#i was in the middle of a re-read a while ago and got sidetracked (again)

[jofiah]

Sorry its stupid but do u ever think about the bit in blame! where killy briefly crosses into another universe and meets another cibo and shit and like. Do you ever think about how he could have just left. Idk of uts care and determination for the one hes already in or not thinking of it but like. He could have left. Just gone

I'm gonna be real with you anon, it's been so long since I did a proper re-read that my memory is fuzzy on this arc and what actually happens :x

[moodyvalentinestories]

Direction – Three | Hunt x HWU MC (Danielle)

Summary: Thomas and Danielle reminisce about the past and make a deal. 

Words: 1800+

Notes: Y’all, remember when I was writing Wherefore Art Thou My Professor? and thought it was an absolute trainwreck? I think I’ve found its worthy successor because this is so much worse (in the best way, if you ask me). I keep getting hella sidetracked and even though I know how it’s gonna end, I have NO IDEA what my brain decides to do with the middle part. So stay tuned, I guess.

❥ Previous Parts: Prologue | One | Two  ❥ Moodyvalentine’s Masterlist

Danielle was almost certain that Hunt would freak upon seeing her collection of photos from her time at Hollywood U. He wasn’t in all of them – not even half of them, really – but she did have quite a few pictures of him. Nonetheless, she felt like she at least owed it to him to let him see them. “Okay. I’ll get my laptop,” she said and got up from her chair.

“Please tell me you did not store them online,” Hunt replied, rather condescendingly.

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, no, I saved them to the most easily hackable cloud I could find. Jesus, Hunt, the ones you’re worried about are all safely stored on an encrypted flash drive. Stop assuming the worst of me for two seconds, would you?”

He mumbled something she didn’t understand – and she was sure that was for the better – while she retrieved her laptop and the flash drive.

“You’ll have to promise me not to tell a soul about the things you may see on this,” Danielle said when she returned, and Hunt raised an eyebrow.

“What exactly am I going to see?” he asked.

She shrugged as she plugged the drive into her laptop. “I’m not sure. I’ll try not to show you any things that don’t concern you, but these are pretty much all the photos I’ve bought off paparazzi that some people might not want to see published.”

“I didn’t know you did that,” Hunt remarked while she unlocked the flash drive.

Danielle chuckled. “What, you thought I needed you to save my ass all the time? You know, I try to learn from my mistakes.”

“Could have fooled me,” he huffed.

“Do you want to see the pictures or not? I know I fucked up, you don’t have to remind me,” she said and got up. “Scoot over. I’m not letting you go through them alone.”

Hunt reluctantly did as she told him, and she sat down on the sofa, closer than he probably would have liked her to be. But there were things on there she certainly did not want him to see.

There were several folders on Danielle’s flash drive, and though Thomas didn’t have a chance to get a good look at them before she’d clicked on the one titled Centaurus Lost, he had a fairly decent idea of just how many people’s photographs she had kept out of the press – and therefore just how many people she could have under her thumb, were she ever to stoop to Montmartre’s level.

One of the folders he had seen was titled Chris, which should have been the least surprising as Danielle and Chris Winters had dated for some years during her time at the university, but considering the images Thomas had seen of the two in magazines, he couldn’t even begin to imagine what could be found inside. The other folders, as far as he could tell from the short glimpse he’d caught of them, all bore the names of either projects she’d worked on – such as Centaurus Lost – or of her friends. And, all of a sudden, Thomas had to re-evaluate what he knew of Danielle.

That she had kept so much from being leaked to the public was admirable, but the fact that she had kept everything was certainly cause for concern. Perhaps she truly was capable of worse than he’d thought.

“Most of these aren’t pictures of you,” Danielle said once the contents of the folder – multiple hundreds of images – had fully loaded. “In fact, almost all of them are of Holly and Mike. I’m actually quite surprised by how many I could get, considering the whole thing with May.”

Thomas simply nodded along, beginning to feel somewhat uneasy. Many of the photographs of Tanner and Holly could have very well been used to support May Gordon’s narrative, had she ever got her hands on it. It made sense, of course, that Danielle would have wanted to keep them from being leaked at the time, seeing as it was her film as well, but now… now she could very well release them, and likely make good money speaking about everything that happened behind the scenes. He wasn’t sure he even wanted to know what she could do with whatever images she had of him.

She would be able to spin a pretty story, he was sure of it, and come out unscathed, while he… well, considering that many a despicable Hollywood giant got what they deserved these days, he was sure he could easily be lumped in with the lot of them, and his career – or what was left of it – would be over.

Because Thomas knew he’d made some questionable decisions while working with Danielle, and though they had never quite become friends – or, God forbid, more than friends – they had been closer than they probably should have been during that time, and he was certain the photos she had reflected that.

“How many are there?” he eventually asked while Danielle was scrolling through the images to find the ones they were looking for.

“Potentially incriminating ones? Two or three, I would say,” she said nonchalantly, which did nothing to alleviate his concerns.

Had she perhaps been lying again? Had she given the photographs to Montmartre after all? She’d seemed upset before, but she was an actress, and as much as Thomas believed he was skilled enough at reading people to tell whether or not they were putting on an act… Danielle was Danielle.

“And how many overall?”

She turned to him, an eyebrow raised. “We worked together quite closely on the daily. What do you think?” With a shake of her head, she turned back to the screen and said, “Ah, here they are. See for yourself.”

Danielle clicked on the first file and a picture of her and Thomas walking out of the studio together just before dawn filled the screen. That, he imagined, would have been one of the two or three problematic ones – at least in combination with the ones Montmartre already had.

“I remember that night,” Thomas said involuntarily. He wasn’t sure what he meant to say, but he knew it wasn’t that, and it most certainly wasn’t supposed to come out the way it did – as if it was a fond memory.

Danielle smiled at that. “So do I. I think it was the first time we managed not to yell at each other for more than two hours.”

“If I recall correctly, you almost ruined the peace by finishing off my Scotch without asking me,” he said, as if it was the most normal thing in the world to reminisce about photographs he was worried could be used as blackmail material.

“You ate my snacks first. It was only fair,” Danielle countered, then let out a sigh. “God, that seems like so long ago.”

Thomas had to agree, though it really hadn’t been. It had to have been just over a year and a half, and yet it felt like an eternity. He didn’t say that, though, and just remained silent as Danielle began clicking through the images.

Most of them were harmless – the two of them at work, several obvious disagreements, or just a conversation – but then there was another one from a late night. It had clearly been shot through a window and showed Thomas and Danielle in an embrace that, to an outsider, would most certainly not look appropriate for a professor and a student.

“You should…” Thomas began, then trailed off. He remembered that night, too. It had been one of the last nights before filming – and therefore their working relationship – had ended. They’d officially made peace then, promising to respect each other as they hadn’t before they’d started working together. Needless to say, that hadn’t worked out. Thomas cleared his throat. “You should probably delete this one.”

She looked up at him, eyes wide, and shook her head. “I promise, no one will get their hands on this. Dean knows his stuff; he’s made sure it’s safe, and nobody knows where I store this. I swear—”

“Danielle,” Thomas said quietly and much more softly than he had intended.

Chewing her lip in that way she always did when she was nervous, she regarded him for a moment more, then looked back to the image on screen. “You know, I really thought you meant it then,” she said wistfully. “That we could be civil, at least.”

“We are civil right now,” he argued, which made her turn to him again, a stern look on her face.

“Right. But only because you want to check out what I have on you. Don’t think for a moment that I don’t know that. I’m not quite that naïve, Hunt.” She sighed. “Look, if you want me to delete the photos, I’ll delete them.”

Thomas wanted to believe the offer was genuine, but if his concerns were justified, she’d certainly have copies of everything lying around somewhere. And if they weren’t, it wouldn’t matter whether or not she kept the photos.

“No,” he said eventually. “But I’m going to need something in return, to guarantee you won’t release or use them against me in any way. Insurance, if you will.”

