#italian wood coating

[icapidilite]

https://www.icapidilite.com/blogs/how-to-choose-the-right-wood-finish-for-your-home/

Choose the Right Wood Finish for Your Home – ICA Pidilite

ICA wood finishes and coating - know some important factors to choose the right type wood finish for your home interior and exterior appearance.

[drivepainting]

https://paintingdrive.com/satin-metal-coating-the-metal-finish-on-wooden-surfaces-all-you-need-to-know-about/

[lmscoatings]

Quality Coatings

LMSCoatingsOfficial uses a wide range of innovative technology and high efficiency products for all surfaces to be painted, including wood, glass, metal, floor and wall. LMSCoatingsOfficial beautifies your interiors and exteriors with a superior Italian variety of products.

[cyberslvts]

PHONE | w. maximoff

summary: You call your wife and decided to show her just how much you miss her

warnings: 18+ MDNI phone sex, guided masterbation, fingering, only thing on my wishlist this year is nasty phone sex with wanda

word count: 3k

It had been about five days since your wife left for her business trip, and to say you missed her was an understatement.

The house held a heavy silence as you settled into bed for the night, pulling the comforters up to your waist, feeling a subtle emptiness creep up when you looked at the empty bed space next to you. Prompting restless tossing and turning until you ended up facing your nightstand, the soft glow of your digital clock highlighted a jumble of trinkets: a small bowl cradling Wanda's extensive collection of rings, and a few pairs of earrings, a forgotten mug of now-cold tea, a petite bottle of hand cream, and a book precariously hanging off the edge

Your eyes continued to run along the smooth wood until they landed on a framed photo of you and Wanda, Captured during last year's anniversary celebration, Wanda had taken you into the city your faces slightly pushed together, painted with toothy grins as you both bundled up in thick winter coats leaning into each other for warmth.

Your heart swelled as you looked at the photo. Wanda's bright grin and sparkling eyes, filled with so much love, only made the ache you felt for her at that moment worse. She truly was the best partner you could ever ask for, always so attentive and devoted to you, making you feel like the most important person in the world, and in her eyes you were.

She was so sweet to you, calling and texting you whenever she got the chance, in between meetings or as she was leaving the hotel. Always eager and enthusiastic just to hear your voice on the rare occasions your timings synced up. Given the distance, Wanda was behind by two hours, leaving your calls awkward to match up, always missing each other by a few minutes. When Wanda was just waking up you were stepping into the office, and when she was leaving work you were already asleep.

You supposed she was eating dinner right now, probably with her co-workers or indulging in takeout from the Italian place she had previously mentioned. You felt silly, missing her this much when she had only been gone for a few days.

As you continued to look at the photograph you felt something blossom inside you, shifting slightly, your foot began to run up and down the side of your leg as your thumb swiped over her face in the picture. It felt like it had been an eternity since she last touched you, which you knew wasn't true as she had made sure to give you an extra memorable morning before she left for her flight, fucking you into oblivion before giving your limp body a sweet kiss goodbye.

You returned the photograph to the nightstand and rolled over in the bed until you were pressed against Wanda's pillow, you shamelessly dug your nose into the fabric, the scent of her shampoo and perfume invaded your senses and made you feel like she was right there with you. Your body temperature increased and your clothes started to feel a little too tight around your body.

Before you could rile yourself up anymore, your phone lit up the room with a loud ring. You smiled when you saw Wanda's contact name appear on the screen,

“Hi honey” your tone comes out huskier than you expected, you hear the sound of a door shutting from the other side of the call,

“Hi sweetheart, I didn't wake you did I?” Wanda attentively asks, feeling an immediate warmth as your voice reaches across the distance.

“No, not at all” You answer, readjusting yourself so your back is propped up against your headboard “Did you just get back?”

“Yeah, we got out early today,” She tucks the phone between her neck and shoulders, and you can hear the sounds of ruffling clothes, as both her hands are occupied with unbuttoning her suit jacket.

You bite your lip, imagining Wanda coming home in her work clothes. her hair messy from the walk home, the collar of her white shirt undone, looking so sexily disheveled. You sat up straighter in your bed, not wanting to get too carried away.

As the minutes passed you fell into your usual routine, exchanging the details of your day, from the mundane to the extraordinary, the conversation flowed effortlessly. Wanda listened attentively, her genuine interest was evident in the thoughtful questions she posed and the occasional chuckle at your natural charm. In turn, you hung on every word as she recounted her workday. The familiar cadence of her voice brought comfort, making it feel as if she were right there in bed with you.

Eventually, she tossed her jacket over the back of her chair, flopping down onto the bed in exhaustion, letting out a breathy sigh that you didn't miss.

“You sound tired, are you sleeping okay?” you questioned, whilst massaging the divit of your palm against the top of your thighs, trying to dry the sweat that had formed.

“No,” she huffed out, rolling onto her back, and placing one hand over her stomach. “The bed is terrible, the sheets are so scratchy and the mattress is too hard, I'd much rather be back in our bed, with you.”

Her unfiltered honesty made you giggle and you smiled, knowing that Wanda had a tendency to not receive a good night's sleep if it wasn't spent wrapped up against your side.

“I wish you were here too, I miss you.”

"I miss you too," she replied honestly, staring up at the popcorn ceiling, picturing you doing the same. Your back is flat against the mattress, hair sprawled out along the pillows, your shirt slightly riding up your torso, exposing your skin. Her thoughts began to slip, and it was becoming harder to focus on the conversation. The sultry tone of your voice played in her mind, and she couldn't help but imagine the sensation of her fingertips tracing patterns on your skin.

“Yeah?” you purred, your voice smoothe against Wanda's ears. She didn't fail to recognize the familiar switch in your tone, and she felt a rush of excitement start to fill her.

“Yes baby, so much, I hate being away from you.” She rasped out, closing her eyes when she heard your breathing start to pick up. The atmosphere between you two shifted, becoming heavier and more intimate.

“What do you miss about me?” You pressed, wanting her to fall into the same lusted haze you were trapped in.

“Everything” She immediately responded, as if she had been waiting all week to answer this question. Wanda's fingers absentmindedly traced circles on the edge of the bedsheet as she continued, “I miss touching you, and feeling you against me, I can't stop thinking about it”

A quiet sigh escaped her lips, her imagination running wild with the vivid memories of you together.

“Tell me more” you bit your lip, pressing and rubbing your thighs together in anticipation. Your head felt fuzzy, and your arousal swelled, a throbbing pulse resonating from your core, working yourself up so much you felt as if you were going to explode, You weren't sure if it was because you haven't seen your wife in almost a week, the distance amplifying your neediness for her. Regardless, every word exchanged over the phone was igniting a spark in you that needed to be taken care of.

Wanda's voice dipped even lower, as she happily obliged to your request “I keep thinking about that morning before I left, how loud you were and how pretty you sounded”

“My strap couldn't even stay inside you, it kept slipping out because your pussy was so wet” she teased you, already knowing your cheeks were flushing a vibrant red in embarrassment. She ran a hand down her stomach, her skin felt ablaze, a heat coursing through her that made every inch of her body tingle. She slowly unbuttoned her dress shirt, the cloth splitting apart and falling down the opposite sides of her torso, until only a black bra remained covering her upper half. Her hand fell down her breasts, lightly squeezing them and letting out a moan right into your ear.

You sighed, listening to her husky voice, the vibrations from the phone tickling your jaw. You felt a familiar wetness start to pool and you sunk lower into the bed until you were flat against the sheets. Wanda hears you rustling around the bed and presses the phone harder into her ear.

“Fuck baby, I miss you so much” You let a moan escape your lips, your hands slipping under the blankets to begin stroking yourself over your underwear. “I've made myself cum twice since you left, just thinking about you”

A throaty moan escaped her lips involuntarily, immediately painting a vivid picture of you in her head. You, alone in your bed, your hand buried between your legs, moaning her name. The sound echoed in her ears, remembering nights when she made you sound just like that. Your voice, now a seductive whisper, only fueled her daydream, making her cheeks flush as she felt a wave of desire wash over her.

“God, you're really turning me on right now” You heard the metal clicks of Wanda fumbling with her belt, with an alarming speed, she shed the rest of her clothes throwing them across the room so they were out of her way. She pushes herself farther up the bed and slides under the covers, her hand immediately finding her wetness, where she starts rubbing gentle circles to her clit.

Your hand slides under your panties, running a finger through your pussy and spreading it all over your folds and clit. The whine that reverberates inside your bedroom encourages wanda to do the same. “What are you wearing right now?”

You don't even open your eyes, which were squeezed shut, already knowing exactly what you had on “Just my underwear. the red ones”

Her grip on the phone tightened and she let out a string of curses, she knew exactly what you were talking about. The pressure she has on her bud gets harder imagining you in her favorite pair of panties, how pretty and fuckable she knew you looked right now, and how she couldn't do anything about it.

You slowly push a finger into your slippery walls, and an immediate sense of disappointment washes over you. A frustrated whine escapes your lips as you miss the expertise of your wife's fingers, vivid memories playing in your mind of how Wanda's touch could make you scream and cum within minutes.

"I need you so bad, Wanda," you confess, the desperation evident in your voice. Tightening your hold on the phone, as if it were your only lifeline to her. "It doesn't feel as good when I do it.".

Wanda's heart beats faster, hearing your desperate little whines, trying to find any hint of pleasure to relieve the ache she wasn't there to take care of. Wanda promised her self as soon as she arrived home she would fuck you so good, long and hard, taking you in every position possible, just what you deserved for being her good, patient wife.

"I know, baby," she purrs, her words weaving a tapestry of lust. "Just close your eyes and imagine my touch, my fingers doing all the work." Wanda's explicit instructions and encouragement make you throb, and you start to squirm against the bed eagerly awaiting her next command.

"Go slow, baby," Wanda instructs, her voice a sultry whisper through the phone. "Add another finger and curl it, just like how I do it." You let out a low moan, attempting to replicate her movements. Though it's not quite the same, it's undeniably better than before. Sliding in another finger, you leave it there for a moment, feeling your walls squeeze and flutter around it.

Gently curling your fingers, flashes of Wanda flood your thoughts. Pushing them deeper, you can almost feel her presence, as if she's right there with you, guiding your every move. In your mind, Wanda is on top of you, deep inside your pussy, praising you as a good girl. The image is so clear you start to feel twirls of pleasure forming in your stomach.

“That's right, honey, just like that” Wanda's voice is shaky, listening to you wholeheartedly follow her commands.You were so obedient, her precious girl. “Now, arch your back”

You do exactly as she says, the tip of your head falls back against your pillow and your ass digs itself into the mattress. Your pleasure immediately deepens and you start to move your fingers faster,

Wanda mirrors her instructions, pumping two fingers in and out of herself, letting out deep groans right into the phone. As she listens to you on the other end, pleasure-laden sounds and breathy moans fill the air. She can hear your pussy making the dirtiest sounds, loudly squelching everytime you jut your fingers in. She wishes she were there to witness it in person. Frustration builds as she hears the most beautiful sounds escaping your lips, and the fact that she can't do a single thing about it heightens the tension.

"I can hear you, how wet you are," she moans out, beginning to lose herself in the pleasure. "Is that all for me?

“Yes, all for you,” you breathlessly respond, your hips bucking up to match the rhythm of your fingers, desperately chasing your high. “you're making me feel so good”

The once-pristinely ironed sheets are now a tangled, wrinkled mess as Wanda's whole body squirms and writhes against the bed. She uses her thumb to rub at her clit, her mouth falling open at the sensation. Her eyes lock shut, entirely focused on creating vivid mental images of you that bring her closer and closer to the edge.

She felt her pussy tighten around her fingers, thinking about all the times she had made you cum, your adorable face scrunching up into an expression exclusively reserved for her played vividly in her mind. The memory of your eyebrows sewing together, your thighs wrapping around her, and your desperate attempts to cling to any part of her body for comfort lingered in her thoughts. On those particularly heated nights, she would work you up to a point where deep red lines would be etched into the skin of her back. stinging and aching so deliciously the next day.

When she tells you to go faster, you feel your orgasm rapidly build and the room starts to feel hazy. Thick with heat and the sounds of your and wanda's moans. You pump your fingers faster, and you can see them glistening with your juices everytime they pull out, just to be greedily plunged back in.

"Fuck, say my name,” she commanded, her final plea as she felt her self getting so close, needing to hear you scream her name while you both came on your fingers

You meet her request immediately, "Louder," she insists, and you obediently start repeating her name over and over again, getting whiner everytime. Your head was emptied of all thoughts other than Wanda as your fingers repeatedly hit that spot inside you.

“Wanda, oh god wanda”

Your voice started getting higher and louder. Wanda could tell you were about to cum, she started fucking herself harder wanting to be right there with you when you fell apart. She felt the phone start to fall out of her grip and just before she was about to fall over the edge she switched on the speaker button and let the phone fall out of her hand and next to the side of her head.

“Is my messy girl gonna cum? just from my voice.”

You parted your lips to respond but your mouth fell open wider when your orgasm suddenly ripped through you. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as her name spilled off your lips in sharp moans and gasps. Your hips bucked up and down trying to prolong the sensation for as long as possible

Hearing all of this, Wanda fell into her orgasm with a matching intensity. Her thighs shook around her hand and she tossed her head to the side. One hand gripped the pillow to her face, muffling the loud moan of your name. Trying her best to keep quiet since the hotel walls were known for being thin.

Your breathing slowed, feeling your orgasm begin to subside, your back fell limp against the bed listening to wanda do the same.

“Well, that was certainly different” Wandas voice returned, although much deeper and huskier as she struggled to catch her breath, You could practically hear her smile as she relaxed into her post orgasmic bliss

“In a good or bad way” you questioned, sitting up on one elbow and throwing your frazzled hair over your shoulder.

“A good way, a very good way,” she assured, letting out a satisfied sigh. Her eyes grew heavy, and you could hear the rustling of the bed as she began pulling the comforters up past her shoulders, tucking herself in. She let out murmurs, whispering about how much she loved you and that she would be home soon.

You smiled knowing how tired she gets after sex, part of you dimming with the realization that you weren't there to hold her to sleep. Yet, you reassured yourself—she would be back home with you by the end of the week, just as she promised

Opting to stay on the call tonight, you recharged your phone and placed it on top of your pillow, close enough to hear Wanda's tired breathing, a comforting sound that soothed you to sleep. Just before you fell asleep, her voice broke the silence.

“Let's Facetime instead tomorrow”

[writingjourney]

Peppermint Oil & Kisses

You only have to take one closer look to see exactly what the reason for his foul mood is. The makeup around his temples is smudged, as is the paint around the bridge of his nose when he regards you under droopy eyelids. “Headache again?” Or: Secondo had a long day– you're ready to take care of your Papa.

content: 1.6k words, gn!reader, hurt/comfort, non-sexual intimacy, showering together, established relationship, domestic fluff, lots of pampering for your papa ♡

Masterlist – Ao3 link

A swell of Italian curses, muffled by the heavy oak door. The keys jangle as he misses his target multiple times, the wood groaning painfully as he leans against it before trying again. When the lock finally springs open, Secondo enters your shared quarts with a sigh that seems to carry the combined weight of every burden in the world.

“Hello, my love,” you greet him from the couch, pulling your legs up to make room for him.

He grumbles what seems to be a greeting as he pulls at his robes with impatient, unusually clumsy fingers. When he misses the hook on the coat rack the fabric falls to the floor, emerald green and black pooling at his feet. He heaves another sigh.

“Oh, you’re especially grumpy today, hm?” You only have to take one closer look to see exactly what the reason for his foul mood is. The makeup around his temples is smudged, as is the paint around the bridge of his nose when he regards you under droopy eyelids. “Headache again?”

“Hmph.”

“Oh, heavy is the head that wears the mitre,” you mumble when he sinks down on the sofa beside you, weighty like a rock sinking into the ocean. “Is it very bad?”

“Hmph.”

“That’s because you’re too stubborn to take your meds in time before it gets like this,” you chide, even though your voice is still gentle, wrapping a supportive arm around his shoulders. “You always think you can push through by sheer force of will.”

“Hmph.”

You press a soft kiss to his temple and he leans against you, resting his weary head against your lips. “It’s okay to need a little help, my love.”

“I have you for that, no? You always take such good care of your Papa.”

“Well, not even I can just magically rub away your headache.”

He tuts, squeezing your thigh with his gloved fingers. “That depends on where you’re rubbing, hm?”

You chuckle, cradling his head against you and peppering his skin with more kisses. “I don’t think you’re up for that tonight, darling. But I can rub some of Primo’s peppermint oil on your temples if you would like?”

“Per favore.”

More kisses and he grows heavier by the second. His black eyelids are closed now, long lashes tickling the skin just below as they flutter with every gentle touch. “Let’s get you cleaned up before you fall asleep. I will take care of dinner today and you can take a little nap.”

He gives a dissatisfied hum. “Amore, we are making Cacio e Pepe tonight.”

“So? I helped you prepare it many times and it’s not that difficult.”

