#Friend of the Family ##More Gote stories ==Expanding on Shub's lore by bringing up her mom, how her "mama" and her "mother" interact, and how Howard fits in the mix== In the dream, Howard found himself amidst a forest that seemed to exist beyond time. The trees were impossibly tall, their ancient bark etched with sigils that pulsed with a dark, primordial energy. Each gust of wind carried with it a fog that clung to the ground like a heavy shroud, thick and stifling. The air here was different—dense, oppressive. It hummed with an ancient, unknowable presence that felt alive, as if the very earth beneath his feet had a pulse of its own. This place was older than anything Howard could comprehend, older than cities, older than civilizations. A place where time itself seemed to buckle and distort. He wasn't supposed to be here. He felt it in the marrow of his bones. But then, there she was. Shub stood just ahead, her back turned to him as she weaved through the twisted woods, her usual chaotic presence replaced by something more... solemn. She was dressed in a sleek black robe, elegant and sinuous, the fabric hugging her form in a way that both revealed and concealed, a paradox of modesty and allure. The robe shimmered in the low light, its material almost alive, shifting as she moved through the shadowed underbrush. Howard felt an unsettling fascination rise within him, something deeper than simple curiosity. Without realizing it, he followed her. He kept low, careful to stay out of sight, though every step he took felt heavier than the last, as if the very ground wanted to swallow him whole. The world around him seemed to pulse with life, but not the kind of life one might find in a natural forest. The shapes of the trees, the ground, the sky—they were all wrong. He couldn't pinpoint it, but there was a wrongness to everything here, a distortion of reality that felt... alive in a way no living thing should. He was aware, as he moved, that Shub was something far more than what he had always perceived. The Shub that shared a bed with him, who playfully teased and wrapped herself around him with both affection and alien intimacy—this was a mere sliver of what she was. There was something far more vast, more terrifying beneath the surface, and here, in this dreamscape, Howard could sense it like a predator lurking just out of sight. Shub moved with a grace that was almost unnatural, as though she were one with the very forest. Howard’s breath caught as he followed her into a clearing, his heart pounding as the mist parted and he saw what lay beyond. The Black Goat. She filled the clearing in a way that made reality bend around her presence. A shape too large, too unfathomable to fully comprehend, yet undeniably there. She was everywhere and nowhere at once, her form a vast, writhing mass of tendrils, hooves, and eyes. Her presence swallowed the clearing in a way that made Howard’s knees buckle, his mind scrambling to process the splendor—the horror—that was the Black Goat. The sight of her stirred something primal in him, something far older than human instinct, older than civilization. Howard’s eyes darted to Shub, who now stood before the Black Goat, her robe shimmering in the dim light as though in reverence. It was here that Howard realized the profound connection between the two of them—Shub was the child of this creature, the Black Goat's offspring, both its creation and extension. His legs felt weak beneath him, and the oppressive weight of the dream world made it harder to breathe. Howard instinctively knew this was not a place for him, not a place for any mortal. The Black Goat’s splendor, its alien beauty, its horror, was too much. Before he could scream or cry out, Howard woke with a start, cold sweat covering his body. But as the remnants of the dream faded, something remained. A voice, deep and ancient, echoed in his mind. "Next time, you can just ask if you want to join in the picnic." Howard’s breath hitched. That wasn’t Shub’s voice. He knew that voice now—it belonged to the Black Goat herself. Shivering, Howard sat up, trying to make sense of what had just happened. His mind raced, but the oppressive weight of the dream lingered, a reminder of just how far beyond him this all was. Even though he was awake now, he felt it in his bones—that ancient, lurking presence. The Black Goat had noticed him. And perhaps worse… she had invited him. ----- Howard’s mind raced as he navigated the day, his thoughts lost in the haze of what he'd experienced the night before. The classes he sat through passed by in a blur, the lectures blending together into an indistinct hum, each professor’s words feeling distant and irrelevant. His attention was fixed on one thing—the voice. He had heard her, not in the vague, abstract way one might experience a dream, but truly heard her, felt her presence as if she had spoken directly into his soul. The Black