, but you clenched your teeth and tried to stop sniffling. Your fear made your heart pump fast and loud in your ears.

Voices echoed around you, arguing, yelling about shipments. You were shoved hard to the ground, and you gasped, instinctively throwing your hands out when your knees hit the hard cement. 

“No…” 

That voice was all too familiar. 

The bag was finally ripped off your head, the edge of it catching in your frizzy hair. You blinked wearily at the florescent lights above, and you wiped at your tears and smudged mascara. Your breath left your lungs when you saw your brother, Charlie. 

He was tied to a chair, shirtless and shoeless, beaten and bloody. Some parts of his skin even looked burned. His jeans remained, at least. But his face was hard to look at. His left eye was swollen, his lip split, his cheek cut and bloody. Both his eyes were red-rimmed, and he was sweaty and dirty, as if they’d been keeping him down here like an animal. He looked thinner too.

He stared back at you in dismay, your name falling from his lips.

You tried to scramble over to him, but someone grabbed you by the hair and yanked you back. You cried out in pain.

“Eddie stop! Don’t hurt her!” he shouted. He drew enough strength to pull at his restraints. Your hands reached back on reflex to grasp at the hand holding your hair. 

“No, you did this,” Eddie said. He clicked the safety off his handgun and pointed the barrel at your head, right between the eyes. You gasped and froze where you sat. 

“You couldn’t make it easy, huh? Well now, I’m making it real simple for you,” he continued. “Even more simple, now that we cut out the middleman.”

Eddie gestured to what looked like a woven potato sack laid behind Charlie’s chair, but really, that was just part of it. As your eyes scanned over, you saw the narrow shoulders of a man with a familiar dark blue blazer. It was stained red with a bloody hole carved through the back. Your breath stilled in your lungs.

Eddie glanced over at you, his lips curving. He walked over to the dead body, turned it over with his boot, and dragged off the potato sack to reveal the lifeless blue eyes of Dr. Feinman.

Your eyes widened.

You let out a blood-curdling scream that startled a pigeon out of the warehouse, from where it had been perching on a high support ledge. You leaned back on your bound hands, but you could go no further as one of Eddie’s men grabbed your shoulder, pinning you on the ground. His annoyed face told you to shut the fuck up.

Charlie grimaced and turned his face from the sight of the body. Both shame and hate filled his eyes when Eddie bent down to face him.

“Tell me where you hid the goddamn weapons,” he demanded.

Your lips trembled as new tears brimmed over and streamed down your cheeks. You’d suspected the truth, but it was different from being faced with the reality. Charlie was the one who stole from the museum. He’d likely been doing a lot worse for the past few months. And somehow, Feinman had gotten in between. He’d also paid the price.

Your brother saw your disappointment, and he accepted it. But lacking an answer, Eddie pistol whipped you in the face, earning a pained cry from you as you fell back onto the ground. You had to blink the stars out of your eyes.

After his shock wore off, Charlie’s face hardened with fury.

“Oh, don’t give me that fucking face,” Eddie said. He grabbed you by the back of the neck, startling another sharp breath from you. “If you don’t tell me what I want to know, what I did to you’ll be child’s play, compared to what I’m gonna do to her. And you’re going to watch.”

Against your will, tears filled your eyes while you stared at your brother. You were terrified, and Charlie knew it. He was scared too, but he also knew then what he had to do.

“I buried them,” he admitted. 

“You buried them?” Eddie repeated. He brushed back his dark hair with the same hand that held his gun. “Ain’t that ironic. All right, where did you bury them?”

“In the national forest, less than an hour out,” Charlie replied. “But you won’t find it without me.” 

Eddie shook his head on a sigh. “Of fucking course.”

He gestured to his men waiting nearby. He wordlessly gave them the order to untie your brother. 

“All right, Charlie. Let’s go for a drive,” he said, and gave you a sleazy smile. “You too, sweetheart.”

He hauled you up onto your feet and kept you close to him, with a hand like a vice around your arm. God, you hated a sweethearting man.

You held your breath. You could only pray that Dory had noticed you were missing…and that Russell and Colter could find you before it was too late.

Please…

It was still dark out, but the sky was beginning to lighten when Colter pulled to the side of the road. The car they followed had stopped in front of a warehouse near an industrial downtown area. Colter spotted the blue sedan from the Ring Camera footage. It was parked out front. 

With a shared nod of understanding, Colter and Russell climbed out of the truck and took the time to arm themselves properly before scoping out the warehouse.

“What does a drug cartel want with museum artifacts?” Russell remarked as they were gearing up. “That’s still not adding up for me.”

“It is odd, but maybe the idea came from Charlie,” Colter said. “He had access. Maybe he saw it as a way to buy their trust.”

“Okay, then what went wrong? Why’d they take her?” Russell replied. “I don’t know, man. Something feels off here.”

Colter nodded in agreement. “We don’t have all the pieces yet.”

But they were about to get them. They moved closer to the warehouse, with Russell heading towards a side door and Colter going around the back. They saw a few men crowded around a TV in the corner of the warehouse. Behind them were crates upon crates of what surely was product. Probably tens of thousands worth of coke.

Jesus, Russell thought. It was nothing he hadn’t seen before, but still. This was a serious operation.

Colter caught sight of a lone chair under a bright corner of the room. It was stained with sweat and blood, and some cut ropes hung from the seat. He alerted Russell to the scene with a subtle gesture of his raised gun. Russell’s face turned grim. He nodded minimally, then pointed with his eyes at the group of unsuspecting men. The brothers drew in closer.