Danielle narrowed her eyes at him. “You honestly think I would – of course you do.” She huffed. “Fine. It’s a good thing I happen to know you only pretend to be scary so people will respect you,” she said as she removed the flash drive and put the laptop down on the coffee table.

“What are you doing?” Thomas asked, furrowing his brows.

“Oh, I’m not giving you my nudes,” she said and got up from the sofa, smirking when an odd choking sound escaped Thomas. “Come on, I’ll give you something better.”

He followed Danielle to her wardrobe and watched as she climbed onto a chair to get a cardboard box off the top shelf. She handed it to him without another word, then jumped off the chair.

“What is it?” Thomas asked.

“Open it.”

He did as she told him and gasped when he saw the contents. “I thought the university had taken care of this.”

“They did,” she said, biting her lip. “Nothing ever got out. And it’s not everything, but it’s enough proof, I’d say.”

“I couldn’t – this would ruin you,” Thomas said and tried to give the box back but Danielle wouldn’t take it.

“Kind of the point, isn’t it?” she said with a shrug. “ You’re worried I’ll ruin you, so I’m giving you the tools to return the favour if I ever do. Wasn’t that what you wanted?”

He nodded hesitantly. “Yes, but—”

“Good. Good,” she said resignedly and inclined her head towards the door. “Then I suppose it’s time for you to go.”

 Tags: @lilyoffandoms​ @trappedinfandoms​ @flyawayboo​ @oneemofungirl​ @alleksa16​ @silversparrow02​ @i-bloody-love-drake-walker​ @alj4890​

[unproduciblesmackdown]

here’s the matter of fact text post re: i guess i achieved the goal of an intermittent thing i’d do where i’d try to find anyone online talking about the ‘weird’ experience i have with masturbation which is, inherently, not exciting or anything but it’s like, even if i just Know of course it’s not just me, i want to like, hear someone else talk about anything similar ever, b/c so far it’s just a text post i saw once and can’t ever rediscover and someone talking about their experience that stems from an inapplicable physical trauma so....Yay, seeing as it’s been years i’ve been like “seriously though” lmao  

i was like Lol @ myself b/c i was like “man after i try for like 30 sec to crank it it a) doesn’t go anywhere hardly and b) i lose interest Way fast and it’s like mildly annoying” and so i thought about that post that’s like [me after sex: well that was a waste of my goddamn time. anyway back to speedrunning] but that’s me after a halfhearted attempt to masturbate and not really getting anything out of it anyways lmaoo like. it’s okay or i wouldn’t even bother fairly regularly but also it tends to end with like, me going off on a distracted tangent for even a moment and it can just hit an absolute brick wall like okay i don’t even have the Interest in continuing with this anymore like i might’ve had before starting like Well That Was A Waste Of My Goddamn Time Anyway Back To [whatever it is that i do]

and then like either that same night or the next my dreams had the audacity to get deeply uncomfortable for no reason like. all i do is have Anxiety Dream Themes thrown together where like. for example as i write this, two nights ago i had a dream segment about “i’m on vacation at the beach” but it was all Anxiety b/c it’ll all be about how i can hardly visit said beach coz i keep getting sidetracked at the hotel or w/e while i’m Trying to visit it while i still can, and last night i had the same Theme but trying and failing to ride roller coasters (which i Enjoy irl) and like, the beach one in particular recurs not Too infrequently lmao where i’m surprised by the rarity of something like “you’re at the beach and it’s fun” lol.......i don’t have anything i’d call a nightmare too often but Anxiety / a somewhat threatening/worrisome situation is like, fairly constant lol, with some occasionally more neutral stuff and a really rare Fun Dream but anyways it was still Bizarre that my dreams pitched me “you’re Someone who i guess is dating this abstract Partner and the scenario is you feel obligated to have sex with them” and it was weird like, woke up the next day like “why did my brain drag me through this deeply unpleasant dream situation” like. not totally unheard of for my dreams to touch on a Scene ft. sex and/or physical intimacy and even on occasion it’ll be an “i’m (or whoever i am as a maybe semi-abstract First Person camera character lol maybe ft. some particular concept attached to the ‘role’) having some sexual encounter and it’s Fine or enjoyable” but it’s generally fleeting As Per Usual Dream Structure and it’s like why was this one that sucked like, particularly dragged out by those usual dream standard’s, come on

anyways so going “haha i’m living the Waste Of My Goddamn Time thing” and “well thank you to my own brain for a bizarre and unpleasant experience while i’m just trying to be passed tf out” i was like “let’s look up again why not only can i not seem to orgasm but also like even expecting a way lower level of stimulation still Disappoints sometime like why do i bother” and yeah after first going the “does anyone Never manage to Not slam into a brick wall / basically completely lose interest all at once or practically all at once even and it all goes back to zero even if you started at like maybe a 1 or 1.5 and sometimes it happens with going down a random mental track” route i interestingly got some cis guys going “yeah hate when that happens on occasion” but yeah by now i had of course given up on “can i come at this from an [experiencing sensory input and processing from an autistic angle] angle” like. idk still interested in that of course lmao but god is searching for it a bit exhausting. but yeah after i threw in an [-erectile] search modifier i got was like oh a result on a site about asexuality re: masturbation, why didn’t i think of That angle. idk but here we are

informative stuff but the comments section where people who wanted to read an [about: masturbation] on a site About asexuality were talking about their experiences was like. i had mentioned how it was Enlightening that one person said I Do Not Enjoy Orgasms lol like i have not really heard that angle vs “you might not enjoy sexual stimulation” and/or “you might not be able to orgasm” but not you Can orgasm but you Might Not Even Like It Really like. the person said yes they got the Peak Of Intense Pleasure out of the orgasm but not so much any kind of afterglow and felt like they get dropped back to where they were before even trying to masturbate (aka. square zero again lol) and just yeah outright mentioned Not Enjoying it and another person replied like Yep it’s like that for me too.........already i’m like man i don’t even approach anywhere near an orgasm Ever but man would not be surprised if, even if i theoretically was capable of the physical experience, it would be the same as this way lower level Waste Of My Goddamn Time deal lol.......it’s Hilarious too that like. say “being at all in the mood to try to spank it” is a Square/Level 1, i feel like yeah most of the time i’m only getting this shit going to a 1.5, maybe a 2 or 2.5 if we’re on fire......very very very rarely have i been like “hey that was like, a 3 or some shit, damn” and honestly it’s not like oh so that ruled and is motivation to continue b/c like. the Surprise of it throws me off and it’s not necessarily that Great a surprise, more just like, jeez, idk, it feels like A Bit Much that basically registers as Tension where i’m hardly encouraged to keep it up like, makes me wonder if that’s a Sensory Processing Thing aka how sometimes i try to get any more in depth info on the logistics of Experiencing Sexual Stimulation re: also being autistic and the variety of ways that can unfold (i do know that like. the Sensory thing apparently can sure be a factor in either direction, i.e. might cause some ppl to really not enjoy sexual stimulation Or to like, super enjoy it. allistic ppl who might realize “thinking sex is awesome” is “”normal,”” brilliant.....like u didnt also “realize” that stims like fidget cubes and weighted blankets can be enjoyed “”normally”” like. still having a diff experience here and shut it) and i remember one time i was like “c’est la vie i will purchase a vibrator (and i got a second, external one as some deal going on)” and it was just a No Go b/c. it didn’t feel “bad” in that it was not necessarily like, yep here’s some sexual stimulation, but it was like, overwhelming in a Not Good way, yet also not physically painful, and i realize vibrators are made w/ different intensities and i definitely got Mildest ones so it wasn’t that

anyways like yeah #tbt to a time i really gave it a go (vibrator-less) for truly just short of two solid hours......plenty of that was me at Square Zero and getting back to level 1 alone (aka like. feeling Any positive response at all lmao) was kind of an achievement and maybe there was some 1.5 or 2 in there but it wasn’t like i felt that motivated and Just Keeping At It was not necessarily helping so. that was a waste of my goddamn time

