#della knows whats up

[shantechni]

S1-3 Virtualization - Blow dryer ed.

[korkorali]

I think the worst bit for me about all Those Sorts (you know the type) of fics is that they always take Della extremely out of character in order to make her the 'antagonist.'

And that sucks because it's just not necessary! It's the worst because you can have Della & Louie angst where Della's the 'antagonist,' and it's in-character.

You just have to have Louie be wrong in the end (kind of).

The reason why Della and Louie clash in Timephoon and Glomtales! isn't because Della 'disapproves of scheming in entirety' or something, it's because she's done the same goddamn thing as him.

(And side note- Timephoon is honestly an amazing piece of storytelling, because it allows us to see Della's thought process for taking the Spear of Selene by showing us Louie doing pretty much the same thing.)

She's been through it all before, and she knows how it ends.

And that fucking terrifies her! The idea that one of her kids is making the same mistakes as her, could go through the same thing as she did, and she's the only one who can see it, is terrifying.

The way to start out a story like this is simple; have an adventure go wrong. Not in a deadly way, not in a way that's caused by Louie (at least, not that anyone but him notices), not in a way that costs anyone their life- but in a way that causes them to lose the treasure. The adventure is a failure, and they have to come back empty handed, like New Gods on the Block.

Maybe some people get hurt, maybe it's vaguely Louie's fault (and even then- it'd be better if it wasn't even his fault, it's just his brain connecting patterns where there aren't any), but the most important part is that they don't get the treasure, and it's like- one of those ones that can only be found once every hundred years or something.

Louie feels responsible (I mean all of the kids do, but as it'd be a Louie story he'd be the one focused on) and upset that they want to all that trouble and don't have anything to show for it, so he tries to figure out some way to go on the adventure again.

Turns out, after a bit of research, there is a way to get to the treasure again! Louie brings it to Scrooge's attention excitedly- but Scrooge turns it down. Says it's too dangerous, that they're not doing it, end of story.

...Not end of story- everyone's still obviously miserable. So Louie decides that 'okay, if it's 'too dangerous,' then I'll just go in secret. It'll be fine, Scrooge is just overreacting.'

So he starts trying to put a plan into place to get the treasure in secret- but Della, somehow, seems to know what he's doing (hint: it's because she knows what she'd do if she was in Louie's shoes). And is consistently getting in his way.

And there you go- a perfect setup to have Della consistently and purposefully stepping on Louie's toes, getting in his way, trying to stop him from doing things, and it's even in-character! It'd probably start out with the two acting like everything's perfectly hunky-dory, even though both of them know that the other knows that they know that the other knows why they did this one thing.

As plans get deeper, it'd escalate to Della trying to actively call Louie out, but he always manages to just barely weasel his way out of it, and eventually commence his plan.

It obviously goes wrong. But Della's there to help. And finally she'd actually explain why the fuck she's been something of a thorn in his side for the past few weeks, why it seems like she knows what he's thinking: because she does.

Because she's been through the same thing.

Because she fucked up, and left her stranded on the moon for ten years, and she does not want that for her kid. (And of course everything could've been solved if she'd just sat down and talked to Louie about that at the onset, but it's Della- she only likes to bring up the moon when it's funny. She would've thought 'nah it's fine, I can handle this, I don't need to bare my soul, I shouldn't burden anyone with that' without realizing that oh yeah, no, that's the exact same thought process she doesn't want Louie to think)

And of course they'd argue, because it'd be a high-stress situation and neither of them would have the composure to pretend that everything's alright and they haven't been sniping at each other for the past week or so, and eventually it'd finally come up; eventually, they'd finally bring up that they thought the exact same thing when Louie did this, when Louie took the Timetub, when Della took the Spear.

'...And if anything goes wrong, at least I'm the only one who'll get hurt.' (Because you cannot tell me that that was not the last thought running through both of their heads when they took the timetub/Spear of Selene, you cannot convince me that they didn't think they were doing right by their families in that moment, that they hadn't done their due diligence and minimized risk down to one person.)

And Louie wouldn't understand, because he did the right thing. He minimized risk, he made sure nobody else would get hurt. But that's wrong- because if he got hurt, then Della (Donald, Scrooge, their family, her kids) would get hurt too. That they could fly into a vacuum all they wanted, but at the end of the day, they still didn't exist in one.

Eventually, they'd get out of there and abandon the mission again. Maybe they'd succeed, but probably not. But that's not important- what'd be important is that they were both safe and alive and okay.

There- a Della & Louie thing, extremely angsty, well Della as the 'antagonist,' and it's all in-character. Easy.

[subdigitals]

as I've been watching every episode I follow along with the differences between the french episode and the english episode I just haven't been posting about it. but this time I have to. in the french odd says his music video is very successful

[puffyducks]

[aaaaanndbackstabbed]

i love when I'm reading a fanfic in which the author has chosen to give Della a Goldie-given nickname and it's something or cool or even remotely fitting as if she wouldn't call her like Della-Bella-Bing-Bong because she did it one for *avoiding suspicion reasons* and it pissed her off like nothing else so now she exclusively uses any elongated form of Della

[blaithnne]

my timephoon hot take is that the episode was literally fine, it's the episodes that came AFTER it that fucked things up

[godricgryffinsnore]

The Jumper Chronicles ♡ : A James Potter Fan Fiction.

pairing : James Potter x fem!reader

summary : When James lends you his jumper on a rainy day, he doesn’t expect to fall helplessly in love every time you wear it—but the heart wants what it wants, and sometimes, it wants its favorite girl in its favorite jumper.

warnings : Intense pining, Secondhand embarrassment (from James being a lovesick fool), Excessive fluff, Friends-to-lovers tension, Mischievous teasing by close friends (The Marauders doing what they do best), Possible risk of swooning due to James Potter in love. Please let me know if I missed any.

author's note : English is not my first language, so please forgive me for any grammatical errors or spelling errors. Re-blogging is completely fine with me, but please don't copy my work. I love you all. Enjoy <3.

della’s note : Guess what? I am in a writing spree. Not complaining though!!! 😏🤌🏻

word count : 0.7k

main master list <3

banners : @kodaswrld and @cafekitsune

James Potter was in love.

Not the kind of love you slip into gently, like easing into a hot bath. No, James had fallen like a meteor��crashing, burning, utterly destroyed and reborn in your orbit.

And all it took was his jumper.

To be fair, it was a really nice jumper. Gryffindor red, slightly oversized, frayed a little at the sleeves from Quidditch training and the many detentions he'd served with it scrunched beneath his head. It smelled like mischief and cinnamon and something almost boyishly comforting.

You had borrowed it one October morning after a surprise downpour soaked your robes. James—drenched as well, glasses fogged, hair looking like it had been electrocuted—had peeled off the jumper with a cocky, “Don’t say I never gave you anything, darling,” and draped it over your shoulders.

And you never gave it back.

He didn’t ask for it either.

Because the moment you pulled it tighter around yourself, burying your fingers in the sleeves, his soul left his body and hovered somewhere near the ceiling of the common room, whispering, That’s it. That’s my wife.

You wore it everywhere. In the library, curled up on the window seat; on Hogsmeade weekends, the hem hitting just above your knees; at breakfast, where James could barely eat because you looked so stupidly adorable sipping pumpkin juice in his jumper. It was hell. Beautiful, soft, jumper-scented hell.

── .✦

“You’ve got to tell her,” Remus said over breakfast one Saturday, not looking up from his book. “Before you combust. Or cry. Or both.”

“I’m not crying,” James said firmly.

“You were tearing up over your eggs, mate,” Sirius pointed out. “You whispered ‘she even sleeps in it’ like a man watching his true love marry another.”

James stabbed his toast. “She’s warm. I mean—it’s warm. The jumper. She’s probably just cold.”

“You enchanted the jumper to stay warm all the time,” Peter muttered, sipping his tea.

“Shut up, Wormtail.”

── .✦

The breaking point came on a quiet Tuesday evening. You were in the common room, sitting cross-legged by the fire, hair a little messy, nose in a book, sleeves of the jumper covering your hands entirely.

And then—you sneezed. Just a little one. A tiny, adorable thing.

James dropped his quill and nearly passed out.

“Okay,” he mumbled, standing up. “I can’t live like this.”

You looked up, blinking. “Live like what?”

“Like—this.” He gestured at you. At the jumper. At everything. “You. In that. Looking like—like you’re mine.”

You tilted your head. “But I’m not?”

“I mean—no! I mean—yes? Or—Merlin’s pants.” He dragged a hand through his hair. “I don’t want it back.”

You blinked. “The jumper?”

“No. Yes. Yes to the jumper, no to me wanting it back. It’s—yours. It's always been yours. Or maybe it was mine until you wore it and now I can’t stop thinking about how you look like home and I’m—oh no, I'm rambling, aren't I?”

You stood, walking toward him, firelight painting your face gold.

“James?”

“Yes?” His voice cracked. He sounded thirteen again.

You smiled softly, brushing your fingers along his hand. “Do you want to kiss me, or declare ownership over all my future clothing?”

He blinked. “Is both an option?”

You laughed. And it was the kind of laugh that made angels consider quitting their jobs.

And then you kissed him.

It was warm and awkward and perfect. He smiled into it like a complete fool.

── .✦

The next morning, you came down wearing his pajama shirt.

Sirius fell out of his chair.

Remus choked on his tea.

Peter went redder than a tomato.

James strolled in behind you, smug as anything. “Morning, lads.”

Sirius: “Is it? Or is it the End of Days? Did the world tilt slightly on its axis last night? Because that’s not just the jumper. That’s your Quidditch pajamas.”

Remus: “I’d like to die. Can I die?”

Peter: “You’re unbearable now, aren’t you?”

James just grinned, wrapping his arm around your waist and kissing the top of your head. “Get used to it, boys. She’s keeping the jumper—and me.”

── .✦

And from that day on, James Potter never got his jumper back. And he never wanted to.

[lavottino]

Self-indulgent but mandatory "What if the strawhats were Italian" because it has been plaguing my mind for months.

I'm putting some context (and also some headcanons) for each drawing under the cut for anyone interested in better understanding what is going on, so expect a lot of yapping 😭

I think I will draw more Italian strawhats shenanigans in the future (I'm sorry for sidelining you like that Jinbe...), we'll see...

1. Italy is divided into 20 regions, and I associated the 10 strawhats to 10 of those regions. The regions I chose have been mainly picked on instinct based on whatever felt right to me, so I wouldn't look too hard into it 😭

2. Tortellini are a type of stuffed pasta specifically from the Emilia-Romagna region (where I see Robin coming from) and even more specifically from the Bologna and Modena provinces; while fiorentina is typically from Florence (Tuscany) and Luffy would eat at least 10 of them a day if he could

3. Alberto Angela is a paleontologist and history and science communicator, and he runs some TV programs that mainly focus on history and science. He's well-spoken, he's educated, developing a little crush for him is basically a canon event, he's the IT Italian man if you ask me. Robin is watching Ulisse - Il piacere della scoperta, which is also the TV program that introduced me to him when I was like 9 😌

4. Table football is quite common in Italy (all my life I've called it biliardino, but apparently its name is calciobalilla? whatever 😭). I don't really have a lot to say about this one, actually. I just think that a Zoro and Sanji team up would be unmatched (just like in animanga). Like 10-1 (AT BEST) kind of unmatched. If they receive a goal (which was definitely a fluke) they're going to mercilessly trash talk each other into scoring the most diabolically aggressive goal ever witnessed in the history of mankind (Chopper is scared of them) (Luffy thinks it's kinda funny) (Nami decided they won't play at the same time until they learn to chill out).