You can immediately tell that the idea displeases him. His brows pull together even more than in their relaxed state and his lips curl ever so slightly at the edges. This is the closest you will ever get to an actual pout from him and you have to fight off an amused smile.

“You don’t have to worry that I won’t need you anymore,” you whisper. “I will always prefer being your kitchen helper, my love.”

“I’m not wo–” You shut him up with a proper kiss and he practically melts into it. The smudged make up tastes bitter when you lick along his full lips. Secondo sighs, teasing your tongue with his for a moment before he pulls away. “Va bene. But you will join your Papa for his nap.”

“I will join you until you fall asleep.”

He frowns again but you don’t allow him to complain. Instead you stand and pull him up with you towards the bedroom. Darkness wraps around you, blinding you until you turn on the lamp on his bedside table that he uses for his late night reading. Two hefty tomes reside there with his reading glasses folded neatly on top, though you assume he won’t have any need for those tonight.

“Let’s get you showered,” you say instead, noting that he’s already removing his clothes.

You help him with the buttons on his black dress shirt when his fingers, usually so dextrous, start to fumble unsuccessfully. It feels intimate every time, to help him when he is truly in need of you, a man so proud of his independence and autonomy allowing you to see his vulnerable moments. 

Once you reveal his chest, you permit your fingers to feel him. Combing through the dense hair,  you lightly scratch his skin in the way you know he enjoys before you you push the fabric from his shoulders. Placing your lips over his clavicle, you leave a trail of featherlight kisses along the sensitive skin that stretches over the bone.

“Amore,” Secondo whispers. 

“I love you.”

He smiles, tilting your chin up so you can see the softness in his eyes. “As I love you, my dove.”

You steal a tender kiss and finally lead him to the bathroom. Before you send him into the shower you remove the bulk of his face paints with make up wipes, then rub some of the cleansing oil into his skin to loosen the rest from his pores. For once he allows you to pamper him without much fuss, without insisting on giving back or complaining that he can do it himself.

“Join me, amore,” he says when you turn on the water, setting it to a medium temperature. 

You don’t question him, instead your heart swells with love. You’re willing to do whatever he asks of you when he is like this, when you feel so needed and loved. 

While he rinses off the rest of his paints you undress and then join him, the water immediately relieving all of the tension in your body. You begin to lather each other gently, washing off the remnants of your respective days. When you reach his shoulders you begin to massage him with gentle hands, making sure to adjust the pressure to his liking. His body feels stiffer than usual, the tension of a day spent working through his pain only slowly kneaded from his weary muscles. Every so often he moans in relief, closing his eyes when you reach a particularly cramped spot and you make sure to press a kiss to every single one of them.

Back in the bedroom, you put on some comfortable clothes and drag Secondo’s old Iron Maiden shirt over his head that is littered with more holes than you can count. He refuses to get rid of the old piece out of sentimentality as Primo got it for his thirtieth birthday decades ago. Secondo snakes his arms through the designated holes before they wrap around you, pulling you in for a deep kiss that he sinks into with a sigh. His body weighs heavy against yours. You have to use all your strength to stay upright but do your best to provide him with all the comfort he needs. It is rare that he so openly seeks it, that his guard is let down all the way.

You’re grateful that he lets you see it all now – how he can’t sleep through the nights anymore, how he winces and holds his lower back after getting up in the morning, the way he squints without his reading glasses and the frequent headaches after hours of paperwork. It doesn’t come easy to him. He used to try and hide it until you slowly wormed your way beyond his walls with a heating pad and ibuprofen at hand. He is not even close to accepting that he can’t stay young forever but at least he allows himself a few simple comforts by now. The rest will come in time.

“Now sit. I’ll fetch the peppermint oil.”

He squeezes your hip, raising a brow at your commanding tone. You smile cheekily and press a kiss to his jaw, noting that the corners of his mouth have lifted as well. While he sits down on the bed you retrieve the vial of oil from your bedside table. Dabbing some of it onto your fingers you begin to rub it into the skin of his temples, then his forehead. Secondo’s eyes close and he hums with relief at the gentle massage. You continue even after the oil has fully sunk in, revelling in the way his features relax as the pain recedes. He looks better now, but still incredibly tired.

After you thoroughly wash your hands, you join Secondo in bed, finding that he’s already half-asleep. He rouses enough to notice you and reflexively pulls you close, dragging you halfway across the mattress. You shift onto your back with him in your arms, allowing him to rest his head on your chest. As you gently run your fingers over his scalp, he releases a heavy but content sigh that tickles your skin. Quiet settles in the room and you can feel your own tiredness overwhelming you with every calm breath you take.

“We could always eat the Cacio e Pepe tomorrow,” you suggest. “I know you’re not a fan of take out but–”

“A splendid idea, amore,” Secondo grumbles. “We will order the take out.”

You smile as you close your eyes, continuing to stroke his head to help him fall asleep a little faster. In return, his fingers draw a circular pattern over your hip, never straying from your body for more than a second. Soon he starts to snore, his soft and steady exhales lulling you to sleep as well.

Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed – kudos, comments, rbs etc are as always much appreciated ♡

Masterlist – my Ao3 – Join my tag list

[papasbaseball]

Quick Terzo smut?

Yeah

If I could ever imagine a better use for those gloves it would be a miracle. The white cotton tastes clean on the tongue and is so filling. Push and press and coax my tongue to the will of his fingers.

"Principessa, there is no need to be such a whore. You know that your Papa will fuck you just the same, yes?"

I moan and rock back onto him, forcing him deeper into me. With the way this week has been, it's still not deep enough. A stifled "Please" coats his fingers.

"So desperate," he coos, his hand kneading at my hip. "Is there something you are not telling me?"

My lips curl around those fingers, sucking the cleanliness from the cloth. I suck until he wrenches my jaw open, dragging his fingers free. He always knew how to whittle in underneath the cracks in your skin, nothing could be hidden that he wouldn't pry out quickly and efficiently.

"You won't be mad?"

The wet glove slipped under the black satin chemise — a gift upon becoming his personal concubine — and ran the slick fabric in a scissoring motion around a nipple, back and forth, back and forth. When I'd least expect it, he'd take it between thumb and forefinger, rolling it as if it were a prized pearl he was considering how to best use.

I think he whispers something in Italian against my neck, perhaps words of reassurance. The syllables were muddy through the noise of anticipation: silence and a quiet keen as he stopped.

"I stole a necklace," I blurt out

"Whose?"

He hasn't moved an inch since he placed me upon the throne of his lap. My inner thighs ache with stretch as his knees spread my straddle further.

"You're mean."

His dark laugh pulls my spine flush to his chest and I resist the urge to fuck him myself. "I never said I was not."

I bite my lip thinking about settling for the mere stretch of his unholy cock. A month ago, it alone could have pleased me. Now I craved putting my hand on my stomach, feeling as it carved so deep in me it's own space that the dominance of my body could be felt in outlines for anyone he might invite back into his bedroom to witness my torture.

"It was Sister Imperator's."

"Oh?" Surprise colored his voice.

"A ghoul caught me and I'm supposed to go to her office tomorrow to receive my punishment."

He shifted his hips enough to taunt at the movement needed. I dug my fingernails in vain against the glossed wood of his desk, letting my hair fall forward to hide my face as I stifled a bratty cry about how unfair he was being.

"I will give you your punishment and take care of Sister Imperator. You have told your Papa the truth, sì?"

"Yes," I lie.

"Good. I would hate to punish my Principessa tomorrow too. Especially during Mass."

[heliads]

If requests are still open :) Something for dead poets society, just sth with the gang having a good time, maybe trying to stage a play in the woods? Tbh just a everyone lives and is happy AU with fluff and winter and hot tea! (while I love this book I havent read it in a very long time...)

ok consider an everyone lives au but they are not 100% happy. (i am incapable of not writing angst my apologies) also this is movie dead poets society not book because i have not yet read the books whoops. hope you enjoy xoxo

'and it's not tonight' - dead poets society

masterlist

Todd Anderson is looking out the window at a gray, blustery morning, when they ask him if he’s going to be alright. It wasn’t quite certain before then. It’s not quite certain now, either, even after he answers.

“Of course,” he says somewhat unconvincingly, “Why do you ask?”

Behind him, Charlie Dalton raises a dubious brow. For once in his life, he’s holding himself back, but the situation requires discretion, and who is he to mess up at a time like this? He’s already been warned about treating Todd like a glass doll rather than a paper mache target, but even Charlie can tell that now is the time to pull a few punches. The hollows under his friend’s eyes are far darker than they were a couple of months ago. He wears unease like a well-traveled coat, thin at the elbows and rubbed raw at the seams.

“Look at yourself,” Charlie answers at last, “You’re exhaustion walking. And don’t tell me otherwise, I’ve got eyes.”

“I should hope so,” Todd remarks, and permits himself a small curl of his lips up into a half-smile. Half-smiles are good, though. Almost there to the real thing. So he’ll tell himself, at least.

Even a half-smile can let Charlie know that he’s alright. The other boy breaks into a well-intentioned snorting laugh. “Hey, ask any girl in town and they’ll tell you I’ve got beautiful ones. ‘Sides, Anderson, you know everything’s alright. The stuff with Neil was cleared over, right? He came back.”

“He came back,” Todd repeats somewhat weakly.

“Yeah, yeah, he came back,” Charlie confirms, walking over to clap his friend on the shoulder, shaking him a little bit just to mess with him but mainly to get his affections across. “He’s a little more tired than he used to be, and we’re all plenty scared from what could have happened, but overall we’re glad to see him again. His parents realized they messed up in the nick of time, and even if they wanted him under watch for a little bit, he’s back and we’re back and everything’s alright. Capiche?” He asks dramatically, wiggling his eyebrows for a bit of flair.

“Since when are you Italian?” Todd asks doubtfully.

“Since the situation requires it,” Charlie answers him, and slings an arm around the boy’s bony frame. “Come on now. The snow’s cleared up, and even if all that does is remind us how little grass grows on our campus, it means we can go into the woods again. I’ve been talking to the boys and we all agree that it’s time to dust off our finesse with literature. What do you say, Todd? You up for another rousing poetic exchange tonight?”

Todd jerks his head up and down in a hasty agreement. “Yeah. Neill’ be there?”

“Yeah, and me, and Knoxie, and everyone else you forgot to mention,” Charlie says in a tone of mock outrage. “God, you live with the guy, don’t you? Can’t you spare some excitement for the rest of us, too?”

Todd rolls his eyes, and finds the grace to elbow Charlie in the ribs. “Spare me the self-indulgence, Dalton. I’m glad to see all of you.”

“Don’t I know it,” Charlie affirms. “It’s been a while since we were all together, yeah?”

Todd blows out a low breath as they walk back towards the halls. It has been a long time, or it felt that way, at least. After the– after the incident after the play, in which Neil was found in his father’s study with a gun in his hands about to blow the trigger, it was decided that all of the pupils of Welton Academy would go home for a short period of time to clear their heads and come back ready to face the end of term. 

Mainly, Todd thinks it was so rumors couldn’t spread about just what happened with Neil Perry to take him out of school, and he’s glad for it. Neil doesn’t deserve to have everyone whispering about what happened to make him decide that the best thing for his life was to end it. Neil deserves the world, and none of them could give it to him.

That was the worst part of it all, Todd decides. The guilt, how it wrapped around him in wires as strong as the heaviest chains of iron. He couldn’t escape it. If he was really Neil’s friend, he would have known. If he was really Neil’s friend, Todd could have stopped him. If he was really Neil’s friend, Todd wouldn’t have found out about the attempt the next morning, quietly awoken from drowsy sleep by a Charlie Dalton with eyes like a stricken soldier as he lurchingly informed Todd that Neill Perry had tried to kill himself the night before. And none of them had known. And when his father had taken the gun away, Neil fought and screamed for it, worse than he did when he tried to convince his parents that he wanted to act, louder than he protested that he would be sent away to military school.

And then they were alone. At home. The worst place for boys to be. Should you grieve the friend who is not dead? Do you call each other on the phone, and ask if you have been playing any sporting games with other boys your age, or if you have given any thought to the fact that your friend might not have wanted to die if you had praised him more in class, or clapped louder when he performed, or said something– anything– to this beautiful, brittle boy?

They don’t say any of that. They think it quite loudly, but unspoken thoughts do not travel well over the telephone. The flittering ghosts of would-be words tend to get lodged in the coils of wire from receiver to housing, across the street and over the miles of terrain until they reach the abode of the boy on the end, who also has a lot to say but won’t. And then they both stay silent. And they both know exactly what the other wanted to say anyway. That is how friendship works.

They came back, though. Welton sent out a series of letters to usher back the pupils, even had its secretaries working overtime to call the people who never seem to answer their mail. There was another rush of cars and luggage to the dorms, and then they were settled in again. Todd had wondered if he might be assigned another roommate– anyone other than Cameron, God, but preferably Neil still– and then the door had opened quietly and Neil was there again, trying for a brave smile, and saying, “Todd?” in a voice that had once rung pure and true through a theater that loved him.

Todd loves him for it. He’d embraced Neill with open arms, felt the air punch out of his lungs in one strike, but it came back. He came back. They were alright again, sort of. They might be alright in time, but time is what they have.

Now they’ve all been waiting for the snow to melt, and treading on thin ice around topics they don’t dare broach. Neil has been a good sport, never making them feel awkward for wanting to treat him like a china doll. He was good before, too, though, and– It gets hard to tell sometimes, that’s all. Hard to tell when he genuinely is unbothered and when he’s superbly good at pretending otherwise. They stick to safer subjects anyway.

At last, though, the ground is firm, the weather not terrible, and Charlie’s gone and rallied the troops for a night out there. At first, Todd’s first instinct is to panic. They aren’t supposed to be having any more meetings of the Dead Poets Society, not since Keating was the scapegoat for all the trouble and everyone cracked down on what makes a good boy want to escape, but over time he realizes that it’ll be alright. Some things are worth the risk. Making Neil smile again is one of them.

They meet at midnight. Todd sits awake with bated breath, even though the act by itself isn’t even all that unusual. They’re teenage boys. Staying up until the moon hangs high and lofty in the sky is expected, not uncommon. Still, a delicious shiver of inherent wrongdoing whispers down his spine when Neil walks slowly into the center of their shared dorm room and says quietly, reverently, “It’s time.”

As if the others had been waiting upon that very proclamation, the remaining boys peer out into the hall immediately after Neil and Todd silently close their door behind them. Their eyes meet with shared secrecy, shared triumph, and they make their way down the wooden stairs and out into the bristling chill of night. The stars are out tonight. We are all out tonight.

They all start heading out into the woods. Charlie takes off like a flash at the end of a matchstick, hurtling at a runner’s sprint across the hills, and the others follow him at varying speeds. Todd begins walking at a normal clip until it occurs to him that he doesn’t see enough heads bobbing around him and he turns to see Neil hesitating by the door.

They lock eyes, and Todd sees a whole host of things swimming in brown irises, fear and apprehension and a sick sort of guilt that makes Todd’s stomach squirm in sympathy. He gives Neil one last moment over the threshold, then jerks his head towards the others, putting a little faux arrogance into the gesture in the hopes that an actor might appreciate an act in someone else and remember what it is like to trust oneself again.

Neil accepts the move and grins, his teeth flashing in the moonlight. “I’ll race you to the caves,” he calls, and begins to run, his footsteps sure and strong.

Todd stares after him, an astronomer watching his first comet, then takes off after him. The grass is dry and quick under his feet, spread out under each footstep like the wake of a speedboat. The wind, already coarse, pulls at Todd’s skin, his hair, his clothes, but not even the strongest gusts could keep him down. Somehow, he’s already to the edge of the forest, and he lets out a loud, delighted whoop. A barbaric yawp, if you will. Somewhere in the back of Todd’s mind, a dark-haired man in a comfortable brown sweater smiles indulgently, and chalks up another small victory to the wonders of poetry.

The second his war cry leaves Todd’s throat, the other boys swarm him like moths to a flame. Someone claps a hand over his mouth, and around him, laughs echo into the crunching of leaves underfoot. 

“Don’t be so loud, you’ll get the professors on us in no time,” someone admonishes, but then a different boy cuts in, “Don’t be stupid, we’re far enough out that we can all be shouting,” and Todd’s punishment is lifted and he can yell once more. His defender– Neil, it must be, no one else can make their voice ring with glory like that in just a few words– joins in in the triumphant calls, and then they’re all shrieking up to the stars above, here we are, not boys and not men, bold enough to scream and young enough to never listen.

Todd thinks, as they run through the forest, that it’s been a while since he let himself go free. He hasn’t listened to his mind in a long time, hasn’t let the words roll around in his brain, loose marbles of similes and paraphrased poems. His musings are dusty, dark things most of the time, but sometimes the light catches them just right and they glow like sapphires. He could write a thousand stanzas if he wanted to, right now, and everyone would listen.