can’t really remember what i was doing differently the last time i kicked things up to maybe a solid 2-3 Zone for truly like One Moment lol.....think i was just getting a little more hands on (since usually a spike in intensity makes me go “[?? / !!] whoa :/” and i lose Any momentum and/or “progress”) and that spike in intensity made me go [?? / !!] Whoa :/ and it didn’t matter, just got back to zero as always, and it’s not like these “Achievements” are “Enlightening” where i’m then like wow everyone’s right, really Trying with this shit pays off like lol. i still make a cursory effort but really just to burn off that Level 1-ness if anything like. kinda like “yeah neat here we go” but like. probably literally a minute or two later it’s like well Anyways.......another fun detail is that it’s not Always like “oh i got off on some mental sidetrack and losing focus = losing like All of even this low level of arousal and im back at zero” like, i might be in the middle of things and Lose Interest even while i’m currently experiencing a nonzero level of “yep this is some sexual stimulation” lol but it’s just like smh Whatever @ it......like, on the one hand the Tension of the stimulation gets in its own way, but if i entirely lose that then it’s like well okay this isn’t gonna go anywhere, may as well stop

so anyhow here’s the Particular Comment where i was like “wow this is so similar to #me that i guess i’ve finally found Someone Talking About It* (*however it goes for me)”

i can’t say i’ve done the Holding My Breath thing on Purpose but now sometimes i do notice i do it (and have probably Been doing it) lol like oh there i went and Exhaled in a [was holding my breath] way lol coz like they say there with the Loss Of Any Tension and the Square Zero (Not Even Square One) thing like yeah lmao. and very same with the Five Minutes Max thing b/c yeah it really can be even less than One Minute sometimes before it’s like yeah square zero or just i lose enough interest anyways, getting bored like they say, ugh like it’s a brief description obviously lmao but i’m like god well there it is i guess, the [i know it’s not Just Me experiencing this like this but i’d still fucking like to find anyone else actually talking about it] account For Once Finally, thanks for putting it out there, Disappointed and a lil bored

naturally there are also ppl in the comments talking about how masturbation is an enjoyable thing for them and particular tips there but like it is Hilarious to me how a) some people orgasm easily or like. orgasm if they put effort into masturbation lmaooo like fucking imagine. and b) idk it’s like well i’m sure i’ve made hundreds of attempts and not even any Near Misses, it is simply like, not happening and c) yet at the same time Like This Commenter it’s like “well is there just another way of doing it i somehow haven’t hit on” like naturally i have to wonder like well idk maybe it’d be diff with a sexual partner b/c yknow, the same stimulation from Someone Else vs Yourself, and yet d) ha ha of course i haven’t had sex which people Don’t think of as Not A Joke lmao i referred to this fact abt myself with some casual humor to someone and my temper flared up when that was later taken as a Cue for someone who is not me to jokingly reference it (by Temper Flaring i mean i got annoyed enough to go Do Not Do That e.g. the post that’s like “[asserts one boundary] i’m not a people pleaser anymore i’m actually a huge cunt now”) and i probably shouldn’t feel like i have to “justify” this as well somehow other people have probably tried to Make A Move re: me but i have not been into it like well, what if nobody had ever been Interested that i knew of, that would be fine too, but. i am aware that ppl think of this as a joke still lmao, and i have to say that. im already doing letters like a) b) c) aren’t i but whatever, starting over a) well i haven’t had All the opportunity in the world as i have at various points (but basically continuously) for various reasons been pretty isolated and b) idk i have not had all these signs that point to me wanting to have sex with people exactly lmao but it’s like, c) even if i go “well maybe there’s Exceptions out there or Situations That Will Be Conducively Different Than The Limited Range Of Ones I’ve Had So Far” it’s like, okay, i could still just continue to feel “nah :/” re: any “opportunity” that ever presents itself or whatever. it is all very abstract for me anyways, so it’s like, whatever. but i’m also not the most Glad to discuss it b/c idk a lot of this stuff i know is like A Joke including how i’m still simmering with resentment from a year ago or more over some Tweet i saw trying to dunk a meme about how asexuals are Anti-Psychology like, that’s an entire Other Essay there but needless to say for one thing i just pre-resent people hearing “could being autistic factor into the particular experience i have losing interest / arousal so easily (and inevitably as it’s big time primary anorgasmia around here)” and going “aha that makes sense b/c being ace means there’s something Dysfunctional going on cuz Lbr and bieng autistic means being a Fucked Up version of an allistic person and your autistacity is going to fuck up things about you which ought to function properly” like well that feeds right into itself in a loop and i hate it. and i know the whole “hehe someone who hasn’t had sex is a loser” thing is way engrained in there lmao ppl throw that punchline out all the time and like, idk, see the (i’m autistic) thing like it’s not like this is an unprecedented concept or the only front on which im like “i Know this is a thing ppl negatively judge in general but i also Know i do not buy into that or feel bad about it” like i do not personally consider myself cringe and fail for not having had sex ever and do not consider that Premise that someone is a joke for it to be true re: anyone but at the same time i know that this whole Awareness that people are shitty about it is frustrating to me lol. plus i think it is getting into the Entire Thing where concepts as broad as Maturity and Humanity At Its Most Complex And Worthwhile are considered intrinsically linked to romance and sex, which is something that i am somewhat self-conscious of being aromantic and [having never had sex and it could well be that i will not ever have sex even if The Opportunity(tm) is there] and i know it is frustrating to me b/c sometimes when i start to even talk about “i have not had sex yes im aware this is like (spit take) what a nerd, Sure” b/c i will easily cry out of frustration like 5 seconds in lol. which i cry easily enough but Usually getting teared up b/c i feel Hyped Up / Enthusiasm for something lmfao.......anyways plenty of tangents to go down here but my point is shoutout to the other person for also never orgasming and just being bored with masturbation if anything

and also to the people who were like “i can have / have had orgasms but i don’t actually enjoy it” like considering the way that [not like i experience anything even close to an orgasm but there is sometimes An Increase in arousal achieved, either a tiny raise in the Level or on occasion a bit of a kick which is mostly like “whoa tf chill out”] is overall Underwhelming even if there is Any enjoyment in it and the whole Back To Square Zero (Not Even Square One) thing re: the entire lack of afterglow they mention and it’s like well that kinda feels like parallel experiences here lmao. which tbh is like. makes me care even less with like Humorous Annoyance at the fact that ppl are out here simply able to have orgasms and to have access to that just by like yep here i go masturbating lmaooo like okay

anyways idk how to Conclude this lmfao. Fun Fact i have hc’s about how winston billions who is autistic experiences sexual stimulation (he gets the Really Enjoys It kind of sensory processing time here lol) but i suppose the easiest simplest one to explain is the “remember the Tayston Crying Sex drawing, the idea is that things can be kinda overwhelming while still being Good if it’s handled right by his partner (or himself ig lol) and he can tear up as sort of an overflow thing” like well you probably already knew that was connected to the broader whole of Winston Billions Autistic Hc’s but in case you didn’t: it is

[altumvidetur]

Good Omens: Crowley/Aziraphale Fic Recs

So, I was thinking about the coronavirus pandemic and what I could do to help people out. I’m isolated because I’m at higher risk, so I can’t really offer to go out for my elderly neighbors or my family… but I thought I could try to help keep people entertained.

Because I don’t have an AO3 account right now, I’ve been compiling fic recs for my own amusement for a year or so. And I thought – maybe that’s the time to share these with everyone? So everyone will have plenty of things to read while they have to stay at home, or even to escape anxiety a little bit if you’re forced to go out.

Of course, these cater to my own tastes, so you may find stuff you don’t like around here. I never include works in progress. The Mature and Explicit works will be in italic. I ask you to READ THE WORK’S TAGS before continuing, so you won’t find anything that makes you uncomfortable.

Let’s go for the Ineffable Husbands fanfics!

In Nomine, by tinsnip

The first time he’d given in to the impulse to just make up a name, he’d felt a bit odd about it. But everything had gone so smoothly. He’d been able to just go in and eat and then leave and it hadn’t mattered at all, the human hadn’t really wanted to know his name, they’d just wanted something to peg him by while he was there.