5. Paolo Fox is a famous astrologer in Italy and basically there used to be this Sunday TV program (Mezzogiorno in famiglia, they discontinued it some years ago but it's the show that Nami and Zoro are watching), where he was called in every week as a guest to rank the signs from 12th to 1st based on the luck, love, money etc. they were going to get during the following week. And whether you believed in astrology or not, you were still going to eat that shit up regardless because you just wanted to know where your sign was going to be placed.

6. Easter eggs in Italy are this big chocolate egg that contains a "surprise", which can be toys or various trinkets (bracelets, keychains, that kind of stuff). When Easter is coming, the supermarkets have full aisles of Easter eggs because there are multiple brands and multiple themes (for example, the ones specifically targeted towards children could be One Piece/Pokemon/Winx etc. themed, containing a surprise that is related to them). I like to think that Chopper would be so excited about the chocolate that he would eat it all without even looking at the surprise 😭 (it's lying somewhere on the ground, a forgotten soldier amidst the raging battle)

7. Neapolitan songs can go pretty hard when you don't have someone in your ear telling you how corny and cringe they are. Franky has a whole arsenal. If during a conversation he hears a word that reminds him of one of his songs, he will start singing it. Brook joins him whenever he hears him, and if he doesn't know the actual words to the song, he will still string together some notes with his guitar. Luffy and Usopp will join at a certain point, while the other strawhats enjoy the little show. If Franky is singing and Robin appears in his line of sight, he will switch to a romantic song and start serenading her. When this happens, Sanji joins too (not because he's trying to woo Robin, but because he will never miss a chance to serenade a woman 😌).

8. I just know Brook has en entire repertoire of love songs that he sings whenever Zoro and Sanji are fighting. In this case he is singing "Bello e impossibile" by Gianna Nannini, whose chorus goes something like "handsome, handsome and impossibile, with black eyes and your Middle Eastern taste" and then again "handsome, handsome and invincible, with black eyes and a kissable mouth/a mouth to be kissed" (it sounds more poetic in Italian I'm sorry 😭). They get mad and flustered every time. It doesn't matter if they are still dancing around each other or are already together. Brook has the time of his life.

[micer2012]

a reflection on MatPat's plagiarism

Hello, my name is Della, or micer2012, and 2 years ago Game Theory plagiarized three Tumblr posts of mine, making a video that now holds almost 6 million views.

My posts explaining his plagiarism made their rounds on Reddit, Tumblr and Twitter, but despite the Hermits and Pooka commenting on it (generally in support of me or saying they don’t know enough details about the situation to say either way), MatPat and his team have never owned up to anything, and no mention of my name is present on the video. The one Reddit post they made denying it (which was made before my detailed takedown, which they have never responded to (though the mods on the r/GameTheorists Reddit were kind and made sure it stayed up)) didn’t even mention me by name, just referring to me as “a tumblr user”. (Though one of the screenshotted comments in the body of the post does say my name)

This experience was baffling, but it’s overall had a positive impact on my life. r/Hermitcraft gave me a Golden Apple Award (post of the year, 2021). My inbox was filled with excited fans, wanting to ask me questions or pose their own theories, far more than the hate I got. (Though the hate I got from Game Theory fans was VERY funny. I wondered why none of them gave me shit about saying “MatPat misgendered Evil Xisuma” before realizing none of them read that far into the post.)

And getting on a more personal, and much more important note, I met most of my current online friends through this, including my partner. It helped me grow closer with my irl friends as well and gave me an entertaining story that I tell whenever I have the chance. It was one of the first things in my life that really made me feel like my talents, my autistic hyperfocusing and analyzing of things I love, could be valuable. Useful. Exploitable. It blew my mind that MatPat thought an autistic kid’s ramblings about a Minecraft Youtube joke character were good enough to steal. To put an audible sponsorship on. To get 6 million views off of.

And that’s why I’m writing this post, this update years later. As you might’ve been able to guess, Hbomberguy’s Youtube video on plagiarism reopened this wound. It was really hard for me to sit through, it took days of pausing and taking breaks, because I had experienced everything he was talking about firsthand. 

In my 10 page long takedown post, I wrote about how his rewording of my sentences made him say things that were incorrect, just like Filip did. The content farm production style that made big companies like Cinemassacre take one creator (AVGN/MatPat) and turn him and his content into a brand, a voice that reads out scripts by other people with other opinions/theories, is a history shared with Game Theory. What really hit me was Harris talking about how big creators only do this to people they think they can get away with doing it to. How they view their victims as lesser, as not deserving of their words, repackaging them as their own to give to an audience that can gain from hearing them, but deserves better than to have to listen to the original victim.

That’s the thing, I 100% think a video version of my theory to expose to a bigger community than “Evil Xisuma Fans on Tumblr” is a great idea!! Near the end of the video Harris talks about how video adaptations of things could be a great market, even an accessibility tool, and I completely feel that about my posts. I wrote them quickly assuming the reader was someone well versed on Evil Xisuma lore, after not even watching most of the CarnEvil series, and the diagrams I made to explain them are even less comprehensible. Harris makes a joke that I completely agree with, 

“I’m sure some of my videos would do very well if someone translated them into English.”

I don’t think I would’ve ever made my posts if I didn’t have autism, and a special fixation on Evil Xisuma and Hermitcraft. I made them because I felt the character was being done an injustice, and because I wanted to share with other superfans this theory that might explain it away. I do think that MatPat plagiarizing me was ableist. I used to wonder a lot if this would’ve happened if my posts were articulated better, if they had been peer reviewed, if the posts themselves had been spread to a wider audience before MatPat made his video. At one point when the discourse was fresh (before I had the time to write out my 10 page rebuttal), a bigger YouTuber (100k subs at the time) messaged me and started talking on Discord, interested in possibly making a video on the discourse, but I think my style of typing and general enthusiasm drove him away. You can tell by a single look at my blog (or my original 3 posts!) that I don’t usually type like this. This post you’re reading now has been peer reviewed and edited, and took me hours to format correctly. That video could’ve been huge, the entire outcome of this MatPat situation would probably be much different.

I also used to stress a lot about “being the one who ruined Evil Xisuma’s story”. If you didn’t know, to me S8 Evil Xisuma’s story got wrapped up pretty quickly and unsatisfying (in my personal autistic opinion). (though this might’ve been due to s8 being experimental and ending early with moon big) There was no real culmination of the plot points and arcs going on, and I don’t want to blame myself, but when Xisuma said on stream (when the MatPat thing was first going on) that he didn’t want to focus on the discourse or draw more attention to it, it makes a lot of sense to me that he just wanted to wrap it all up as quickly as possible. For a while I beat myself up about it, of ruining the story of this character I love, but it’s not my fault. If anyone’s, it’s MatPats, but I don’t think it’s useful to just blame someone else. That’s how the story ended up going, and that’s fine. This is Evil Xisuma we’re talking about, their inconsistent lore is what made them such an interesting character. And notably, Pooka made an animation with an awesome culmination of Jeff, the Dreamer, Evil Xisuma, and his own sona’s story, and it makes me so happy to watch. Whatever Pooka does is of course his own choice, but I’m glad he got to give this personal story his own ending (if it is an ending, and not just the start of a new chapter!). 

Typing this all out and getting it off my chest has made me feel a lot better. For a while I wanted to make my OWN video essay about Evil Xisuma’s lore and CarnEvil’s lore, actually going episode by episode to explain it instead of just assuming you knew as much about Evil Xisuma as I did. That idea is still not off the table, but MCYT isn’t something I’m that into right now. Maybe if something else comes out about Evil Xisuma I’ll get back on it, but for now I’m fine with letting that go. But I want to make other videos, share other theories and analysis… if I have the freetime I’d love to make YouTube videos, and if I don’t have the time I’ll continue posting to my tumblr and infodumping to my friends. Apparently my infodumping is valuable enough “content” to steal! Writing this out has made me feel a lot better though, I’m really glad I got it out.

If anyone ever wants to talk to me about the things I’m obsessed with, or reach out to me as a source in a bigger discussion about Game Theory or other channels, my inbox is more than welcome :] Thank you for reading! 

Sincerely, a tumblr user.

[likelytowritesomestuff]

What 'Ducktales 2017' gave us

(in honour of the 4th anniversary of the finale)

Each one of the triplets having their own personality

Donald Duck being a good parent exactly as Goofy was shown to be in the 90s

David Tennant playing Scrooge McDcuk

Lin Manuel Miranda playing Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera...

... latinx Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera!

Mark Beaks, a character that is slowly becoming more relevant as time goes by

Female characters allowed to be flawed (Bentina, Gandra, Goldie, Della...)

DELLA DUCK!

Disabled Della Duck!

Tons of neurodivergent coded characters (Huey, Violet, Dewey, Webby...)

An entire episode that talks about autism without talking about autism

'I'm Boyd, I'm a real boy!'

Goldie and Daisy allowed to be more than someone's love interest

Goldie being a femme fatale with a fear of attachments

Scroldie with a happy ending!

Daisy being a girl boss who knows her worth but at the same time being a great girlfriend for Donald

Donald canonically going to therapy and good rep of what it means

Not one, but two great Christmas episodes!

A great modern rendition of the 3 caballeros song

Josè and Panchito being the former bandmates of Donald's college band

a Bond-style episode

a 'Ocean's Eleven'/'Die Hard' inspired episode

EMO DONALD MY BELOVED

Fethry, Gladstone and Rockerduck finally animated (for someone grown up with the italian comics it was a great moment)

WEBBIGAIL WANDERQUACK, MY PRECIOUS DAUGHTER

LENA SABREWING, MY OTHER PRECIOUS DAUGHTER

an honest portrayal of having an abusive parental figure, focusing especially on its consequences

this version of Gyro

'I do not wish to date an Earth... male'

Launchpad being dumb and at the same having great emotional intelligence

Drake Mallard becoming Darkwing Duck to honor what the superhero meant to him growing up (even if the actor tried to unalive him)

'They want grim and gritty, right? Well, happy to play the part!"

an iconic Halloween episode

'Sup party people!' and all the reunions that followed after (each one of them perfect and tearful)

Powerline being a canon singer in the Ducktales Universe

the Wandavision episode before 'Wandavision' even aired

Scrooge being more obsessed with adventures than money

'You thought there was a real genie inside?'

'What the...' 'Fowl!'

The moon song

The duke of making a mess

The Darkwing Duck episode an hour long

'BURRITOS!'

Catherine Tate playing Magica De Spell

The 'All I do Is Win' scene

Glomgold and all his sharks related plans

'According to the Junior Woodchuck guide...'

