#having mammoths back sounds great

[rhettabbotts]

baby, if you only knew - dilf!rhett abbott x babysitter!reader

pairing: dilf!rhett abbott x babysitter!reader

summary: tensions boil over and everything changes for you and rhett one night at a rancher’s event you attend.

w/c: 5.4k (she’s a mammoth)

warnings: 18+ only. smut. age gap (babysitter 20s, rhett 40s). dirty talk. making out in an elevator. daddy kink. possessive rhett. slightly rough sex. cunnilingus. hair pulling. overstimulation. size kink. aftercare. rhett’s grey hair. some fluff.

a/n: i can see you by taylor swift is to blame for this. enjoy the filth! also couldn’t stop myself from adding some babysitter lore. also see green, green dress from tick, tick…boom! for the dress reference!

Six months. Six long, tortuous months of working under Rhett Abbott’s roof.

Okay, it wasn’t as bad as you were making it out to be in your head. His daughters were angels, and you appreciated that he worked with your school schedule as you attended your graduate program. And he let you live in his guest room rent free.

But it was sweet torture. You had fallen hard for the single father of two and it made every day even harder than the last. Rhett was a wonderful man, an attentive father, and a hell of a cook. A hard worker and he was so handsome, you could hardly breathe around him. Who wouldn’t fall in love with the cowboy?

You tried everything in the world to rid your thoughts of him, but you were highly unsuccessful. And he only did things that made it worse. Every time you brushed by him in the halls it felt like electricity coursed through your entire body. He had to feel it too, right?

Delusional. That’s what you were. You were the babysitter. Nothing more. Eventually, the girls would grow up and you wouldn’t be needed anymore. And that thought caused your chest to tighten painfully.

What a thought to have while washing the dishes. You heard your name but it sounded far off, like your ears were full of cotton.

“Tilly, come quick!” Grace shouted once more to get your attention. It made you turn abruptly, soap suds went flying as you dropped the ceramic pot you were washing. “Sorry,” she mumbled when you glared slightly at her.

“What’s wrong, Gracie?” you questioned as you wiped your hands off with the flower embroidered kitchen towel. Something you bought and put out to leave your own touch on this place.

“Oh. Nothing. Ellie just wanted to show you that we won our game.” The girls had been obsessed with Super Mario Brothers and had been playing it for days.

“That’s great guys! How about we take a break and you help me get dinner started?”

“Can we have ice cream for dessert?” Ellie, Rhett’s younger daughter pouted, bright blue eyes pleading. She and Grace were the carbon copies of Rhett. Same eyes, same nose, same crooked smile. You could never say no to them.

“Of course. But don’t tell your dad,” you whispered, placing your finger to your lips like it was a top secret.

The girls helped you finish the food just as Rhett came in from another long day of herding and branding cattle. He was dusty, covered in dirt and sweat and tendrils of his hair stuck to his forehead, the ends curling up. You wanted to run your fingers through it, sweat be damned.

“Daddy!” “Daddy, look at what we made!”

The girls ran towards Rhett, pausing when they got close enough to smell him.

“You stink,” Grace commented flatly.

“Thanks. Love you too. Listen, I’m gonna go shower and I’ll be down in a bit. You all can start without me,” Rhett said as he kicked his boots off by the door and took the stairs two at a time. “Oh, and Tilly?” He called from the upstairs landing.

“Yeah?”

“I gotta ask you something later. Don’t let me forget.”

You just nodded, stomach turning at the thought of what it could be.

Grace and Ellie helped you set the table, always eager to follow your every move. It makes you smile. Sometimes you felt like an actual family. And then you had to bring yourself back to reality. Just the nanny. Nothing more. Dinner was quiet, everyone was hungry and occupied with getting their bellies full.

You were resting on the couch as Rhett finished bath and bed time with the girls, trying to read your latest book but your mind was going a thousand miles a minute. Your heart started to beat faster as you heard Rhett descend down the stairs.

Rhett took himself to the kitchen, busying himself by pouring a glass of whiskey. A bottle you bought for him for Christmas the year prior. You peeked at him over the top of your book, watching his back muscles flex in the tight black tee he wore. Your mouth watered at the sight of his strong arms and his soft stomach as he turned to face you.