And so: Fell. Ezra Fell. Ms Azee Phale. Mme A Zinnia File. A Z Fell, bookseller.

That last one has stuck around the longest, now. He’s grown rather attached to it.

A... A... what begins with A?

Aziraphale makes dinner reservations for himself and Crowley, and is a bit thoughtless. Silly business.

swimming in your ocean (i can get pretty sidetracked), by tinsnip

Under him, Aziraphale makes a soft, deep sound.

He lets go, leaves his lips just where they are. “You’re sweet. You taste sweet.”

Apparently Aziraphale isn’t up to making words right now.

***

Three little chapters of happy smut. Immortal genderless beings assuming mostly-human forms would, I figure, have a bit of a different approach to sex. They've got no particular drive, and all the time in the world. Getting sidetracked is part of the fun.

Eyes Closed, by tinsnip

Aziraphale makes love with his eyes closed.

Crowley doesn’t.

Bad Habits, by tinsnip

Clearly, both Crowley and Aziraphale used to smoke. We know this. We’ve been told this by Mr. Gaiman.

I’d be very surprised if either of them still does. But the reasons for this, and the methods by which their statuses changed, are different.

Notably: Crowley cheats. Aziraphale doesn't.

Like light, refracted, by tinsnip

Full steam ahead, decided Crowley: “I think we should get naked.”

Ethereal/occult lovemaking of the rather fluffy variety.

tell me all the ways, by tinsnip

Crowley was out in the garden.

Aziraphale was in his study, most definitely not looking out the window.

Really. Really. One little speck of sentiment: was it so much to ask?

what a way to make a living, by attheborder

Without any more assignments coming from Downstairs, Crowley is struck with a bad case of the doldrums.

It takes a bit of trial and error, but eventually a solution is found.

(Or: the one where Crowley becomes an Uber driver.)

summer and his pleasures, by witching

for summer and his pleasures wait on thee, and thou away, the very birds are mute; or if they sing, ‘tis with so dull a cheer, that leaves look pale, dreading the winter’s near. // william shakespeare, sonnet 97

absence makes the heart grow fonder, and crowley and aziraphale’s hearts were plenty fond to begin with. a story told through phone calls while they are separated for work-related reasons.

nothing but the wild rain, by Raven

"The internet, Aziraphale!" Crowley says. "This is what the internet is for. This is, quite literally, what the internet is for."

"Oh," Aziraphale says, and Crowley knows, he just knows, that Aziraphale is going to say something about how it's jolly useful for hard-to-find first editions and tickets for the Last Night of the Proms.

or, Aziraphale and Crowley find sex confusing.

Forever, by goodomensblog

Heaven’s execution chamber was elegant, magnificent - and bare. Polished floors gleamed, immaculate; their cleanliness made it impossible to guess at the atrocities committed upon them. Clean, white walls glared, and a window as large as the room was tall, teased of freedom just out of reach.

At the center of it all, was a chair.

And upon that chair, an angel sat.

Across the cold, stark room - too far from the angel - a demon knelt, bound.

The ropes burned, and Crowley hissed, hunching his shoulders as he turned his head up. The angel, his wrists tied to the chair, met and held his stare.

No, it couldn’t - it wasn’t - this wasn’t right.

Confused and in pain, Crowley called, “Angel, you alright?”

Aziraphale’s light hair appeared white in the harshly lit room, and his face had gone pale; but at Crowley’s call he sat up in the chair, bound hands giving a feeble wave.

London. 1944., by AliceinSpace

The air ripples and stars blink in and out of existence as the fabric of the universe creates a loophole in the middle of the street. A figure drops unceremoniously from that loophole and hits the pavement in a tangle of limbs.

"-is that a gunshot wound?”

Or the one in which a fatally injured Crowley runs to the only place that makes sense: a bookshop in Soho.

Of Eclairs, Feathers and Complex Reactions to Trauma, by oneatatime

“Do you know,” Aziraphale said, his voice muffled in the shoulder of Crowley’s jacket, “that when humans go through trauma, they can be quite calm and competent throughout, but then the terror comes out later, as it must?

Take My Hand, Take My Whole Life Too, by Demorra

He didn’t want to think about the bookshop. It hurt in a way that was entirely too visceral to be angelic, and entirely too earth shattering to be human. It was the love of several hundred years, burned up in an instant. It shouldn’t have mattered, not if he were truly angelic. But he shed a few silent tears anyway and felt somewhat better for it. All things considered, it wasn’t the end of the world.

No, that had been much more complicated.

And yet, somehow so very mundanely human. No great battle, no heavenly sounding of horns or hordes of demons. Just a choice, a choice not between Good and Evil, but between darkness and light, hope and despair, fear and… and love…

the mortifying ordeal of being known (biblically), by FlipSpring

"Relax, angel, it's not much worse. It's just our bodies. It's not like we enfolded or anything." ~ Crowley, in 500 AD, after having physical sex with Aziraphale for the first time, blissfully unaware that he has just foreshadowed himself into a corner

*

Crowley procrastinates on his feelings by taking a 5-year nightmare nap after the End Of The World. Aziraphale comes in like, "dude wake the fuck up, also, do you wanna metaphysically bang maybe? no pressure." and then Crowley loses his goddamn mind, because he is a delicately-stacked bundle of neuroses in black skinny jeans.

Also they have breakfast and check in on Tadfield.

Re-Recalled, by Jennistar

Halfway through an argument, Aziraphale gets accidentally discorporated and doesn't come back. Crowley does the sensible thing and panics.

Luminosity, by bethagain

A quick trip to bless someone with a miracle takes a wrong turn, and Aziraphale and Crowley are stuck overnight in rural Iceland. The northern lights are beautiful, but it turns out demons, cold-blooded, tend to seize up when it's freezing out. Aziraphale finds a way to get him warm again.

i don’t know how to stay tender with this much blood in my mouth, by Princex_N

(Summary by me: the one in which Crowley has been living with chronic pain for thousands of  years.)

Queen’s Greatest Hits, by BuzzCat

Good Omens fanfic with no coherent through-line between fics aside from each one is inspired in one way or another by a Queen song, listed in the notes for each fic.

i know i’ve kissed you before (but i didn’t do it right), by gallantrejoinder

They'd given it a go once. Ages ago. And they'd both agreed it wasn't for them.

the whole damned world seemed upside down, by citadelofswords

(Summary by me: facing the odds and moving on with the world.)

Leaves of Grass, by Laura Shapiro

(Summary by me: the world is saved, and now they’re left to explore each other.)

The Sacred and the Profane, by afrai

(POPULLI.NET link) Somewhere else, the happy ending was different. AU.

Be Ye Therefore Merciful, by AmberDiceless

Crowley does something utterly unexpected, and Aziraphale must face an opponent who cannot be thwarted. Hints of pre-A/C.

Full Circle, by Hekateras

Nothing lasts forever and the final Apocalypse can only be delayed for so long.

There is a school of thought that says you cannot fight fate.

And another that claims there's no such thing as predestination, only those powerful enough to make your choices for you - if you let them.

Aziraphale puts both to the test.

Living Arrangements, by afrai

(POPULLI.NET link) Everyone is more or less human, even when they aren't.

Nanny Knows Best, by DictionaryWrites

Summary by me: an exploration of Crowley’s experience as Warlock’s nanny. 

From the Top (Say Your Lines Once More), by CoffeeStars

Crowley lives and dies and wakes up to repeat the cycle. And every single time Aziraphale is there, a different face and new memories.

Manchester Lost, by Moczo

(FF.Net Link)  -an ensemble sequel to the novel- Our heroes have managed to make things worse, as the Apocalypse is starting up... again. Drama! Action! Humor! Adventure! Tea! Suspense! Snark! Romance!

[thetravelerwrites]

Ebert and Ethrik (Father and Son)

Rating: Mature Relationship: Non-Romantic; Human Father and Half-Human Son Additional Tags: Babies, Sex Mention, Children, Kids, Priestess Mom, Tabaxi Step-Mom Words: 3232

Ebert and Rings return to the village, and while Rings and Reverence get re-acquainted with each other, Ebert spends time with his infant son. Another commission by @ocsmutapocalypse. Read the first one here! It involves Rings and Ebert on the road, and it’s NSFW.