Russell fired a shot directly into the TV screen, making it crash onto the ground. The men startled like rats, but they soon faced Russell and Colter’s guns. When one of them reached for the gun tucked in their pants, Colter aimed directly at him.

“I wouldn’t do that,” Colter warned. 

“Where’s Charlie?” Russell demanded. “And his sister.”

He aimed his .45 caliber M1911 at their friend Pete, who had Cheeto stains on his shirt. 

“How about you, Pete. You finally wanna share with the class, before I blow your fucking face off?!” Russell shouted. 

The depths of his voice reverberated widely in the warehouse. It set the tone for things to come, if he didn’t get some cooperation.

Pete shifted on his feet, betraying his nerves. His forehead was starting to sweat too. 

“They’re not here,” he admitted. “They left a while ago.”

Russell flexed his finger over the trigger of his gun. 

“Tell me where,” he said.

Eddie wasn’t exactly an outdoorsy kind of guy. He kicked his boot against a tree while leaning against it.

“Fucking rock in my shoe,” he muttered angrily.

He was getting more and more frustrated with the uneven terrain (and the mosquitos) the longer the five of you trekked onwards: including you, Charlie, Eddie, and two of his men, Rick and Kevin. Both of them had guns trained on your back and Charlie’s. 

“I’m sorry,” Charlie said quietly to you.

You shook your head. Disappointment didn’t even begin to cover what you were feeling as you looked at him, but at least they’d given him a shirt to cover his beaten torso. His face wasn't so lucky.

He righted you when you struggled on the gravel and loose dirt in your ankle boots. Your hands were still tied together too.

“What the hell happened to you?” you asked, as you caught your breath. 

“I needed the money,” he said, though he knew it wasn’t an excuse. “I was his bodyguard.”

“He’s a drug dealer,” you snapped. “What the fuck were you thinking?”

“He was my dealer,” he admitted, though his gaze was heavy. “I’m sorry. I just couldn’t bring myself to tell you, but…a few weeks after I left rehab, I slipped. I never really did quit. Just got better at hiding it.” 

You let out a sharp breath, and tried to blink past your tears. Another disappointment, another heartbreak for the books.

“But when he offered me a job to pay off what I owed, he wanted insurance that I’d stick around. To prove myself,” Charlie explained. “He came up with the idea to rob the museum.”

“Why was Dr. Feinman involved? Did he find out?” you asked.

Charlie nodded with a sigh. “He caught me the first time I tried to steal the artifacts. I…I lied. Told him we planned to sell them. So instead of turning me in, he wanted to be cut into the deal.”

“What? Why?” you said. Your former boss was many things—a stuffy, self-important man chief among them—but you’d never taken him for a thief.

Charlie gave you a wry look. “Owed his second wife up to his eyeballs. Alimony’s a real bitch.”

You shook your head. That explained why Charlie hadn’t yet been a suspect in the theft. Feinman had probably helped cover Charlie’s tracks. But whatever shortcomings Feinman had, he hadn’t deserved to die like that. A shudder went through your body, remembering his lifeless eyes. You breathed out slowly and tried to rid yourself of the nightmarish image. You managed to push past that to ask your next question.

“And who chose the Native American weapons?”

Charlie’s lips pursed. He glanced over his shoulder. “He did. Thought they looked cool.”

Eddie smirked and waved his gun at him, spurring you both onward. Charlie kept walking and turned his attention back to you. 

“The way I figured it, the museum shouldn’t have them anyway.” 

Your lips pursed at that. You sort of saw his point there, however convoluted his justification, but putting those artifacts in the hands of a drug dealer was even worse.

“And this is so much better for them,” you said pointedly. 

“That’s why I couldn’t go through with it. Tried to get out of the whole damn mess,” he said. “I know what you would’ve said to me. And I knew if I ever saw you again, I wouldn’t be able to look you in the eyes.”

Your tears welled up again, when you saw the sincerity of his gaze.

“Okay, this touching little scene is making my balls itch,” Eddie said. He grabbed Charlie’s shoulder and turned him around. “Where the fuck are we going? If you’re trying to pull something smartass here, Charlie, I promise you, you’re gonna regret it.”

He cocked the safety back on his gun and pointed it at Charlie’s chest. Charlie raised slow, placating hands.

“It’s just a little further,” he promised. 

“If you’re giving me the runaround—” Eddie started.

“Then what? Without me, you’ll never find it,” Charlie barked back. 

Eddie’s face tightened, and he pointed the gun at you instead. You sucked in a breath.

Charlie quickly held up his bound hands again in surrender. After a beat of tension, he pointed up when he heard rushing water. 

“Hear that?” he said. “I buried it on a cliff near a waterfall. We’re getting close.”

Another stretch of silence filled the clearing. 

Eddie weighed Charlie’s words. When he was mollified enough, he lowered his gun away from you. At his command, Rick and Kevin kept you and your brother moving. 

Charlie glanced to his right side. He realized that you all were walking near the edge of a steep hill that careened downward. Taking in a breath to center himself, he turned to you.

“I love you, you know that?” he whispered.

Your brows furrowed. You opened your mouth to reply, but you found the look in his eyes suspicious. Like he was saying goodbye. 

That was when he swiftly turned. He snapped the heel of his hand into Kevin's throat and grabbed his gun while he was choking. Charlie shot him in the chest, then he clipped Rick in the shoulder. 