Sharpie

The freaking multidimensional portal that must cause problems in every Disney animated series

The mandatory Dragonball and Sailor Moon reference just like in every other Disney animated series

The poor teen possessed by the villain at a certain point, even worse if it's their abuser and they are trying to free themselves by them that happened in every Disney animated series

The finale plot twist

A great showrunner that ran a blog on Tumblr and answered our questions without giving too much spoilers

[cartierre]

NIGHTS LIKE THIS | ob3

❝ It's night like this when I need your love ❞

synopsis: and if only one night is meant for the two of us, is it worth falling in love for?

pairing: ollie bearman x fem!reader warnings: sweet, flirting, making out, angst, google translate italian word count: 4k

author's note: inspired by 'nights like this' by the kid laroi! there is a name drop towards the end but throughout the majority of the fic, reader's name is not mentioned.

The gym was packed with loud teenagers, all talking at a rapid speed trying to overcome the booming music that echoed through the big speakers. Everyone was dressed in gorgeous evening wear, most of the girls adorned glittery dresses while the boys stuck to traditional black suits. There was some finger food displayed on tables on the side, bowls filled with alcoholic and non-alcoholic drinks quenching the students’ and teachers’ thirst. 

Ollie found himself misplaced among the Italian teenagers. He had only moved there a year ago and since he entered Formula Two, he barely attended any of his classes. He wasn’t even sure how exactly he had graduated, just that the heavy burden of getting good grades got lifted from his shoulders. 

At least one less thing he had to worry about.

His parents were long gone, only having stuck around for the official ceremony until they left him to “have fun with his fellow peers”. It’s ironic, he thought, since he didn’t even know most of their names.

The drink in his hand only had a few sips left, the prosecco leaving a bittersweet taste on his tongue. He felt a soft buzz from the alcohol, but ultimately decided against getting wasted with people he didn’t even fully understand. It was partially his fault, he never cared enough to pay attention in his Italian language class. 

“Che tragedia!” (How tragic!) He could hear his Italian teacher in the back of his mind. “Your Italian è terribile!” (Your Italian is terrible!)

Tugging at his tie around his neck, he feared he was close to suffocating from all the noise around him. Placing his drink on some of the tables splattered around the hall, he excused himself to no one in particular before sprinting up the stairs in the hallway leading up to the rooftop. He only found out about the spot a week ago, having got lost inside the school and accidentally ending up there.

The fresh air hit his face, though he immediately noticed that it wasn’t much cooler outside than inside. The Italian weather played against his plans, the sun not even fully set as it smiled against his cheeks.

Pulling his tie loose, Ollie still felt more relieved to have left the sticky gym. He felt stupid for not just going home with his parents, why did he decide to stay? It’s not like he had any friends to celebrate graduation with.

“Seems like I’m not the only one in need of escaping.” 

Only then did Ollie see a girl next to him. 

She leaned against the railing, a cigarette dangling between her manicured fingers. Her hair fell down her back, framing her face softly. She wore a black dress, way more simple than all the other girls he had seen, yet so elegant. He couldn’t help himself but glance at her breasts being pushed together by the dresses neckline. Ashamed, he quickly stopped analysing her.

“Cat got your tongue?” She smirked at him, raising her eyebrow as she took a drag of her cig. “Isn’t that what you English people say?”

“You know me?” He asked, perplexed that she knew about his nationality. Did he look that British?

“I’ve read about you.” She shrugged. “Wanted to know more about the futuro della formula uno, the future of formula one, that is supposedly my classmate.”

“I’m not even a Formula One driver.” Ollie corrected, though he felt the tip of his ears get hot from having such a beautiful girl call him the future of formula one. “And I’m even less of a classmate, probably.”

“Well, officially you are my classmate. Or were.” She smiled. “And once you’ll become a world champion I’ll brag about having been your classmate. Even if I’ve never seen you in person up until now.”

“Not sure about the world champion part, yet.” He shrugged, his hand gripping the railing as if he was about to fall. 

“Oh, he’s so humble.” The girl teased him, giving him a slight punch in the arm naggingly. “Well, the newspapers seem sure about it. You being champion material, or something like that.”

“The newspapers say a lot, whether it’s true or not.” He felt his cheek burn in embarrassment. Ollie wasn’t one to push his ego, he’d rather prove his worth on track than talk big without having anything to show for.

She didn’t say anything. Her eyes scanned over him, as if analysing him from top to bottom. He didn’t know what was going on in her head, but right now he wished he could read her mind. She took another drag of her cigarette, and even if Ollie despised the smell of tobacco, he somehow liked it when she smelled like it. 

Gosh, what was he thinking? He didn’t even know her, yet somehow he felt so serene next to her.

“Why do you think so little of yourself?” She settled to ask after a minute of observing. 

“I don’t.” He simply answered, though his voice was quivering, unsure of what he should’ve said.

“You’re a bad liar.” She chuckled. “Your posture says differently. You’re unsure of yourself and your abilities, but why?”

“I guess…” He cleared his throat, her intense analysis of him humbling him even more. “I guess I don’t want to put the same pressure and expectations everyone puts on me on myself as well.”

He turned to look at her, finally gathering enough courage to do so. Her head was tilted to the side, her lips wrapped around her cigarette to take one final puff before throwing it on the ground and stepping on it. 

“Wanna get out of here?” She asked instead of reacting to his words.

Ollie was taken aback by her request, admiring her boldness of asking straight away rather than talking around it. Without wanting to sound arrogant, Ollie was used to girls asking him for certain things. Sometimes, he loved the attention, especially right after a good race, but with her he felt shier than ever. 

So it surprised him when he answered confidently.

“Sí.” (Yes.)

With another smirk towards him, the girl clearly satisfied with his answer, the two of them sneaked back down again to escape the facility. He sucked in a breath of fear when he saw her grabbing a bottle of prosecco nonchalantly before exiting the school. Ollie was sure they’d get busted for stealing, however none of the teachers seemed to care much as none of them even batted an eye.

“They have enough of that stuff,” She said as she saw his face drenched in worry. “Don’t act like we’re stealing anything valuable. Also, I bet Ferrari has paid them enough to let you pass so think of it as a little gift.”

He had never encountered someone like her, Ollie realised as she popped the bottle the minute they stood outside. Taking a sip straight from the bottle, she let out a sigh. “They have the good one as well.”

Offering him a sip, she pulled out another Vogue cigarette and lit it with her lighter. “I don’t assume you smoke, but regardless, do you want one?” She said as she held out the pack in front of him.

Ollie hesitated a bit, but ultimately declined. He was sticking to the prosecco. 

“Figured.” She shrugged and shoved the pack back into her little purse. 

“So- uh- where to now?” He asked, taking another sip of the drink. He felt himself growing more nervous every minute he spent with her. 

She smiled, taking his hand boldly and running off into a certain direction. Ollie stumbled forward, not expecting her approach, but then took off behind her and followed her blindly. 

At that moment, he would’ve followed her anywhere.

Giggling uncontrollably, she kept turning her head around to him from time to time. Her hair was flowing behind her as if she was from another planet, somewhere where beauty lit up the night. Her beauty certainly lit up his night.

“Come on,” she slowed down, taking small breaths, her cheeks slightly shiny from the sweat. “It’s not far.”

“Where are you taking me?” Ollie’s face was flushed, his locs sticking to his forehead from all the running. The summer air was hitting his face and he felt warm under his suit jacket. 

“It’s a sorpresa!” She just said, opening her mouth slightly and nodding towards the prosecco in his hands. 

His brain malfunctioned for a second, then started acting without thinking. In a smooth motion, he poured some of the liquid into her mouth, accidentally spilling some. The alcohol ran down her chin, trailing down her chest and inbetween her breasts. 

Ollie felt hot, and this time it wasn’t just the summer heat.

She laughed after gulping down the sparkling wine, wiping her chin with her hand, careful not to smudge her lipstick. 

“Ehi!” (Hey!)

Ollie ducked down, as if he would dodge a bullet, from the sudden shrill voice coming from above. The girl kept laughing, ignoring the old woman screaming at the two from her little balcony. 

“Silenzio!” (Be quiet!) The old woman yelled at them again, raising her fist as if to curse them. “È tardi, idioti!” (It’s late, you idiots!)

“Non essere così duro!” (Don’t be so harsh!) The girl yelled back, still giggling. “Vivi un po', nonna!” (Live a little, grandma!) She stretched out her hands like a starfish, twirling around until she stumbled. 

Ollie was quick to wrap his hands around her waist, keeping her from falling to the ground. Only when she was gripping his biceps to steady herself, he realised how close he was to her. 

“Vai via da me!” (Go away from me!) The grandma kept yelling, Ollie not understanding anything the two were saying. “Voi due piccioncini...” (You two lovebirds...) She mumbled and shook her head, making her way inside her house again and leaving the two on their own.

“Arrivederci!” (Bye!) The girl giggled, waving the old lady goodbye as if she didn’t just curse at them.

“Now the last bit I got.” Ollie joked, stepping away from her again. He took a sip from the alcohol, feeling like that was the only source keeping him stable for now. 

“Look at you, little Italian.” She joked back, brushing her hand against his chest before reaching up and loosening his tie even more. She had to step on her toes to reach him, despite being in heels, then patted his chest when she was done. “Don’t want you to suffocate.” She whispered, giving him a flirty look before stepping away and nodding towards the end of the small alley they were in. “This way, follow me.”

When she turned his back to him, he threw his head back and prayed to whoever to help him get through without losing his mind, before following her yet again.

Eventually, and without any other disruptions, the two of them ended up outside a small pizzeria, which surprisingly was still open. There weren’t many people inside, just your local neighbours and a few drunks getting their snack. 

“Aahh!” The owner smiled as he saw the girl enter. “La mia piccola stella!” (My little star!)

“Zio Enzo!” (Uncle Enzo!) She greeted him, sharing their kisses on each cheek as accustomed in Italy. 

They continued talking in Italian, Ollie gathering one or two words here and there from his lessons, but not enough to properly follow their conversation. He realised his teacher would normally talk at a much slower pace, probably to help him understand each word clearly, though now it seemed of little help to him.

“... Formula…?” The owner looked at Ollie, eyeing him up and down. Ollie felt uncomfortable, not knowing what exactly they were talking about, and awkwardly smiled at him. He waved at the owner, not sure what else to do. 

“He’s your friend, no?” Finally, the owner switched to a language Ollie was able to understand. “Il tuo ragazzo?” (Your boyfriend?)

“No, no.” She shook her head, side eye-ing Ollie quickly to see if he had understood what Enzo had asked her. He didn’t seem so, as he stared cluelessly at her.

“Welcome, welcome!” He reached over the counter to greet the young boy, patting his cheek before stretching his arm out to his co-worker. “A pilota di Formula uno in my pizzeria! Francesco, can you believe it?”

“I’m not a Formula One-”

“Una pizza napoletana da asporto per favore.” (One Pizza Napoletana to go, please.) She interrupted him, smiling at the owner sweetly. 