Goat. Even now, in the daylight, his heart sped up at the memory. The enormity of what it meant still eluded him. Was it because of his frequent proximity to Shub? Had his continued involvement with her—her touch, her very presence—opened some kind of gate between his world and that unfathomable, older place? Or was it something more? Some deeper connection that had been forged without his understanding? Howard wasn’t equipped to handle the implications of being pulled into a dream like that. A dream that wasn’t just a dream. It was real. As real as the ground beneath his feet, as real as the life he lived. And the fact that the Black Goat had noticed him, had spoken to him… The thought unsettled him, twisting his stomach into knots. He was walking home now, his feet moving on autopilot as his thoughts continued to churn. The sky overhead had darkened, the heavy clouds threatening rain, but Howard barely registered it. His mind kept replaying that moment—the mist, the trees, the splendor. And then the voice. The Black Goat’s voice. It had a weight to it that still lingered in the air, as though reality itself had been momentarily bent to allow him to hear her words. "Next time, you can just ask if you want to join in the picnic." The memory of the words sent another chill down his spine. As Howard approached his apartment building, he heard a familiar voice behind him, pulling him abruptly from his thoughts. “Howard!” He turned to see Shub, her presence immediately recognizable in the late afternoon light. She was walking toward him with that casual, otherworldly grace, a leash in one hand attached to Nibbles, the dog-creature trotting obediently beside her. In her other hand was a bag filled with containers—Tupperware, stacked neatly, though what they contained… Howard wasn’t quite sure he wanted to know. She smiled as she caught up to him. “Mom didn’t get a chance to fix you a plate before you woke up last night,” she said, her voice sweet but laced with a knowing undertone. “So I brought it for you. She thought you might like a taste.” Howard blinked, his mind spinning as he tried to make sense of what she was saying. His thoughts flashed back to the dream, to the clearing, to the Black Goat. Shub’s second mother. She had noticed him. She had spoken to him. And now, she had apparently sent him… food? Together, they walked in silence back toward the apartment. Howard glanced occasionally at the bag in Shub’s hand, curiosity and apprehension gnawing at him in equal measure. What exactly had her mother made for him? Was it something he could even eat? As they reached the apartment door, Shub smiled again, her eyes gleaming with a playful light. “Enjoy it,” she said as she handed him the bag. “It’s not every day you get a home-cooked meal from a Great Old One.” With that, she waved, tugging gently on Nibbles’ leash as they continued on their way. Howard stood there for a moment, staring down at the Tupperware containers in the bag. He hesitated, feeling the weight of the dream still lingering over him like a fog. Whatever was in those containers, it was made by the Black Goat. And no matter how normal Shub had made it sound, there was nothing normal about this situation. He carefully unlocked the door to his apartment and stepped inside, setting the bag down on the kitchen counter. Slowly, almost nervously, he peeled back the lid on the first container. The... food inside didn’t look like anything he could identify. It had an otherworldly texture, the colors shifting in the dim light as if the contents were alive, constantly in flux. There was a faint scent, not unpleasant, but strange. Something primal, deep, like the scent of the forest from his dream. He closed the lid, deciding he wasn’t quite ready to deal with whatever this was. For now, he would put it in the fridge. But even as he did, he couldn't shake the feeling that this was only the beginning—that the Black Goat’s notice was something far more than a simple dinner invitation. ----- In the modest home of Irma MacLeod, nestled amidst the quiet hills of the Scottish countryside, an old rotary phone sat on the kitchen counter. It wasn’t connected to any modern lines, didn’t hum with the energy of the world around it, and yet it was the most reliable form of communication Irma had. She glanced at it now as she bustled about her kitchen, rolling up the sleeves of her wool sweater. It hadn’t rung in a week, and she figured it was just about time. Sure enough, the unmistakable trill echoed through the house, breaking the stillness like clockwork. Irma dried her hands on a dish towel, her bones creaking slightly as she made her way to the phone. It’s about time, she thought with a smile. She felt the familiar prickling sensation over her skin as she lifted the receiver, the air around her subtly thickening. No one else could hear it, but to Irma, it was as familiar as the sound of her own