Just as Eddie began to raise his own weapon, Charlie met your look of shock with his own determination. 

He pushed you down the hill.

AN: I know, I know. Two cliffhangers in a row is cruel, but I promise we're getting to even more fun action and cathartic moments in Part 4! 😘

Next Time:

Russell called your name as he searched through the dense trees. Sunlight was beginning to filter through their leaves in dappled color on the trail. It gave him a better view ahead.

He stopped short when he saw a splatter of blood on the ground, painting the dirt and some dead leaves. A well of unease rose in his gut.

He headed toward the sound of running water, and he soon found another cliff. Just beyond it was a waterfall, and river below. Seeing no signs of life, he pulled back and continued to call your name, and all the while, pushing down his worry.

“Russell?!”

▶️ Keep Reading: PART 4

Series Masterlist

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Russell S. Tag List:

@kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007

@wincastifer @ades106 @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb @roseblue373

@brianochka @branj19 @hazel-eye-coffee-shop-girl-blog @globetrotter28 @charmed-asylum

@waywardxwords @deanwinchestersgirl87 @this-is-me19 @rachiem4-blog @sweettimelady

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@jesllianaquilesrolonsworld @pieandmonsters @lhymer1995 @taehyungxjungkookistaekook @lovelystoriesaj

@nicksalchemy1 @spnwoman @onlyangel-444 @sexyvixen7 @illicithallways

@wolkenprinzessin007 @alwaystiredandconfused @carpenterswife @cheynovak @grilledcheeseandtomato

[vampyastro]

𝕬𝖘𝖙𝖗𝖔 𝕺𝖇𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖛𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖘 𝖕𝖙 𝟛

✐ ✧Common birth chart placements of famous writers✧ ✐

Hey everyone! I am someone who loves reading and writing so I decided to look into some of my favorite authors birth charts and find common placements amongst them that could indicate being a good writer. Of course there are other placements in a birth chart that can indicate this (I researched a lot of writers charts and of course not all of them have these placements), I just thought it was interesting to see these the common placements amongst prominent writers. If there are any writers you know of that have these placements feel free to let me know!

✐ I’ve noticed a lot of famous male writers have Gemini moons, meanwhile famous female writers have Libra moons.

✐ Gemini Moons: Fyodor Dostoevsky, Franz Kafka, Charles Baudelaire, J.D. Salinger, T.S Eliot

✐ Libra Moons: Sylvia Plath, Maya Angelou, Jane Austen, Emily Dickinson, Agatha Christie, Louise Gluck

✐ Mercury is also another indicator of whether someone is a good writer. Mercury is the planet of communication, thinking patterns, mentality, reasoning/rational, etc. The authors Mercury sign can sometimes reflect the topics they write about. For instance, Oscar Wilde is a Scorpio Mercury and he wrote a lot about death, transformation, mystery and the fall from grace.

✐ Scorpio Mercury: Oscar Wilde, Sylvia Plath, Arthur Miller, Mark Twain

✐ Sagittarius Mercury: Albert Camus, Louisa May Alcott, Fyodor Dostoevsky, Charles Baudelaire, Christina Rossetti, Jane Austen, Emily Dickinson, Louise Gluck

✐ Writers usually tend to have prominent 10th house placements. Many planets in the 10th house can represent authority, being career oriented and success. Most often I’ve seen Saturn be in many of these writers houses, which makes sense because many of these individuals had tough lives and preserved through many challenges in order to gain the success they had. Some died without even knowing how successful they were or the legacy they left on the world. Specifically Franz Kafka, he had Mars, Saturn, Neptune and Chiron in the 10th house. Kafka died thinking he was a failure, his writings didn’t reach their peak popularity until many years after his death.

✐ Other writers with prominent 10th house placements include:

Christina Rossetti (Moon, Saturn), Emily Dickinson (Saturn, North Node), Agatha Christie (Venus), Arthur Miller (Mars, Saturn, Neptune), Mary Shelley (Pluto), Oscar Wilde (Saturn), Ernest Hemingway (Neptune, Pluto), Shakespeare (Mercury, Pluto)

✐ Overall in my findings, I noticed that many writers I researched have multiple Virgo, Libra, Scorpio, Gemini and Sagittarius placements in their charts.

-Side note, he’s not necessarily a writer, although he did write books; Sigmund Freud is a Gemini moon and Scorpio rising. I think that is very interesting lol.

𝓣𝓱𝓪𝓷𝓴 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓲𝓷𝓰! *:･ﾟ✧

𝓗𝓪𝓹𝓹𝔂 𝓱𝓸𝓵𝓲𝓭𝓪𝔂𝓼 𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻𝔂𝓸𝓷𝓮! ♡

P.s Let me know if you’re interested in more posts like this. I can do famous musicians, artists, psychologists, etc :) Also, thank you for all the support on my last two posts! 🫶🏻

[trans-axolotl]

Do you know of DIY psych meds or any writings/info on it, DIY meds in a similar way to DIY HRT, cause I noticed you can buy some psych meds on some of the same shops you source diy hrt, I haven't found any thing on it but I figured its just not a very popular topic because being forced on meds is usually a more pressing issue, the legal grey-ness of buying "prescriptions" with out an offical prescription, and the if-y effectiveness of a lot of psych meds but I feel like I can't be the only one who's ever thought about it

so i don't really have anything I can link to because most of what i know about this is what i've learned from my experiences with DIY HRT distro. and so there's a lot of stuff that I only feel comfortable talking about vaguely on tumblr or other public facing social media.