“Ovviamente!” (Of course!) The owner smiled brightly at the two young people. “Pizza Napoletana to go, Francesco, did you hear that?” He turned back to the couple. “Ready in about fifteen minutes. You want something to drink?”

Ollie held up the half empty prosecco bottle, making the owner laugh out loud and nodding in encouragement before getting back to the other customers. 

“So, that’s your uncle's shop?” Ollie asked, trying to open a conversation while waiting for their pizza. 

“Oh no,” The girl shook her head, laughing a bit. “Everybody here calls Enzo their uncle. He’s been here forever, we all grew up eating his pizza.” 

“Oh.” Ollie’s face got hot in embarrassment. 

She laughed at him, slightly punching his arm when she noticed how red he got. “Is that a British thing?”

“What do you mean?” He was confused by her question.

“You get red all the time!” She exclaimed. “I look at you and you’re flushed. At first I was honoured to make you blush, but now I think you’re just like that constantly.”

He was like that constantly just because she was there. But she didn’t need to know that.

“Yeah, I guess it’s a British thing.” He scratched his neck, his face hot again, lying to her face since he didn’t want to admit how flustered she makes him ever since they met.

“It’s a cute British thing.” She slightly pushed him, grinning from ear to ear. “Don’t stop.”

He couldn’t even if he wanted to.

“Pizza Napoletana for my little stella!” 

Taking the pizza carton, the two bid their goodbyes to Enzo before continuing their way down the small alleys. Along the way, Ollie felt her hand intertwining with his again. He didn’t protest.

“We’re here!” She yelled laughingly, letting go of his hand to run forward. “Come on!”

They found themselves at the beach, the small town behind them glittering in the water as the lights reflected on the surface. There were nearly no people on the beach, surprisingly, and Ollie had to hold back his laughter when he saw the girl getting rid of her shoes to feel the sand between her toes. 

“I love the beach.” She said when he came up to her, pizza in one hand and prosecco in the other. He placed both of it carefully on the ground before taking his jacket off, laying it down onto the sand to somewhat protect them from the sand. 

Sitting down, he realised just how close they were to fit into his jacket. Though he wouldn’t ever complain about it. Sharing the pizza, the two of them were silently enjoying the view and food, sharing a sip of prosecco every once in a while, emptying the bottle. 

It’s gotten late. More and more of the few people around them started packing up their stuff. Ollie’s phone had no more battery left, so he was unsure just what time it was. Looking to his right, he also didn’t care what time it was. 

The two were now laying on the beach, their heads sharing the space on Ollie’s suit jacket. Next to them was the empty pizza carton next to the prosecco bottle. They’d clean it up later. 

“... and that’s Andromeda, named after the Ethiopian princess saved by Perseus. She was chained to a rock, being sacrificed to the sea monster Cetus.” She pointed towards the sky, tracing the star constellation she just talked about. “You see?”

He couldn’t really decipher any of the constellations she pointed out to him, Ollie just liked listening to her talking about something she was passionate about. So he nodded, humming in agreement.

“You’re not paying attention!” She scolded him jokingly, shoving his shoulder with her own and giggling when she noticed how she ripped him out of his trance. 

“No, no, I was!” He tried to defend himself. 

“Really? Then where is Andromeda?” She raised her brow, her lips stretched into a smirk. 

Clearing his throat, Ollie turned his head to look at the stars again, randomly pointing at the bright points decorating the night sky. “See, right there.”

Laughing at his attempt, she just shook her head and took his hand into hers. Stretching his pointy-finger out, she helped him slowly trace the Andromeda constellation. “She’s right here, glowing beautifully above us.” She whispered, her eyes soaking up the beauty of the stars while his eyes were drowning in hers.

Slowly, her hands holding his traced each of his fingers. They went over his knuckles, following the lines on the palm of his hand before stopping on his wrist. None of them talked, enjoying the silence and the feel of each other's skin while the waves splashed softly in the background. 

She felt him staring at her from the side, finally turning to him and meeting his eyes. Their hands were still up in the air, though she dropped hers when he felt his hand coming down. He cupped her face gingerly. 

His thumb traced her cheekbone, just as her fingers used to trace his hand, until they stopped at her lips. Her lipstick had been long gone after they finished the pizza, though Ollie found himself enjoying her natural lips just as much as her painted ones. 

He softly swiped over her lips, feeling the shaky breath she let out on his thumb. He couldn’t stop staring at them, wondering what they’d feel like on his lips, what they’d taste like. 

What she would taste like.

“Now or never.” She whispered, making his eyes snap back at hers. 

He leaned over her, using his elbows and free hand to stabilise himself to not crush her with his weight. “Sì?”

“Sì, Oliver.”

Ollie groaned, his full name sounding so appealing when it came out of her lips, and suddenly he’s never felt so sure about something. 

He leaned down, pressing his lips against hers. He was sure he'd never felt so many butterflies going around his stomach. He had goosebumps all over his body, his face flushed yet again and the nervosity fading away with every passing second.

His hand cupping her face moved to her hair, his fingers entangling with her hair and his body moving more and more on top of her. He felt her hands wandering up his back towards his neck, pulling him towards her. Her hands settled on his chest, her nails scratching over the fabric of his dressing shirt. 

His hand, previously holding him up which now his knees did, settled on her waist, tracing small circles over his dress. Her legs wrapped themselves around his waist, her back arching upwards and pressing against his chest.

Ollie felt himself going crazy when he felt her whimpering against his lips, his mind on autopilot as he kissed her down the neck, sucking on her pulsing point which had her moaning and panting. Her nails scratched against his scalp, the slight pain making him groan against her skin. 

“Ollie-” She gasped, throwing her head back as she felt one of his hands tracing the curve of her boob. “Oh Dio…” (Oh God…)

Hearing his name, Ollie snapped out of his trance. Breathing heavily, he pulled away from her slightly to calm down for a second. “Fuck…”

Her taste lingered on his lips, the feeling of kissing her consuming his whole. He knew they needed to stop before things got out of hand, he figured she realised that exact thought as he looked into her eyes. 

Ollie rolled over, leaving the space on top of her and settling down next to her.

There was silence between them, the sound of the waves mixing with their heavy breathing. Suddenly, she started giggling beside him. Not knowing why, Ollie felt the urge to just join her. 

Both giggling, neither of them sure why, and yet the two of them understood each other.

She sat up, looking down at him sideways. “I think it’s time to go.”

Ollie wasn’t sure if she knew how crushing her words were. He wanted to freeze this moment, freeze this moment with her. If it was up to him, he’d never leave this night. 

But it wasn’t up to him, so he stood up and helped her do the same. Dusting the sand off of themselves, Ollie grabbed his suit jacket and shook it before placing it on her shoulders. She smiled at him, and he was sure her eyes sparkled as much as the sky above them. 

They disposed of the carton and bottle in a trash can in front of the beach. The alleys ahead of them were completely empty and Ollie was sure it must’ve been the early hours of the day by now. 

Neither of them shared many words on their way home. He was dreading the moment they separated, and feared making conversation would only speed up the time until then. So he settled for just holding her hand, and she settled for clinging onto his arm. 

But talking or not, eventually they reached the hotel Ollie was staying in. 

“I guess this is it.” She entangled herself from his grip. “Pilota di Formula uno.” (Formula One driver.)

“Doesn’t have to.” He whispered, his eyes searching the depths of hers. “England isn’t that far away, you know. And there are races here in Italy.”

She just smiled at him. “Don’t forget about me when you’re on top.”

“I don’t think I could ever forget about you.” He breathed out.

“Forever is a pretty long time.”

“Not long enough.”

She chuckled at his response, shaking her head. “You’ve gotten a lot bolder ever since the beginning of the night.”

“Learned from the best.” He winked at her, making her laugh out loud. He felt himself grow prideful, he made her laugh again. Oh how he loved her laugh.

“Yeah, your future girlfriend can write me a thank you postcard from England.” She teased, though her joke fell on deaf ears. He didn’t laugh. 

Awkwardly, she looked at her feet. Now she felt herself grow hot within her.

“I don’t even know your name.” Ollie realised out of the blue. 

She looked up at him, now grinning again and feeling relieved at the topic change. “You didn’t figure it out?”

“Figure out what?” He asked cluelessly. 

The girl outstretched her hand. “I’m Andromeda.”

Playing along, he took her hand, slightly bent down and softly kissed the back of it. “Pleasure to meet you, Andromeda.”

“The pleasure is all mine.” She chuckled at his antics, lightly bowing back at him. They both laughed at their situation.

“Drive safe, Oliver.” She smiled sadly at him, both of them knowing it was now finally the time to say goodbye. “And if you ever find yourself back here, maybe stop by Zio Enzo’s pizzeria, alright? Maybe you’ll find me there.”

“I’ll be looking for you.” He breathed out before taking one final step towards her.

Cupping her face again, he pressed a lingering kiss against her lips, cherishing this moment one more time. She melted into him instantly, her hand falling flat against his chest. 

Parting, they breathed each other’s air. His thumb traced her lips again, his rough skin tasting salty against her tongue. He looked deeply into her eyes, memorising their sparkle just like the star constellation she was named after.

“Addio mia stella.” (Goodbye, my star.)

[coldeforprez]

Is It The Way; 2003 • 01

Elias "Stack" Moore has "loved" and lost more than his fair share of women— and rarely thinks twice about it. But He can never seem to let go of her. There's only so much a man—alive or otherwise—can take. And he's been a gentleman long enough, right?

pairing: vampire!Stack x black!OC warnings: ORIGINAL CHARACTER (I love my bb Della Mae with my whole heart and will accept no slander - ty, mgmt. ) ANGST, this fic is VERY self-indulgent, suggestive themes, swearing, implied violence, established relationship, their relationship is kinda toxic but they're just two ppl who love each other okay?!, You get edged again cause no smut till part two :3 (this is a series we gotta do some world building besties) word count: 3.9k

dear reader 💌: hey pookie! I really appreciate the support and love that yall showed the teaser for the first installment of my new series To Have and To Hold ! I have been fighting for my life trying to get this out and honestly, I'm being super picky so I decided to just throw it out there :0 ! That and I can't focus on anything because it's taking up so much space in my head. Anyway ENJOY !

This story is told in a non-linear fashion. Like memories resurfacing.

winter of 1912.

Elias looks up from his spot leaning against the brick pillar—he and Smoke running their usual pickpocketing schemes down at the train station.

Feeling a stare on him, his eyes dart around the crowded platform looking for the source. His gaze skips over her at first—then returns.

She can’t be more than 16 years old; potentially making her only 2 years his junior. Her eyes twinkle with mischief like she’d been watching the twins longer than they knew. She stands next to an older woman and two younger boys, worn suitcases at their feet. Her hand-me-down dress fluttering softly in the winter breeze.

He tilts his head, confused—he’s never seen the girl or her people around town before. Turning to his twin brother, he taps him and asks, in a low voice, “Aye’, you ever seen lil’ mama in the brown dress ‘round here befoe’?”

The elder twin looks up from where he’s counting their earnings—it won’t be enough for a satisfying meal, but it’ll keep the hunger pains away for the night.