The Dead Poets Society reaches the caves and a hush falls among the crowd. Slowly, they edge inside, eyes wide. The rock faces and crumbling caverns should be different, Todd thinks, something should mark the passage of time and all the awful things that have twisted their fates since the last time they sat together and thought of prose, but the stones still look as they did the last time they were here. The moss grows in familiar patterns, albeit a little thicker in certain patches now that it hasn’t been scuffed by boots in a month or so, but one of Charlie’s magazines that he forgot to take back with him turns up under some spiderwebs, and Todd’s favorite place to sit is still just as inviting. Maybe, then, the only thing that changed was them. Maybe that’s all that needs to happen.

“So?” Meeks asks, settling into a seat, “What are we doing tonight?”

“Poetry, duh,” Charlie answers him, rolling his eyes fondly. “We’re the Dead Poets Society. What else would we do, peruse our textbooks?”

This earns him a vengeful swat on the shoulder from Meeks, but even Charlie can admit that the question was fair. They’ve read plenty of poems, they’ve written a few, they’ve even gone off and run some improv limerick challenges, although Todd notes that they haven’t brought nearly enough alcohol for that tonight.

After a few moments’ thought, someone suggests a play. It might be Todd. Instantly, the idea is accepted, and roles are divided out. They’ll be doing Hamlet, since there are plenty of long sticks outside and everyone is quite fond of the idea of pretending to run each other through. Pitts is already practicing his death rattles, except he’s not very good at it, and it sounds more like he’s hacking up a lung or two.

Neil, though, is glowing at the idea, and even though they haven’t got any scripts so everyone is mostly just planning on paraphrasing the hell out of one of William Shakespeare’s finer works, Todd gets the idea that Neil has a few memorized soliloquies rattling around in his head already.

Good, then. They’ll enjoy tonight, and the next night they’re out here, and the one after that, too. It has been a very long winter, but Todd has caught his first glimpse of new spring, and he gets the feeling that warmer, sunnier days aren’t the impossibility they seemed a few weeks ago. The days are healing, and they will too. And so the Dead Poets come back to life.

requested by @reinekes-fox, i hope you enjoy!

dead poets society tag list: @faerieroyal

all tags list: @wordsarelife

[kryptid-writes]

Sabotage

After one too many failed dates, Y/N finds out the real reason Gabriel has sabotaged her love life.

(3.5k)

Warnings: Smutty smut

“Check please,” you politely ask the waitress as she passes by. 

She nods and digs the checkbook out of her apron pocket and leaves it at the edge of the table, next to your empty plates and half finished glasses of red wine. 

You were lucky enough to get a reservation at one of the nicest restaurants in the city that’s typically booked out months in advance, accompanied by your lovely date.

You were skeptical about trying dating apps, claiming “they’re for losers who don’t go outside.” But the Winchester brothers had convinced you to give it a try after the countless dates before that had ended in disaster, to say the least. Dean even helped you set up your profile, choosing the best photos on your camera roll, limited to the ones without the blood and weapons.

You had almost given up in total, on the verge of deleting the app, when you matched with a nice man named Daryll. He’s a few years older with a steady job as a physician and a luxury car. Not to mention that he’s tall and clean shaven, with rich umber skin, and a smile that could light up a room. He’s dreamy, to say the least.

“So…” He trails off with a suggestive smile, taking a meticulous sip of his drink.

“So,” you repeat, your gaze getting lost in his dazzling amber eyes. The tension hangs in the air, cutting through the sound of plates and drinks clinking, and muffled chatter from the other patrons.

“I had a really nice time tonight, we should do this again sometime.” He reaches his hand across the table, resting it on top of yours.

You blush and nod your head. “Yes, I would really like that.”

After a short debate on who will pay, Daryll insists and grabs the check, slipping his sleek metal credit card into the folder. 

The waiter whisks it away and returns shortly, thanking us with a polite smile.

You exit the restaurant with Daryll, the smell of extravagant food fading from your senses as the door shuts behind you. You stop to admire the twinkling stars in the dark summer night sky, a light breeze blowing your hair back in the wind. 

There’s an unspoken debate, as you stand shoulder to shoulder in silence. It’s been a long time since you’ve gotten this far on a date and you're left feeling rather nervous.

You bite down your nerves and decide to speak, choosing not to waste this opportunity. “You know, I have an unopened bottle of Italian Riesling back at my apartment,” you say, looking up at him with hopeful eyes. “It would be a shame for it to go to waste.”

“Riesling?” He chuckles, “Count me in.”

------------------------------------------------------------

You fish out your keys from the bottom of your purse and shove it in the lock, with a light jingle, the door opens, revealing the tiny apartment that you call home. “So, this is it,” you say, inviting him in and gesturing for him to sit on the gray loveseat in the living room. 

You hope he doesn’t mind the organized clutter of your apartment. Books, paintings, and houseplants tastefully strewn throughout the rooms. Of course you had hidden away your hunting gear in a small closet, given the small chance the night ending at your place

“It’s nice. Cozy.” He takes off his jacket, hanging it on the coat rack. He takes a seat in front of the roaring fireplace, the warm orange glow illuminating the room and the burning wood giving off a pleasant aroma.

You hastily search your cabinet through the countless bottles of wine until you find the Italian Riesling you have been saving for special occasions. It must’ve been sitting there for god knows how long, but wine gets better with age, right? 

You pour the wine into two of your fanciest glasses, careful not to spill a single drop over the edge. Clicking the button on your stereo that sits on the kitchen counter, the soft sound of classical music fills the room. You pick up the glasses and take a seat next to Daryll, handing him the other one with grace.

“To us,” he says in his smooth voice, lifting his glass in the air.

“To us,” you repeat, clinking your glass in a toast and taking a sip of the wine. The semi-sweet liquid flows down your throat, leaving a dry aftertaste of peaches and grapes.

Daryll scooches closer, placing a hand on your thigh, sending a shiver up your spine. His thumb rubs teasing circles along your skin, your flesh heating up at his touch. 

It’s been a long time since anyone has touched you, let alone someone as attractive as Daryll. Your breathing becomes heavier as you try to quell your growing excitement.

“Tell me, Y/N, do you usually lure men back to your apartment with fancy wine?” He says with a flirty smile, lightly squeezing your thigh.

“Can’t say I’ve had the pleasure before. Why, is it working?” You giggle.

“You know,” he says, brushing a strand of hair out of your face, “I think it is.” He leans in close, his lips just inches from yours, the sexual tension growing by the second.

You close your eyes and lean in, desire burning in the pit of your stomach. Just before you can break the distance, you’re interrupted by the sound of blaring music and flashing lights.

You both jump back at the surprise, looking around at the once calm room turned chaotic. The swirling rainbow lights and reflections from the sizable disco ball dropped from the ceiling dances across the walls. The stereo that previously played peaceful classical music, now plays the best of 70’s disco at the highest volume, so loud that it sounds distorted and rings in your ears.

“What. The. Fuck,” Daryll yells over the music, his face scrunches up in a mixture of confusion and anger.

“I- I can explain!” You yell back, covering your ears as you desperately try to think of a reasonable explanation for the sudden madness. You’re interrupted by the feeling of something small and furry scurrying past your feet, making you gasp and tuck your feet onto the couch cushions. 

A mouse dashes across the floor, barreling directly towards Daryll, catching you both off guard as you’ve never had a rodent problem before. 

Despite carrying himself as a strong, fearless man, he runs for the door in a panicked hurry. “Look, I'm out!” he shouts with a disgusted look and slams the door behind him.

Anger surges through your body as you witness the one successful date you’ve had in months storm out the door, and you know damn well who’s to blame. You grab the stereo, ripping the plug out of the wall and smash it on the ground, the pieces scattering across the floor, halting the music mid track.

“GABRIEL, GET YOUR FEATHERY ASS DOWN HERE!” You yell, shaking with anger, and looking to the ceiling. 

“Hey sugar, you called?” The familiar voice of the mischievous archangel says from behind you.

You turn on your heels to face him. Of course he’s dressed for the occasion, wearing a stupid dress shirt with an obnoxiously loud pattern, the first few buttons undone, exposing the skin of his chest, and black bell bottom pants, with slicked back hair, and a fake mustache. If you didn’t know any better, you’d assume he’d fallen right out of the 70’s.

 The way he stands nonchalantly with an amused smile on his face, leaves you fuming. “What is wrong with you! You ruin everything!” You yell, your face heating up. 

He stares back at you, seemingly amused with your little outburst, conjuring a lollipop in his hand and sucking on it. 

“All I want is one successful date! One!” You point at him angrily, taking a step closer. “First it was the nice girl from the bar that you sent to some alternate reality that definitely scarred her for life, then it was the cute mechanic that took me to the movies who, may I remind you, you released a dozen snakes on him.”

Gabriel snickers, recalling the antics that he found so enjoyable.

“And now, this!” You snap, walking forward til you’re all but a few feet away. You take a deep breath, collecting your emotions. “I get that I'm a hunter, but maybe I don’t want to die alone,” your voice takes on a melancholy tone.

His face softens, his signature cocky smile melting into a frown.

“It’s like you don’t want me to be happy,” you whisper, fighting back the tears that threaten to spill.

“Hey! That’s not true!” Gabriel snaps in an offended tone, suddenly taking this very seriously.

“Then why, Gabriel? Cause I don’t find this funny! At all!” You look up at him with pleading eyes, desperate for some kind of an answer to all this torment. What did you do to deserve this?

He stays silent, but his soft, bashful eyes says it all. 

“Oh,” you whisper, something inside of you clicking, finally connecting the dots that should have been so obvious. “Are you… Jealous?”

He scoffs, looking away, but doesn’t deny it.

“You are! You’re jealous!” You say in disbelief with a shameless smile. 

“No! I just… I just don’t think they deserve you,” he replies, trying to keep his cool demeanor he’s worked so hard to curate. “You deserve someone capable, someone who’s gonna treat you right and take care of you.” He straightens his posture and subtly puffs out his chest, which might have been effective at impressing you, if he wasn’t dressed like the long lost member of the Bee Gees.

“Someone like you?” You say, lifting a brow and stepping closer, now invading his personal space, not that he seems to mind.

“I didn’t say that.” He furrows his brows, taking a daring step forward, nearly closing the distance between the two of you.

“You didn’t deny it either,” you say with a cocky smile.

He stares at you intently, his longing eyes falling to your pink lips.

Feeling a rush of boldness, you lean in close, placing a hand on his chest and whispering in his ear, “If you want to take me on a date, you could just ask.” You pull back smiling.

His face flushes a light pink, his lips curling into a grin. “The night is still young, cupcake, how about we fix this?” He says, ushering to the chaotic room, lights still spinning and remains of the stereo scattered across the apartment.

He snaps his fingers and your apartment is restored to its former glory, this time covered in candles that illuminate the room in romantic lighting. The repaired stereo sits on your counter, soft jazz music playing. Gabriel playfully dances to the music, taking your hands and encouraging you to join him.

You smile, admiring his work and casually sway with him. He always did know a thing or two about style.

He leads you to the loveseat, skillfully pulling you into his lap. With another snap of his fingers, a tray of chocolate covered strawberries appears in front of you, as well as two glasses of strawberry champagne. 

Gabriel is notorious for his love of sugar, always snacking on some kind of candy, even in less than appropriate settings. Lucky for you, you’ve always had a bit of a sweet tooth, and being with Gabe certainly promises more of where this came from in the future.

You take a sip of your drink, the sweet taste of strawberries dancing on your tongue. You smile, maintaining playful eye contact as you swallow. “This is nice Gabe, you should’ve started with this.” You chuckle.

He laughs and rests one hand on your hip, the other grabbing a strawberry. “Now where's the fun in that?” He teases. “Open wide, sugar.” He wiggles his eyebrows.

You blush at the innuendo, but do as he says, chuckling as he guides the tip of the strawberry in your mouth. “Mmm,” you hum in satisfaction as the dark chocolate melts in your mouth, mixing with the sweet flavor of the fresh strawberry, much sweeter than any strawberry you can buy from the supermarket. 

Gabriel smirks at your reaction, taking the rest of the strawberry in his mouth, his eyes lighting up as he savors the flavor, tossing the stem aside. “You have a little something here, cupcake,” Gabriel says flirtatiously. He places his thumb on the corner of your lips, swiping a smidge of chocolate off, his finger lingering on your lips for a moment before he sucks the chocolate off his thumb, never breaking eye contact.

“Th-thanks,” you stutter, suddenly feeling hot and flustered.

“Don’t sweat it.” His eyes fixate on your lips, studying every curve. “You’re gorgeous, you know that?” He asks in a soft, caring tone.

You stare at him in shock, his genuine compliment feeling out of character from his usually sarcastic, dickhead self. “You’re not so bad yourself,” you reply.

He grins like a cheshire cat and pulls you into a kiss, catching you by surprise.

You quickly melt into the kiss, all of your frustration from your failed date melting away. All that matters right now is Gabriel, and God does it feel so right.

He pushes his tongue in your mouth, tangling with yours. The sweet flavors of lingering chocolate and strawberry mix together in the most pleasant way, eliciting a moan from you that only spurs him on.

You tangle your fingers through his golden locks, lightly tugging on the ends, earning a groan from him. You grind down onto his lap as you deepen the kiss.

He reluctantly pulls away for air, both of you out of breath. “You taste so good, sweetstuff,” he purrs, letting his hands roam from your hip and down to your thighs. “But I want to taste you elsewhere,” he whispers seductively, sending a shiver of arousal down your spine.

“Please Gabe,” you beg, desperate for more.

Pleased with your reaction, he lightly peppers kisses from your jaw, down to your throat, licking and nipping as he goes. 

You lean back, giving him access to every inch of your skin.

When he reaches your collarbone, he furrows his brows in frustration at the constriction clothes that hide your body from him. With a snap of his fingers, they’re gone.

You gasp, feeling completely exposed to him, but don’t protest.

He pulls you off his lap and kneels on the floor in front of you, sitting back on his heels. He drinks in your form, completely entranced in your beauty. “Like I said, Gorgeous.” He smiles like a kid on Christmas. 

You blush profusely, but before you can respond, he kisses down your chest and takes your nipple into his mouth. You throw your head back and bite your lip to stifle a moan, the sensation sending arousal straight to your core.

He sucks and bites, lightly rolling the bud between his teeth and tongue. Once he’s satisfied with leaving you a quivering mess, he moves his way down. He kisses from your sternum, to your stomach, and down to your hips.

Your breath hitches in your throat as he places his hands on your thighs and spreads them apart, revealing your aching pussy to him. 

“There’s the good stuff,” he says with a stupid smile that just screams ‘Gabriel’.

“You’re such a dork,” you retort playfully. 

He gives you a flirtatious smirk, before placing kisses on your knee and working his way up your thighs, painfully slow, taking his time to tease you. He maintains deep eye contact with you as he inches ever closer to exactly where you need him most.

You tremble with anticipation, your body aching with arousal, craving him in every way possible.

He kisses to the crook of your thigh, biting down playfully, surely leaving a mark where his teeth dig into your flesh. He kisses right next to your pussy, painfully close, yet not close enough at all.

“Gaaabe,” you whine, tired of his teasing. You run your fingers through his hair and lightly pull, silently egging him on.

He smirks, enjoying keeping you on edge, desperate for him. “You gotta beg for it, sugar. Tell me how much you need it,” he says in a mischievous voice

You clench your jaw. He’s the trickster, of course he would enjoy teasing you. “Please, gabe,” you plead.

He raises his eyebrow, not satisfied with your feeble attempt.

You swallow your pride, the need to feel Gabriel, taking priority over your ego. “Please Gabe, I need you so bad. Please touch me!” You beg him, pulling on his hair.

“Much better,” he purrs. He uses his grace to pin your hands to your side and spread your legs wider, keeping you in place.

You whine in anticipation, trying to grind your hips forward, but you’re completely immobilized by his grace.

He laughs, enjoying watching you helplessly struggle. Deciding to give in, he licks a long stripe up your pussy and swirls tight circles around your clit.

“Oh, Gabe,” you moan, shocks of pleasure send through your every nerve.

He wraps his lips around your clit, sucking with the perfect amount of pressure to drive you crazy. The movements of his tongue goes from planned and strategic to sloppy and passionate, lapping up all your wetness like he’s a man starved.

A string of expletives fall from your mouth as your brain goes foggy, reality and pleasure mixing together and becoming one. 

“Mm… sugar, you taste amazing, better than any candy I've tried, and I've tried them all.” He winks.

“God Gabe, are you trying to kill me?” You pant, your eyes meeting his, pupils blown wide with lust.

He scowls at the mention of his fathers name, but his expression quickly morphs into a cocky grin as an idea dawns on him. He presses his finger against your entrance, teasingly circling it, but never pushing in like you need.

“Please, no more teasing,” you pout, trying to grind down onto his fingers.

He scoffs, looking rather amused. “You have no idea how long you’ve been teasing me, sweetstuff. Seeing you going on dates with other humans, flirting with them right in front of me. This is just a taste of what you’ve put me through,” he says in a low, seductive voice. He pushes in the tip of his finger ever so slightly.

You bite down on your lip. You should feel bad about putting him through that, but all you can focus on right now is the way he’s teasing your aching cunt.

He slowly pushes his finger in to the first knuckle, before pulling out completely.