long story short: there are already some DIY HRT collectives out there that are also distributing psych meds in a similar way. not going to name specific names for obvious reasons, but there's around 3 or 4 DIY hrt collectives i could name in the northeast US who are already doing this. there are some challenges with distributing psych meds that are slightly different than distro for DIY HRT. part of it is due to the need to be able to keep up an ongoing supply of psych meds that might cause withdrawal. if people are relying on you as a supplier for psych meds that can cause life-threatening withdrawal if you're off of them, that is a much more severe consequence then temporarily being unable to supply someone with hrt. and so that might impact the resources needed to be able to offer a consistent supply. i think another challenge is the lack of easily accessible information about psych drugs and how they actually work in our bodies.

and like--i think about psych drugs the way i think about all drugs. they're substances that are going to have both desired and undesired effects. that is going to vary from person to person. and everyone has the right and autonomy to make those decisions for themselves, regardless of their diagnosis or whether they are seeking "treatment" or "healing" or whether it's just for fun or connection for any fucking reason. so i think it is really good and important to find ways for people to access psych drugs outside of psychiatry.

and at the same time, i also think that in the current climate, where so many people are forced on psych drugs against their will, where so much misinformation is purposefully spread by psychiatry, where so many of the undesired effects of psych drugs are hid from people, it also feels important to be able to share accurate and helpful information about how psych drugs work and what to expect, as well as information about dosages, withdrawal, tapering, etc. so i think that anyplace that is sourcing and supplying psych drugs does have a responsibility to make sure that they do know that information and can help their community find and share that kind of information.

in terms of practical information, it sounds like you're already probably familiar with how to find sources online. all i'll say on tumblr is that if you're familiar with how to use tails and tor for browsing that it's not super hard.

it's not the exact same focus, but Four Thieves Vinegar Collective has a lot of projects for different types of autonomous healthcare.

Inner Compass Initiative is not a perfect website but does have a lot of info on psych med dosages, tapering, effects, etc.

there's some other zines i'll try to find in my room and take photos of at some point if i'm able to.

biggest takeaways for me is that it always comes back to autonomy and informed consent, and figuring out ways to make that possible in our communities outside of psych authority is something that feels important and possible to me!

[hannahssimblr]

Commentary - The Italian Arc

Hello! To wrap up the year I'd love to do a lil commentary on the themes of the Amalfi Coast trip! This was challenging to write, because it was more adult than usual, but overall I was very pleased with how it all turned out.

So!

Let's get into it.

It kicks off with the first important plot point - Jude and Astrid drive the winding mountain road from Naples to Amalfi. Jude, a not-so-confident driver, plays it cool while secretly white-knuckling the wheel, fearful of coming across to Astrid as weak or undesirable to her. He is determined to be the 'right' kind of man for her.

Right off the bat, Jude has unsettling feelings about the kind of people they are, or appear to be. The theme of gentrification and the perils of tourism come up now and again during this section. Something about being on a luxury trip makes him feel uncomfortable, whereas Astrid is perfectly happy with how they are choosing to holiday. Jude is uneasy with the person he is becoming. The person he feels Astrid is turning him into.

Astrid wants to take photographs, so Jude obliges. I wanted there to be a sense that he always just does what she wants him to do without input or protest. Later, at the villa, he carries her bags from the car to the bedroom. He's eager to impress her, but her responses are cool and unenthusiastic. Even the villa itself doesn't seem to thrill her. She's not thrilled by anything to do with him lately, it seems, no matter how hard he tries.

“It’s quite nice,” she says.

"But Astrid can. Perfect, clever Astrid. She gazes at her appearance in the mirror, and smooths out her dress, which shows no signs of having been travelled in. She combs her fingers through her pin straight hair, and a strand comes loose, floating through the sun rays like a strand of white silk."

There are several times throughout this section (and previously) that Jude describes Astrid as perfect, wonderful, gorgeous, beautiful. He's obviously amazed by her, and sees she can do no wrong, but it's delusional. He doesn't completely see her as a human, flesh and blood with flaws and fallacies. The dress comment is emphasizing this. How has she done that? Sat on a plane for hours and come off with no wrinkles in her dress. Magic. Witchcraft. She's not a mere mortal like the rest of us.

Yet here, a crack is showing. Astrid rejects Jude's advances by making up an excuse. This has been happening frequently, and Jude is growing frustrated and confused. I think the people-pleasing is a direct result of this, as he has some idea that if he does everything she asks and is the perfect, devoted lover, she'll come back around and have sex with him again.

Maybe he'll buy her that jug she likes.

Later, at the café, Jude is irked and jealous when the waiter speaks to Astrid in Italian. I like to think that the waiter actually was flirting and calling her beautiful, perhaps even saying something like "what is a beautiful woman doing with a guy like this?" Of course, she insists the conversation was innocent.

Still, she very much enjoyed talking to this man, being complimented and hearing about how she's too good for her boyfriend. It's a pleasant boost to her ego.

The next day, ah, she's swimming to avoid morning sex. It's okay. Make her breakfast which she will not be grateful for.

“Alright,” she gets out of her chair and drifts towards the villa. “I’ll make myself presentable.” 

I like this line because it's indicative of their dynamic, and the work Jude has to do to allow her to drift about and make herself presentable. Who will clean up after breakfast? Who makes sure they are on time for their boat trip?