The Traveler's Masterlist

The trip back to the village had taken more than two weeks, and they decided to hire a carriage for the last couple of days to spare Ebert’s leg, though Rings heckled him about it. They sat together as it clattered along the road leading back to the village. Buttons sat in Ebert’s lap, digging her claw painfully into his leg due to the jostling of the carriage down the road.

“Do you think Reverence will be angry that we’ve been gone so long?” Ebert asked, trying to calm his cat enough that she would retract her claws from his thigh.

Rings was sitting upside down with her feet on the ceiling and her hair brushing the floor. Had she been wearing a skirt, everyone outside could have seen her lady bits in all their glory, not that she would have cared.

“Hard to say,” She said thoughtfully while carving a rude word into the floorboards of the carriage with her claw. “Reverence is kind of easy-breezy about these sorts of things ordinarily, but you did promised her you’d be back in a month. She does expect people to keep their promises.”

Ebert bristled. “I was only gone for so long because you kept sidetracking us! I’d have been back months ago if it were up to me!”

She smiled devilishly. “You’re telling me you didn’t enjoy your time away?”

“That’s not what I’m saying, you shifty minx,” Ebert retorted. “It’s just that… I like the village. I’ve been wanting to go back for a while. I don’t want Reverence to think that I didn’t want to come back just because you didn’t.”

She flipped over and sat properly in the seat, fidgeting with her tail. “You’re not going to tell her, are you? That I didn’t want to come back?”

You sighed. If Reverence was annoyed at your late return, it would be easy to use Rings as an excuse, especially since it was actually her fault. But… Reverence was the only person who’s opinion truly mattered to Rings. As little as you liked the idea of being on Reverence’s bad side, you liked even less the thought of driving a wedge between the two women. They did love each other, after all.

“No, of course not, love,” You said, and Rings purred, dislodging a hissing Buttons and sitting in your lap.

“You’re so good to me,” She said, reaching down into your trousers. “Let me be good to you for a little while.”

Ebert smiled, and as she lowered herself down, pulling at the buckle of his pants, his head hit the back of the carriage and he closed his eyes, giving over to expert ministrations.

A few hours later, during which Rings had sucked Ebert into a semi-coma, he cracked an eye when she rocked the carriage by shooting to the window and looking out. Familiar houses floated by, and Ebert realized he was back. He was home.

It was late in the evening, with the sun just setting beyond the trees, and Ebert looked out alongside Rings. He banged on the roof of the carriage and it stopped. The pair of them then got out, grabbed their bags from the hold in the back, headed straight for Reverence’s house. Buttons escorted herself.

As if expecting you, she was standing there on her front steps; tall, proud, and frowning. She wore a gold gown that dipped past her bust to her navel, with slits up both of her legs. The place where her eyes would have ordinarily been was covered with a cloth, but there were dozens of eyes staring back at them from her large antlers, all of them narrowed irksomely.

“And what time do you call this?” She asked shrewdly.

“Forgive me, Reverence,” Ebert replied, watching Rings tense, worried that Ebert would sacrifice her to spare his own standing with the temple priestess. “We… We got rather sidetracked at several points during the journey. But you’ll be happy to know that we have been spreading your message of open love between adults the entire time we were gone.”

Reverence’s face softened, and the tension eased from her shoulders. Rings also relaxed.

“How wonderful,” She said, swaying side to side as though rocking herself. Only then did Ebert notice the bundle cradled in her right arm, wrapped in one of Ebert’s old cloaks that he had repurposed into a blanket. It had been the first gift Ebert had given his son. His heart thudded against his ribcage as though something was kicking him from the inside.

Ebert couldn’t see the child clearly, just his forehead and one little hand that stuck out from the wrappings. The boy was still small and thin, but seemed to be thriving, sleeping peacefully in his mother’s arms.

“That’s… Is that Ethrik?” Ebert said softly.

“Aye,” Said Reverence, looking down at their son… well.. reverently. “My sweet, little reminder of the day you first arrived here. He’s still a wee little thing yet, but he’ll grow up strong. All of my children do.” She swept her free arm wide and stepped out of her cottage’s doorway. “Come in, please.”

Ebert and Rings followed Reverence inside her dwelling, which they often shared together, though Ebert still maintained his shack out in the woods. As much as he loved the village and it’s people, sometimes he still needed silence and time to himself without other people around, for his own sanity’s sake.

Buttons stalked under the bed and made herself comfortable there, so that only her gold eyes were visible in the gloom of the shadow.

“I was beginning to worry,” Reverence said. “You insisted you’d only be gone a month or two. Ethrik missed you, you know.”

Ebert highly doubted that. Babies of Ethrik’s age didn’t have the memory retention to actually miss people. He was absolutely certain the boy had no recollection of Ebert at all. Even still, Ebert said, “I know, I’m sorry. Is there something I can do to make it up to the both of you?”

“Here,” Reverence said, handing Ethrik to Ebert. “You can take him for the night. Goodness knows I could use a break.” She curled her arm around Rings back and led her toward the door, likely heading straight to the temple. There was a coy smile on her face as she looked down at the feline woman, who smiled back while biting her lip seductively. “I’ve been neglecting my duties.”

“But,” Ebert said, dropping his cane and cradling his son a little awkwardly. “I don’t know anything about taking care of babies. What if he gets hungry? Won’t you need to feed him?”

Reverence turned back to Ebert and chuckled. “He can’t stomach milk, not even mine. There’s a jar of dark honey in the pantry over there,” she said, pointing. She reached into a pocket and pulled out a closed metal cup with a spout and a corked hole. “We found that it works well to sustain him. Two tablespoons dissolved in half a pint of water whenever he’s hungry. There’s also a jar or two of pear sauce and some berries for his dinner. That’s more than enough for him at this age.”

Then she turned, Rings on her arm, and exited the house.

Ebert looked down at his sleeping son for a moment. He hadn’t really spent much time with him before now, especially on his own. Ethrik was always in the hands of others. Ebert had only interacted with him for a few minutes at a time before moving on to other things, trusting that Ethrik’s attention was well occupied. This was the first opportunity he’d had to actually… bond with the boy.

Gingerly hobbling to the bed, he laid Ethrik down in the middle of it and carefully arranged his blankets so that he wasn’t stifled. Ebert marveled at how truly small he was, even at eight months.

“Hi again,” Ebert said softly as he sat on the bed and arranged his legs semi-comfortably. “Sorry I’ve been gone so long. I didn’t expect to be.”

Ethrik slept on. Ebert sat there, bending to remove his leg brace without moving the baby around too much, feeling strangely at ease as watched the little boy breathe in and out rhythmically. It was oddly soothing.

“You know, I actually never expected you to exist. Not you specifically, I mean. I just never thought I’d ever have a child. When I was younger, I repulsed by the idea, and now that I’m older… well… I thought the time for such things had passed me by. But, I guess when you meet a person like your mother, things just tend to happen, eh? She does tend to get her way. It doesn’t help that I’m a pushover for beautiful women.”

Ethrik snuffled in his sleep as if in agreement, and Ebert sniffed a laugh through his nose, examining his son. He looked startlingly like Reverence. His skin was lavender in color and he had little nubs on his forehead that you knew would grow into great big antlers like a moose, but unlike his mother, his eyes, all four of them, were on his face rather than implanted in the antlers. His hair was dark, his feet were cloven hooves, and he had a little tail poking out of the blankets.

“You look like her,” Ebert mused. “But I’ll bet anything you’re like me in temperament. If that’s the case, I’m sorry, sport. I’m not a likeable guy. Well, except for here, in this place. These people seem to like me just fine.”

Ebert looked out of the window. It was still bright enough that he could see the bustling of the town as it finished it’s day business. People went to the tavern, or ducked into their own homes, and more than a few headed to the temple.