“No! Please!.. I need you,” you confess with wide eyes.

He smirks, getting exactly what he was looking for and pushes his finger all the way in, eliciting a deep moan from you. He starts slowly fucking you with his finger, building up pace until you’re a writhing, moaning mess.

You fight against his grace, desperately wanting to run your fingers through his hair and kiss him, but the struggle is ultimately useless against the overwhelming power of an archangel. 

He pulls his finger out, and you whine in disappointment that’s quickly cut off by him shoving two fingers into you, fucking you relentlessly. 

His fingers feel like heaven as that burning feeling builds in your stomach, the muscles in your body slowly tightening, reaching the point of no return. His name spills from your mouth over and over like a prayer, as your brain drowns in pleasure

He smiles, knowing just how close you are, and curls his fingers forward, pressing up against your sweet spot.

It’s all over as the coil in your stomach snaps and you cum harder than you ever have in your entire life. “Fuck! Gabe!” You moan loud enough for your neighbors to hear, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Every nerve in your body lights up, your walls spasming around his fingers as you ride out your high. 

“There you go, sugar,” he coo’s, his eyes tracing over every inch of your body, thoroughly enjoying the show. Once you’ve come down from your orgasm, a panting and sweating mess, he releases you from his grace and sucks his fingers into his mouth, his tongue licking off all your cum. “Mm, I could get used to that,” he says with a cocky smile.

“Me too,” you reply, leaning your head back against the couch.

He shuffles onto the couch next to you, pulling you into his arms. He feels a sense of peace and happiness as he finally gets to be with the human he had fallen for long ago.

Bathing in the afterglow, you feel his hard cock pressing against your ass, giving you a sense of pride and a new pang of arousal. You palm him through his jeans and he groans at your touch. 

“Woah, sugar,” he says, removing your hand. “We’ll get to that later. Trust me, tonight is far from over. But for now, you should relax. I’m here to take care of you, and if you let me, I'd like to be with you full time,” he admits, scared of being rejected.

“An archangel boyfriend? Count me in.” You smile, nuzzling your head against his chest.

He pulls you closer and hums in content.

Maybe the happiness you were searching for, has been here all along.

Masterlist

[neo-techculture]

Partners in Crime to Partners for Life

Summary:- A look into your life where you're Dante's Consigliere; and his wife.

Pairing:- Mafia boss!OC x Consigliere!Reader.

Warnings:- A lil spicy; just a little.

The clicking of your heels on the shiny tiled floor was the only sound in the top-floor lobby of DeLuca Corp. You come to a halt in front of the black double doors, which are made of expensive wood, as is everything else in the room, including the furniture, lighting, and decorations. The whole company screams 'money'. You knock on the door, hear a faint 'Come in', before pushing it open.

Dante DeLuca, CEO of DeLuca Corp and head of the Italian Mob, sits in the swirling chair behind the expensive oak desk. The sound of your heels entering the room alerts him to your presence. Dante lifts his head from the paper he was reading, his chocolate brown eyes focusing on yours. Leaning back in his chair, a small smirk forms in the corner of his lips as he looks you up and down.

You are dressed in a simple white silk top, matching dress pants, and a blazer. You looked sleek with your black heels, dark brown hair pulled up into a ponytail, and lips coated a soft red.

"I got the papers you wanted," you inform. Dante hummed softly as he rose from the chair, coming around to lean against his desk. Each miniscule movement causes the white shirt to stretch around his muscles.

"C'mere," he demanded. When you make no move to get closer, he presses a button on the side of his desk to close and lock the door. "Now, c'mere."

With a sigh, you move closer. When you were within touching distance, Dante's arms snaked around your waist, pulling you closer to his body. He leaned down and gently nuzzled your nose, mumbling, "Missed my pretty wife today."

A gentle laugh escapes your lips. "You just saw me two hours ago, Dante."

"Yeah, too long." He let out. Nobody would have known that the powerful and ruthless leader of the Italian mob was whipped for his wife.

"If I had my way with you, I wouldn't even let you out of my bed, love." He went on.

"Un-huh," you grin as you kiss his cheek. "I still have work to do."

"I know," Dante mumbles. He kisses your lips softly before leaning back. "So, what have you got?"

"Well, Nico has been able to dig up some dirt on the mayor, just in case he proves to be difficult," You explain.

"Good, I also need you to look into this too..."

-----

By the time evening rolls around, you're more than ready to get into bed with your husband and unwind.

After arriving at the penthouse, you went straight to the closet to steal one of Dante's shirts. Your amused husband appears behind you, arms wrapping around your waist.

"Stealing, love?" He questions with a fond look.

You turn around in his arms, running a finger along his jaw.

"You mind?"

How could Dante possibly refuse you when you look at him like that. Pretty doe eyes half-lidded, lips pouty and soft. He's a man obsessed. God forbid that anyone attempts to take you away from him. Dante is well aware that he'd burn the world down in your name if anything happened to you.

He shakes his head no in response. Though, a sly look enters his eyes. "But this is going to owe you."

"Oh, really?" You drawl and press closer to your husband. "I think I'm fine with that. In fact, I'm more than willing to be in your debt."

Dante chuckles. Gods, he loves you.

Getting into bed, the two of you cuddle for a while, discussing the usual subjects about his empire and the current problems he's facing.

But soon your husband's hands begins to wander, sliding over your hips and playing with the hem of your shirt. He damn well knows he's going to find you bare if he pulls the fabric up. After all, he had seen you undress and wear his shirt earlier.

"What are you doing?" You mumble. Dante's eyes shifts to your face, sensing the tiredness in your voice.

"Is my pretty wife tired?" He murmurs. You nod, inching closer to press your face against his neck.

Your husband caresses the soft skin of your thighs for a while. He's not going to rile you up when he knows you're tired and just needs to rest.

'Guess we can have a quickie in the morning,' he thinks.

A short time later, he runs his hands through your hair, feeling the soft strands glide through his fingers. He massages your scalp gently, lulling you to sleep.

Watching you sleep is another one of his favorite things to do; the first one being making you laugh. You look so peaceful when you're asleep. The muscles relaxed and the weight of your constant worries lifted off your shoulders.

Dante presses a kiss against your temple, allowing his lips to linger for a moment, soaking up your softness and scent before pulling away.

"I love you," he whispers. You stir softly, mumbling an incoherent 'love you' before relaxing back to sleep.

Dante smiles. "My pretty wife."

A lil drabble of male oc with reader. Hope you enjoyed! Tell me if I should write a part 2 for this. Don't be shy to put in requests!

Credits to the amazing @cafekitsune for the cute divider line. Go check them out!!

HAVE AN AMAZING DAY POOKIES! :)

[natsuki-bakery]

⁎˚ ఎ CG! Gyro Zeppeli ໒ ˚⁎

hiii could i request cg headcanons for gyro zeppeli maybe (^｡^) ? Thank you so much i hope you are having a great day !!!!!!!!!!!!! and i enjoy your posts so much they make me so happy!!!

•Gyro, having grown up in a strict family and trained as an executioner, understands the importance of emotional support and comfort. When he realizes that the person he's caring for is regressing, he immediately shifts to a protective and nurturing role, putting aside his usual bravado to make them feel safe

•Travel Adjustments : During your journey across the harsh terrains of the Steel Ball Run, Gyro makes adjustments to your travel plans to ensure you're comfortable. He finds quieter, safer places to rest, avoiding noisy towns or dangerous areas. He prioritizes your well-being, even if it means slowing down your pace

•Gyro is known for his storytelling and often entertains you with tales of his home in Naples or silly, made-up stories to make you smile. He might also sing playful Italian songs to comfort you, using his musical talents to create a soothing atmosphere during moments of anxiety

•Using his resourcefulness, Gyro crafts small toys from bits of wood, rocks, or whatever materials he can find along the way. A small wooden horse or a little spinning top can go a long way in providing you with a sense of comfort and distraction, showing his creativity and thoughtfulness

•CG names : Gigi , Papa Gyro , Horsey , Zio (Uncle in Italian) / Nonno (Grandpa in Italian)

•Gyro takes extra care in setting up their camp, creating a cozy and safe space for you. He uses his coat or blankets to create a tent-like structure that feels like a fort, shielding you from the harsh elements and providing a snug place where you can feel secure

•Gyro occasionally uses his Steel Balls not just as weapons but as tools of comfort. He performs simple tricks, making the Balls spin and dance in the air to distract and entertain you. The rhythmic, controlled movements can have a calming effect, similar to a fidget toy or mobile

•Big Bro Gyro’s usually brash demeanor softens significantly when he’s caring for you. He uses a gentle voice, offering constant reassurances that you're safe with him. If you're scared or overwhelmed, Gyro doesn’t hesitate to remind you that he’s right there and won’t let anything happen to you

•Sharing his rations becomes a moment of connection. Gyro is known to carry simple but hearty foods—he’ll make it fun by turning meals into little games, like "guess the taste" with different flavors or pretending the food is part of an adventure, making every meal a comforting ritual

•Gyro’s protective side is amplified when you're in a vulnerable state. He stays on high alert, always scanning for potential threats, and positions himself between danger and you. His usual cocky demeanor is replaced with a fierce, silent determination to keep you safe at all costs !

•Zeppeli knows that play is important for your comfort. He might engage in simple games, like tossing a ball back and forth or playing pretend. He even teaches them a few basic tricks with the Steel Balls, not for combat but as a way to have fun

•Papa Gyro is perceptive and quick to adapt when you're non-verbal. He pays close attention to body language, facial expressions, and small cues to understand your needs. He uses gestures, like pointing or nodding, to communicate and patiently waits for your responses, never pressuring you to speak. He'll even start learning simple hand signs or make up their own communication methods to ensure you feel understood

•If you wake up scared from a nightmare, Gyro’s first instinct is to pull you close and offer immediate comfort. He’ll tell you in a soft voice that it was just a dream and that you're safe now

•To help calm you, Gyro might hum a soothing melody or tell a lighthearted story until you feel relaxed enough to fall asleep again. If the nightmares persist, he’ll stay up a little longer, keeping watch to reassure you

•When you throw a tantrum, whether from frustration, exhaustion, or fear, Gyro remains remarkably patient. He crouches down to your level, speaks in a calm and steady voice, and doesn’t try to force you to stop crying. Instead, he lets you express your feelings, offering gentle words and open arms when you're ready to be comforted

•Gyro understands that tantrums are just another way of communicating, and he’s always ready to listen, even if it means enduring a few kicks or tears

•If the age regressor falls ill during their journey, Gyro’s protective instincts kick in full force. He’ll do whatever it takes to find medicine, warm blankets, and safe places to rest. He checks their temperature often, ensuring they’re hydrated and as comfortable as possible. Gyro uses whatever skills he has to make basic herbal remedies, and he won’t hesitate to slow down their journey to allow them to recover, telling them it’s okay to take a break

•Reluctant Sleeper : If you resist going to bed, Gyro tries to make the idea of sleep more appealing. He might tell them a "bedtime story" filled with funny or heroic tales, often exaggerating his own adventures to keep them entertained. If that doesn’t work, Gyro gets creative—he might suggest a "sleeping contest" or pretend that their camp is a fortress that needs to be quiet and secure, turning bedtime into a fun game rather than a chore

•Sleepy : Dada finds it endearing when you start getting sleepy, especially when you've try to fight it. He’s quick to offer his lap or shoulder as a pillow, wrapping his coat around you to keep you warm. Gyro hums softly, his voice low and comforting, lulling them to sleep with the gentle sway of his horse or the rhythm of the campfire. He enjoys these moments of calm, feeling a deep sense of responsibility and care

•When you're overwhelmed, Gyro helps you find a quieter spot away from all the chaos. He uses his calming presence, speaking in a low, soothing tone and offering sensory distractions like spinning his Steel Balls slowly or letting you hold onto something comforting like his hat

•Knowing how scary thunderstorms can be, especially on the open trail, Gyro makes sure to stay close during bad weather. He might playfully compare the thunder to horses galloping or say that the sky is "just showing off" trying to make it less intimidating

•if you're really scared, he’ll wrap you in his coat, hold you close, and hum or sing softly until the storm passes, his presence a steady anchor in the chaos

•Zio is supportive of your desire to do things on your own, even when you're in a regressed state. He gently encourages you to try small tasks, like feeding yourself or packing a small bag, offering lots of praise for even the smallest achievements !

•He knows that feeling capable is important, so he’s always ready to help but steps back to let you shine whenever possible

•When they need to pass through busy towns or crowded areas, Gyro is extra vigilant. He keeps a firm but gentle hold on your hand, shielding you from bumping into others or getting lost. Gyro reassures you quietly, pointing out interesting sights to keep you distracted. If the crowd becomes too much, he quickly finds a quieter space where you two can regroup and relax

If you're in the basic criteria , are DSMP fans, vivziep0p fans , h0tel/h3lluva b0ss fans, Owl h0use fans, St4r butterfly fans, Ghibli fans, ddlg/abdl blogs, nsfw/k!nk blogs, anti-agere blogs, or anti Christians/Christianity blogs : just dont interact !

[icapidilite]

https://www.icapidilite.com/blogs/choosing-between-pu-polish-and-melamine/

Visit here to know features of PU polish, their strengths and limitations to guide you to choose the best PU finish for your project.

[drivepainting]

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[princesssarisa]

The next set of Donkeyskin tales in Cinderella Tales from Around the World take us first to Turkey and Syria, then down to South and East Africa, and then back into Asia through Sri Lanka, India, and finally Japan.

*There are two versions from Turkey in this collection (@faintingheroine). In one, the king resolves to marry his daughter because she fits her dead mother's clothes; she requests gowns that resemble "the sky with stars," "the ground with flowers," and "the sea with fishes," and as in the Italian versions, she disguises herself in a suit made of wood and calls herself "Wooden Mary." In the other, her finger fits her mother's ring; at the advice of a fairy, she requests gowns of gold, silver, and pearls, and then a long fur coat, all of which the devil supplies; after she runs away, she lives alone in a cave for six years before the prince finds her and brings her to the palace. In both versions, the events to which she follows the prince in her finery are three royal weddings in other kingdoms; at the weddings, the prince either gives her three valuable trinkets (version #2), or else she steals them from him (version #1). Then when the prince falls ill with longing for her, she bakes cakes or pastries for him and slips the three trinkets inside, leading to her discovery.

*The Syrian variant is a "heroine hides inside a hollow object" version, in this case a chest. It also portrays the father as "a rich Jew." While this means the heroine herself is also Jewish, which could be good representation, I doubt it was meant that way; since her Jewishness is only mentioned once in the text, while her father is constantly called "the Jew," I'm afraid it's antisemitism, implying that only a Jew would try to marry his own daughter. Especially because in the end, his daughter refuses to forgive him and the prince has him executed.

*The two South African tales aren't exactly Donkeyskin tales as Europe knows them, but they do feature a persecuted heroine dressed in animal skin. In both of these tales, a king or a chief has two wives, each with a daughter.

**In Nya-Nya Bulembu, the king favors one wife and daughter but scorns and abuses the other wife and daughter, and he forces the unfavored daughter to wear the mossy green skin of a water monster so everyone will despise her. But one day she meets an old fairy man who gives her a magic stick that will temporarily restore her human form and bring her food each day. One day a prince comes to visit, sees her during this time, and knowing her true appearance, asks to marry the "monster." When she bathes before the wedding, the green skin floats away on the river, revealing her beauty to all. Meanwhile, her stepsister – a kind girl and a friend to her, in contrast to her cruel mother – is carried away by pigeons, which serves as her wicked parents' punishment as they assume she's dead. But really she's taken to another kingdom where she marries the king and lives happily ever after too.

**In Baboon-Skins, the heroine's stepmother and stepsister are jealous of her beauty, so to protect herself and her mother from their abuse, the girl dresses herself in baboon skins to hide her beauty. Still, she remains graceful and charming, and when a young chief's servants come looking for two brides for their master, her demeanor charms them just as her stepsister's beauty does, and they choose them both. At first the chief is angry, thinking a girl who hides her appearance must be ugly, but her demeanor wins him over too, and on the wedding day, she finally discards the skins.

*A French-language version from Mauritius is called Donkeyskin and basically a transplant of Perrault's version, except for a twist at the end: the prince doesn't get sick, but secretly meets with Donkeyskin after seeing her undisguised and falling in love with her, and urges her to put a ring in a cake that his mother the queen has already ordered her to bake. When she does and he eats the cake, he holds the ring at the back of his throat, pretending it's stuck, and no maiden but Donkeyskin can pull it out.

*The tale from Sri Lanka is called The Scab Girl and is only vaguely a Donkeyskin tale. A baby girl is abandoned by her parents because they wanted a son, but two cranes find her and raise her in a cave. When she grows up, a wicked "Rakshi" discovers her and tries to eat her, so the cranes dress her in cloth covered with scabs to make her look disgusting and inedible, then send her out into the world. She becomes a scullery maid at the king's palace, but secretly takes off her scab cloth to bathe, and eventually her beauty is discovered by the king, who marries her.