heartbeat. “Hello, dear,” she greeted warmly, the words slipping easily from her lips as though she were speaking to a long-time friend. There was a moment of silence on the other end, an absence of sound so profound it felt like the void itself. Then, a voice, soft yet omnipotent, stirred from beyond the veil. The voice of the Black Goat, the thousand-fold mother, speaking across space and time as casually as if they were old neighbors catching up over tea. They spoke of simple things at first. Universal topics that mothers everywhere discussed—how the garden was doing, the state of Irma’s health, and the weather (which was unusually chilly this time of year). They laughed about small things, the Black Goat’s voice filling the space around Irma with warmth despite the unnatural undertone that lingered in the silence between them. But soon, as it often did, the conversation shifted to their shared daughter. Gloria—or as she had taken to calling herself more recently—Shub. Irma sighed softly. “You know, she’s doing well in her studies, all things considered. But she’s always been one to get a bit... distracted, hasn’t she?” A faint, reverberating sound like the rustling of leaves—an acknowledgement. The Black Goat always had an interesting way of expressing amusement. “She’s always been determined,” Irma continued. “I suppose it’s part of growing up. Still, I wish she’d be a bit more settled. Howard seems to be a good influence on her. I think he keeps her grounded.” The Black Goat spoke again, her words slipping through Irma’s mind like silk, carrying the weight of millennia. Yes, Howard had certainly caught her attention, though in ways no mere mortal could understand. Irma chuckled, shaking her head. “I asked her again if she was thinking about settling down—finding a nice boy or girl, something more... stable. But you know what she said.” Irma sighed, leaning back against the counter. “‘Not yet,’” she mimicked, her voice tinged with affectionate exasperation. “Always so focused on the here and now.” There was a pause, not of tension but of shared understanding. The Black Goat, in all her unfathomable wisdom, understood well the nature of their daughter’s journey. Time, after all, was different for beings like them. “She’s happy, though,” Irma added, her tone softening. “And that’s what matters, isn’t it? I can’t ask for more than that.” The voice on the other end agreed, filling the room with a sense of completeness, a cosmic assurance that transcended words. For all the strangeness that surrounded their daughter, for all the power she now wielded as Shub, at her core, she was still their girl—still loved, still watched over by two very different mothers. The conversation wound down, both of them content, knowing that Gloria—Shub—was on her own path, strange though it might be. Irma smiled as she cradled the receiver, a gentle warmth in her chest. “Well, it was good chatting with you, dear,” she said softly. “Same time next week?” There was no verbal response, but Irma felt the lingering presence fade, the air lightening once more. She placed the receiver back on the cradle and gazed out the window, her thoughts lingering on her daughter. Both mothers, despite their differences, could at least agree on one thing: their daughter was happy, and for now, that was enough. ----- Howard stood before his fridge, a dull glow spilling from the open door as he stared at the Tupperware containers that had been sitting there for a week now. The kind of resignation on his face wasn’t just that of a man deciding what to eat—it was the slow, dawning realization that not eating a meal prepared specifically for him by an elder god, and hand-delivered by one of her daughters, probably carried with it cosmic consequences he wasn’t equipped to handle. He sighed. “At least bad luck,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck as he gingerly reached for the containers. It was Saturday evening, and the silence of his apartment settled heavily around him as he laid the food out on the counter. The contents seemed inert, but Howard knew better than to trust appearances when dealing with... whatever this was. Alongside the food was a small slip of paper, its text scrawled in a bizarre mix of symbols and English. Instructions, though a far cry from anything resembling a recipe card—part occult ritual, part mundane food preparation. The sheer absurdity of it almost made him chuckle. Almost. Howard had spent countless hours buried in old texts before meeting Shub, poring over eldritch lore that felt distant, almost academic. Now, standing in his kitchen, following these bizarre instructions, he realized how suddenly, how useful, it all felt. How easily his hands moved as if they’d done this a hundred times before. The smell that began to fill the apartment was, in its own right, a revelation. It wasn’t unpleasant—not exactly—but it held something more. The