“Yeah,” He mused. “This place may seem odd to other people, but for odd people, it’s the perfect place to be. And I’m nothing if not odd. So’s you’re mom, honestly. And your… well, I guess she’s technically your step-mom, though she’d hate the idea, so don’t tell her I called her that.” He said in a conspiratorial whisper.

Just then, Ethrik woke up. He blinked up at Ebert curiously, each of his four eyes a different color. Then began to cry, softly at first, but growing in volume and intensity. Ebert floundered, trying to figure out how to calm him.

“Oh! Oh, just a sec, just a sec!” Ebert said, jumping as best he could from the bed and taking the metal cup to the water basin and uncorking it. Ebert unscrewed the honey jar and spooned two dollops into the opening, as instructed, and then filled it with water, re-stoppering it and shaking it vigorously to dissolve the honey.

Ebert staggered back to the bed, where Ethrik was still wailing, and gave him the cup, which he was able to hold on his own. Ethrik silenced immediately and drank enthusiastically.

“Yeah, I get grouchy when I’m hungry, too,” Ebert said fondly. “Although, you should see Rings when she’s hungry. She’s a monster.” Ebert patted Ethrik’s stomach. “I do love her, you know. Rings. As cantankerous and sharp-tongued and off-putting as she can be, and as much as she tries to push people away, I love her. I love your mom, too. I love them both more that I ever thought I was capable. And… I love you, too, little one.”

Ethrik watched you with his bright, strange eyes, making little noises as he drank.

“I don’t want to be like my dad was with me, distant and cold. I want to be better for you. My dad wasn’t exactly happy that I was bookish and wanted to study magic. He had intended for me to take over his merchant business. But he had other sons for that. I couldn’t understand why it was so important for me to follow in his footsteps. He wanted this huge trading empire and insisted all his kids were part of it. Well, I wasn’t having it. The day I left for the mage school was the day he disowned me, and honestly, I was more than happy about that.”

Ethrik threw the empty cup to the floor with a clatter and waved his arms at Ebert, who picked him up and lay him on his shoulder, patting his back. Ebert had seen this done before, but wasn’t sure he was doing it right.

“You can be whatever you like, Ethrik,” Ebert said as he bounced him a little. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. Your dad says so, and you can tell people that, too.”

A burp, a fart, and an accompanying giggle was Ethrik’s response.

Ebert snorted. “Yeah, you definitely take after me,” He stood again with Ethrik on his shoulder, a little worried that he might fall on his unsteady leg, but made his way slowly and delicately to the pantry again.

“Ooh, blueberries,” Ebert said to Ethrik. “Would you like some blueberries, buddy? Can you even eat these?” He asked, looking at the little boy’s face. Ethrik laughed, revealing three little teeth in his mouth. “Huh. Maybe so.”

Back on the bed, Ebert sat Ethrik upright, and he was mostly steady. The baby laughed and waved his hands up and down, eager for the berries but not quite dexterous enough to grab them.

“Here,” Ebert said, taking one and crushing it between his fingers before feeding it to Ethrik. “Just to be safe.”

Buttons jumped up from under the bed then, sniffing Ethrik’s head and the blueberries before snatching one and rolling on his side next to the baby, munching and batting the air.

Ethrik apparently greatly enjoyed Buttons’ company while he ate, and laughed every time she swiped at Ebert’s hand when he offer Ethrik crushed blueberry after crushed blueberry. Graciously, she only stole one or two.

The pair of them seemed to become fast friends. Once the berries were gone, Ethrik fell forward and maneuvered around to put a fat, starfish hand on Buttons’ belly. Ebert was about to pull the boy away, but Buttons’ seemed not to care. Ebert huffed a little in jealousy; Buttons’ would tear his hand off if he tried that.

Ethrik seemed to be sleepy after eating, and laid down on his side next to Buttons. The cat licked Ethrik’s head a little and then settled next to him, purring and snuggling the little boy closely.

Ebert couldn’t help smile at the sight. Moving carefully to keep from waking the two, he went to his satchel and pulled out his sketchbook, drawing the moment, preserving it to be looked at later in dark times. Ebert sighed. There were always dark times.

He shook himself mentally. Now was not one of those times. Be here in this moment, he told himself. Be here with your son. Keep your promise.

He drew several sketches, smiling softly. When he was done, he put the pages aside and carefully picked up his sleeping child, laying back on the pillows with Ethrik on his chest, and closed his eyes. Buttons stretched and got up, only to position herself over Ebert’s feet and lie on them upside down.

The warm weight and steady rhythm of his breathing was comforting, as was the feeling of Buttons’ purring through his toes and up his legs, and Ebert found himself drifting, clutching his son tightly.

“Isn’t that precious?” Ebert heard through the fog of sleep. He snorted awake to find Rings and Reverence standing over him, looking tired but very pleased. Ebert looked out of the windows and saw that it was still dark out.

“I expected you two to be at it until dawn,” Ebert said groggily, rubbing his eyes with one hand while keeping the other firmly on Ethrik, who was still asleep. “Losing your touch, Rings?”

Rings growled at you, her hackles raised.

“I’m afraid I became rather tired,” Reverence sighed. “The baby does take up a lot of my energy these days. We decided to come back here and rest and go back fresh in the morning. If you’re not opposed to taking care of the little one again.”

“Not at all,” Ebert said, looking down at Ethrik. “I think we’re getting along great, actually.”

Rings went to his left side while Reverence lay on the right. The bed was large enough to accommodate all three of them, plus the baby and Buttons. Reverence pulled the sheets over them all, put her hand over Eberts on the baby, while Rings turned her back and put her butt up against Ebert’s hip. Then they lay back and slept.

The next morning at dawn, they woke when Ethrik shrieked with laughter as Buttons nibbled at his hooves. Rings and Reverence headed back to the temple after a breakfast of bread and cheese, and the pear sauce for Ethrik.

Ebert decided to go out with the baby in his carrying basket and reacquaint himself with the town. He greeted friends and neighbors, bought Rings a new whetstone and new clippers for Reverence’s hooves. One of the vendors gave Ethrik a wooden rattle with dried beans inside for free. He was delighted with it, and swung it around for the rest of the morning.

Just as Ebert was debating heading back to Reverence’s house for a nap, he saw Spring of the Valley, Ring’s sister, coming up quickly.

“Spring!” He said, raising his hand in greeting. “Hello again! We’ve finally come home.”

“Yes, that’s wonderful,” She said, smiling, though she seemed on edge. Her normally chubby face was pulled tight in an anxious smile. “You wouldn’t happen to know where my sister is, would you?”

“She’s in the temple with Reverence,” Ebert said. “They have a lot of time to make up for.”

Her face fell. “Fuck. She could be in there for hours.”

“Is something wrong?” Ebert asked. “I can go get her, if you like. She won’t be pleased, but if it’s serious, I can get her for you.”

“Would you mind? There’s a… problem…” Spring said, twisting her tail in much the same way as her younger sister.

“Would you mind taking Ethrik for me?” Ebert asked. Spring took the basket with the little boy, still swinging his rattle around and giggling, and nodded. Ebert thanked her and headed toward the temple.

He didn’t go inside, instead telling one of the priests holding vigil outside that Rings was urgently needed by her sister.

As expected, Rings came out incensed, ruffled and half dressed.

“What could be so important that you’d interrupt worship?” Rings asked angrily.

“Your sister needs you,” Ebert said.

“For what?” She asked, her arms folded.

“Rings,” A voice said from behind Ebert. Springs was standing behind Ebert with Ethrik and her own son. Behind her stood two other Tabaxi people, a male and female, with similar coloring to Rings, though they were obviously older.

“It’s good to see you again, Rings,” The male said, though his face didn’t reflect the words he spoke.

Rings drew herself up to her full height, which wasn’t exactly impressive. She puffed up, flexing her muscles, which were actually pretty impressive, and scowled.

“Father,” She said. “Mother.” She nodded at the female, who didn’t acknowledge her gesture. “What are you doing here?”