Enter Silvio and Suzana, the Portuguese couple Astrid befriends on the sailboat tour. Astrid gravitates towards them for a couple of reasons. Firstly, to avoid spending quality, romantic time with Jude, and secondly, to make herself feel important, sophisticated and interesting. She senses their worldliness and is invested in gaining their approval. This is probably the first sign that she's not as confident as she seems - emphasised by the lie she tells them at dinner.

“[we are] Twenty-three,” she says smoothly. I rest my fork and stare across the table at her as she slides a piece of ravioli around in cream sauce. “Jude’s birthday is November, and mine December.”

The ease with which the lie slips from her mouth is a sign that she's done this before. Troubling. Perhaps Astrid is used to bending the truth to gain approval, or to get the things she wants. I don't believe Astrid has other motives here apart from feigning maturity to have a licence to hang out with Suzana and Silvio (28 and 32 respectively).

Jude, meanwhile, feels threatened by their relationship. They're hands-on, PDA loving and completely obsessed with one another. I think he sees the beginning of his relationship with Astrid in them, back when they couldn't keep their hands off one another, and now he's angry. Astrid hasn't been interested in sex in weeks at least, and he's totally in the dark. Why should this couple get to have it and not him? His frustration comes out in his thoughts about Silvio specifically.

Later, perhaps spurred on by the romance he witnessed at the bar, Jude initiates sex with Astrid. She refuses again.

“It was okay. I just didn’t feel like continuing.” I feel foolish. “Well, that’s obviously allowed. Did I do something you didn’t like?” A shrug. “No. I suppose you didn’t.” She has put on the vest now, but is still moving about the room, looking into her handbag, retrieving nothing, looking for something to distract herself.  “Okay, well, it’s really important to me to, um, keep you happy and stuff. I hope that you would tell me if you want something specific.” “Yes, okay.” Picking up her dress now, rummaging in the wardrobe for a hanger. I hesitate. “Am I, you know, doing what you like?” A sigh, hassled, as the clothes hangers clatter. “Sometimes, I guess. Yes.” “I try.” “I know. You’re very good at that. Very attentive.” “But?” “I don’t know. I just don’t feel like it now.”

Later, we learn that Astrid's exact problem is that Jude only does what she says, and never asks her to do what he likes. She's tired of being in control. Compare this to the beginning of the year, when Jude prides himself on exactly this, believing it to be an excellent trait. Smug.

I choose her now, love her in the same way I kiss her and touch her and fuck her, by doing what she wants me to do. It’s not a submissive situation. I’m not into that stuff. I am a man clocking in and doing as he’s asked, thoroughly, diligently, excelling at his job. Eager to please. Employee of the month

You’re doing that anxious thing. I press a finger into the space between my brows. Smooth, no line yet, but I’ll get it someday. One groove to match Christopher’s. From being his son, a life, condemned to doing that anxious thing.

Jude fears he is becoming his father. There are comparisons in this arc to Jude and Christopher, such as the interest in the sailboats, the line he fears will form between his brows, and the sad, empty feeling of being unhappy in a dead, sexless relationship. It serves as only logical that we should compare Astrid to Colette, too. They have similarities in their manner, the coldness, the unwillingness to give approval, the lack of nurturing qualities. In a later scene, Jude feels depressed at the idea that his life with Astrid will echo the life of his parents. He worries that there's no alternative for people like him. It is his destiny to suffer with a woman who chooses not to love him the way he needs.

In the most important scene of the arc, Jude and Astrid finally discuss what is going wrong in their relationship.

“You’re…” exasperated. “You’re so nice. I know, and I’m thankful. You always do what I want you to do, but… I want you to do something else.” Sharply. “What?” “I don’t know. Maybe I don’t want to have to tell you.”

The first striking thing in this scene is Jude's vicious resentment of Astrid, and the cruelty of his thoughts. I never wanted Jude to be exempt from his straight-white-maleness. He's a nineteen year old, and the year is 2011. Modern values feel forced. Although I think he's a good person, he's still a man in a certain era, struggling with thoughts and feelings that were acceptable in the company of other boys. This is a major point. It always comes back to Fitzy, I think.

She’ll break up with me, probably, after all this, when she has squeezed the last she can from me. Used my money, sucked out my dignity. I flinch outwardly at that. Its viciousness shudders down my arms and out of my fingertips. This is the kind of thought to be ashamed of. An ugly thing. I never saw myself like them, those boys you’d get stuck with at school, their contempt for girls who didn’t like them. Stupid bitch, they’d say. She’s rotten anyway. Wouldn’t touch her if she begged.

This point is relevant when it comes to the discussion of their sex life. Jude simply cannot fathom doing what he wants with a woman. It's inconceivable. If he truly gave into his desires, what would that make him? One of those disgusting boys from school who showed pictures of naked girls to others on their phones? He doesn't want to be like them, and cannot seem to separate one thing from the other.

He is surprised to learn that what he thought were the actions of an excellent boyfriend are the actions that make him repellent to Astrid. She doesn't want to call the shots, she wants to be dominated. A difficult reality for Jude to grasp, who has prided himself in his gentleness and consideration. Jude Turner, a self-professed friend to women. What kind of normal man would ask a woman to do the things he imagines in his head?