scent stirred the air in strange ways, curling at the edges of reality and tugging at memories Howard couldn’t quite place. Eventually, the meal was ready. Howard stood over his desk, staring down at the spread laid out before him. The food didn’t look real in the strictest sense, but it wasn’t entirely unreal, either. It was the kind of familiar unfamiliarity that tugged at something deep inside him, an instinct he didn’t understand but couldn’t ignore. The colors seemed to shift ever so slightly when he blinked, the textures never quite settling into anything his mind could fully categorize. With a steadying breath and a muttered prayer (to what, he wasn’t sure), Howard picked up his fork. He aimed for something that looked like a slab of meat—at least, he assumed it was meat—and took the first bite. It squirmed. Immediately, his stomach churned in disgust, but his tongue lit up with flavor so unexpectedly delicious that he almost gasped. He swallowed, eyes wide, and went in for another bite. This time it was different—entirely different. The texture, the taste, everything shifted as if the food itself was alive in some way, evolving with each piece he ate. There were moments when it was sublime, others when it was nearly unbearable, but each bite kept him going. The meal was a task—an ordeal, even—but one he found himself compelled to finish. By the time he placed the fork down, the plates were clean. Howard leaned back in his chair, the heaviness of the meal settling in his stomach like a stone. And yet, there was something else. Something that made him pause, his hand brushing lightly against his cheek. A tear. He blinked, surprised to feel the wetness on his face. It wasn’t the taste of the food, nor the strangeness of it that moved him so. No, it was something deeper. Something more personal. In spite of the grotesque, eldritch nature of the meal—in spite of its shifting textures and otherworldly flavors—Howard could feel it. The unmistakable care with which it had been prepared. The tender attention to detail, the thoughtfulness in every strange bite. It was a meal made with love. A mother’s love. And for all the terror and confusion surrounding him, for all the eldritch forces he now found himself entangled with, Howard couldn’t help but feel a strange, aching warmth in his chest. “Thank you,” he whispered, to no one in particular. #Sleepwalking ==A bonus story born off of me figuring out more of how Shub's nightly "rituals" work. Basically she has Unlimited Blade Works, but it's only for tentacle sex with herself and infinite clones she creates.== Howard wakes with a start, finding himself in an impossible place, a landscape so unrecognizable that even his dreams had never ventured there before. The air is thick—so heavy it almost clings to him like a second skin, laden with the heady scent of desire and indulgence. The landscape around him is a sprawling, pulsating plain of hedonism, bodies intertwined in acts so primal and relentless that it feels like the ground itself is undulating with their movements. The air tastes like musk and something far darker, something ancient that makes his lungs feel heavy with each breath. As he wanders through this endless realm of excess, he realizes the sheer scale of it. There is no horizon. No sky. Only this—an infinite plane of debauchery that stretches on and on in every direction. The moans, the gasps, the very sound of flesh meeting flesh forms a cacophony that reverberates through his bones. His senses are overwhelmed, and his mind struggles to make sense of the sheer scale of it all. After what feels like an eternity of wandering, he reaches the center—or what feels like the center—of this hellish paradise. And there, at the heart of it, is Shub. She sits like a queen upon her throne of excess, tendrils of flesh and desire stretching out from her in every direction, feeding the chaos that surrounds her. Her body glistens in the low, strange light that pervades this place, the unnatural shine accentuating every curve and motion. Her hair, a writhing mass of tendrils and sinew, moves lazily as if stirred by an unseen breeze. For a moment, Shub seems unaware of him, lost in her indulgences. Then her eyes lazily pass over him, glazed at first, before a flicker of recognition alights in her violet gaze. A smile, lazy and languid, tugs at her lips as she acknowledges him with an almost casual amusement. “Oh, Howard,” she purrs, her voice somehow both sultry and tired, as though weighed down by the endless ecstasy that surrounds her. “Sleepwalking again, are we? You really need to be more careful... I found you wandering the halls, so I figured I’d drag you in here. Didn’t want you getting hurt.” Her tone is light, teasing even, but there’s a dangerous undercurrent to it. She barely seems to register the chaos that’s happening around her—it’s simply the way things are when night falls in