*There are three Indian variants, which also bear only a slight resemblance to the European versions, and none of which include attempted incest:

**In The Disguised Princess, the heroine is the eldest of three sisters and betrothed to a prince. But on her wedding day, her jealous younger sisters put sugar in her palanquin, it attracts flies, the prince thinks the flies are attracted to her, and in disgust he has his servants abandon her in the jungle. There she meets a carpenter and has him build her a wooden suit that disguises her as a man. She journeys to the prince's palace, where she wins the prince's favor and becomes a head servant. Meanwhile, the prince is about to marry another princess, but "by accident," when the "man of wood" meets the bride, "he" knocks out her eye with his wooden hand, making her repulsive to the prince. Soon afterward, a washerman tells the prince that every day, the "man of wood" takes off his wooden shell to bathe and reveals a beautiful human form. The Prince sends for "him" and demands to see "his" beauty, and so the princess reveals herself, and the prince marries her.

**In The King and the Fairy, a beautiful golden-haired fairy is persecuted by a Deo (giant), who wants to kill her because she refused to marry him. So she disguises herself in a leather robe covered with treacle, which attracts flies. She becomes a lowly servant in an old woman's house, but one day as she bathes, one of her hairs floats downstream. A prince finds the beautiful golden hair strand and resolves to marry the girl whose head it came from. He invites all the people in the land to a feast; the fairy comes in her disguise, and an elephant approaches her and lifts her up three times, which means that she's the prince's destined bride. The prince is disgusted by her, until he learns from some watchmen that every night, four fairies come and remove her disguise to bathe and perfume her, revealing her true beauty. When she tells him her story, he devises a trick to kill the Deo, leaving the fairy free to resume her true form and marry the prince.

*In The Princess and the Cat, the princess has an enormous pet cat who becomes jealous of all her suitors and claws at them until they run for their lives. To escape from the cat's possessiveness, she runs away, disguises herself in a coat of smelly skins, and becomes known as Chamni ("skin-woman"). She becomes a servant at the prince's palace and is sent out each day to tend the elephants, and when she's alone, she takes off the skin coat. One day the prince sees her, falls in love with her, learns her story, and marries her. When the cat learns of her marriage he comes after the couple, but the prince kills him, and they live happily ever after.

*Last but not least is The Wooden Bowl from Japan, which isn't really a Donkeyskin story, but does share some of the same themes. A poor peasant girl's dying mother instructs her to always wear a wooden bowl over her head to hide her beautiful face and protect her from men's lust. She obeys, and lives by laboring in the fields, mocked and scorned by her fellow workers for the bowl, until a rich farmer takes pity on her and brings her to his house to be his wife's servant. There, the farmer's son manages to catch a glimpse of her face one day, falls in love with her, and resolves to marry her. His relatives object because of her low birth and her oddness, and though she loves him, she refuses his proposal so as not to cause discord. But in a dream, her mother's spirit urges her to accept. On their wedding day, she tries to remove the wooden bowl, only to find that it's stuck. But when the wedding ceremony is complete, the bowl shatters, releasing a shower of pearls, jewels, gold, and silver to serve as her dowry, as well as revealing her beauty.

@ariel-seagull-wings, @themousefromfantasyland, @adarkrainbow

[vaguelyhumanshapedbeing]

tumblr is great because yeah yeah yeah curse of Lovecraft upon ye

THE COLOUR OUT OF SPACE

By H. P. Lovecraft

West of Arkham the hills rise wild, and there are valleys with deep woods that no axe has ever cut. There are dark narrow glens where the trees slope fantastically, and where thin brooklets trickle without ever having caught the glint of sunlight. On the gentler slopes there are farms, ancient and rocky, with squat, moss-coated cottages brooding eternally over old New England secrets in the lee of great ledges; but these are all vacant now, the wide chimneys crumbling and the shingled sides bulging perilously beneath low gambrel roofs.

The old folk have gone away, and foreigners do not like to live there. French-Canadians have tried it, Italians have tried it, and the Poles have come and departed. It is not because of anything that can be seen or heard or handled, but because of something that is imagined. The place is not good for imagination, and does not bring restful dreams at night. It must be this which keeps the foreigners away, for old Ammi Pierce has never told them of anything he recalls from the strange days. Ammi, whose head has been a little queer for years, is the only one who still remains, or who ever talks of the strange days; and he dares to do this because his house is so near the open fields and the travelled roads around Arkham.

There was once a road over the hills and through the valleys, that ran straight where the blasted heath is now; but people ceased to use it and a new road was laid curving far toward the south. Traces of the old one can still be found amidst the weeds of a returning wilderness, and some of them will doubtless linger even when half the hollows are flooded for the new reservoir. Then the dark woods will be cut down and the blasted heath will slumber far below blue waters whose surface will mirror the sky and ripple in the sun. And the secrets of the strange days will be one with the deep's secrets; one with the hidden lore of old ocean, and all the mystery of primal earth.

When I went into the hills and vales to survey for the new reservoir they told me the place was evil. They told me this in Arkham, and because that is a very old town full of witch legends I thought the evil must be something which grandmas had whispered to children through centuries. The name "blasted heath" seemed to me very odd and theatrical, and I wondered how it had come into the folklore of a Puritan people. Then I saw that dark westward tangle of glens and slopes for myself, and ceased to wonder at anything besides its own elder mystery. It was morning when I saw it, but shadow lurked always there. The trees grew too thickly, and their trunks were too big for any healthy New England wood. There was too much silence in the dim alleys between them, and the floor was too soft with the dank moss and mattings of infinite years of decay.

In the open spaces, mostly along the line of the old road, there were little hillside farms; sometimes with all the buildings standing, sometimes with only one or two, and sometimes with only a lone chimney or fast-filling cellar. Weeds and briers reigned, and furtive wild things rustled in the undergrowth. Upon everything was a haze of restlessness and oppression; a touch of the unreal and the grotesque, as if some vital element of perspective or chiaroscuro were awry. I did not wonder that the foreigners would not stay, for this was no region to sleep in. It was too much like a landscape of Salvator Rosa; too much like some forbidden woodcut in a tale of terror.

But even all this was not so bad as the blasted heath. I knew it the moment I came upon it at the bottom of a spacious valley; for no other name could fit such thing, or any other thing fit such a name. It was as if the poet had coined the phrase from having seen this one particular region. It must, I thought as I viewed it, be the outcome of a fire; but why had nothing new ever grown over those five acres of grey desolation that sprawled open to the sky like a great spot eaten by acid in the woods and fields? It lay largely to the north of the ancient road line, but encroached a little on the other side. I felt an odd reluctance about approaching, and did so at last only because my business took me through and past it. There was no vegetation of any kind on that broad expanse, but only a fine grey dust or ash which no wind seemed ever to blow about. The trees near it were sickly and stunted, and many dead trunks stood or lay rotting at the rim. As I walked hurriedly by I saw the tumbled bricks and stones of an old chimney and cellar on my right, and the yawning black maw of an abandoned well whose stagnant vapours played strange tricks with the hues of the sunlight. Even the long, dark woodland climb beyond seemed welcome in contrast, and I marvelled no more at the frightened whispers of Arkham people. There had been no house or ruin near; even in the old days the place must have been lonely and remote. And at twilight, dreading to repass that ominous spot, I walked circuitously back to the town by the curving road on the south. I vaguely wished some clouds would gather, for an odd timidity about the deep skyey voids above had crept into my soul.

In the evening I asked old people in Arkham about the blasted heath, and what was meant by that phrase "strange days" which so many evasively muttered. I could not, however, get any good answers, except that all the mystery was much more recent than I had dreamed. It was not a matter of old legendry at all, but something within the lifetime of those who spoke. It had happened in the 'eighties, and a family had disappeared or was killed. Speakers would not be exact; and because they all told me to pay no attention to old Ammi Pierce's crazy tales, I sought him out the next morning, having heard that he lived alone in the ancient tottering cottage where the trees first begin to get very thick. It was a fearsomely ancient place, and had begun to exude the faint miasmal odour which clings about houses that have stood too long. Only with persistent knocking could I rouse the aged man, and when he shuffled timidly to the door I could tell he was not glad to see me. He was not so feeble as I had expected; but his eyes drooped in a curious way, and his unkempt clothing and white beard made him seem very worn and dismal.

Not knowing just how he could best be launched on his tales, I feigned a matter of business; told him of my surveying, and asked vague questions about the district. He was far brighter and more educated than I had been led to think, and before I knew it had grasped quite as much of the subject as any man I had talked with in Arkham. He was not like other rustics I had known in the sections where reservoirs were to be. From him there were no protests at the miles of old wood and farmland to be blotted out, though perhaps there would have been had not his home lain outside the bounds of the future lake. Relief was all that he showed; relief at the doom of the dark ancient valleys through which he had roamed all his life. They were better under water now—better under water since the strange days. And with this opening his husky voice sank low, while his body leaned forward and his right forefinger began to point shakily and impressively.

It was then that I heard the story, and as the rambling voice scraped and whispered on I shivered again and again despite the summer day. Often I had to recall the speaker from ramblings, piece out scientific points which he knew only by a fading parrot memory of professors' talk, or bridge over gaps, where his sense of logic and continuity broke down. When he was done I did not wonder that his mind had snapped a trifle, or that the folk of Arkham would not speak much of the blasted heath. I hurried back before sunset to my hotel, unwilling to have the stars come out above me in the open; and the next day returned to Boston to give up my position. I could not go into that dim chaos of old forest and slope again, or face another time that grey blasted heath where the black well yawned deep beside the tumbled bricks and stones. The reservoir will soon be built now, and all those elder secrets will lie safe forever under watery fathoms. But even then I do not believe I would like to visit that country by night—at least not when the sinister stars are out; and nothing could bribe me to drink the new city water of Arkham.

It all began, old Ammi said, with the meteorite. Before that time there had been no wild legends at all since the witch trials, and even then these western woods were not feared half so much as the small island in the Miskatonic where the devil held court beside a curious stone altar older than the Indians. These were not haunted woods, and their fantastic dusk was never terrible till the strange days. Then there had come that white noontide cloud, that string of explosions in the air, and that pillar of smoke from the valley far in the wood. And by night all Arkham had heard of the great rock that fell out of the sky and bedded itself in the ground beside the well at the Nahum Gardner place. That was the house which had stood where the blasted heath was to come—the trim white Nahum Gardner house amidst its fertile gardens and orchards.

Nahum had come to town to tell people about the stone, and had dropped in at Ammi Pierce's on the way. Ammi was forty then, and all the queer things were fixed very strongly in his mind. He and his wife had gone with the three professors from Miskatonic University who hastened out the next morning to see the weird visitor from unknown stellar space, and had wondered why Nahum had called it so large the day before. It had shrunk, Nahum said as he pointed out the big brownish mound above the ripped earth and charred grass near the archaic well-sweep in his front yard; but the wise men answered that stones do not shrink. Its heat lingered persistently, and Nahum declared it had glowed faintly in the night. The professors tried it with a geologist's hammer and found it was oddly soft. It was, in truth, so soft as to be almost plastic; and they gouged rather than chipped a specimen to take back to the college for testing. They took it in an old pail borrowed from Nahum's kitchen, for even the small piece refused to grow cool. On the trip back they stopped at Ammi's to rest, and seemed thoughtful when Mrs. Pierce remarked that the fragment was growing smaller and burning the bottom of the pail. Truly, it was not large, but perhaps they had taken less than they thought.

The day after that—all this was in June of '82—the professors had trooped out again in a great excitement. As they passed Ammi's they told him what queer things the specimen had done, and how it had faded wholly away when they put it in a glass beaker. The beaker had gone, too, and the wise men talked of the strange stone's affinity for silicon. It had acted quite unbelievably in that well-ordered laboratory; doing nothing at all and showing no occluded gases when heated on charcoal, being wholly negative in the borax bead, and soon proving itself absolutely non-volatile at any producible temperature, including that of the oxy-hydrogen blowpipe. On an anvil it appeared highly malleable, and in the dark its luminosity was very marked. Stubbornly refusing to grow cool, it soon had the college in a state of real excitement; and when upon heating before the spectroscope it displayed shining bands unlike any known colours of the normal spectrum there was much breathless talk of new elements, bizarre optical properties, and other things which puzzled men of science are wont to say when faced by the unknown.

Hot as it was, they tested it in a crucible with all the proper reagents. Water did nothing. Hydrochloric acid was the same. Nitric acid and even aqua regia merely hissed and spattered against its torrid invulnerability. Ammi had difficulty in recalling all these things, but recognized some solvents as I mentioned them in the usual order of use. There were ammonia and caustic soda, alcohol and ether, nauseous carbon disulphide and a dozen others; but although the weight grew steadily less as time passed, and the fragment seemed to be slightly cooling, there was no change in the solvents to show that they had attacked the substance at all. It was a metal, though, beyond a doubt. It was magnetic, for one thing; and after its immersion in the acid solvents there seemed to be faint traces of the Widmänstätten figures found on meteoric iron. When the cooling had grown very considerable, the testing was carried on in glass; and it was in a glass beaker that they left all the chips made of the original fragment during the work. The next morning both chips and beaker were gone without trace, and only a charred spot marked the place on the wooden shelf where they had been.

All this the professors told Ammi as they paused at his door, and once more he went with them to see the stony messenger from the stars, though this time his wife did not accompany him. It had now most certainly shrunk, and even the sober professors could not doubt the truth of what they saw. All around the dwindling brown lump near the well was a vacant space, except where the earth had caved in; and whereas it had been a good seven feet across the day before, it was now scarcely five. It was still hot, and the sages studied its surface curiously as they detached another and larger piece with hammer and chisel. They gouged deeply this time, and as they pried away the smaller mass they saw that the core of the thing was not quite homogeneous.

They had uncovered what seemed to be the side of a large coloured globule embedded in the substance. The colour, which resembled some of the bands in the meteor's strange spectrum, was almost impossible to describe; and it was only by analogy that they called it colour at all. Its texture was glossy, and upon tapping it appeared to promise both brittleness and hollowness. One of the professors gave it a smart blow with a hammer, and it burst with a nervous little pop. Nothing was emitted, and all trace of the thing vanished with the puncturing. It left behind a hollow spherical space about three inches across, and all thought it probable that others would be discovered as the enclosing substance wasted away.

Conjecture was vain; so after a futile attempt to find additional globules by drilling, the seekers left again with their new specimen—which proved, however, as baffling in the laboratory as its predecessor. Aside from being almost plastic, having heat, magnetism, and slight luminosity, cooling slightly in powerful acids, possessing an unknown spectrum, wasting away in air, and attacking silicon compounds with mutual destruction as a result, it presented no identifying features whatsoever; and at the end of the tests the college scientists were forced to own that they could not place it. It was nothing of this earth, but a piece of the great outside; and as such dowered with outside properties and obedient to outside laws.

That night there was a thunderstorm, and when the professors went out to Nahum's the next day they met with a bitter disappointment. The stone, magnetic as it had been, must have had some peculiar electrical property; for it had "drawn the lightning," as Nahum said, with a singular persistence. Six times within an hour the farmer saw the lightning strike the furrow in the front yard, and when the storm was over nothing remained but a ragged pit by the ancient well-sweep, half-chocked with caved-in earth. Digging had borne no fruit, and the scientists verified the fact of the utter vanishment. The failure was total; so that nothing was left to do but go back to the laboratory and test again the disappearing fragment left carefully cased in lead. That fragment lasted a week, at the end of which nothing of value had been learned of it. When it had gone, no residue was left behind, and in time the professors felt scarcely sure they had indeed seen with waking eyes that cryptic vestige of the fathomless gulfs outside; that lone, weird message from other universes and other realms of matter, force, and entity.

As was natural, the Arkham papers made much of the incident with its collegiate sponsoring, and sent reporters to talk with Nahum Gardner and his family. At least one Boston daily also sent a scribe, and Nahum quickly became a kind of local celebrity. He was a lean, genial person of about fifty, living with his wife and three sons on the pleasant farmstead in the valley. He and Ammi exchanged visits frequently, as did their wives; and Ammi had nothing but praise for him after all these years. He seemed slightly proud of the notice his place had attracted, and talked often of the meteorite in the succeeding weeks. That July and August were hot; and Nahum worked hard at his haying in the ten-acre pasture across Chapman's Brook; his rattling wain wearing deep ruts in the shadowy lanes between. The labour tired him more than it had in other years, and he felt that age was beginning to tell on him.

Then fell the time of fruit and harvest. The pears and apples slowly ripened, and Nahum vowed that his orchards were prospering as never before. The fruit was growing to phenomenal size and unwonted gloss, and in such abundance that extra barrels were ordered to handle the future crop. But with the ripening came sore disappointment, for of all that gorgeous array of specious lusciousness not one single jot was fit to eat. Into the fine flavour of the pears and apples had crept a stealthy bitterness and sickishness, so that even the smallest of bites induced a lasting disgust. It was the same with the melons and tomatoes, and Nahum sadly saw that his entire crop was lost. Quick to connect events, he declared that the meteorite had poisoned the soil, and thanked Heaven that most of the other crops were in the upland lot along the road.