His eyes follow Stacks’ gaze to the retreating form of the young girl and her family. He cuts his eyes at his younger brother,

“Well, since I ain’t her maker, I’m not real capable of identifying ole’ girl from the back.”

Stack curls his lip, side-eyeing him. “What you always bein’ smart for? You know what—actually, I don’t give a damn. How much money we make?”

fall of 1914. The air smelled sweet—like honey, heat and the blossoms overhead. Della was leaning back on her palms in the grass, feet bare, Elias’ hat tossed aside beside her. The magnolia tree stretched wide above them like a crown, its branches heavy with blooms, thick petals littering the ground around her.

Elias stood a few feet away, trying to toss a pebble high enough to knock down one of the blossoms—she swore she could catch it mid-air.

“You gon’ miss again,” Del teased, grinning, “and I’ma laugh just as hard as I did the last five times.” he cut his eyes at her, squinting up at the branch, tongue peeking out in concentration. “I ain’t missin’. I’m doin’ warm-up tosses lil’ girl.”

“Ohhh okay! So that’s what you gone call it?” she laughed, tipping her head back until her coils brushed the grass.

He launched another pebble;hitting the branch just right. A magnolia bloom dropped—twirling slowly towards the ground—and Del leapt up with a gleam in her eye, catching it right against her chest. “Ha!” she beamed, spinning to show him. “I was right! Told you I’d catch it.”

He looked at her for a beat too long, he thinks her cheeks should be hurting from how hard she’s grinning. Her smile wide, singular dimple showing. “You always are.” he said softly, hands slipping into his pockets.

She slowed, watching him like she wasn’t used to that tone in his voice. “What?”

“Nothin’,” he said quickly, tugging at his collar anxiously. “Just… you somethin’ else, that’s all.”

Del tucked the magnolia bloom behind her ear and shrugged, but she was smiling too big to play it cool. “I guess you ain’t too bad yourself.”

summer of 1917. The sun was dipping low, casting amber light across the magnolia tree where they always met. Della was halfway through tying her braid when Elias flopped onto the grass beside her, arms folded behind his head, like it was just another Sunday.

“You ever think ‘bout what France smell like?” he asked, watching the clouds.

She side-eyed him. “France?”

He nodded, still staring skyward. “Yeah. I heard it smell like perfume and fresh bread. Kinda place folks write poems about.”

Della squinted at him, confused. “Why you talkin’ ‘bout France?”

He sat up slower this time, like his body felt heavier than usual. His mouth opened, then closed. He looked down at his hands, rubbing at his thumb—he was stalling.

“Got my papers.” ,he grumbled

She blinked. “For what?”

“…The war, Dove. I gotta go.”

Della’s hands dropped into her lap. “No you don’t. Ain’t nobody makin’ you—”

“They are,” he cut in gently, eyes still not quite meeting hers. “Draft notice came in yesterday. I—I ain’t wanna tell you like this, I just… I couldn’t figure out how.”

She stood sharply, fists clenched. “So that’s it? i’m just ‘sposed to sit around and wonder if you makin’ it back or not?”

He stood too, but slower, as if the words had knocked the wind out of him. “It’s not like I wanna go, Del. But if I don’t show up, they gone come lookin’. Maybe even worse.”

His voice cracked just a little on that last part, and he finally met her eyes. “I ain’t gone lie and say i’m not scared,” he admitted, quietly. “But I swear to you—I’m comin’ back. I ain’t dyin’ in no field—I don’t care what I gotta do.”

She stared at him, lip trembling. “You better,” she whispered.

fall of 1932. “You think I give a fuck what you want right now?” he growled in frustration. “I ain’t lettin’ you go. Not this time. You hear me? You mine. You always been, always gone be.”

She struck him—open palm across the face, hard. His head snapped sideways. He didn’t flinch. Just turned back slow, smiling crooked, eyes glowing like wildfire. His hands tightening on her shoulders voice thick with grief and possessive need.

“You all I got left,” he breathed. “I ain’t losin’ you too. I’ll drag you with me if I have to. I swear to God, I will.”

She scoffs trying to free herself from his grip to no avail,

“No self-righteous sacrifices for me huh? No bullshit speech about keeping me safe?” she spat, eyes burning with tears. “You always pulling me towards a burning building with you, but I bet you woulda’ lost your damn life to protect her from one! Hell���Mary the one made you this way! Go spend an eternity with her ole triflin’ bloodsuckin’ ass!”

She clawed at his chest, shoved, writhed—but his hands only steadied her, held her like something precious even as he stole her breath.

“I ain’t doin’ this life without you,” he said, voice thick, almost tender. “Ain’t no world I wanna be apart of if you not in it.”

And then—Stillness.

Her body limp in his arms. Blood on his lips. The river settled.

Above them, the magnolia tree stood silent. Watching.

spring of 52’. Their magnolia was in full bloom.

Del figured if they were gonna do this, it best be at a spot that held their most precious memories. Both the good ones—and the ones that still stung.

The wind brought in a soft breeze, just enough to ruffle the edges of her white dress. Her veil fluttered around her face like a whisper.

He wore a pressed suit—bloodstain still on the cuff she couldn’t scrub out. His grin was wide, wicked, sharp fangs flashing under gold slugs.

No preacher. No piano. No guests.

Just the river hummin’ nearby, and a jar of moonshine waitin’ in the grass.

She whispered her vows into the crook of his neck. He said his with his mouth pressed to her fingertips.

“You know this don’t fix everything,” she told him with a smirk.

“Ain’t tryna fix it,” he said. “Just tryna hold onto it.”

Their old magnolia tree the only witness to their eternal union. summer of 75’. “C’mon, morning dove,” he says, smiling like it was 1951. “Let me hold you a minute.”

present day; 2003

He strolled in right at midnight, just as everything had gone quiet and the once raucous city streets were now eerily still.

She didn’t turn when the door opened. Didn’t flinch when his footsteps found her.

She’d known he would come eventually. Of course he would. Even when she didn’t want him to—he always did. The problem was that she’d never quite figured out which she preferred more: his absence or his presence.

She never had to question whether or not she still wanted him though. Hell, she spent more time than she’d like to admit reminiscing the countless ways he’d expressed his insatiable hunger for her in this almost century-old dance they’d been doing.

He doesn’t announce his presence. No smooth line. No performative charm. Doesn’t even breathe too loud.

His coat’s worn in random spots—like something time had toyed with endlessly and then tossed aside. For a quick moment, she wonders if he’s fallen on hard times since the last time he’d blessed suffocated her with his presence. That’s how she felt, too—every time they slipped outside each other’s orbit. Like she was just waiting breathlessly in the wings for the next act of their whirlwind—whatever it was they have.

On the exterior, she’s the picture of indifference. Takes the time to sip the drink clutched between her sharply manicured fingers. Letting the silence stretch—uncomfortable for most, but not for them.

Just as she’s worked up the nerve to acknowledge his presence—

“Del.”

A beat. The space between them has never seemed further.

“You still carryin’ the weight of the world like it belongs to you, baby.”

She breathes out a soft, humorless sound. Doesn’t smile. Refuses to turn her head to give him the satisfaction of seeing a glimpse of the mental spiral his sudden appearance has catapulted her into.

“And you still talk like a ghost that don’t know it’s dead.”

He inches closer. Slowly. Like if he moves too fast, she’ll vanish again.

“Maybe I am.”

She turns swiftly toward him—eyes sharp, expression unreadable. With a slight furrow in her brows and something cold yet vulnerable in her voice, she asks a question that likely won’t have a sufficient answer—

“Why now?”

A brief pause. His usual sly grin is noticeably missing—his mouth opens and shuts quickly, almost like he’s chewing on the words but they just don’t taste quite right. Yet he doesn’t blink when he says it:

“Ain’t know how much longer I could stay away.”

She doesn’t respond. Not right away. Just lets out a quiet chuckle and tips her glass toward him—dry, disbelieving.

“Even after all these years…” She shakes her head, almost smiling. “You still one smooth motherfucka. I’ll give ya that.”

He breaks into that infamous grin—just as intimidating as it is bright. Like he ain’t ever seen a bad day in his life. “Now you know better than anybody—I can’t contain all this pimpin’.”

She pauses mid-sip, nearly chokes. Side-eyes him, nostrils flaring, expression dry as hell. She waits a beat. Then hums a noise of indifference,

“Mmm—You dressed like a broke-ass pimp. Must be hard flyin’ with one wing, huh?”

The jab knocks him off guard. For a second, he forgets they aren’t back there—where jokes came easier, when everything felt like that rare but sweet moment when you realize you’re dreaming—and somehow, you get to keep dreaming, just to spite reality a little longer.

He smacks his lips, gaze blank, mouth cocked to the side, ignoring the subtle bite in her voice. “Aye, stop playin’ with me. You know ian ever hurtin’ for no bread. Who you think bought out half these pieces before the showcase tonight?”

That earns him her first real smile. Small. Shy. Like it slipped out before she could catch it. Like her body remembered something before her mind could lock it away. “Yeah, I know. I just wanted you to drop all that silent and mysterious shit. Came in here lookin’ like you auditionin’ for that vampire nigga movie.”

He squints. “You talkin’ ‘bout Blade?”

She nods, grinning. “Hell yea. You got this big-ass trench coat on like it ain’t 75 degrees outside.” He cuts her off with—“Aye shoutout Wesley Snipes, you know i’on fuck wit’ allat capitalism—taxes and shit.”

She shakes her head, earrings jingling softly—briefly catching his attention—before he hears her mutter under her breath, “Ole’ extra ass.”

He spins with a grin and a little flourish. “Owee—Don’t hate baby.” Smirking as he invades her space just enough to make the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

“ You ain’t gotta lie to yourself—Daddy still make that pretty thang’ hum, hm?”

The echoes of his southern drawl still makes her knees feel weak. Pause. How does he even think to say shit like that?

He does kinda have a point though.

She steps back curling her lip at him in pure annoyance, rolling her eyes quickly, “Nigga, gone on somewhere.” Giving him a slow once-over, “And don’t think you slick with that ‘I ain’t know how long I could stay away’ shit.” She drops her voice into a mocking tone—deep and dramatic, face scrunched in fake sadness. “I know you,” she says, shaking her head. “You want somethin’. So gone and come out wit’ it.”

“Why you always assumin’ I got a hidden agenda or some shit?” he scoffs.

She fixes him with a stare.

He coughs, looks away, then back again—“Okay. Never mind. Ignore that.” He sighs deeply like he’s afraid she’s going to shut him down before he can pull his thoughts together.

“Been tryna love other people—swear I have.”

She purses her lips.

“Okay damn, maybe I was just fuckin’ some of ‘em—Anyway—tried humans, but you know I get a little nibbly when I’m excited—dated some vamps, kinda hard for ‘em to live up to my expectations there though,” He scratches his beard in frustration, “Shit I even went out with a witch for a minute—she was a lil freak, I’ll tell you that—still ain’t come close to nothin’ we used to—”

She briefly stares off into space dumbfounded; then turns back to cut him off before he can remind her of anything she might still want. “Hmm—if you came to update me on all the places your dick has been the last decade, you can spare me.” She rolls her eyes and mutters under her breath where he can’t hear, “Nigga goin’ on a world tour with my dick and tryna tell me all about it—fuck is he on?”