her presence. “I know, I know…” she waves a hand vaguely, the tendrils around her mirroring the movement, “you know how I get at night.” With an effortless motion, she forms several of her many tendrils into the shape of a bed—surprisingly soft-looking, given what it’s made of. The tentacles curl and shift, creating a place that, in any other context, might have looked inviting. They pulse slightly, moving in time with the rhythm of the room, creating the illusion of breathing. “You can sleep here if you want,” she offers, her voice playful but sincere. “It's probably the safest place for you, given the... surroundings.” Howard stands there for a moment, trying to reconcile the absurdity of the situation with his sudden exhaustion. His eyes linger on Shub, the center of all this madness, before flickering to the makeshift bed. He considers his options—none of them particularly good—and sighs. Sleep, or whatever passes for it in this place, might be the best escape for now. He moves towards the bed, feeling the low thrum of the tentacles beneath his feet, and gingerly lays down. As he does, the tendrils shift to form a blanket of sorts, curling protectively around him. The motion is almost soothing, if not for the fact that everything here beats to the same rhythm, a steady, primal cadence that reminds him with every throb of exactly where he is. The “bed” moves in sync with the scene around him, a slow, pulsing wave that reverberates through his body. Howard closes his eyes, but he knows—he knows—that sleep will not come easily tonight. Not here, in this place that is Shub’s essence, her very being made manifest. Every breath, every sound, every movement is a reminder of the overwhelming, intoxicating presence of the one who had brought him here. And yet, despite everything, as Howard sinks deeper into the rhythm of the room, a single thought lingers in his mind: It could be worse. **...** Howard rubs his eyes, still dazed and trying to shake off the fog of an absolutely bizarre night. The fragmented memory of Shub "helping" him sleep is mercifully fuzzy, but his body's response to it makes it harder to forget entirely. As he sits up, he looks around at the aftermath of what can only be described as... well, he wasn't sure if it was a warzone or an orgy. The line between the two was disturbingly blurred. All around him, there were bodies—doppelgangers, all made from Shub’s ever-present, ever-writhing tentacles, strewn about in the eerie silence of the aftermath. The vast plane he had wandered in was gone, but the weight of the night still lingered in the air, a palpable reminder of the impossible space she had conjured from her own being. The reality of it hit him harder now in the light of morning. This wasn’t just an extension of Shub—it was Shub. She had shaped the very fabric of this reality into something massive, sprawling, far beyond the cozy confines of her apartment. Howard found himself almost envious of the sheer amount of space she had created, especially considering how little she paid in rent. He lived in a studio apartment that barely fit his bed. She had this entire otherworldly realm at her disposal. His gaze drifted over to the center of the room—or what had become the center of it all. Shub lay there, at the bottom of what looked like a crater, her form impaled on her own tendrils in a way that might have seemed horrifying if she didn’t look so damn comfortable. It was like she had curled up in the world’s strangest but most luxurious bed, perfectly content. Her breathing was slow and steady, the kind of deep, restful sleep that belied the night of chaotic indulgence she had created. How does she make this look so easy? Howard thought to himself, standing slowly to get a better view of the vast space around him. He marveled at it—the scope, the reality-warping power. Shub had created this entire realm with just her tentacles, with hardly any effort, and now it was beginning to unravel. As Shub stirred in her sleep, so too did the tendrils that made up the plane. The ground beneath him began to shift and break apart, unraveling like a fabric being torn at the seams. In what could only be described as a miniature apocalypse, the vast expanse of debauchery and chaos began to collapse in on itself, folding back into the comparatively tiny bedroom Howard had known. The walls closed in, the vast, pulsating plane disappearing as if it had never existed. Howard barely had time to register what was happening before he found himself unceremoniously dumped onto the floor. The room was back to its normal size. Shub, for her part, lay in her actual bed, completely oblivious to the cosmic destruction that had just unfolded around her. She was, of course, naked—entirely unbothered by her nudity—and stretching in a way that was far too casual and far too cute for someone who had been the epicenter of what amounted to a night-long eldritch