You quickly raised the book above your eyes, fearing that you had been caught staring. You missed Rhett’s knowing smirk.

“Move over,” Rhett poked at the bottom of your foot, the motion tickling you ever so slightly and causing you to jerk your leg towards you. “What are you reading? New dirty novel?” He teased.

“No…” you said quietly, a little shamefully.

“Liar. Is this one better than the last at least?”

“So far. Hey, what did you want to ask me earlier?” You stretched your legs back out and they landed in Rhett’s lap. He didn’t seem to mind. His unoccupied hand landed on your shin, calloused thumb lightly brushing the bone there. Your mind went blank and you could hear nothing but static in your ears.

“I got invited to this rancher’s event. They want me to give a speech. Stupid, but I agreed. And I… I need a plus one. And I figured maybe if you wanted to-“

“Yes!” You said eagerly, spine straightening. “I mean- sorry- go ahead…” Your cheeks felt hot at your abruptness. He was probably going to ask you to set him up with someone. Probably Lisa, Ellie’s dance teacher. She always had her eye on him.

“I wanted to ask if you wanted to come with me. Give you a break. It’s the weekend my parents wanted to take the girls camping. That is.. if you didn’t have any plans…”

Rhett sounded nervous. He was looking down at where his hand rested on your leg, avoiding all eye contact.

“Oh. Yeah. I don’t have anything going on. I’ll go with you. As-“

“Friends, of course.”

“Right. Friends. What’s the dress code?” You asked, heart sinking slightly.

“Black tie,” Rhett grumbled. He hated dressing up. If he can’t wear flannel, he doesn’t want to be there.

“Perfect. I’ll find a dress to wear.”

“Well. I’ll leave you to the reading. Goodnight, Tilly.” Rhett tapped your leg a couple of times before moving you so he could stand.

You sighed deeply as he left the room, trying to ignore the gut wrenching feeling you had at his response. You couldn’t focus on your book and you eventually went upstairs to attempt to sleep.

“I want you so bad,” Rhett growled against your neck, teeth sinking into your skin causing you to whimper and arch against him. His leg was in between yours, keeping your thighs separated and your barely covered cunt brush against his suit pants. “You’re fucking soaked, sweet girl. You’ve wanted this for so long, haven’t you?”

“Rhett, please!” You whined pathetically, grinding down on his thigh, searching for any sort of relief.

“Beg for it, baby. Beg for daddy. Tell me what you want.” Rhett said, voice low and gravelly. He pressed you into the wall harder, flexing his thigh as you keened. “I know you want me to fu-“

“Tillyyyyyy, wake uppppp,” a tiny voice called from the other side of the door. Your eyes shot open so fast it made your head spin. Your entire body was hot even though you just had the sheet covering you and the ceiling fan was on. You were having a dream about Rhett. A fucking wet dream. And now Ellie was yelling at you in the hallway. You felt like you were being punished.

You checked your phone. 5:37am. Jesus, why was she awake?

“I’m up, El. Hold your horses.” You went to the en-suite bathroom to splash cold water on your face. “Get yourself together. Now,” you said through gritted teeth, pointing a finger at yourself in the mirror.

The four-year-old stood outside your door with her stuffed horse tucked under her arms. Her eyes were a little red and she was sniffling.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

“I feel sick,” she whispered weakly, clutching the horse to her chest tighter.

“Come on, bug. I’ll get you some medicine.”

You picked her up and perched her on your hip as you carried her down the stairs. Her forehead felt a little warm. She sat patiently on the counter while you poured the medicine in the little cup and you rubbed her back as she swallowed it.

“Good job, El! I’m proud of you. Here, drink some water and let’s get you back to bed, okay?”

She nodded as she took a big gulp of water from her sippy cup. You trotted back up the stairs, bouncing her slightly to make her giggle.

“Alright, you got your water here and Honey is right here with you. Try to get some sleep, bug. I’ll fix pancakes when you wake up.” You tucked Ellie in, kissing her forehead before you stood up.