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My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

[diamondsableye]

The Ivory Parasite

The Ivory Parasite

       It's kinda funny how your viewpoint on anything really can be completely shattered within a day, hell, usually it happens in a matter of minutes for most.  Like the time you caught your parents putting presents under a beautifully decorated tree (probably adorned with ornaments yourself) on a chilly Christmas Eve. Or maybe when you lost one of your teeth and didn't tell your parents out of forgetfulness and woke up to the sight of its shiny, pearly color still resting under your pillow.  If you never had any of those wondrous experiences, you are either in denial, or you had no childhood.  Sorry, I'm rambling, aren't I?  Well, the fact of the matter is that I am dying as we speak.  (or type for that matter)   I should probably specify and say that I am dying as the result of becoming a host to a devilishly malicious parasite.  It's almost comical how I thought just a few hours ago that the only real harmful parasites you could get in the modern world were maybe tapeworms, but even then they're easily dealt with and even easier to prevent.  I think I've droned on enough and should probably start explaining how this mess even started. I'm not sure how long the Incubation period lasts, but if this thing takes control of my brain first, then I'm going to speed things along.

   To start off, I should probably give the setting where all this started, which is around the southeastern area of the U.S.  I'm not going to give my precise location in case some idiot tries to be the hero and save me.  Please don't look, really.  I don't know If you can stop whatever is afflicting me once it fully takes hold, and the fewer people I come in contact with, the better.  Anyways I'd advise you not to go out at night, actually, venturing into any dark and moist environment is probably a bad idea as well.  (as you can see, I learned that the hard way.) Lock your windows and doors too, hell carry cyanide around with you too, just anything you can think of to keep yourself safe from this damn parasite!  But I digress, I at least want to get the story of my encounter out there, so you know what to expect, or something like that.

   It all began last night, a particularly humid night for that matter.  I was dealing with lots of stress, from social events to finals and the end of school, and even a few existential crises here and there.  (I have never been sure of my life or anything for that matter.)  So I ventured outside to get some environmental therapy.  I was living in a cheap apartment at the time, (One not even suited for roaches if I might add.) so I threw on some old sweatpants and a hoodie, before deciding to take an Uber out to the local park.  My car at the time was my parent's 'hand me down' and frequently had to go in for maintenance.  I can't get another car that's at least decent for not finding a high paying job fast enough.  (Then again, what kind of high paying job can I really get with an arts degree anyways that doesn't require a minimum of ten years experience?)  I'm getting sidetracked, the point is I was out there alone without any quick way to get back to my small flat.  That didn't really register with me however because I was already in the midst of a full blown panic attack and even the few sentences spoken between me and my driver was enough social interaction for weeks in my troubled mind.

   For a moment I realized that the park was less occupied than usual, but I reasoned with what little sanity I had left, that there were fewer people at night, and I usually strolled through the park grounds during the day.   Using the flashlight on my phone, I decided to take my usual route through the deer trail that I had discovered a few years back, during one of my first few trips here. I should probably mention that I have high functioning autism and some various other mental issues that typically come along with it, like ADHD and anxiety.  My old psychologist that had done social therapy sessions with me during my teenage years recommended that I try nature walks as a form of stress control. So ever since I was about 16 or so, I've frequented this place often and knew most of the east side like my own home. That being said, it was glaringly obvious that my small 'hidden grotto' as I referred to it, had been discovered. I couldn't tell if the damage was done by an animal or a human, but whoever or whatever had done it really ransacked the place.  The overhanging tree next to my climbing rock near the middle area of the clearing had been nearly shredded in half, with deep gashes in the bark.  I was honestly surprised that it was still standing.  Patches of dirt and soil had been torn up from the earth and had been strewn all about the spot of land and the various forms of foliage that dotted the vaguely barren expanse.  Small areas of shrubbery had been completely ripped from the ground from their roots (But not all were in one piece.) and appeared to be thrown around the site.  This set of my already shaken nerves, but oddly enough the urge to run never came. Instead, I was utterly captivated by my own morbid curiosity.

   I know this might sound strange, but I've always had a strange fascination towards the nightmarish and gruesome the world offered me. (Drawing blood is probably one of the most relaxing activities I enjoy.)  It was this bewildering interest that brought me to look closer at some of the stranger markings left in the soft, moldable soil.  I was confused at first, to say the least.  I found myself to be staring at bundles of handprints and footprints littering the topsoil.  The strangest thing was that they weren't positioned in a way I could accurately follow, or to put it simply, there wasn't any way that the prints could've been created that didn't defy the basic laws of human anatomy. Took a mental double take as I re-envisioned the possible movements that would've been taken.  It still didn't add up, even if someone were to scamper around on all fours like some wild creature, there's still no way they could've made those prints.  It was confusing, to say the least, and my tired mind wasn't in the mood to search for a logical explanation.  So, like the idiot I am, I decided to follow the prints deeper into the woods.   I guess it's my fault for always living in a sheltered environment, not knowing how to deal with wandering criminals that would hold you at knifepoint or mentally unsound druggies that would become violent at a moment's notice.

   I was about a few yards into the continuing woods until the dense underbrush became too thick to pass through.  Feeling rather unsatisfied I decided to head on back letting my tired body lead the way until some rustling bushes caught my attention, followed by a small rabbit leap out of them, startling me somewhat.  It was injured, made evident by the long gash on the side of its body, fresh blood staining the otherwise clean pelt of its cream colored hide.  I half pitied its plight while half expecting a wild fox or bobcat to chase it, following suit.  Figuring that there's no reason to stick around my damaged and not so secret anymore grotto, I walked down the deer trail the second time that night, making a mental note to find another, not so banged up hideaway.  I was about halfway through the trail when yet another sound grabbed my attention.  What I heard could only be described as gargling, except it was the lethal kind, like the sound of someone drowning.  Quickly jerking my head around, trying to locate its source, I was met with the complete lack of movement and sound, a silence which no one should ever hear in a forest.  I started to panic, changing my leisurely stroll to a faster half jog.  Eventually, my own nerves got to me to the point where I turned my half jog to a full run.  At that point, every passing branch felt like a limb darting out at me, and every twig became fingers tugging at my hair.  Even my own breath sounded like the pained gasps of someone barely living. Looking back at it now, it might as well have been.

   I decided that I had enough nature for that night and decided to take the trip back home.  The sun had set hours ago, and I really needed to get more sleep thanks to my unshakeable habit of working on projects throughout the night.  I was about to call another Uber when I realized that I didn't have enough pocket money on hand to afford the trip back.  Cursing myself and not wanting to wait half an hour for the next bus, I began the 30-minute trek back home, according to Google maps.  The streets were relatively barren like usual, save for the few partygoers and late night travelers still present.  It was only after a short while did I notice the now unimaginably strong smell of spoiled eggs and soured milk emanating from the resting hood of my jacket. Expecting the worst, I gently slid it off while walking, careful of its disgusting contents, and peered inside the hood.

    It was a finger, a human finger.  One that was green and black from rot and decay, looking weeks old. I threw it to the ground in panic, with questions racing through my mind faster than the lead car in the Indie 500. The most notable one being "how?".  Maybe there was a dead body in the canopy above me?  Somehow it got picked up when I was running?  I was trying to come up with a reason for it, any reason at all. I flashed back to the rabbit I saw fleeing the clearing with the gash along its abdomen.  It was made by a fox or wolf or some other natural predator right?

   "Hey doll, ya looks as if ya seen a ghosts or somethins. Ya interested 'n a drinks?" A large, mildly intoxicated man called out to me, breaking me out of my haze.  He chuckled heartily, seeing me physically jump, escaping my stupor.  I hadn't realized I had passed by the rather shabby bar that served as my one fourth distance landmark.  Glancing up at the one bright, now barely functioning neon sign, it read "Al's Ale".  I chortled to myself at the thought of a balding man somewhere in his forties and who was most likely an alcoholic at that managing to snap me back to reality faster than my nature walk.

   "What? Are ya deaf or somethins?  Don't leaves me hangin ya pretty thing, I knows ya wants ta shares a shots or twos wif ol' Sammy heres" he continued with a more pronounced lisp.