His eyes widen in realization at the implications of his words. “Hollon’, I ain’t mean it like that,” He sighs again. “What I’m tryna say is every time—every time—I start feelin’ like maybe I can build somethin’ new, your name start echoin’ in my head. Or I’d smell that stankin’ ass oil paint you used to use. Hear you narratin’ your day like somebody other than just us was around—Even started listenin’ to that white bread ass group you like so much.”

She scoffs and interrupts, “Aht Aht—not too much on Fleetwood Mac now—that might be one of the few things white folks got right.” She rolls her eyes muttering under her breath, “Surprised his ass ain’t go lookin’ for Stevie Nicks since he like witches so damn much—”

He quiets her with a blank stare. Grumbling under his breath before continuing, “Keep on rolling’ them damn eyes— hope they get stuck like that.” Clearing his throat he continues, “I kept tellin’ myself you might actually be better off without me. Maybe finally found a way to feel human again—then I heard ‘bout this place. Figured maybe you ain’t moved on neither.”

She’s suddenly busy surveying the contents of her glass—it’s been empty for the last 10 minutes.

“And that kinda fucked me up a lil’ bit, Cause if you still alone—and I’m still alone—then what the hell we been doin’ all this time, Del?”

She sighs quietly and meets his gaze with a resigned look in her eye, but before she can get the words out he interrupts,

“I ain’t come here looking for no second chances. We way past that anyway. But—you the only one who ever—survived me—Who know me better than maybe even Smoke did. And I’m not goin’ another decade wonderin’ if we could finally get it right.”

She scoffs, her eyes quickly becoming ablaze with an emotion he can only define as rage. “And that’s our problem right there—It’s all about what you want and when you’re ready to do it!”

All things considered, he’s propositioned her with worse. She’s not even sure why she’s fighting him now— aching inside to try again but too afraid to take the leap.

How much will they bleed this time around if they cut each other again?

She pauses breath catching in her throat, feeling her composure slipping. Can’t meet his eye when she opens her mouth to say, “Look, I don’t think—”

71 years and they still can’t get it right. He can feel her slipping away. She doesn’t think he’ll ever get another chance like this. He knows he won’t. She’ll make sure of it. His throat tightens—panic sets in. He’s about to be knocked out of her orbit forever.

“I’m sorry.”

He says the words like they were trying to burst from his lips. His eyes damn near projecting a short film filled with the echoes of his desperation and whispers of his guilt. It’s rushed, clumsy, boy-ish—such contrast from the way he would normally carry himself. Honestly, it’s pretty sucky as far as apologies go, especially given the tangled history the two of them share.

But somehow it works. Like most things involving the two, no reasonable explanation could be given for how two words—3 syllables—can atone for years of hurting and healing each other.

She blinks rapidly, shifting from foot to foot. She’d always considered herself the least prideful of the two. So she’s admittedly a bit irked that he gets to be the bigger person for saying what they’d always known they both desperately need to hear—

“I-I’m sorry, Elias. I’ve always let you take the blame for everything wrong in our relationship— and my life too, I guess” Her breath catches, looking down at her feet—arms instinctively wrapping around herself. Even to her own ears she sounds fragile. This might be the closest she’s been to feeling like herself since that night in 1932. “That wasn’t fair of me.”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just stares at her like she’s some rare thing he isn’t sure he’s allowed to touch anymore. Then— “I could’ve fought harder. For you. For us.” His voice is low, steady. No theatrics this time. “I made peace with the blame—meant I still had somethin’ to carry around with your name on it.” He steps forward—slow, like the wrong move might undo it all. “I ain’t never wanted you to hurt like I did. But I- I didn’t know how to stop takin’ pieces of you with me every time I left.” He reaches for her—momentarily thinking twice about whether touching her will end in him being attacked ;or if she’ll submit to the current of the moment with him. Quickly coming to the conclusion that he’d be satisfied with either reaction, he finally closes the distance between them.

The feeling can only be described as that deeply seated joy you feel when coming home after a long time away. Almost like slipping back into a dream they’d been having every night for the last 71 years.

For a long moment, neither of the two spoke. Their silence saying everything they’d probably never be able to put to words—grief, guilt, passion. Their silence creating a picture that looks something like forgiveness, a bit like anger, and a lot like love. Whispers of a maybe. Promises of a forever.

Her face tucked near his neck, where she’d always felt safe she murmured a quiet, “Missed you.”

He looks down at her with a small smile, leaning in to get a taste of her lips for the first time in a decade.

She leans her head back and places two fingers over his lips with a smirk, “You know this means you lose right ?”

His arms tighten around her waist, one hand sneakily yanking her hand into his. Kissing the tips of her fingers with a smile in his voice, “Long as I lose to you, It ain’t really losin’, huh?”

He gives a crooked grin—and kisses her like no time has passed at all.

But time has passed. And it’s in the way his hand trembles just slightly when he touches her waist. In the way her breath hitches when their mouths finally meet, not rushed, not angry, but like they’re retracing old steps in a house long abandoned.

It starts slow. Mouths hovering, teasing. The tension’s all in the pause, the promise.

Then—He bites. A tiny nip at her bottom lip, soft and sharp all at once. A low, possessive growl vibrates from his chest, deep and involuntary. She tastes like something he lost in a dream. The air shifts. The room’s still, but they aren’t. The kind of stillness that only comes before a storm.

“Hey, daddy?” she whispers, lips grazing the skin just beneath his jaw—hot, deliberate.

“Yeah, Dove,” he murmurs, eyes half-lidded, voice soaked in want.

She smiles—slow, wicked. Her voice a sweet purr. “Wanna play a game?”

His hands slide lower on her waist, fingers slipping just under the hem of her shirt, just enough to make her heart skip.

“Only if I get to keep you after.”

She lets out a breathy scoff, laughing into his mouth, palms pressed flat against his chest like she might push him away—but doesn’t.

“No, seriously—how do you come up with this stuff?” she says, eyes dancing, even as her body leans closer. He just grins, lips brushing hers again.

"Been rehearsin' since 88'. "

summer of ‘75.

“You were my wife, my life, my hopes and dreams.”

Marvin Gaye’s voice curls through the room low, aching, full of a wisdom neither of them dare speak aloud. The record crackles faintly, wrapping them in a velvet cocoon, safe—for now—from the world, from the past, from the slow unraveling they’ve both felt coming.

Elias hums along, off-key. Della swaying absentmindedly in her silk robe, brush in hand, paint smudged on her cheek. He watches her from the couch, journal resting open in his lap, the morning sun painting their living room a gold hue through their sheer drapery.

“You set my soul on fire, my one desire was to love you and think of you with pride.”

“C’mere,” he murmurs, standing with his arms open.

She laughs, not looking at him yet. “You ain’t even brushed your teeth.”

“C’mon, morning dove,” he says, smiling like it’s 1951 again. “Let me hold you a minute.”

“But if you ever need me, i’ll be by your side.“

She lets herself go. Not because it’s easy—but because it’s familiar. Because even with everything cracking underneath them, the shape of him still fits against her perfectly. They dance like they’ve got forever. The lyrics echo what their souls already know—a promise for what’s to come being made without words.

“Though the many happy times we had could really never outweigh the bad…” “I never loved nobody, like I loved you baby…” “Now it’s time for us to say farewell…” “Maybe we’ll meet, down the line…”

Elias presses his cheek to her temple, eyes shut. She grips the back of his shirt like she’s bracing for a fall.

Neither one says a word. But the record keeps playing. And the silence between them says everything.

@marley1773 @justhere2bhur @mea-bby @browngirldominion @kodakbesos @thickemadame @shinywrites @kindofaintrovert @mskirara @amethyst09 @kittikrusher (lol wtf) @sk1121-blog1 @jozigrrl @childishgambinaax

leave a 💲if you'd like to keep up with this series!

[meganwhalenturner]

So, last November I got to try my hand at Alchemy

Maddalena Rumor, in the Classics Department of Case Western Reserve University came to have dinner with us and mentioned she'd just successfully turned silver gold.

She had an alchemical recipe from a 7th century BCE cuneiform tablet from the library of Ashurbanipal. She'd been working with Rekha Srinivasan, from the Chemistry Department to see if they could translate the cuneiform, identify the substances mentioned, and then try the recipe to see if it worked.

They traveled to the British Museum to examine the tablet up close. By studying the partial strokes along the edges, Maddalena could make some educated guesses about missing words. Rekha, in turn, could use the descriptions of the substances to make some guesses about what they might be. Then they could start testing their best guesses with experiments.

This is complicated by the tendency of alchemical texts to use code words or inside jokes to describe materials or techniques. Something like me making a recipe that calls for 2 Legs and 1 Arm of Policeman and my friends all knowing it means 2.5 ingots of Copper.

I know the word alchemy comes from the Arabic al-kimia and that it eventually developed into chemistry, but I've always associated it with the worst of the Dark Ages in Europe--charlatans or wannabe magicians in smoke-filled, poorly lit cellars full of of mummified animals and just generally gross stuff that is not my jam.

I'm wondering now if that's because medieval alchemists were reading a lot of things literally that weren't meant to be taken that way. There's a reference in one of Maddalena's article's to a rare case where "human excrement" called for in a recipe is revealed to actually mean "garlic." I can see a lot of ancient alchemists laughing up their sleeves.

I had just learned during a trip to Naples the previous summer that the alchemy of Renaissance philosophers like Pico Della Mirandola was very different from the stuff in the basements of Prague. Instead of dreckapotheke, they were translating texts from the Ancients Greeks, texts that were perhaps based on the very tablets from the 7th Century BCE that Maddalena was studying. I promptly begged to observe her next experiment.

She very graciously said yes, so I went down to a lab at Case and I wish I had taken better notes, but I did not, so what I've got is a bunch of pictures, and I'll have to go back and badger Maddalena for details.

These are the ingredients for the next round of testing.

They will be mixed into a solution in the flask on the right and then heated on a burner.

Then silver tablets will be dipped into the solution:

And turn gold!

Not *into* gold. That was not the plan. Hope you aren't disappointed.

If you thought the object of alchemy in those dark basements in Prague was turn to lead into gold, yeah me, too. And maybe it was, but the alchemy of the ancient Near East seems to have been more clear that transmutation wasn't on offer. After reading some of Maddalena's articles, I now know there were four main practices of alchemy back in the day: coloring silver gold, making a silver alloy that still looked like silver, coloring glass to look like precious stones, and dying wool purple without using those expensive snail shells from Tyre.

I talked about alchemy a lot (really, a lot, everyone was very patient) at a recent writing retreat. Erin Bow called it the Science of Knock Offs.

There are multiple ancient sources that say that this "holy and divine art" (hē hiera kai theia technē) was taught to mankind by fallen angels who were sharing the secrets of heaven. I know it seems ridiculous that an all knowing divine being is going to focus on the Secret Science of Knock Offs, but the more I I think about it, the more I can see it.