Winter came early, and was very cold. Ammi saw Nahum less often than usual, and observed that he had begun to look worried. The rest of his family too, seemed to have grown taciturn; and were far from steady in their churchgoing or their attendance at the various social events of the countryside. For this reserve or melancholy no cause could be found, though all the household confessed now and then to poorer health and a feeling of vague disquiet. Nahum himself gave the most definite statement of anyone when he said he was disturbed about certain footprints in the snow. They were the usual winter prints of red squirrels, white rabbits, and foxes, but the brooding farmer professed to see something not quite right about their nature and arrangement. He was never specific, but appeared to think that they were not as characteristic of the anatomy and habits of squirrels and rabbits and foxes as they ought to be. Ammi listened without interest to this talk until one night when he drove past Nahum's house in his sleigh on the way back from Clark's Corners. There had been a moon, and a rabbit had run across the road; and the leaps of that rabbit were longer than either Ammi or his horse liked. The latter, indeed, had almost run away when brought up by a firm rein. Thereafter Ammi gave Nahum's tales more respect, and wondered why the Gardner dogs seemed so cowed and quivering every morning. They had, it developed, nearly lost the spirit to bark.

In February the McGregor boys from Meadow Hill were out shooting woodchucks, and not far from the Gardner place bagged a very peculiar specimen. The proportions of its body seemed slightly altered in a queer way impossible to describe, while its face had taken on an expression which no one ever saw in a woodchuck before. The boys were genuinely frightened, and threw the thing away at once, so that only their grotesque tales of it ever reached the people of the countryside. But the shying of horses near Nahum's house had now become an acknowledged thing, and all the basis for a cycle of whispered legend was fast taking form.

People vowed that the snow melted faster around Nahum's than it did anywhere else, and early in March there was an awed discussion in Potter's general store at Clark's Corners. Stephen Rice had driven past Gardner's in the morning, and had noticed the skunk-cabbages coming up through the mud by the woods across the road. Never were things of such size seen before, and they held strange colours that could not be put into any words. Their shapes were monstrous, and the horse had snorted at an odour which struck Stephen as wholly unprecedented. That afternoon several persons drove past to see the abnormal growth, and all agreed that plants of that kind ought never to sprout in a healthy world. The bad fruit of the fall before was freely mentioned, and it went from mouth to mouth that there was poison in Nahum's ground. Of course it was the meteorite; and remembering how strange the men from the college had found that stone to be, several farmers spoke about the matter to them.

One day they paid Nahum a visit; but having no love of wild tales and folklore were very conservative in what they inferred. The plants were certainly odd, but all skunk-cabbages are more or less odd in shape and hue. Perhaps some mineral element from the stone had entered the soil, but it would soon be washed away. And as for the footprints and frightened horses—of course this was mere country talk which such a phenomenon as the aerolite would be certain to start. There was really nothing for serious men to do in cases of wild gossip, for superstitious rustics will say and believe anything. And so all through the strange days the professors stayed away in contempt. Only one of them, when given two phials of dust for analysis in a police job over a year and a half later, recalled that the queer colour of that skunk-cabbage had been very like one of the anomalous bands of light shown by the meteor fragment in the college spectroscope, and like the brittle globule found imbedded in the stone from the abyss. The samples in this analysis case gave the same odd bands at first, though later they lost the property.

The trees budded prematurely around Nahum's, and at night they swayed ominously in the wind. Nahum's second son Thaddeus, a lad of fifteen, swore that they swayed also when there was no wind; but even the gossips would not credit this. Certainly, however, restlessness was in the air. The entire Gardner family developed the habit of stealthy listening, though not for any sound which they could consciously name. The listening was, indeed, rather a product of moments when consciousness seemed half to slip away. Unfortunately such moments increased week by week, till it became common speech that "something was wrong with all Nahum's folks." When the early saxifrage came out it had another strange colour; not quite like that of the skunk-cabbage, but plainly related and equally unknown to anyone who saw it. Nahum took some blossoms to Arkham and showed them to the editor of the Gazette, but that dignitary did no more than write a humorous article about them, in which the dark fears of rustics were held up to polite ridicule. It was a mistake of Nahum's to tell a stolid city man about the way the great, overgrown mourning-cloak butterflies behaved in connection with these saxifrages.

April brought a kind of madness to the country folk, and began that disuse of the road past Nahum's which led to its ultimate abandonment. It was next the vegetation. All the orchard trees blossomed forth in strange colours, and through the stony soil of the yard and adjacent pasturage there sprang up a bizarre growth which only a botanist could connect with the proper flora of the region. No sane wholesome colours were anywhere to be seen except in the green grass and leafage; but everywhere were those hectic and prismatic variants of some diseased, underlying primary tone without a place among the known tints of earth. The "Dutchman's breeches" became a thing of sinister menace, and the bloodroots grew insolent in their chromatic perversion. Ammi and the Gardners thought that most of the colours had a sort of haunting familiarity, and decided that they reminded one of the brittle globule in the meteor. Nahum ploughed and sowed the ten-acre pasture and the upland lot, but did nothing with the land around the house. He knew it would be of no use, and hoped that the summer's strange growths would draw all the poison from the soil. He was prepared for almost anything now, and had grown used to the sense of something near him waiting to be heard. The shunning of his house by neighbours told on him, of course; but it told on his wife more. The boys were better off, being at school each day; but they could not help being frightened by the gossip. Thaddeus, an especially sensitive youth, suffered the most.

In May the insects came, and Nahum's place became a nightmare of buzzing and crawling. Most of the creatures seemed not quite usual in their aspects and motions, and their nocturnal habits contradicted all former experience. The Gardners took to watching at night—watching in all directions at random for something they could not tell what. It was then that they all owned that Thaddeus had been right about the trees. Mrs. Gardner was the next to see it from the window as she watched the swollen boughs of a maple against a moonlit sky. The boughs surely moved, and there was no wind. It must be the sap. Strangeness had come into everything growing now. Yet it was none of Nahum's family at all who made the next discovery. Familiarity had dulled them, and what they could not see was glimpsed by a timid windmill salesman from Bolton who drove by one night in ignorance of the country legends. What he told in Arkham was given a short paragraph in the Gazette; and it was there that all the farmers, Nahum included, saw it first. The night had been dark and the buggy-lamps faint, but around a farm in the valley which everyone knew from the account must be Nahum's, the darkness had been less thick. A dim though distinct luminosity seemed to inhere in all the vegetation, grass, leaves, and blossoms alike, while at one moment a detached piece of the phosphorescence appeared to stir furtively in the yard near the barn.

The grass had so far seemed untouched, and the cows were freely pastured in the lot near the house, but toward the end of May the milk began to be bad. Then Nahum had the cows driven to the uplands, after which this trouble ceased. Not long after this the change in grass and leaves became apparent to the eye. All the verdure was going grey, and was developing a highly singular quality of brittleness. Ammi was now the only person who ever visited the place, and his visits were becoming fewer and fewer. When school closed the Gardners were virtually cut off from the world, and sometimes let Ammi do their errands in town. They were failing curiously both physically and mentally, and no one was surprised when the news of Mrs. Gardner's madness stole around.

It happened in June, about the anniversary of the meteor's fall, and the poor woman screamed about things in the air which she could not describe. In her raving there was not a single specific noun, but only verbs and pronouns. Things moved and changed and fluttered, and ears tingled to impulses which were not wholly sounds. Something was taken away—she was being drained of something—something was fastening itself on her that ought not to be—someone must make it keep off—nothing was ever still in the night—the walls and windows shifted. Nahum did not send her to the county asylum, but let her wander about the house as long as she was harmless to herself and others. Even when her expression changed he did nothing. But when the boys grew afraid of her, and Thaddeus nearly fainted at the way she made faces at him, he decided to keep her locked in the attic. By July she had ceased to speak and crawled on all fours, and before that month was over Nahum got the mad notion that she was slightly luminous in the dark, as he now clearly saw was the case with the nearby vegetation.

It was a little before this that the horses had stampeded. Something had aroused them in the night, and their neighing and kicking in their stalls had been terrible. There seemed virtually nothing to do to calm them, and when Nahum opened the stable door they all bolted out like frightened woodland deer. It took a week to track all four, and when found they were seen to be quite useless and unmanageable. Something had snapped in their brains, and each one had to be shot for its own good. Nahum borrowed a horse from Ammi for his haying, but found it would not approach the barn. It shied, balked, and whinnied, and in the end he could do nothing but drive it into the yard while the men used their own strength to get the heavy wagon near enough the hayloft for convenient pitching. And all the while the vegetation was turning grey and brittle. Even the flowers whose hues had been so strange were graying now, and the fruit was coming out grey and dwarfed and tasteless. The asters and goldenrod bloomed grey and distorted, and the roses and zinnias and hollyhocks in the front yard were such blasphemous-looking things that Nahum's oldest boy Zenas cut them down. The strangely puffed insects died about that time, even the bees that had left their hives and taken to the woods.

By September all the vegetation was fast crumbling to a greyish powder, and Nahum feared that the trees would die before the poison was out of the soil. His wife now had spells of terrific screaming, and he and the boys were in a constant state of nervous tension. They shunned people now, and when school opened the boys did not go. But it was Ammi, on one of his rare visits, who first realized that the well water was no longer good. It had an evil taste that was not exactly fetid nor exactly salty, and Ammi advised his friend to dig another well on higher ground to use till the soil was good again. Nahum, however, ignored the warning, for he had by that time become calloused to strange and unpleasant things. He and the boys continued to use the tainted supply, drinking it as listlessly and mechanically as they ate their meagre and ill-cooked meals and did their thankless and monotonous chores through the aimless days. There was something of stolid resignation about them all, as if they walked half in another world between lines of nameless guards to a certain and familiar doom.

Thaddeus went mad in September after a visit to the well. He had gone with a pail and had come back empty-handed, shrieking and waving his arms, and sometimes lapsing into an inane titter or a whisper about "the moving colours down there." Two in one family was pretty bad, but Nahum was very brave about it. He let the boy run about for a week until he began stumbling and hurting himself, and then he shut him in an attic room across the hall from his mother's. The way they screamed at each other from behind their locked doors was very terrible, especially to little Merwin, who fancied they talked in some terrible language that was not of earth. Merwin was getting frightfully imaginative, and his restlessness was worse after the shutting away of the brother who had been his greatest playmate.

Almost at the same time the mortality among the livestock commenced. Poultry turned greyish and died very quickly, their meat being found dry and noisome upon cutting. Hogs grew inordinately fat, then suddenly began to undergo loathsome changes which no one could explain. Their meat was of course useless, and Nahum was at his wit's end. No rural veterinary would approach his place, and the city veterinary from Arkham was openly baffled. The swine began growing grey and brittle and falling to pieces before they died, and their eyes and muzzles developed singular alterations. It was very inexplicable, for they had never been fed from the tainted vegetation. Then something struck the cows. Certain areas or sometimes the whole body would be uncannily shrivelled or compressed, and atrocious collapses or disintegrations were common. In the last stages—and death was always the result—there would be a greying and turning brittle like that which beset the hogs. There could be no question of poison, for all the cases occurred in a locked and undisturbed barn. No bites of prowling things could have brought the virus, for what live beast of earth can pass through solid obstacles? It must be only natural disease—yet what disease could wreak such results was beyond any mind's guessing. When the harvest came there was not an animal surviving on the place, for the stock and poultry were dead and the dogs had run away. These dogs, three in number, had all vanished one night and were never heard of again. The five cats had left some time before, but their going was scarcely noticed since there now seemed to be no mice, and only Mrs. Gardner had made pets of the graceful felines.

On the nineteenth of October Nahum staggered into Ammi's house with hideous news. The death had come to poor Thaddeus in his attic room, and it had come in a way which could not be told. Nahum had dug a grave in the railed family plot behind the farm, and had put therein what he found. There could have been nothing from outside, for the small barred window and locked door were intact; but it was much as it had been in the barn. Ammi and his wife consoled the stricken man as best they could, but shuddered as they did so. Stark terror seemed to cling round the Gardners and all they touched, and the very presence of one in the house was a breath from regions unnamed and unnameable. Ammi accompanied Nahum home with the greatest reluctance, and did what he might to calm the hysterical sobbing of little Merwin. Zenas needed no calming. He had come of late to do nothing but stare into space and obey what his father told him; and Ammi thought that his fate was very merciful. Now and then Merwin's screams were answered faintly from the attic, and in response to an inquiring look Nahum said that his wife was getting very feeble. When night approached, Ammi managed to get away; for not even friendship could make him stay in that spot when the faint glow of the vegetation began and the trees may or may not have swayed without wind. It was really lucky for Ammi that he was not more imaginative. Even as things were, his mind was bent ever so slightly; but had he been able to connect and reflect upon all the portents around him he must inevitably have turned a total maniac. In the twilight he hastened home, the screams of the mad woman and the nervous child ringing horrible in his ears.

Three days later Nahum burst into Ammi's kitchen in the early morning, and in the absence of his host stammered out a desperate tale once more, while Mrs. Pierce listened in a clutching fright. It was little Merwin this time. He was gone. He had gone out late at night with a lantern and pail for water, and had never come back. He'd been going to pieces for days, and hardly knew what he was about. Screamed at everything. There had been a frantic shriek from the yard then, but before the father could get to the door the boy was gone. There was no glow from the lantern he had taken, and of the child himself no trace. At the time Nahum thought the lantern and pail were gone too; but when dawn came, and the man had plodded back from his all-night search of the woods and fields, he had found some very curious things near the well. There was a crushed and apparently somewhat melted mass of iron which had certainly been the lantern; while a bent pail and twisted iron hoops beside it, both half-fused, seemed to hint at the remnants of the pail. That was all. Nahum was past imagining, Mrs. Pierce was blank, and Ammi, when he had reached home and heard the tale, could give no guess. Merwin was gone, and there would be no use in telling the people around, who shunned all Gardners now. No use, either, in telling the city people at Arkham who laughed at everything. Thad was gone, and now Merwin was gone. Something was creeping and creeping and waiting to be seen and heard. Nahum would go soon, and he wanted Ammi to look after his wife and Zenas if they survived him. It must all be a judgment of some sort; though he could not fancy what for, since he had always walked uprightly in the Lord's ways so far as he knew.

For over two weeks Ammi saw nothing of Nahum; and then, worried about what might have happened, he overcame his fears and paid the Gardner place a visit. There was no smoke from the great chimney, and for a moment the visitor was apprehensive of the worst. The aspect of the whole farm was shocking—greyish withered grass and leaves on the ground, vines falling in brittle wreckage from archaic walls and gables, and great bare trees clawing up at the grey November sky with a studied malevolence which Ammi could not but feel had come from some subtle change in the tilt of the branches. But Nahum was alive, after all. He was weak, and lying in a couch in the low-ceiled kitchen, but perfectly conscious and able to give simple orders to Zenas. The room was deadly cold; and as Ammi visibly shivered, the host shouted huskily to Zenas for more wood. Wood, indeed, was sorely needed; since the cavernous fireplace was unlit and empty, with a cloud of soot blowing about in the chill wind that came down the chimney. Presently Nahum asked him if the extra wood had made him any more comfortable, and then Ammi saw what had happened. The stoutest cord had broken at last, and the hapless farmer's mind was proof against more sorrow.

Questioning tactfully, Ammi could get no clear data at all about the missing Zenas. "In the well—he lives in the well—" was all that the clouded father would say. Then there flashed across the visitor's mind a sudden thought of the mad wife, and he changed his line of inquiry. "Nabby? Why, here she is!" was the surprised response of poor Nahum, and Ammi soon saw that he must search for himself. Leaving the harmless babbler on the couch, he took the keys from their nail beside the door and climbed the creaking stairs to the attic. It was very close and noisome up there, and no sound could be heard from any direction. Of the four doors in sight, only one was locked, and on this he tried various keys on the ring he had taken. The third key proved the right one, and after some fumbling Ammi threw open the low white door.

It was quite dark inside, for the window was small and half-obscured by the crude wooden bars; and Ammi could see nothing at all on the wide-planked floor. The stench was beyond enduring, and before proceeding further he had to retreat to another room and return with his lungs filled with breathable air. When he did enter he saw something dark in the corner, and upon seeing it more clearly he screamed outright. While he screamed he thought a momentary cloud eclipsed the window, and a second later he felt himself brushed as if by some hateful current of vapour. Strange colours danced before his eyes; and had not a present horror numbed him he would have thought of the globule in the meteor that the geologist's hammer had shattered, and of the morbid vegetation that had sprouted in the spring. As it was he thought only of the blasphemous monstrosity which confronted him, and which all too clearly had shared the nameless fate of young Thaddeus and the livestock. But the terrible thing about the horror was that it very slowly and perceptibly moved as it continued to crumble.

Ammi would give me no added particulars of this scene, but the shape in the corners does not re-appear in his tale as a moving object. There are things which cannot be mentioned, and what is done in common humanity is sometimes cruelly judged by the law. I gathered that no moving thing was left in that attic room, and that to leave anything capable of motion there would have been a deed so monstrous as to damn any accountable being to eternal torment. Anyone but a stolid farmer would have fainted or gone mad, but Ammi walked conscious through that low doorway and locked the accursed secret behind him. There would be Nahum to deal with now; he must be fed and tended, and removed to some place where he could be cared for.