   "Oh, ah.  N-No thanks, good-uh-sir." I responded in my usual, stutter riddled fashion. Hearing this, he let out a hearty laugh before retorting

   "No mores al-alcohol for ya! Sounds ta me that ya alreadys got enoughs sweet cheeks."

   "Yeah, I-I buh-better get, uh going." I meekly responded before continuing my way back home.

   "Yeah!  Party hard sugar tits!" he called out after me.  

   Pretty soon 'Sammy's' cries along with the general ruckus of the bar faded behind me as I continued on towards my apartment complex, leaving me alone with the general ambiance of the near barren street and my own thoughts echoing their hushed worried tones throughout my head. However, something lingered throughout the general atmosphere of the city's slum.  The general disturbance caused by the strays and the alley cats had disappeared, but they hadn't vanished completely. Instead, they were replaced with something one would describe as being more calculated.  It wasn't like the usual white noise of scurrying paws, and occasional growls, barks, and hisses during a scrap over food or turf.  This was very different.  It was what sounded like distant, haggard breaths, the creeping sway of determined movement and, the slight shuffle of something being dragged along the ground. I told myself that this wasn't out of the ordinary, that this was just some old, late night janitor making his rounds, garbage bag in tow.  

   I wasn't buying my cheap, half-hearted explanations, and becoming more vigilant than usual, began to look around for the probable cause.  I told myself that I was just overreacting, that whatever this was is entirely logical.  Within one quick glance, however, nearly all thoughts that this was the result of something ordinary completely vanished.  I had locked eyes with dead ones.  However, they retreated back into the alley from which they had appeared from as quickly as I had caught sight of them.  I started off in a full blown sprint, nearly tripping on the uneven sidewalk. However, even with adrenaline coursing through me as my fuel, I have to admit that I was not terribly overweight, but I still was extremely out of shape.  Needless to say, I couldn't keep running for too long and soon had to revert back to a slow walk.  I didn't know what it was, or if it was following me, but I rejoiced at the sound of the usual city sounds enveloping the streets and alleyways once more. However, my good news stopped there as I had missed a turn in my hurry and was still about 15 minutes away from my apartment.  

   The rest of the trip back was agonizingly painful, jumping at every sound I heard.  I doubted my sanity, but the world provided me with a harsh reality check each time I fell into questioning myself by gifting me with unnatural sights just at the edges of my vision, darting into some unknown hiding spot each time it presented itself.  Maybe a rotting limb here, a fractured bone there, or maybe a spindly, Ivory appendage crawling back behind the corner it came from.  I wasn't sure what was real anymore, only finding solace in my own room once home, locking the door just in case.

   I brewed some tea for myself, not for taste but for stress relief as I settled down in my bedroom.  By that point, it had started to rain, and I gladly settled down, relieved that I had not been caught in the steady downpour.  The rhythmic beat of the rain put me at ease hearing its patter against the windowpane.  It was almost surreal.  The effect of the rain and tea combined began to lull me into a trance like state as I casually drifted between consciousness.  I awaited the warm welcome of sleep, resting underneath my bed covers. However, this was interrupted by an unusual tapping at my window. Half expecting it to be tree branches or something of the like, I remembered that trees only tapped against the windows of my parent's house and that there aren't trees outside of the building.  I jerked my head around almost hard enough to pull a muscle at the realization and turned to see several black tendrils retreating upwards.  

   I sat in stunned silence for a moment before reality came crashing down on me and bolted towards my kitchen.  I grabbed a knife along with my phone and keys and was heading out my apartment door when I heard the window to my living room shatter.  I was taking no chances and decided to call the police. Running down the halls towards the stairs, I glanced over my shoulder to find whatever it was already close behind after reducing my door to splinters.  Taking off down the stairs, I tried to explain to the operator what was happening as best I could.  It wasn't far behind, I could hear its wheezing breaths inching closer and closer to me.  I finally saw the door to the main parking lot, taking my chance, I shoved open the double doors for myself and slammed them behind me into the creature.  I actually managed to cut off some of the tendrils with the door as I shut it, and I could hear it screech in pain as they were sliced.  I checked my phone to make sure I was still on the line, and I was notified that dispatch was on their way and would arrive soon.  For the briefest of moments, I really thought I was going to make out of this alive.  That feeling was all too early shattered as the creature started to forcefully pound at the doors.  It only took a few strikes for it to force its way out, and I was finally able to see the beast in all its glory.

   It used to be a girl, now broken by what I am sure to be a vile parasite.  Her body was mangled nearly to pieces and was experiencing severe decay.  The gray skin had rotted of her completely in some places, exposing some of her bones and deteriorated muscle.  The black tendrils had actually been eye stalks and had a bright white orb among each tip, and they seeped out of every hole and tear in the skin.  I could see them writhing underneath.  The legs along with the pelvis and spine had been spun until they faced backward, and the neck was broken, leaving the head to freely move limply around in the dead flesh. I also noticed that the body was missing a foot and several fingers.  However, that was only what used to be human, the real parasite showed itself by the various ivory, insect-like limbs that jutted out from broken arms at the elbow, what remained of the ribcage, and from inverted legs. To my horror, it seemed that somehow, the girl was still alive, as I could hear her shallow breaths as she struggled to breathe.  I could see her twitching in pain at the touch of those stalks wriggling under her skin. I could hear what remained of her vocal chords trying to cry out, but only giving off a gargle as they decomposed and stirred into her own rotting flesh.

   I was frozen in fear, I tried to move, tried to shout for someone anyone to help me, but the only thing I managed to do was give off a pitiful whimper of fear as the parasite advanced towards me.  It swiftly picked me up with the two front legs extruding outward from under the rotting skin of her arms.  As it cradled me in its strong grasp, the rotten and broken human arms once belonging to the girl clasped onto my shoulders, dragging me closer to her face.  She tilted her head to a close upright position, and her once brown hair, now blackened and matted fell from her face and drifted across mine.  I wanted to die from the smell alone.  I would've vomited had I not skipped dinner, never the less I retched and recoiled from being as close as I was to her face.  Her eyes once dead in her sockets I'm now sure were peering right through me into my very soul.  Slowly she opened her mouth, and two more small insect-like appendages revealed themselves extending from the tears in her neck.  Without warning the ivory limbs attached themselves into my jaw, forcing it open.  As the girl's mouth kept widening, the smell as impossible as it seemed, continued to get worse, and I was crying from the horrid aroma.  I watched and felt as she gave me what only could be described as a kiss of death, that is, my widened mouth on her gaping one, and having what was left of her almost completely shredded lips hanging down in thin raggedy pieces darting across my face.  Soon enough she extended her tongue down my throat, far longer than any human's tongue and I felt something crawl down it, something horribly rancid.  With that, the creature withdrew its tongue, dropped me on the pavement and left.  I couldn't make out where it was going to in my shock, and I just lied down in defeat. I cried until the police showed up and I kept crying afterward.  I think at some point they tried to explain to me that what occurred was just a home invasion and I must have dreamed up the rest.  

   I want to believe them, I want to think that they're right, but I can't.  I can't when I can feel this parasite moving inside me.  I feel what I think are more tendrils moving around inside my skin, and see my blonde hair turn dark and have patches of skin turn gray with rot. I know I'll be like her soon, and I can feel it growing inside me.  It's getting harder to breathe, and type, and think, and I didn't sleep at all last night. I wonder what will happen If I kill myself, will I still live and turn into that thing?  Or will I kill the parasite along with myself as it's host? I know I can't go anywhere or see anyone. Otherwise, I might spread it more, despite the urges telling me to visit my friends or family or just go out into the grotto one last time.  I'm trying to fight it, but I don't know how long I can keep it at bay.  I really do think yhis thin is tryun to git in m hed bc I fel ih t gt n.

 Sorry for the ruckus!  I went to the officials, and they say that I'm all better so no need to worry!

That being said, does anyone want to trade contact info?  I'd love to meet some of you IRL, you know, in real life?  Anyhow, ring me up if you want to meet!

After all, I make for great company.