Her eyes were already heavy and she mumbled something you couldn’t hear.

“What was that?”

“Luh you, mama.” She repeated sleepily, snuggling her horse and then started snoring softly immediately.

“Oh… I- I love you too, bug.”

You didn’t know how to react. She had never called you that before and it made your eyes misty with tears. You couldn’t go back to sleep. Not after the dream and not after Ellie calling you mama.

The next few hours went by in a blur. You had planned to go shopping with your friend Tabitha to find your dress for the dinner. After dropping the girls off at school, you met Tabitha at the mall. You were in a daze, barely listening to her rant about her latest failed Tinder date.

“Hellooooo,” she snapped her fingers in front of your face. “Are you even listening?”

“Yeah, sorry. No, I’m just- I don’t know what I’m doing,” you sighed as you placed your face in your hands.

“What do you mean?”

“With Rhett! It’s like- why am I going to this dinner? Why do I keep torturing myself? And Ellie! She called me her mom this morning! I want a family and I feel like I have it but it’s not really mine, you know?”

“You need to get laid. That’s what you need,” Tabitha said nonchalantly. She looked through the dresses on the rack in the store you were in. “Oh. My. God. This. This dress. Go try it on. NOW!”

She shoved a velvet dress into your arms and pushed you towards the fitting rooms. It was a deep green color, the fabric felt soft against your skin. It wasn’t a dress you would pick out for yourself but once you slid it over your head your jaw dropped at the sight in the mirror.

The bodice was a corset type, something you didn’t typically reach for but was pleasantly surprised at how it looked on you. The dress was form fitting but not uncomfortably so. The strap tied around your neck, lifting your chest and displaying the tops of your breasts tastefully.

The dress hugged your every curve, accentuating parts of your body you weren’t necessarily happy with, but now you felt sexy. Powerful. You opened the door and called for Tabitha. She came running with a few other options in her hands but her reaction matched your own as she laid eyes on you.

“Holy fuck. Yeah, no, forget these. You have to get that one. If he doesn’t fuck you, I will.”

You rolled her eyes at her antics and looked into the mirror once more. You felt so beautiful in the dress. It made you a little giddy at the thought of Rhett’s reaction. If he even had one. You tried to shake the negative thought away. If he didn’t appreciate it, someone else would. Maybe a nice cowboy who’d be down for a one night stand at a fancy hotel.

The week passed by in the blink of an eye and before you knew it, Rhett was packing the girls’ bags for their camping trip and was shouting up at you that he was going to pick up his suit in town from the tailor’s.

You took your time styling your hair the way you liked and you did your makeup, keeping it light but putting on a red lip. Just to be a little bold.

You hid in your room until you heard Rhett finish getting ready and head down the stairs.

“Tilly, you ready? We should leave so-“ Rhett stopped as he turned at the sound of your heels clicking against the wood. “Wow…” he breathed. “You look, ehem, you look nice. That’s a pretty dress.” He fiddled with his cuff links, avoiding eye contact.

“Thank you,” you responded shyly. He held his arm out to escort you to the black pickup truck. The ride was silent except for the radio and the hum of the engine. You couldn’t stop from looking to Rhett. His hair was slicked back, the gray hair looked more prominent. His temples were nearly white. He had a shadow of stubble on his jaw and his suit fit him in all the right places.

You pulled up to a beautiful hotel. It was a grand building, accents of gold sparkled in the setting sun and gorgeous flowers lined the walkways. Rows of trucks indicated that you were at the right place. And the men in bolo ties and cowboy hats gave it away.

Rhett forwent his Stetson and chose a sleek black tie, looking a little out of place but you thought he looked beautiful.

He parked and inhaled deeply, gripping the steering wheel with both hands and closing his eyes.

“Everything okay?” You questioned, placing a perfectly manicured hand on his forearm.

“Huh? Yeah. M’good. Just nervous. I can’t stand half the people in that room,” he mumbled, smiling softly at you. It made butterflies erupt in your stomach.

“You’ll do great. I can fake an emergency if needed.”

“Fall down the stairs if I give you a look,” Rhett joked.