bacchanal. Howard watched, still trying to process everything, as she yawned and stretched, her arms extending above her head as her tendrils lazily uncurled from her body, returning to their more restrained, mundane form. She blinked slowly, as if waking from the most peaceful sleep in the world, her violet eyes catching Howard’s briefly before she offered him a sleepy smile. “Good morning, sleepyhead,” she said, her voice laced with a teasing warmth. “Sleep well?” Howard, still on the floor, could only manage a stunned nod. “I... I think so?” Shub chuckled, rolling onto her side and propping herself up on one elbow, her other arm lazily resting on her hip. "That's good. You looked like you needed it." He wanted to argue—wanted to say something about how impossible it was to sleep in the midst of whatever that was—but he couldn’t bring himself to. Shub had a way of making the incomprehensible seem mundane, like this was just another day in her life. Maybe it was. "Do you do that EVERY night?!" "Yep! But I had to dial it back a bit because you were here. Usually it gets WAY crazier." Howard blinked, trying to wrap his mind around what Shub just said. "Dial it back?" His voice cracked a little with disbelief. "That was dialed back?!" Shub stretched again, this time with a wide grin spreading across her face. "Yep!" she said cheerily, like she was talking about something as mundane as brushing her teeth. "Had to tone it down since you were here. Usually, it gets way crazier." Howard stared at her, his mouth hanging open for a second. He couldn't even imagine what "way crazier" looked like. Last night had felt like he’d wandered into an unholy mix between a fever dream and some cosmic orgy from the bowels of a Lovecraftian nightmare. And that was her holding back? Shub saw the look of shock on his face and chuckled, rolling over onto her back with a satisfied sigh. “Oh yeah, if I’m really letting loose, it’s a whole different vibe. The walls start shifting, the ground gets all wobbly, and I swear it feels like the air itself starts dancing with you.” She paused, her expression growing nostalgic. “Last time, I think I accidentally made a small pocket dimension. Lost a few tentacle clones in there for a while, but they had fun.” Howard didn’t know whether to laugh or panic. He managed to ask, “And… you just do this every night?” “Pretty much!” Shub said, completely nonchalant about the whole thing. “Gotta stretch my tendrils, you know? Plus, it helps me relax. All that pent-up energy from the day has to go somewhere. Besides,” she added with a wink, “it keeps things lively.” Howard shook his head, still in disbelief. "I… I don't know how you manage it." Shub shrugged, grinning. “You get used to it. And hey, you survived the night, so that’s something, right?” Howard let out a nervous chuckle, glancing around the now-normal-looking room. "Yeah, I guess that's a win." #Snooping As Shub made her way to the shower, leaving a messy trail behind her, Howard stood in the aftermath of the unworldly night, trying to collect himself. The surreal chaos of her reality-shaping powers had faded, but he was still processing what had just happened. The room looked completely normal now, save for the remnants of the madness Shub had unleashed. Alone at last, Howard’s curiosity got the better of him—again. He hadn’t learned his lesson from the shrine incident, but hey, it wasn’t every day you found yourself alone in the bedroom of an otherworldly being. He reassured himself that as long as he didn't mess with the shrine, he’d be fine. With that decision made, he began his second round of snooping, trying to be more careful this time. His eyes landed on something half-hidden under her bed: a large, nondescript box. Howard hesitated for a moment before crouching down to slide it out. "What's in here?" he muttered to himself, his heart racing with a mix of excitement and guilt. Lifting the lid, he instantly regretted it. Inside was an assortment of very adult-oriented toys. Large toys. Toys designed for purposes that made his face flush crimson. They weren’t just normal toys either—Howard couldn’t help but notice the alarming variety in size and shape, some of them beyond what he’d thought possible. One in particular was equine-shaped and as thick as his arm. His mind raced to try and rationalize what he was seeing. “Gloria was... her own kind of monster,” he muttered under his breath, quickly shoving the box back under the bed, trying not to dwell too long on how or when she might’ve used them. Howard felt his cheeks burn as he stood up, hands trembling slightly. He’d already seen—and felt—more of Shub than most people ever would, but the idea that she’d need these toys in addition to her tentacles was... confusing. Was this all from before she became Shub, back when she was just Gloria? The sheer scale of what she apparently used sent his thoughts spiraling. As he