She’s struggling, eyes darting around, settling on nothing. “Well, what about the things men say to each other, or think on their own, but would never ask a woman to do? Isn’t it what you all secretly desire? To take a beautiful woman and disrespect her?” “Ah, so you expect me to hit you across the face or something.”

Astrid's uncertainty here is also interesting. She genuinely doesn't really know what she wants. She only knows that she does not want what Jude is offering. She reveals that their five month relationship is the longest and steadiest one she has ever had, despite being engaged to someone else for a brief period the year before.

She stares, a light wind rippling across the hem of her dress. “Alright, well, it was meaningless. I said yes for fun. I didn’t intend to actually marry him. It was like a play, and we were the actors. I hardly knew him at all. It was a thrill, and he was exciting for a while.”

We don't actually know a lot about her past yet, but it is slowly revealing itself. There seems to have been a consistently performative element, recklessness, short lived relationships and excitement. She views Jude as a steady rock whom she wishes she could be happy with, and finds herself upset and frustrated things aren't working out as she hoped. She can't even explain her own feelings, as she's so unsure of herself. The fa��ade of her otherworldly perfection and self assurance is crumbling. She finally seems like a 20 year old, rather than someone who could embody any age, as Jude thought earlier.

And so, assuming it's over, Jude makes attempts in vain to cancel the rest of the holiday. When it doesn't work out, he calls home to talk to Ivy.

the striking part of this conversation is Ivy's opinion of Astrid. She views her as a doll.

Moulded from the same template used for fashion dolls, the ones Ivy has played with her whole life, and still does. In her room, ten of them hanging out in the bookshelf she emptied to make an apartment. She wants to see one in the flesh.

I believe this is a narrative that Jude has encouraged in some way, as perhaps he actually feels the same. The way he describes her suggests this anyway, as I mentioned earlier. He actually doesn't really humanise her, and although he'd never admit it, the way his sister views Astrid and the way he does is the very same. He's just a man, treating women the way he is programmed to treat them.

The peak of the arc is the reveal that Silvio and Suzana are swingers. There have been signs the whole time, and I think it was obvious, due to the comments they made to Jude and Astrid, and the constant displays of affection in front of them, but the hangout at the house while things are extremely fraught between Jude and Astrid is the height of it.

“He’s selfish?” I don’t answer.  “Does it run in the family, selfishness?”

(do you want to share your girlfriend with me, please?)

I think that Jude and Astrid's lack of awareness about what was blatantly going on around them is echoed by their ignorance of one another, too. They could not read one another, could not communicate effectively, so it only makes sense that they were blind to external vibes too. Jude is completely blindsided, and shocked to discover that Astrid feels the same.

“I didn’t invite them here so that we could… swap partners, or whatever it was they wanted to do. I didn’t realise they were like that.”

This is a bonding moment for them. For the first time, they are connecting as equals. Not a man who hero worships his beautiful girlfriend, and a woman who indulges him. The dynamic was making them both miserable. Jude, resentful and self-loathing, and Astrid, withdrawn and bored. They both need a shake-up, and now they have an opportunity to mend things.

The most important line is this:

“Well, I’m human.” “I see that.”

At last, Jude can see Astrid for who she is, rather than who he wants her to be, or as she wants to be perceived.

They laugh together, share their outrage about Silvio and Suzana, and talk candidly about their feelings. Astrid admits guiltily that she feels turned on by the idea that someone could want her so much that he was willing to break boundaries to get her. She needs external approval from other men to be happy, more than Jude can give her. I think this is a moment where he accepts this. If she has to be seen like that, flirt with waiters etc, then he can choose to be fine with it.

She is a woman who chooses to be seen as something more than human, I think. Turned on by the idea of being a male fantasy. I'd love to expand on this further in future, and learn why this is, and what this means for her.

Finally, they have sex, and Jude gives into his desires, though not completely free of the guilt.

“I love you, you know,” I whisper. A low laugh from her then. “Yes, Jude. I haven’t forgotten.”

And so the arc is finished, and this crazy couple move forward with a new, deeper knowledge and understanding of one another. Each fully accepting the other at last. Flaws, weirdness and all.

[lady-merian]

Good things of the day:

-I exercised some discipline about getting off and to bed earlier last night which led to also exercising some discipline today in getting up in time to have a non-rushed morning. -had a dairy free donut for a nice little second breakfast (the first breakfast was only a spoon of peanut butter as I have re-remembered that I feel better with a bit of protein for breakfast so that came first. I did not have them together and thus I count them separately). -good coffee -I wasn’t as tired today as I was yesterday. Yesterday I felt wiped out for some unknown reason. Today I felt normal tiredness but not exhaustion. -I expected lunch to be kind of dull, as it was only a salami sandwich but spur of the moment when I was putting it together I decided to add pickle and that made it much better than it would have otherwise been. -I think I did okay managing even thought work was crazy, and I did not struggle as much with getting people to their lunches and breaks as much as I did last week. Thus endeth the last weekend before Christmas. -Sunday means an early close at work and that means a bit more time to write or at least think about writing. And I did think about writing enough to determine something even if I didn’t end up actually getting any new words in. -I got a lovely encouraging comment on my main WIP from @lilIiesandlight which has boosted morale considerably. -tomorrow I have blocked out some time to READ INKLINGS CHALLENGE STORIES FINALLY -there was more (funny how I keep thinking of more blessings the more I dwell on them) but I must get to bed.