ARMUMAHEL: We will share with you the great mysteries of heaven!

MANKIND: . . .

ARMUMAHEL: I can save you some money on purple dye.

MANKIND: YAY!

SAMYAZA: So how did the secret sharing go today, Armumahel? Did they ask about the language of birds? The control over monsters of the deep?

ARMUMAHEL: I told'em how to make glass marbles look like sapphires.

SAMYAZA: You do know Enoch is writing all this down. His book is going to be stuck in the apocrypha and we're going to be laughing stocks.

ARMUMAHEL: I promised to tell them tomorrow how to turn silver gold.

SAMYAZA: Ah! Transmutation of matter! That's a good one!

ARMUMAHEL: No, not transmutation. They just want the silver bowls on the alter to be yellow and shiny.

SAMYAZA: . . .

My shiny yellow tablet. : )

[insidekatmind]

Jealousy~Berlin(Song Jung-ho)

Wearning: +18,smut, degratation, public, age-gap

Request: yes!

The roar of gunshots and muffled screams echoes through the Palazzo della Zecca. The tension is electric, and every step you take seems to echo through the corridors like a death knell. But you keep your cool. You have to. Everyone is counting on you.

You’re there as part of the gang, your face hidden behind the red mask, but your most precious secret is another. You and Berlin are in a relationship. Something forbidden, dangerous and at the same time impossible to ignore. He is the relentless genius who orchestrates the plan with lethal elegance, and you… are the only one capable of breaking through his icy armor.

No one knows. No one must know. And yet, Denver continues to try to get to you. His open smiles and cheeky jokes follow you everywhere. Many times you’ve laughed, trying to ignore the jabs and attempts at flirting, but every time it happens, you feel Berlin’s eyes fixed on you. Cold and fierce.

“Hey, girl, how about we run away from this madhouse together when this is all over?” Denver jokes one day, with that naive, charming boyish smile.

You pretend to ignore him, to concentrate on your station, but his playful tone is hard to completely push away. What you don’t expect, though, is the sudden grip of a hand around your wrist. Strong. Relentless.

“Come with me. Now.” Berlin’s voice is sharp, cold as a freshly sharpened knife.

You don’t have time to protest. He drags you into another room, away from the others, his furious footsteps echoing on the floor. He slams the door shut and stares at you, eyes burning with barely contained anger.

“What do you think you’re doing messing with Denver?” His voice is a low growl, but the trembling in his hands reveals an emotion far deeper than anger: fear.

“I… I wasn’t… It’s not what you think.” You try to explain, but he’s already too blinded by jealousy to really listen.

“I don’t want to see you even talk to him.” He presses you against the wall, his presence intrusive and possessive. “You’re mine. Only mine.”

Your heart is racing, but there’s something about the way he looks at you that takes your breath away. It’s not just desire, but a desperate need, a terror hidden behind the mask of control.

You hugged him softly. "I'm only yours, love," you whispered softly. His grip tightened around you, his fingers digging into your skin. "Damn right you are," he growled, his breath hot against your ear. "You're mine, and don't you fucking forget it."

He pulled back suddenly, grabbing your chin roughly and forcing you to look at him. His eyes were dark, filled with a possessive intensity. "I don't share, got it? You belong to me, and only me. If I ever catch you looking at another guy, or god forbid, touching one... I'll make you regret it."

His thumb pressed hard against your jaw, his grip painful. "Understand, whore"

You nodded and stroked his arm. You knew he was still angry and decided to make it up to him. You lowered your hand to his crotch, squeezing it. His eyes flashed with anger and desire as you touched him. "You think you can just touch me like that and everything will be okay?" he sneered, grabbing your wrist and squeezing hard. "You're gonna have to do a lot more than that to make it up to me, slut."

He pushed you down onto the bed, climbing on top of you and pinning your arms above your head. "I'm gonna fuck you so hard, you won't be able to walk straight for a week," he promised darkly, his free hand tearing at your clothes. "And if you dare to make a sound, I'll gag you. Got it?"

His hips ground against yours, his hardness evident through his jeans. "Now be a good little whore and take what's coming to you."

You nodded as you looked at him. He smirked cruelly at your submission, his grip on your wrists tightening. "That's right, nod like the obedient little fucktoy you are," he mocked, leaning down to bite at your neck hard enough to leave a mark.

His hands roamed your body roughly, squeezing and groping as he pleased. "You're nothing but a hole for me to use," he whispered harshly in your ear. "A warm, wet place for my cock to disappear into."

He sat back, unbuckling his belt slowly. "I'm going to destroy this pretty little cunt of yours," he promised, pulling out his hard, thick cock. "And you're going to take every inch like the desperate slut you are."

He positioned himself at your entrance, the head of his cock pressing against you. "Beg for it," he demanded, his voice cold and commanding. "Beg me to fuck you like the worthless whore you are."

“Please fuck me,” you whisper softly. You knew you had to make it up to him. His lips curled into a sneer at your whispered plea. "Louder, slut. I want all to hear what a desperate whore you are for my cock."

He pressed the head of his dick against your entrance, teasing you with the promise of penetration. "Beg like you mean it, or I'll make you suffer all night long."

His free hand came up to wrap around your throat, squeezing just enough to make you gasp. "Come on, whore. Tell me how much you need my dick inside you. How much you crave being used and abused by me."

He leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke in a low, menacing tone. "Because if you don't, I might just decide to leave you empty and aching. Would you like that, you pathetic little slut?"

“Please Berlin,” you said louder, stroking his shoulders. His grip on your throat tightened at the sound of his name, a cruel smile spreading across his face. "There's a good girl," he purred mockingly. "At least you know how to beg properly."

Without warning, he slammed his hips forward, burying himself balls deep inside you in one brutal thrust. He didn't give you any time to adjust, immediately setting a punishing pace as he fucked you mercilessly.

"You're so fucking tight," he growled, his fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise. "Like a virgin's cunt."He leaned down, biting at your neck and shoulders, marking you as his.

You groaned and scratched his back. "Berlin," you groaned. His back arched at the feeling of your nails digging into his skin, a hiss escaping his lips. "Fuck, yes," he groaned, his hips snapping forward even harder. "Mark me up, you little slut. Show the world who I belong to."

He grabbed your legs, pushing them back and spreading you wide open. The new angle allowed him to go even deeper, his cock hitting your cervix with every thrust. "Take it, whore," he snarled. "Take every fucking inch of my dick."

You screamed in both pain and pleasure. “Oh,” you said.

His eyes flashed with sadistic pleasure at your scream, a wicked grin spreading across his face. "That's it, scream for me," he demanded, his pace never faltering. "Let all know what a dirty little slut you are."

He leaned down, capturing your lips in a brutal kiss, his teeth biting at your bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. "You love this, don't you?" he panted against your mouth. "Being used and degraded by me. Having your cunt stretched out by my big, thick cock."

His hand cracked across your face, the sharp sting sending a jolt of electricity through your body. "That's right, moan for me, you worthless whore," he sneered, his hips pistoning in and out of you at a brutal pace.

He slapped you again, and again, each strike sending you spiraling further into a haze of pain and pleasure. "You're mine," he growled possessively. "My personal fucktoy to use and abuse as I please."

He grabbed your jaw roughly, forcing your mouth open. "Open wide, slut," he commanded, before spitting a thick glob of saliva directly into your mouth. "Taste what a dirty whore you are."

His grip on your jaw tightened, his fingers digging into your skin as he continued to fuck you relentlessly. "You're nothing but a hole for me to fill," he snarled. "A warm, wet place for my cum to leak out of."

He leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke in a low, menacing tone. "And when I'm done with you, I'm going to fill that pretty little mouth of yours with my seed. Make you choke on it like the cum slut you are."

You swallow his spit and moan as you cling to him. His eyes darkened with lust as you swallowed his spit, a cruel smirk twisting his lips. "Good girl," he praised mockingly. "Such a obedient little whore, swallowing my spit like it's the nectar of the gods."

He gripped your hips tightly, his fingers digging into your flesh as he pounded into you mercilessly. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mingling with your moans and his grunts of exertion.

"You're so fucking close, aren't you?" he sneered, his thumb finding your clit and pressing down hard. "I can feel your cunt tightening around my cock. Beg for permission to come, slut. Beg me to let you find your release."

“Please daddy, make me come and fill me with your cum,” you beg. His eyes flashed with sadistic glee at your desperate plea, a wicked grin spreading across his face. "Since you asked so nicely," he purred, his thumb circling your clit rapidly.

His hips snapped forward one last time, burying himself deep inside you as he came with a roar. "Fuck, take it all, you little cum slut," he growled, his cock pulsing as he filled you with his hot seed.

As your orgasm crashed over you, he leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear. "Remember this feeling, whore," he whispered menacingly. "Remember who owns this cunt. Who fills it with cum. You belong to me, and only me."

You moaned at his words and took his face and kissed him. He kissed you back roughly, his tongue invading your mouth and dominating yours. His hands gripped your hair, pulling your head back to deepen the kiss as he continued to thrust lazily into your sensitive, cumfilled hole.

When he finally broke the kiss, his eyes were cold and calculating. "You're mine, understood?" he said firmly, his grip on your hair tightening painfully. "I own every inch of you. Your body, your mind, your soul. You exist solely for my pleasure."

You caressed his cheeks. "Honey, I love you. I'm sorry if you felt jealous. No one can take your place," you whispered softly. His expression softened slightly at your words, but the possessive glint remained in his eyes. "I love you too, you stupid girl," he muttered, leaning into your touch. "But don't think that means I'll go easy on you. You're still a brat who needs to be put in her place sometimes."

He pulled out of you abruptly, his cum leaking out of your wellused hole. "Clean me up," he ordered, pushing your head down towards his stillhard cock. "And then get on your knees. It's time for your next lesson in obedience."

You smiled sweetly and muttered a 'yes daddy' and sucked his cock. He groaned as you took his cock into your mouth, his hand gripping the back of your head tightly. "That's it, suck it like the good little slut you are," he praised, his hips rocking forward to fuck your face.

His other hand came up to grab your chin, forcing you to look up at him as he used your mouth. "You look so pretty with my dick stretching your lips," he sneered, his eyes filled with lust and dominance.

He held your head still, his cock hitting the back of your throat repeatedly. "Gag on it, whore. Show me how much you love choking on my fat cock."

You moaned on his cock as you choked. You loved being choked on his cock and Berlin knew it. You moaned and continued to suck him. At that moment Denver enters the room and Berlin continues to fuck your face to make him understand that you are his. Berlin's eyes flicked to Denver as he entered the room, a smirk spreading across his face. He didn't even pause in his brutal facefucking, wanting to make sure Denver got a good view of his possession.

"Look at her, Denver," he sneered, gripping your hair tighter. "Look at my little whore, choking on my cock like the slut she is. She's mine, understand? Her mouth, her cunt, her ass, everything belongs to me."