ruminated on these new discoveries, the sound of the shower turning off snapped him out of his daze. Shub reappeared a few moments later, freshly dressed in her usual attire, looking as if nothing out of the ordinary had transpired. She gave him a warm smile, oblivious to—or perhaps very aware of—his internal turmoil. “You wanna use the shower next?” she asked casually, wringing a bit of water from her still-damp hair. “You’re looking a little... sticky.” Howard realized how grimy he felt after the night’s... events. “Yeah, that’d be great, thanks,” he stammered, grateful for the excuse to escape the room for a few moments. As he made his way to the bathroom, Shub gave him a wave, her usual cheerful self. But as soon as he was out of sight, her playful smile turned into a mischievous grin. She reached into a drawer and pulled out a small, squirming tentacle with an embedded eye—one of her many little watchers. She chuckled softly to herself, eyes gleaming with amusement. “Oh, Howie,” she whispered under her breath, “you have no idea...” As Howard stepped into the shower, letting the warm water wash away the stickiness of the night, he finally began to relax. The feeling of the water cascading down his body provided a welcome escape from the overwhelming chaos of Shub's apartment. He tried to clear his head, focus on the mundane comfort of a good rinse. But little did he know, he wasn’t entirely alone. In the cozy warmth of her bedroom, Shub leaned back on her bed, looking supremely satisfied. She grinned slyly as her fingers toyed with a small, squirming tentacle eye hidden within her grasp. It was one of her favorite little tricks, a perfect way to keep tabs on... interesting developments. And tonight, she was in the mood for a bit of fun. The tendril she had planted in the bathroom had quietly activated the moment Howard entered, camouflaging itself perfectly against the tiles. As he showered, oblivious to the presence of the eye, Shub watched with keen interest. Her grin widened as she enjoyed her little voyeuristic indulgence, eyes following every droplet of water as it traced its way down Howard’s body. "Not bad, Howie," she mused to herself, her amusement growing by the second. Shub had seen her fair share of sights, being the daughter of the Black Goat and all, but there was something uniquely satisfying about seeing someone as reserved as Howard in such a vulnerable moment. Her gaze lingered for a bit longer than perhaps it should have as Howard went through his normal routine, scrubbing his skin, working through his hair—all in blissful ignorance of the little observer hidden in the corner. Shub bit her lip playfully, enjoying the private spectacle far more than she should. But as entertaining as it was to sneak a peek, she knew better than to take things too far. Howard was already a little overwhelmed with her... eccentricities, and she wasn’t about to ruin her fun by making him suspicious—at least, not yet. With a final, satisfied sigh, Shub snapped her fingers, and the tentacle eye in the bathroom faded away, returning to wherever it had emerged from. She lay back on her bed, giggling to herself. Howard had no idea how close she was watching, or how much she enjoyed it. "Maybe one day I’ll tell him," she whispered to herself with a smirk, "but not today." As Howard stood under the hot spray of the shower, his mind raced, reflecting on the overwhelming experience of the previous night. He had always known, to some extent, what Shub got up to at night. It had been impossible to ignore—he’d met her because of it. The relentless noise, the sheer energy radiating from her apartment, had pulled him into her world, and after one too many sleepless nights, he’d been overwhelmed into joining her. It was either that or lose what little composure he had left at the time. But this? The infinite realm of indulgence, a vast, chaotic plane of pure physical sensation where Shub was the absolute center of it all—it was more than he’d ever imagined. He tried to reconcile the cute, somewhat ditzy girl he knew with the avatar of debauchery she became in her private hours. That sprawling orgiastic reality wasn’t just some manifestation of cosmic madness. It was Shub. Every tendril, every body, every facet of that pulsating space was born from her will, her flesh. He ran his hands through his hair, letting the water drip down his face as he struggled to make sense of it. The sheer magnitude of her being—the fact that she could contain such boundless energy, create such a world, and still seem so...normal by day. Howard had always considered himself somewhat fortunate to remain as "normal" as he had, despite his involvement with Shub. Sure, there had been minor changes—he could feel it in the subtle differences in his body, small shifts he couldn’t quite put his finger on—but for the most part, he still felt like himself. But as he reflected on last