Commencing his descent of the dark stairs, Ammi heard a thud below him. He even thought a scream had been suddenly choked off, and recalled nervously the clammy vapour which had brushed by him in that frightful room above. What presence had his cry and entry started up? Halted by some vague fear, he heard still further sounds below. Indubitably there was a sort of heavy dragging, and a most detestably sticky noise as of some fiendish and unclean species of suction. With an associative sense goaded to feverish heights, he thought unaccountably of what he had seen upstairs. Good God! What eldritch dream-world was this into which he had blundered? He dared move neither backward nor forward, but stood there trembling at the black curve of the boxed-in staircase. Every trifle of the scene burned itself into his brain. The sounds, the sense of dread expectancy, the darkness, the steepness of the narrow steps—and merciful Heaven!—the faint but unmistakable luminosity of all the woodwork in sight; steps, sides, exposed laths, and beams alike.

Then there burst forth a frantic whinny from Ammi's horse outside, followed at once by a clatter which told of a frenzied runaway. In another moment horse and buggy had gone beyond earshot, leaving the frightened man on the dark stairs to guess what had sent them. But that was not all. There had been another sound out there. A sort of liquid splash—water—it must have been the well. He had left Hero untied near it, and a buggy-wheel must have brushed the coping and knocked in a stone. And still the pale phosphorescense glowed in that detestably ancient woodwork. God! how old the house was! Most of it built before 1700.

A feeble scratching on the floor downstairs now sounded distinctly, and Ammi's grip tightened on a heavy stick he had picked up in the attic for some purpose. Slowly nerving himself, he finished his descent and walked boldly toward the kitchen. But he did not complete the walk, because what he sought was no longer there. It had come to meet him, and it was still alive after a fashion. Whether it had crawled or whether it had been dragged by any external forces, Ammi could not say; but the death had been at it. Everything had happened in the last half-hour, but collapse, greying, and disintegration were already far advanced. There was a horrible brittleness, and dry fragments were scaling off. Ammi could not touch it, but looked horrifiedly into the distorted parody that had been a face. "What was it, Nahum—what was it?" He whispered, and the cleft, bulging lips were just able to crackle out a final answer.

"Nothin' ... nothin' ... the colour ... it burns ... cold an' wet, but it burns ... it lived in the well.... I seen it ... a kind o' smoke ... jest like the flowers last spring ... the well shone at night.... Thad an' Merwin an' Zenas ... everything alive ... suckin' the life out of everything ... in that stone ... it must o' come in that stone ... pizened the whole place ... dun't know what it wants ... that round thing them men from the college dug outen the stone ... they smashed it ... it was that same colour ... jest the same, like the flowers an' plants ... must a' ben more of 'em ... seeds ... seeds ... they growed ... I seen it the fust time this week ... must a' got strong on Zenas ... he was a big boy, full o' life ... it beats down your mind an' then gits ye ... burns ye up ... in the well water ... you was right about that ... evil water ... Zenas never come back from the well ... can't git away ... draws ye ... ye know summ'at's comin', but 'tain't no use ... I seen it time an' agin Zenas was took ... whar's Nabby, Ammi? ... my head's no good ... dun't know how long sence I fed her ... it'll git her ef we ain't keerful ... jest a colour ... her face is gittin' to hev that colour sometimes towards night ... an' it burns an' sucks ... it come from some place whar things ain't as they is here ... one o' them professors said so ... he was right ... look out, Ammi, it'll do suthin' more ... sucks the life out...."

But that was all. That which spoke could speak no more because it had completely caved in. Ammi laid a red checked tablecloth over what was left and reeled out the back door into the fields. He climbed the slope to the ten-acre pasture and stumbled home by the north road and the woods. He could not pass that well from which his horses had run away. He had looked at it through the window, and had seen that no stone was missing from the rim. Then the lurching buggy had not dislodged anything after all—the splash had been something else—something which went into the well after it had done with poor Nahum....

When Ammi reached his house the horses and buggy had arrived before him and thrown his wife into fits of anxiety. Reassuring her without explanations, he set out at once for Arkham and notified the authorities that the Gardner family was no more. He indulged in no details, but merely told of the deaths of Nahum and Nabby, that of Thaddeus being already known, and mentioned that the cause seemed to be the same strange ailment which had killed the livestock. He also stated that Merwin and Zenas had disappeared. There was considerable questioning at the police station, and in the end Ammi was compelled to take three officers to the Gardner farm, together with the coroner, the medical examiner, and the veterinary who had treated the diseased animals. He went much against his will, for the afternoon was advancing and he feared the fall of night over that accursed place, but it was some comfort to have so many people with him.

The six men drove out in a democrat-wagon, following Ammi's buggy, and arrived at the pest-ridden farmhouse about four o'clock. Used as the officers were to gruesome experiences, not one remained unmoved at what was found in the attic and under the red checked tablecloth on the floor below. The whole aspect of the farm with its grey desolation was terrible enough, but those two crumbling objects were beyond all bounds. No one could look long at them, and even the medical examiner admitted that there was very little to examine. Specimens could be analysed, of course, so he busied himself in obtaining them—and here it develops that a very puzzling aftermath occurred at the college laboratory where the two phials of dust were finally taken. Under the spectroscope both samples gave off an unknown spectrum, in which many of the baffling bands were precisely like those which the strange meteor had yielded in the previous year. The property of emitting this spectrum vanished in a month, the dust thereafter consisting mainly of alkaline phosphates and carbonates.

Ammi would not have told the men about the well if he had thought they meant to do anything then and there. It was getting toward sunset, and he was anxious to be away. But he could not help glancing nervously at the stony curb by the great sweep, and when a detective questioned him he admitted that Nahum had feared something down there—so much so that he had never even thought of searching it for Merwin or Zenas. After that nothing would do but that they empty and explore the well immediately, so Ammi had to wait trembling while pail after pail of rank water was hauled up and splashed on the soaking ground outside. The men sniffed in disgust at the fluid, and toward the last held their noses against the foetor they were uncovering. It was not so long a job as they had feared it would be, since the water was phenomenally low. There is no need to speak too exactly of what they found. Merwin and Zenas were both there, in part, though the vestiges were mainly skeletal. There were also a small deer and a large dog in about the same state, and a number of bones of smaller animals. The ooze and slime at the bottom seemed inexplicably porous and bubbling, and a man who descended on hand-holds with a long pole found that he could sink the wooden shaft to any depth in the mud of the floor without meeting any solid obstruction.

Twilight had now fallen, and lanterns were brought from the house. Then, when it was seen that nothing further could be gained from the well, everyone went indoors and conferred in the ancient sitting-room while the intermittent light of a spectral half-moon played wanly on the grey desolation outside. The men were frankly nonplussed by the entire case, and could find no convincing common element to link the strange vegetable conditions, the unknown disease of livestock and humans, and the unaccountable deaths of Merwin and Zenas in the tainted well. They had heard the common country talk, it is true; but could not believe that anything contrary to natural law had occurred. No doubt the meteor had poisoned the soil, but the illness of person and animals who had eaten nothing grown in that soil was another matter. Was it the well water? Very possibly. It might be a good idea to analyse it. But what peculiar madness could have made both boys jump into the well? Their deeds were so similar—and the fragments showed that they had both suffered from the grey brittle death. Why was everything so grey and brittle?

It was the coroner, seated near a window overlooking the yard, who first noticed the glow about the well. Night had fully set in, and all the abhorrent grounds seemed faintly luminous with more than the fitful moonbeams; but this new glow was something definite and distinct, and appeared to shoot up from the black pit like a softened ray from a searchlight, giving dull reflections in the little ground pools where the water had been emptied. It had a very queer colour, and as all the men clustered round the window Ammi gave a violent start. For this strange beam of ghastly miasma was to him of no unfamiliar hue. He had seen that colour before, and feared to think what it might mean. He had seen it in the nasty brittle globule in that aerolite two summers ago, had seen it in the crazy vegetation of the springtime, and had thought he had seen it for an instant that very morning against the small barred window of that terrible attic room where nameless things had happened. It had flashed there a second, and a clammy and hateful current of vapour had brushed past him—and then poor Nahum had been taken by something of that colour. He had said so at the last—said it was like the globule and the plants. After that had come the runaway in the yard and the splash in the well—and now that well was belching forth to the night a pale insidious beam of the same demoniac tint.

It does credit to the alertness of Ammi's mind that he puzzled even at that tense moment over a point which was essentially scientific. He could not but wonder at his gleaning of the same impression from a vapour glimpsed in the daytime, against a window opening in the morning sky, and from a nocturnal exhalation seen as a phosphorescent mist against the black and blasted landscape. It wasn't right—it was against Nature—and he thought of those terrible last words of his stricken friend, "It come from some place whar things ain't as they is here ... one o' them professors said so...."

All three horses outside, tied to a pair of shrivelled saplings by the road, were now neighing and pawing frantically. The wagon driver started for the door to do something, but Ammi laid a shaky hand on his shoulder. "Dun't go out thar," he whispered. "They's more to this nor what we know. Nahum said somethin' lived in the well that sucks your life out. He said it must be some'at growed from a round ball like one we all seen in the meteor stone that fell a year ago June. Sucks an' burns, he said, an' is jest a cloud of colour like that light out thar now, that ye can hardly see an' can't tell what it is. Nahum thought it feeds on everything livin' an' gits stronger all the time. He said he seen it this last week. It must be somethin' from away off in the sky like the men from the college last year says the meteor stone was. The way it's made an' the way it works ain't like no way o' God's world. It's some'at from beyond."

So the men paused indecisively as the light from the well grew stronger and the hitched horses pawed and whinnied in increasing frenzy. It was truly an awful moment; with terror in that ancient and accursed house itself, four monstrous sets of fragments—two from the house and two from the well—in the woodshed behind, and that shaft of unknown and unholy iridescence from the slimy depths in front. Ammi had restrained the driver on impulse, forgetting how uninjured he himself was after the clammy brushing of that coloured vapour in the attic room, but perhaps it is just as well that he acted as he did. No one will ever know what was abroad that night; and though the blasphemy from beyond had not so far hurt any human of unweakened mind, there is no telling what it might not have done at that last moment, and with its seemingly increased strength and the special signs of purpose it was soon to display beneath the half-clouded moonlit sky.

All at once one of the detectives at the window gave a short, sharp gasp. The others looked at him, and then quickly followed his own gaze upward to the point at which its idle straying had been suddenly arrested. There was no need for words. What had been disputed in country gossip was disputable no longer, and it is because of the thing which every man of that party agreed in whispering later on, that strange days are never talked about in Arkham. It is necessary to premise that there was no wind at that hour of the evening. One did arise not long afterward, but there was absolutely none then. Even the dry tips of the lingering hedge-mustard, grey and blighted, and the fringe on the roof of the standing democrat-wagon were unstirred. And yet amid that tense, godless calm the high bare boughs of all the trees in the yard were moving. They were twitching morbidly and spasmodically, clawing in convulsive and epileptic madness at the moonlit clouds; scratching impotently in the noxious air as if jerked by some allied and bodiless line of linkage with sub-terrene horrors writhing and struggling below the black roots.

Not a man breathed for several seconds. Then a cloud of darker depth passed over the moon, and the silhouette of clutching branches faded out momentarily. At this there was a general cry; muffled with awe, but husky and almost identical from every throat. For the terror had not faded with the silhouette, and in a fearsome instant of deeper darkness the watchers saw wriggling at the treetop height a thousand tiny points of faint and unhallowed radiance, tipping each bough like the fire of St. Elmo or the flames that come down on the apostles' heads at Pentecost. It was a monstrous constellation of unnatural light, like a glutted swarm of corpse-fed fireflies dancing hellish sarabands over an accursed marsh; and its colour was that same nameless intrusion which Ammi had come to recognise and dread. All the while the shaft of phosphorescence from the well was getting brighter and brighter, bringing to the minds of the huddled men, a sense of doom and abnormality which far outraced any image their conscious minds could form. It was no longer shining out; it was pouringout; and as the shapeless stream of unplaceable colour left the well it seemed to flow directly into the sky.

... and in the fearsome instant of deeper darkness, the watchers saw wriggling at that treetop height, a thousand tiny points of faint and unhallowed radiance, tipping each bough like the fire of St. Elmo ... and all the while the shaft of phosphorescence from the well was getting brighter and brighter and bringing to the minds of the huddled men, a sense of doom and abnormality.... It was no longer shining out; it was pouring out; and as the shapeless stream of unplaceable colour left the well, it seemed to flow directly into the sky.

The veterinary shivered, and walked to the front door to drop the heavy extra bar across it. Ammi shook no less, and had to tug and point for lack of a controllable voice when he wished to draw notice to the growing luminosity of the trees. The neighing and stamping of the horses had become utterly frightful, but not a soul of that group in the old house would have ventured forth for any earthly reward. With the moments the shining of the trees increased, while their restless branches seemed to strain more and more toward verticality. The wood of the well-sweep was shining now, and presently a policeman dumbly pointed to some wooden sheds and beehives near the stone wall on the west. They were commencing to shine, too, though the tethered vehicles of the visitors seemed so far unaffected. Then there was a wild commotion and clopping in the road, and as Ammi quenched the lamp for better seeing they realized that the span of frantic grays had broken their sapling and run off with the democrat-wagon.

The shock served to loosen several tongues, and embarrassed whispers were exchanged. "It spreads on everything organic that's been around here," muttered the medical examiner. No one replied, but the man who had been in the well gave a hint that his long pole must have stirred up something intangible. "It was awful," he added. "There was no bottom at all. Just ooze and bubbles and the feeling of something lurking under there." Ammi's horse still pawed and screamed deafeningly in the road outside, and nearly drowned its owner's faint quaver as he mumbled his formless reflections. "It come from that stone—it growed down thar—it got everything livin'—it fed itself on 'em, mind and body—Thad an' Merwin, Zenas an' Nabby—Nahum was the last—they all drunk the water—it got strong on 'em—it come from beyond, whar things ain't like they be here—now it's goin' home—"

At this point, as the column of unknown colour flared suddenly stronger and began to weave itself into fantastic suggestions of shape which each spectator later described differently, there came from poor tethered Hero such a sound as no man before or since ever heard from a horse. Every person in that low-pitched sitting-room stopped his ears, and Ammi turned away from the window in horror and nausea. Words could not convey it—when Ammi looked out again the hapless beast lay huddled inert on the moonlit ground between the splintered shafts of the buggy. That was the last of Hero till they buried him next day. But the present was no time to mourn, for almost at this instant a detective silently called attention to something terrible in the very room with them. In the absence of the lamplight it was clear that a faint phosphorescence had begun to pervade the entire apartment. It glowed on the broad-planked floor where the rag carpet left it bare, and shimmered over the sashes of the small-paned windows. It ran up and down the exposed corner-posts, coruscated about the shelf and mantel, and infected the very doors and furniture. Each minute saw it strengthen, and at last it was very plain that healthy living things must leave that house.

Ammi showed them the back door and the path up through the fields to the ten-acre pasture. They walked and stumbled as in a dream, and did not dare look back till they were far away on the high ground. They were glad of the path, for they could not have gone the front way, by that well. It was bad enough passing the glowing barn and sheds, and those shining orchard trees with their gnarled, fiendish contours; but thank Heaven the branches did their worst twisting high up. The moon went under some very black clouds as they crossed the rustic bridge over Chapman's Brook, and it was blind groping from there to the open meadows.

When they looked back toward the valley and the distant Gardner place at the bottom they saw a fearsome sight. All the farm was shining with the hideous unknown blend of colour; trees, buildings, and even such grass and herbage as had not been wholly changed to lethal grey brittleness. The boughs were all straining skyward, tipped with tongues of foul flame, and lambent tricklings of the same monstrous fire were creeping about the ridgepoles of the house, barn and sheds. It was a scene from a vision of Fuseli, and over all the rest reigned that riot of luminous amorphousness, that alien and undimensioned rainbow of cryptic poison from the well—seething, feeling, lapping, reaching, scintillating, straining, and malignly bubbling in its cosmic and unrecognizable chromaticism.

Then without warning the hideous thing shot vertically up toward the sky like a rocket or meteor, leaving behind no trail and disappearing through a round and curiously regular hole in the clouds before any man could gasp or cry out. No watcher can ever forget that sight, and Ammi stared blankly at the stars of Cygnus, Deneb twinkling above the others, where the unknown colour had melted into the Milky Way. But his gaze was the next moment called swiftly to earth by the crackling in the valley. It was just that. Only a wooden ripping and crackling, and not an explosion, as so many others of the party vowed. Yet the outcome was the same, for in one feverish kaleidoscopic instant there burst up from that doomed and accursed farm a gleamingly eruptive cataclysm of unnatural sparks and substance; blurring the glance of the few who saw it, and sending forth to the zenith a bombarding cloudburst of such coloured and fantastic fragments as our universe must needs disown. Through quickly re-closing vapours they followed the great morbidity that had vanished, and in another second they had vanished too. Behind and below was only a darkness to which the men dared not return, and all about was a mounting wind which seemed to sweep down in black, frore gusts from interstellar space. It shrieked and howled, and lashed the fields and distorted woods in a mad cosmic frenzy, till soon the trembling party realized it would be no use waiting for the moon to show what was left down there at Nahum's.