He pulled you off his dick, letting you gasp for air. "Tell him, slut," he ordered, his hand wrapping around your throat. "Tell Denver who you belong to."

“I'm his,” you said and went back to sucking Berlin's cock. Berlin's grin widened at your words, his grip on your throat tightening possessively. "That's right, you're mine," he growled, thrusting his hips forward and burying his cock back in your mouth.

He glanced at Denver again, his expression daring him to challenge his claim. "She's my personal fucktoy," he sneered. "I can use her whenever and however I want. Isn't that right, slut?"

You moaned in response on his cock, licking and sucking it more. Berlin's eyes gleamed with sadistic pleasure as you moaned around his cock, your enthusiasm only fueling his dominance. "Fuck, listen to her," he taunted Denver, his grip on your hair tightening. "She loves sucking my dick, doesn't she? She's addicted to the taste of my cum."

He pulled you off his cock again, this time holding you by the back of the neck. "Open wide, slut," he commanded, his other hand pumping his shaft rapidly. "I'm going to mark your face with my cum, so everyone knows you're mine."

His face contorted in pleasure as he came, thick ropes of cum splattering across your cheeks and lips. "Take it, whore," he groaned, his hips jerking forward as he coated you in his seed. "Take my mark."

He held you in place, making sure every drop landed on your face. "There, now everyone will know who you belong to," he sneered, wiping the excess cum off his dick with your hair. "You're mine, and only mine."

He looked at Denver, a cruel smirk on his face. "See that, Denver? That's what happens when you try to take something that belongs to me. She's mine, and I'll do whatever the fuck I want with her."

[princessbubblecup]

Ducktales (2017) fic recs!!

These are just the ones I've come across in the past month, so if you have any of your own favorites to share please do!! and if you are a fan of any of these, I would love it if you would yap about them with me! Anyways, here you go! (all on ao3, and as of now all guest friendly!)

Stargaze_Sunflower:

Soldier, Poet, King is a 100k completed fic (with an uncompleted sequel that you do not need to enjoy the main fic) sort-of separated at birth AU set in a kind-of fantasy medieval world. The triplets happen to meet each other in the middle of a kidnapping plot orchestrated by Magica DeSpell, without actually knowing who they are to each other. Don't worry, they'll eventually figure it out! It is so so good, so well written and gives plenty of angst, hurt/comfort, and character arcs for all three triplets. Donald and Della are only mentioned in the fic (for all you duck twin lovers I am sorry, but there is a oneshot written with their backstory!) and the only POVs are from the triplets. I promise you it is worth the read!

Leaves From the Vine is a 6k oneshot in the SPK universe that shows how the triplets got separated in the first place. It's told from Della's POV, and there is a major character death. If you want to feel less hurt/no comforted, I highly recommend reading Soldier, Poet, King first or directly afterwards. Sad, but still very well written and worth the read!

Flicker and Fade is a 30k completed fic that you may have seen some fanart floating around of! Ever wonder why someone drew louie with red and blue eyes while being all glitchy? Wonder no longer! Told from mostly louie's POV, this fic is a story of what happens when louie gets blasted by a memory related machine that malfunctions at Gyro's lab. Now he's lost his physical self, and what's worse is that the memory of him was wiped from planet earth! How will he get help if no one even knows he's missing? High stakes, angsty, with a hurt/comfort ending! It is mostly emotion-y with less action if that's less your thing. I recommend though!

They have quite a few other one shots and short fics you can check out if any of these tickle your fancy, I just haven't gotten around to them yet. Mostly they seem to be louie centric, or the triplets dealing with their mom angst

justaboot:

in situ is a 7 chapter, completed collection of oneshots centering how Della manages to pop up in her family's life despite her disappearance. it has pretty much every family member getting a turn to stumble upon her memory, and get some emotional workouts because of it. It is SO good (this author is another fav of mine, and is very della centric for those of you needing good della rep) and very good hurt/comfort when dealing with the loss of a loved one, including how the grief isn't all about the hurting part!

Everyone Loves a Reunion is a oneshot centering the relationship of younger scrooge and little Della (and a little bit of Donald) set during a good old family reunion. it has some sweetness, but also angst from explicit mention of child abuse, emotional and physical. It isn't extreme, but still. For better or worse it does give more characterization to the duck twins parents and the family not shown in the show. It also sets up the parenting role Scrooge takes on in justaboot's universe when it comes to the twins, which I love a lot.

Gentle As It Goes is a one-shot on an AU where Della and Donald raise the kids together after Uncle Scrooge is the one who is lost to space. Nice family scene of the twins being parents together, but with a sad undertone of the loss of Scrooge, and the frustrations of new parenthood and poverty. I want more of this AU, but justaboot sadly has not written any more of it yet.

And These Lights, They Glow is a one-shot from little Webby's POV showcasing how the loss of Della affected Scrooge, and how Webby tries to comfort someone who does not notice her. very cute, and sad to see how Webby went so long without any recognition from one of the only people in her life.

Dear Fellow Traveler: is a 40k completed Huey centric fic set before Della's return and during a Junior Woodchuck getaway, where Huey happens upon his child mother (in disguise) who decided to take a little time-travel trip. They have an adventure together as strangers-turned-friends, and huey must utilize all his older-brother skills to keep his younger mother safe. Amazingly fleshed out storyline that is really interesting even without the time travel dynamics. justaboot shows how awesome and immersive their worldbuilding is with all their fics, honestly.

Two Minutes to Midnight is a 30k completed louie centric fic set post timephoon. another time travel fic where louie is zapped to his teen mother's side as she tries to get out of her OWN respective grounding. lots of action, heavy angst, and a great character study between louie and his mom discussing the MOST della-hating episode portrayed in fics. If you want a timephoon fic that doesn't completely dismiss louie's feelings while NOT dragging Della through the fucking mud, this is an amazing one. Once again, we get a glimpse into the Mcduck family as well as some quality teen twin content. Plus, a lot of parent Scrooge to Della! It is hurt/comfort, though personally i wish there was a little more comfort and discussion at the end. I think this does show how families can heal imperfectly, but heal nonetheless. Besides, the Mcducks are fairly unique in their dysfunctionality.

And a Sixpence in Your Shoe is an 80k, completed fic centering the whole family dealing with a very unwelcome intruder in their home and lives in an AMAZINGGG retelling of the '87 episode "til nephews do us part." After being introduced to a horrible and horribly wealthy woman during a dinner party she hosted, the Duck family is appalled to see Scrooge inviting her into their lives as a suitor. Hurt/comfort with lots of frustrations and angst, and with TWs for dubious consent and magical coercion (nothing explicit) and abusive behavior from Scrooge as a result of mind-controlling. Everyone goes through it. Comfort comes in clutch at the end, along with some Goldie! amazing fic, very well fleshed out and it REALLY makes you hate the antagonist, which is how you know they're well written.

LOVEE this author, their characterizations, worldbuilding, dynamics and writing are all top notch. The characters are all humanized in their fics, but it isn't super in your face if that's something you don't prefer

sparklingspidey:

The Leaves are Falling as Time Slips By is a Huey centric one-shot where Huey gets hurt falling from a tree. Some good ol' injury-induced family fluff, its short and sweet.

The Art of Resiliency is another Huey centric one-shot, and also has injury based hurt/comfort, but is fairly graphic and a fair bit darker in theme. Huey is kidnapped by Mark Beaks, and is subsequently tortured on video in an effort to get the Gizmoduck armor. Heavy angst, but there is comfort at the end!

love me some Huey love, and this author delivers!

Mighty_Ant:

Just a Normal, Boring Family is a 40k uncompleted (but updated recently!) fic centering the triplets in a life without their Uncle Donald. In this AU, Donald never had Scrooge babysit for his job interview, and when he finally tries to go to him months later than in canon it is the result of a mysterious and troubling circumstance. he is kidnapped right from under the boy's beaks en route, and since the kids don't know Scrooge is a relative they are placed in foster care! The boys are forced into the real world, and have to struggle through it while trying to find their missing Uncle pretty much completely on their own. As of the last update there is more hope, and Scrooge and Webby are characters that show up! It is very well written, and well worth the anticipation!

Mighty_Ant has written over a hundred Ducktales fics, mostly one-shots, so check them out if you're looking for more! This is just the fic I most recommend from their page!

mandaree1:

Start of Time is a one-shot of the Ducks pre-Scrooge, with a Louie POV and a fair amount of Gladstone content as he offers to take the boys under his custody when Donald's financial troubles get particularly rough. Donald is a good dad, and Gladstone is trying to be a good uncle, and the boys decide that maybe things would get better if they weren't in the picture. So, logically, they run away. Some good duck family dynamics, and great characterizations. I love it when fic writers address the more worldly angst present in Ducktales, being a single parent to triplets when you have terrible luck is not smooth sailing after all.

mandaree1 has over 80 ducktales fics if you'd like to see more, this is just the only one of theirs I've finished so far! Very interesting premises to be seen!

That's pretty much it for my Ducktales fic recommendations! Love 'em lots, and I hope at least one of you guys finds a favorite among these! Thanks for asking @moaloves (I hope me tagging you is okay! I'm very sorry if not)

Have a good one!

[delladuck]

who up pony-ing their ducks?

okay so a lot of this is unserious as hell. i wanted to explore potential designs for if they were mlp… i could have got more creative with duck family’s hair but i wanted to maintain important aspects of their initial design, keep them recognizable, yadda yadda yadda, you get it. i’m done for right now. also i’m unsure of how technology works in equestria so if, hypothetically, the billionaire pony (if that would even be something that’s respected in mlp i’m not sure, i’ve only seen episodes where they idolize celebrities for talent or art. but i guess he’s a business guy so maybe, yeah, he would still be well known. okay, solved it. this is literally just my train of thought written out, enjoy), if the billionaire pony can’t get his hands on a plane, then i’d assume della and launchpad would be hot air balloon pilots? i’m a big fan of them being earth ponies so… no, no wings for them. but if they can’t have a plane, then that’s probably means no rocket, so where the hell is della banished to? is it a fucked up air balloon expedition over a mountain range that no pony has ever crossed before? still to the moon on a rocket because mlp already doesn’t gaf about its technology consistency? i have no clue. just fun hypotheticals i’ve been playing with, same with these designs. i’m not sure how much i even like them but i had fun. and before you ask “where’s da cutie mark s?” i cannot for the life of me be bothered to come up with cuties marks. i cant. i wish i could, i have some ideas, but maybe that’s for a future post.

also you can see on the scrooge page (isn’t he funny? haha old man) there are doodles of me working out how their colors/genes work and how they are passed down. i wanted what i was doing to make sense. so the ducks have more of a cool color palette while the mcducks are more warm, i dont know. mcponies. mcpony. mcdonald’s french fries. i might change scrooge’s design… just thinking as i type. i didn’t use references for like any of these. i am lazy and rely on memory. only used it for scrooge and lp but it was out of necessity. ples forgive me if they look odd.

also i just know they wouldn’t have designed webby to look like a scrooge-clone if they were ponies instead of ducks. i don’t want to hear it. i disregard canon—she is a cute pink/purple pegasus and that’s that lol.