night’s events, Howard couldn’t help but wonder: Was that really luck? Or had the Black Goat, in all her terrifying wisdom, taken a particular interest in him? After all, it was no small thing for a cosmic entity to speak to you directly, especially one like Her. Maybe his relatively intact sanity, his survival in Shub’s presence, was less about his own resilience and more about some form of mercy—or amusement. The thought made him shudder, though he couldn’t quite place whether it was from fear or something else entirely. Either way, he was going to have to process this in due time. Howard glanced down at the viscous residue slowly swirling down the drain, a reminder of the night's activities and the implications of what had transpired in the shower before his turn. The trash bin to his left had a similarly telling deposit, the telltale signs of Shub's indulgences even in her post-orgiastic haze. He sighed, deciding that, for the sake of his own peace of mind, it was probably best to pretend he hadn’t noticed any of it. Best to leave some things unspoken, especially when it came to Shub. After all, there were things in their relationship—even in this strange and absurd reality—that were better left unexamined. He could deal with cosmic entities, infinite debauchery, and even the occasional mutation. But Shub’s personal...clean-up? That was going to be politely ignored. He turned off the water and stepped out of the shower, his mind still buzzing with thoughts of Shub, her world, and the strange place he now found himself in. One thing was for sure—he was in much deeper than he’d ever expected. And somehow, despite everything, he wasn’t entirely sure he minded. Howard wrapped a towel securely around his waist, the residual warmth from the shower clinging to him as he cautiously made his way back toward Shub's room. As he approached her door, the unmistakable sounds of Shub’s ongoing...activities drifted through the thin walls. He paused, momentarily caught off guard. Even after the exhausting spectacle of the previous night, she was still at it? The sheer endurance she had would have impressed him if it didn’t leave him feeling a little overwhelmed. For a moment, he considered just leaving her alone. He could wait it out, maybe find something else to occupy his time in the apartment. But then he remembered—his phone was in there, and he really didn’t want to leave without it. Letting out a resigned sigh, he decided to knock. The sounds came to an abrupt halt, replaced by an eerie silence that felt all too familiar. Before he had time to second-guess himself, the door swung open. Shub stood there with that ever-present, easy smile, her skin practically glowing with the aftereffects of her activities. She looked completely unbothered, as if the infinite plane of debauchery she had conjured the night before was just a warm-up. "Uh..." Howard started, the thought slipping out before he could stop himself. "How are you still this...pent up after last night?" Her laughter rang out, light and carefree, not mocking but warm—like she was amused by his naivety. "Howard," she said, still giggling, "I'm the daughter of an elder god whose entire essence revolves around fertility and baby-making. Of course, I'm always like this. Twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. It’s kinda...my thing." Howard blinked, staring at her in mild disbelief. Of course, that made perfect sense in the grand cosmic scheme of things. Yet, somehow, the fact that it was true didn’t exactly shock him. He should have been floored, horrified even, but instead, he found himself just...accepting it. Like he was starting to get used to the absurdity that was his life with Shub. "Right," he muttered, more to himself than to her. "That actually explains a lot." Shub flashed him another grin, leaning casually against the doorframe as if they were discussing the weather. "Don't worry, Howie. I can keep it under control... most of the time." Howard wasn't entirely sure he believed her, but he decided not to press the issue. With a nod, he slid past her into the room to retrieve his clothes, doing his best to avoid the evidence of whatever had been happening while he was in the shower. As he dressed, Shub flopped back onto her bed, lounging comfortably as if nothing at all were out of the ordinary. "Hey, anytime you want to join in, just let me know," she teased, her tone light but with that unmistakable edge of invitation that always lingered between them. Howard swallowed, focusing intently on tying his shoes. "I'll...keep that in mind." Shub just laughed again, the sound filling the room like a chorus of bells. Howard glanced over at her, the reality of the situation sinking in once more. He wasn’t just dealing with any normal person. Shub was a living manifestation of primal, cosmic forces—constant, untamable, and insatiable. And yet, somehow, he was getting used to it.