[ilsolefiesta]

is it a real downfall?

as Mercury (the ruler of the chart, by the way) and Venus in Libra, I felt so personally offended that I had even decided to write about it. joke, of course. I understand that this is a personal experience for everyone, but with my response, perhaps I may help you see it from the perspective of Libra. many people around me have strong Libra placements, so I guess the size of the statistical sample will allow me to speak for Libra as a whole. from my point of view, Libra doesn't need to have Aquarius's stubbornness or Gemini's dedication to any particular view (in fact, I have always seen them as true social butterflies, so I'm surprised) as this is not the part of their functional role. Libra's primary function is to find balance. this includes, first and foremost, finding your own personal balance, which might sound selfish, but it is what it is. they can bring balance to the world only by being balanced themselves. about "colorlessness" and lack of a moral compass - i think Libra is associated with justice for a reason. they have a fairly well-defined value system. Libra is quite good at challenging and balancing the most extreme points of view, if they are in a comfortable environment and have enough time to analyze the situation. they are just bystanders to how others stand up for their beliefs. everything is so. but where does the need to prove anything to someone come from? stubborn insistence on one's own point of view often causes a loss of those balance - people can tear each other's throats apart in arguments. Libra doesn't initially take a dominant position, and tries to avoid such situations intentionally. their purpose is to bring people back to equilibrium after an argument, having managed to present each side's main points of view. you also miss that Libra is a social sign. and what's the scariest thing for a social sign? rejection. Aries and Scorpio, who are strong-willed enough to withstand it, can go against society. Aquarius can do it, because he doesn't really care about society. so is Sagittarius, who just likes to watch the dissenters getting their asses burned. but not Libra. some will see it as conformity, others as flexibility and the ability to adapt. as for the aspect of friendship and the lack of desire to protect you. unfortunately, Libra's actions are really unbiased when it comes to the situation where there is no their personal interest. Libras are heavily influenced by favoritism and personal sympathy. this is the only thing that can cause them to abandon conformity and the only time when their overall objective and rational value system fail. and then they can do something really bad - falsify facts and justify the actions of someone they sympathize with. therefore, if such a situation has happened to you, I'm afraid that you just didn't fit into the value system of those specific people. I'm sorry about that.

another situation is also possible.

until now, I've advocated for Libra placements' manifestation of other people, but not mine. because, ironically, I'm an exact example of what you are talking about. in addition to my Libra placements, my ASC, Sun and Mars are in Virgo. here favoritism has no power. even while reading the post, at the "where is a leo or a scorpio is defending their friend whether they are right or wrong" moment, I wondered - why should they if you are wrong? in my environment, I always advocate for refined justice, free from emotions. it's easy for me to ignore whether someone is my friend, loved one, or family, as I look at their actions in a specific situation and try to be honest with them. "do you want me to just support you and tell you that you're the best, or do you want my honest, unbiased opinion that may be painful?" - people often come for the latter later, when their emotions cool down a bit and they need an outside perspective. however, the challenge here is that developing such a communication strategy and understanding that people don't always require my open-minded approach didn't come to me immediately. I had to learn this, as it prevented me from communicating with others (returning to the topic of Libra's social orientation). maybe there was a similar situation with people around you - I mean that the reasoning wasn't Libra placements solely. anyway, as I've said in the beginning - I understand that this is a matter of personal compatibility. just a thought from my side, because the post seems interesting to me - so I decided to share opinion. thank you for an interesting topic to think about!

𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒹𝑜𝓌𝓃𝒻𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝑜𝒻 𝓁𝒾𝒷𝓇𝒶 𝓅𝓁𝒶𝒸𝑒𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓈

Preface: this is not meant to be a hurtful post, but rather my own personal observations I have made through interacting with various libra placements

these are my own observations and may not resonate with your experiences

I don’t have much experience with libra placements, but the few people close to me with major libra placements have all had glaring shared characteristics. I tend to find that libras are fair to a fault. They lack the headstrong nature of aquarians and aren’t powerfully opinionated as geminis tend to be. It’s not that they refuse to take a stance on things, it’s that their stance depends on who they are with. They ebb and flow with whatever is presented to them, whether bad or good, positive or negative. This can be a really beautiful attribute. It allows for them to see and understand all perspectives. However, it can also be their downfall. They aren’t fiercely loyal, powerfully individualistic, or strongly opinionated. They won’t defend you when you are being ridiculed. They won’t stand up for those they care about. Their fairness forces them to watch from afar. Pushed into perpetually being bystanders. Libras are often associated with justice. This has shown up in my life as not taking a stand, but rather watching others fight for their beliefs while avoiding conflict at all costs. They mold to the beliefs of whoever they are closest to in that exact moment. Their best friend of ten years is being torn apart in an argument? They are avoiding eye contact and refusing to speak up. Whereas a leo or a scorpio is defending their friend whether they are right or wrong, a libra is pretending that the conflict didn’t happen. This is truly their downfall. Again, fairness and agreeableness are attributes that I truly look up to, but it is hard for me to jive with people who don’t follow their own strong moral code, whether it be positive or negative.

with love,

starryark ✨

[unfortunate17]

I finally finished the first draft of the the last chapter of the pirate au 💀

[gemgdynamight0]

In this scene Katsuki is looking at the camera and saying "see you later", so it means we're gonna have a Katsuki centered spin off and-