Too awed even to hint theories, the seven shaking men trudged back toward Arkham by the north road. Ammi was worse than his fellows, and begged them to see him inside his own kitchen, instead of keeping straight on to town. He did not wish to cross the blighted, wind-whipped woods alone to his home on the main road. For he had had an added shock that the others were spared, and was crushed for ever with a brooding fear he dared not even mention for many years to come. As the rest of the watchers on that tempestuous hill had stolidly set their faces toward the road, Ammi had looked back an instant at the shadowed valley of desolation so lately sheltering his ill-starred friend. And from that stricken, far-away spot he had seen something feebly rise, only to sink down again upon the place from which the great shapeless horror had shot into the sky. It was just a colour—but not any colour of our earth or heavens. And because Ammi recognized that colour, and knew that this last faint remnant must still lurk down there in the well, he has never been quite right since.

Ammi would never go near the place again. It is forty-four years now since the horror happened, but he has never been there, and will be glad when the new reservoir blots it out. I shall be glad, too, for I do not like the way the sunlight changed colour around the mouth of that abandoned well I passed. I hope the water will always be very deep—but even so, I shall never drink it. I do not think I shall visit the Arkham country hereafter. Three of the men who had been with Ammi returned the next morning to see the ruins by daylight, but there were not any real ruins. Only the bricks of the chimney, the stones of the cellar, some mineral and metallic litter here and there, and the rim of that nefandous well. Save for Ammi's dead horse, which they towed away and buried, and the buggy which they shortly returned to him, everything that had ever been living had gone. Five eldritch acres of dusty grey desert remained, nor has anything ever grown there since. To this day it sprawls open to the sky like a great spot eaten by acid in the woods and fields, and the few who have ever dared glimpse it in spite of the rural tales have named it "the blasted heath."

The rural tales are queer. They might be even queerer if city men and college chemists could be interested enough to analyze the water from that disused well, or the grey dust that no wind seems ever to disperse. Botanists, too, ought to study the stunted flora on the borders of that spot, for they might shed light on the country notion that the blight is spreading—little by little, perhaps an inch a year. People say the colour of the neighboring herbage is not quite right in the spring, and that wild things leave queer prints in the light winter snow. Snow never seems quite so heavy on the blasted heath as it is elsewhere. Horses—the few that are left in this motor age—grow skittish in the silent valley; and hunters cannot depend on their dogs too near the splotch of greyish dust.

They say the mental influences are very bad, too; numbers went queer in the years after Nahum's taking, and always they lacked the power to get away. Then the stronger-minded folk all left the region, and only the foreigners tried to live in the crumbling old homesteads. They could not stay, though; and one sometimes wonders what insight beyond ours their wild, weird stories of whispered magic have given them. Their dreams at night, they protest, are very horrible in that grotesque country; and surely the very look of the dark realm is enough to stir a morbid fancy. No traveler has ever escaped a sense of strangeness in those deep ravines, and artists shiver as they paint thick woods whose mystery is as much of the spirits as of the eye. I myself am curious about the sensation I derived from my one lone walk before Ammi told me his tale. When twilight came I had vaguely wished some clouds would gather, for odd timidity about the deep skyey voids above had crept into my soul.

Do not ask me for my opinion. I do not know—that is all. There was no one but Ammi to question; for Arkham people will not talk about the strange days, and all three professors who saw the aerolite and its coloured globule are dead. There were other globules—depend upon that. One must have fed itself and escaped, and probably there was another which was too late. No doubt it is still down the well—I know there was something wrong with the sunlight I saw above that miasmal brink. The rustics say the blight creeps an inch a year, so perhaps there is a kind of growth or nourishment even now. But whatever demon hatchling is there, it must be tethered to something or else it would quickly spread. Is it fastened to the roots of those trees that claw the air? One of the current Arkham tales is about fat oaks that shine and move as they ought not to do at night.

What it is, only God knows. In terms of matter I suppose the thing Ammi described would be called a gas, but this gas obeyed laws that are not of our cosmos. This was no fruit of such worlds and suns as shine on the telescopes and photographic plates of our observatories. This was no breath from the skies whose motions and dimensions our astronomers measure or deem too vast to measure. It was just a colour out of space—a frightful messenger from unformed realms of infinity beyond all Nature as we know it; from realms whose mere existence stuns the brain and numbs us with the black extra-cosmic gulfs it throws open before our frenzied eyes.

I doubt very much if Ammi consciously lied to me, and I do not think his tale was all a freak of madness as the townsfolk had forewarned. Something terrible came to the hills and valleys on that meteor, and something terrible—though I know not in what proportion—still remains. I shall be glad to see the water come. Meanwhile I hope nothing will happen to Ammi. He saw so much of the thing—and its influence was so insidious. Why has he never been able to move away? How clearly he recalled those dying words of Nahum's—"can't git away—draws ye—ye know summ'at's comin', but 'tain't no use—" Ammi is such a good old man—when the reservoir gang gets to work I must write the chief engineer to keep a sharp watch on him. I would hate to think of him as the grey, twisted, brittle monstrosity which persists more and more in troubling my sleep.

THE END

[writingjourney]

Headache wip

that's a great choice because I can actually give you an excerpt for this one!! ♡ also funny bc right now i got an awful headache, so this is not proofread or anything:

✦ ✧ ✦

A swell of Italian curses, muffled by the heavy oak door. The keys jangle as he misses his target multiple times, the wood groaning painfully as he leans against it before trying again. When the lock finally springs open, Secondo enters your shared quarts with a sigh that seems to carry the combined weight of every burden in the world.

��Hello, my love,” you greet him from the couch, pulling your legs up to make room for him.

He grumbles what seems to be a greeting as he pulls at his robes with impatient, unusually clumsy fingers. When he misses the hook on the coat rack the fabric falls to the floor, emerald green and black pooling at his feet. He heaves another sigh.

“Oh, you’re especially grumpy today, hm?” You only have to take one closer look to see exactly what the reason for his foul mood is. The makeup around his temples is smudged, as is the paint around bridge of his nose when he regards you under droopy eyelids. “Headache again?”

“Hmpf.”

“Oh, heavy is the head that wears the mitre,” you mumble when he sinks down on the sofa beside you. “Is it very bad?”

“Yes.”

“That’s because you’re too stubborn to take the meds in time before it gets like this,” you chide, wrapping a supportive arm around his shoulders. “You always think you can push through by sheer force of will.”

“Hmpf.”

You press a soft kiss to his temple and he leans against you, resting his heavy head against your lips. “It’s okay to get a little help, my love.”

“I have you for that, no? You always take such good care of your Papa.”

“Well, not even I can just magically rub away your headache.”

He tuts, squeezing your thigh with his gloved fingers. “That depends on where you’re rubbing, hm?”

You chuckle, cradling his head against you and peppering his skin with more kisses. “I don’t think you’re up for that today. But I can rub some tiger balm on your temples if you would like?”

“Per favore.”

More kisses and he grows heavier by the second. His black eyelids are closed now, long lashes tickling the skin just below. “Let’s get you cleaned up before you fall asleep. I will take care of dinner today and you can take a little nap.”

He gives a dissatisfied hum. “Amore, we are making Cacio e Pepe tonight.”

“So? I helped you prepare it many times and it’s not that difficult.”

You can immediately tell that the idea displeases him. His brows pull together even more than in their relaxed state and his lips curl ever so slightly at the edges. This is the closest you will ever get to an actual pout from him and you have to fight off an amused smile.

“You don’t have to worry that I won’t need you anymore,” you whisper. “I will always prefer being your kitchen helper, my love.”

“I’m not wo–” You shut him up with a proper kiss and he practically melts into it. The smudged make up tastes bitter when you lick along his full lips. Secondo sighs, teasing your tongue with his for a moment before he pulls away. “Va bene. But you will join your Papa for his nap.”

[booboodaddysblog]

Autumn desires

Part one

Warnings: smut, teasing, p in v, alcohol, threesome

🍂🍁🍂🍁🍂🍁🍂🍁🍂🍁🍂🍁🍂🍁🍂🍁🍂

It was an autumn evening, the rain was hitting the window panes and a pleasant, relaxing noise was created. In the background one could hear the crackling fire in the fireplace. The smell of lasagne that was baking in the oven was spreading through the house.

Roby and Marg were preparing the table for dinner. When suddenly they heard a knock on the door. Marg ran to open it. It was Colin, who had just returned from work. He was all wet but smiling at the sight of the person who opened the door for him. He immediately forgot about how hard and stressful his day had been.

- Hello Marg, nice to see you - Colin said with a smile, combing his fingers through his wet hair. Water ran down his hand and coat.

- Hi Colin - said Marg with a shy smile. She liked what she saw. The water running down Colin's face was making her head start to spin.

Colin went inside.

- Hi Roby! I missed you guys! - he said, taking off his wet coat and hang it up on the hanger.

- Hi Colin! You're finally here, dinner is almost ready! - said Roby with smirk on her face.

- I smell something delicious? Is it something Italian! Roby, sweetest, what have you prepared for us today? - deeply inhaled the scent, closing his eyes.

- It's Lasagne, your favorite dish. We need to celebrate our weekend off.

-Perfect! Ladies forgive my lateness, but it was your idea to rent a house in the woods 40km away from the city. I was not prepared for this - Colin started to unbutton his shirt - Give me another moment, I need to freshen up and change clothes - saying this he went upstairs to take a shower.

Roby and Marg looked at each other communicatively.

- He is so sexy and he doesn't even do it on purpose - said Roby biting her lip.

- It's true, the sight of him and those unforced movements, the smile, make my knees soften. He makes me weak - said Marg covering her face with her hands.

- What is he doing to us? I don't know if I can get a good night's sleep tonight. I'm going to get some wine, I need something to occupy my thoughts - Roby went to the kitchen.

Marg and Roby sat on the couch sipping wine and watching the crackling fire in the fireplace.

- Nice view - Roby and Marg jumped up in surprise - Are you afraid of me? Apparently I don't bite - said Colin.

- We wouldn't be afraid of you if you weren't sneaking around and standing behind us - said Marg.

- Why are you wearing only sweatpants? Get dressed, we are about to eat - said Roby with a smile on her face, blushing slightly at the sight of Colin's muscular body.

- Roby you don't look as if this view bothers you, but well I'll wear a T-shirt - Colin returned upstairs.

- Ugh he’s driving me crazy! - Marg said rolling her eyes.

- But he doesn’t do it on purpose? What do you think? - said Roby blushing again.

Colin ran down the stairs with a big smile on his face and immediately sat down at the table.

- Give me food, I'm hungry as a wolf! - said Colin licking his lips at the sight of the lasagne.

- Here you go, if you want more I'll give you more - said Roby handing Colin a plate.

- Thank you. I already know I will want more - said Colin and immediately put a bite of lasagne in his mouth - Oh! Hot! - he quickly sipped the wine.

- Slowly, we have all night, we have our time now! - said with a laugh Marg.

Colin pick up the dishes to thank them for dinner.

The girls, meanwhile, prepared a cozy spot by the fireplace on the floor. They spread out pillows and blankets. They placed a bottle of wine and glasses on the table and turned on soft music. They lay down comfortably on the carpet waiting for Colin.

- I like the view. Two beautiful, my favourite girls, music, wine, fireplace. A dream... - said Colin laying down between Marg and Roby.

- Oh how comfy. However, I am happy with your choice. I like this place in the woods. The peace and quiet. We must do it again sometime - said Colin sighing and looking at the fire - Could I take off my shirt? Very warm here.

The girls looked at each other with a smile when Colin sat down.

- Don't talk so much anymore just open the wine - said Marg poking Colin on the shoulder.

- Of course, everything for you - he grabbed the bottle and the opener. His muscles tensed with every movement.

Roby and Marg sighed in unison at this sight.

- Are you all right? - Asked Colin with a raised eyebrow.

- Yes, yes - said the girls simultaneously laughing.

Colin poured wine into glasses and served everyone.

- Cheers! For us and our time off! - he said and sipped - oh how delicious this wine is! - he murmured.

Roby and Marg sighed.

- What’s with you guys? Are you sure all is well? - Colin shook his head and lay down again.

- So Colin how was your day? - Marg asked to break the silence.

- Hmm... as always it was not pleasant, it was really stressful today. Thank you for organizing this trip. I needed it - Colin raised his glass to toast. When their glasses clashed a bit of wine spilled from Marg's glass right onto Colin's stomach.

- Oh sorry, that wasn't on purpose! - Marg started to catch the flowing wine from Colin's belly to avoid dirtying the carpet. Finally, she leaned over and gently licked off the wine. Colin tensed up and drew in the air loudly.

- What are you doing? You don't have to, really! - said Colin breathing hard, looking at what Marg was doing.

- Sorry, but this wine is so good that I had to. But I must admit that on you it tastes even better - said Marg licking her lips - I feel like more! - she grabbed her glass.

- What, this is really happening? Don't joke on me! - Colin tried to get up.

- Shut up and relax! - Marg grabbed Colin's hand to keep him from getting up.

- So why don't I leave you now? - said Roby laughing.

- NO! - said Colin and Marg at the same time.

- I will stay! Marg what are you planning? A threesome? - Roby smiled widely.

- Maybe! Hold him! Let's have some fun! - said Marg, and she sat down on Colin's legs, pouring some wine on his belly. This time in purpose.

- Oh God! - Colin inhaled deeply and closed his eyes.

- I'm very happy that you don't protest! You are so good boy! - Marg leaned over to lick the wine off Colin's stomach - Oh this wine tastes so sweet! Roby try it! - Roby without hesitation leaned in licked the rest of the wine.

- You want to kill me! Oh God! - Colin began to shook and felt his pants becoming tight. And Marg was sitting in the wrong place - I beg! Please!

- Colin relax please! Isn’t that really funny that you want to get away from such pleasures? - Marg giggled while stroking Colin's tense abdominal muscles.

- I... really... is it normal among friends? That we... you know... YOU WANT TO PLAY WITH ME IN THE THREESOME?! - Colin tried to break free again, but Marg continued to sit on him.

- Colin shut up, please! - Roby suddenly leaned over and kissed Clion when he wanted to protest again.

- Roby ahh how could you kiss him first! I just wanted to do it to shut him up! - Marg indignantly showed her tongue for Roby and laughed.

- Sorry, I had to. Ok Colin, honestly, if you don't want to we can stop. We know you're tired after a full day at work - Roby shrugged her shoulders, moving back a bit.

- OMG, don't you think it's too late for such statements? - Colin rolled his eyes and started laughing.

- Oh why? - Marg began to wonder - Ahhhh I already know! - Marg smiled devilishly and stroked Colin's bulge in his pants.

- Oh God yeah! It's so too late for me to get out of this game! What do you do with me! - Colin suddenly pulled Marg to himself and kissed her passionately. She squealed, she was not prepared for this.

Colin, without breaking the kiss, began to take off Marg's shirt. They break the kiss only for a moment to take the shirt off completely and throw it somewhere in the room. Marg began to moan into Colin's mouth, rubbing against his bulge. They break the kiss to get rid of all their clothes.

- Roby come to me, now! - Marg pulled Roby to her to help her undress, kissed her lightly on the lips.

Colin forgot about undressing when he saw this scene in front of his eyes. His bulge became even harder. He groaned when he felt the girls help him undress and pulled him back on the carpet. He gasped for air loudly when he felt Marg begin to massage his dick and Roby kiss his neck gently.

Colin quietly moans with pleasure.

- Oh it's really pleasant, don't stop! It's been a long time since I felt so good! You guys are wonderful! Oh I think I'm in heav... - Colin stopped talking when he felt Marg stuffing herself on his cock - Oh yes I'm definitely in heav... - Roby silenced him with a deep and passionate kiss. He moaned loudly into her mouth.

- Marg you are so tight, it's a wonderful feeling - Colin didn’t stop talking which began to irritate Marg. She starts to move faster up and down. He parted his lips and closed his eyes, breathing deeply, faster and faster. Marg moved faster and faster, she felt that Colin was close. His cock began to pulsate inside her.

- Maaargg... I’m... I think... oh God... I think I'm about to come! - Colin growled and clenched his eyelids tightly. Marg felt a burst of heat inside her. She continued to move on him for a while more because she liked how hypersensitive he was now to every movement. How he trembles...

- Marg that's enough, I beg - Colin felt Roby kiss him again, gently so he could calm down.

- Well I'll give you three minutes to pick up in yourself. I didn't manage to come. Roby also needs tenderness. I hope you will give us what we want

🍁🍂🍁🍂🍁🍂🍁🍂🍁🍂🍁🍂🍁🍂🍁🍂🍁

Part two

Here's my first, light, smut. I promise to write more if you like it. Let me know in the comments and ❤️

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