[angelyuji]

noncon/kinktober masterlist

every friday, a fic will go up. some short, some long, all of them at least slightly fucked up

week 1 (10/04): webbed up - spiderman x f!reader

cw // noncon, shitty smut, implied stalking, dubcon

week 2 (10/11): intimate examination - doctor zayne x f!reader

tw // medical malpractice, dubcon, kindaa implied that zayne has had an eye on mc for a while, shitty smut

week 3 (10/18): haunted - satoru gojo x gn!reader

tw // noncon, supernatural, harrassment, gojo is a nerdy loser jerk

week 4 (10/25): dear diary - batman x gn!reader

tw // stalking, kidnapping, voyeurism, masturbation, pattinson!bruce is silly and a cutiepie

bonus (10/31): seafood, see food! - eddie brock/venom x f!reader

tw // she/her pronouns used, kidnapping, implied noncon, monster/creature-in-the-woods symbrock, yandere content ahead

[generalsdiary]

Moze x Jiaoqiu

warnings: none

word count: 900~

description: just them being domestic (pre-2.5 events)

moze is the type of husband who always cleans, keeps everything neat, he will run (quite literally) anywhere and do any errand without complaint, nothing is too hard or difficult for him. he is v protective, „I promise I will bring him back“, nothing is stopping him from getting his husband back, he is confident in his abilities, to the point he isn't even worrying. he always attentively listens to jiaoqiu’s ramblings, his full attention on the foxian. he will eat anything jiaoqiu puts before him, no matter his preferences. uttering simple praises after the meal and never letting his husband clean up.

at night he cuddles with him, being the big spoon, holding his husband close, face buried in the orangey pink hair. like a touch starved kitten, he gravitates to him during the day, always hugging him- backhugs are his favorite. jiaoqiu always smiles, a sparkle in his eyes with each embrace. moze is often quiet, very thoughtful- usually ending up blunt in his words but not cold, never cold. the care and love for each other shown in the soft words, gentle embraces and lingering gazes. moze doesn’t do causal touches, his hands don’t wander to jiaoqiu’s soft tail, or even softer ears, or to caress him. he doesn’t want to overwhelm his husband or make him uncomfortable. yet when they stand close he bumps his nose against his. and when he is so so tired he rests his forehead on the shorter man’s. recharging, seeking comfort, love. luckily for him, his husband knows his main love language is physical touch. jiaoqiu bringing his hands to cup his cheeks, thumbs caressing the rough skin. he misses the smile that brightens the foxian’s face, his eyes shut relishing in the sensations. such a sensitive and responsive man. jiaoqiu is the only person moze allows to touch him, to drag those soft fingers across his scars, through the silver hair, to see him shirtless. he is the only one with whom he makes and keeps eye contact. moze is the type of husband that even without being close jiaoqiu can feel his touch on him. sitting across him, over a hotpot. lilac eyes on him. full of love. as if he is caressing his husband’s cheek at that moment. making jiaoqiu’s chest feel warm from the feeling of such a silent expression of admiration.

on the days jiaoqiu voices that he feels tired a quick response is given in turn “I can carry you.” a blunt, straightforward, and the same offer every time. he is more than happy to carry him + he enjoys showing off for his hubby. not caring for the public opinion or any observers; it doesn’t even cross his mind, jiaoqiu’s happiness the only thing on his mind. sadly, he is always rejected (occasionally making him pout). moze doesn’t even know why (painfully obvious why, the rare blushed jiaoqiu further confirming it). shadows are his safe haven, but jiaoqiu is his peace. they fill each other's needs, like puzzles fitting together, completely domestic in their behaviors; perfect for general feixiao’s safety and well-being. despite working together they don’t get tired of each other. work is work and their house is home.

coriander is not allowed under this roof and no big lights are ever on. when they have guests, jiaoqiu compensates with many small lamps, fairy lights, and a bunch of candles. unscented ones. otherwise, they would clash with the meal. sometimes, jiaoqiu will light a scented candle, but it won’t be lit for longer than an hour, otherwise, he would get overwhelmed due to how sensitive his nose is to smells. moze being the clean freak, and insistent on maintaining really good hygiene and not strong perfumes so he can do his job perfectly would just make jiaoqiu purr if he could. type of husband truly only for him. jiaoqiu is quite a social butterfly and he drags his husband with him, who will grumble a bit and then go along, and behave politely to the best of his capabilities. moze cannot read a room to save his life, short in his sentences and straight to the point despite pondering his words prior, they end up always coming off blunt. he means no harm and what he says is usually of little matter, and none of it holds any weight to him when all he needs is to hear his darling chuckle or gaze at him and all is well in his world. the only result he could possibly ever wish for.

and when they kiss? the lighting and shadow with fire and spice? the I talk a lot, flirtatious, rarely flustered with I listen to you with heart eyes, mainly unaffected but you make me smile. well… they keep it private. such actions feel too personal and intimate for them to be shown in public and given for anyone to see on display. they hold it too close to their hearts, it matters in a different way to them. something near and dear. they won’t be caught showing pda, not even holding hands- well they rarely hold hands either way. it is behind closed doors and in the privacy of their home that their lips meet, and hands wander, leaving soft touches in intimate places that they’d never do in public (unlike many others). it means too much to them.

[tiny-crescent]

✦ made a Takada Kiyomi playlist! ✦ that you can find here.

I really like Takada as a character and wanted to delve into her a little more since I'm preparing to write a fic with her. loved compiling her songs– and got some inspiration along the way ♡

[megacarapa]

my diary has become like a chimera bc i keep switching languages back and forth depending on which language i remember a word in first