“You got it, boss,” you winked at him. You reached for the door handle, preparing to get out of the truck but his hand on your arm now stopped you.

“Wait… I have something for you. A token of appreciation for coming with me. Also, an early birthday present.”

Rhett pulled a long, rectangular box from the side of the door. He opened it to show a diamond bracelet.

“Rhett- that’s- I can’t-“ You couldn’t stop from reaching out and running your fingers along the jewels.

“You deserve it. You work so hard and I don’t say it enough but you mean a lot to me. To the girls. Just wanted to give you something nice,” he said, voice a little shaky.

Something shifted as he clasped the bracelet around your wrist. His touch lingered on your skin and it was hard for you to breathe. You tried so hard to keep things professional, but it’s changed. Everything has changed in the cab of Rhett’s truck.

You headed inside, arm linked with Rhett’s as he greeted the people inside. He was so charismatic, putting on a face you’d never seen before. It was sexy. He was controlling the room. Everyone loved him.

You could feel eyes following you as you walked towards the front of the ballroom. You heard a few whispers from the older women, surely gossiping about the obvious age gap between you and your employer.

“I’m gonna grab some drinks. You gonna be okay here?” Rhett whispered in your ear, his warm breath washing over your skin and sending a chill down your spine.

“I’ll be good. Can you get me a Long Island?”

“Of course. Be right back.” He hurried off towards the bar, getting stopped several times along the way. You felt like a fish out of water here. You chewed on your thumb nail, anxiously waiting for Rhett to come back.

“I think you’re the most gorgeous woman I have ever seen,” a voice said from behind you. You turned to see the chair to your right being pulled away and a young man, around your age, sat down beside you. His black cowboy hat hid his eyes but he had a wide smirk on his face.

“I bet you’ve said that at least ten times tonight,” you responded, trying to ignore him.

“Name’s Wes. And you are-“

“Not interested. Beat it, buddy,” Rhett growled as he sat your drinks down and sat on the other side of you, wrapping his arm around the back of your chair possessively.

“I see how it is. Rhett… good to see you.”

Rhett hummed as he glared at Wes over the rim of his glass, silently willing him to scram. It was hot.

“That wasn’t very nice.”

“He’s trouble,” Rhett mumbled.

The evening went on without a hitch. Dinner was decent and you joined in on a few conversations. Rhett’s speech was wonderful and informative about the cattle business. He looked good on stage but you knew he was nervous. He made his way back to you, smiling slightly.

“Come dance with me, honey,” he spoke lowly.

“Let me go freshen up a bit,” you squeaked, rushing to the bathroom. Your nerves were getting the best of you. It was just a dance. A quick dance and you’d be heading home. Nothing more.

You made your way back to the ballroom, catching Rhett’s eyes and you trembled slightly at the heat that formed there. A slow song started just as you made your way to the dance floor.

His large hand engulfed yours as his other splayed on the low of your back. You could smell his cologne as he pulled you close to him. You felt a piece of paper in your right palm as Rhett swayed the two of you around.

“What’s that?”

“You can read it when we’re done dancin’,” Rhett drawled, looking down at you. Even with you in heels, his frame still towered over you.

The song ended too quickly for your liking and Rhett was called over to a table filled with older gentlemen, leaving you standing in the middle of the floor. The crumpled napkin had been left in your hand and you spread it out to read the note.

Meet me at the staircase by the piano - R

You gasped slightly and looked around, meeting Rhett’s eyes as he chatted with the group he was with. He was expressionless but there was a fire in his eyes again. One that made your body react and you tried not to squeeze your thighs together in front of everyone there. You made your way back to your table to drink the rest of your drink, a little liquid courage, before you made your way to the staircase.

You stood there for what felt like ages but in reality was only a few minutes. You bounced on your feet, nerves building every second that passed.

“Hey, you,” Rhett’s voice called from behind you, approaching you with his hands in his pockets.

“Hey,” you responded, feeling awkward.

Rhett pulled a key from his pocket. A hotel room key. Room 475 engraved in the key tag.

“You can say no. You can tell me to fuck off. You can quit-“

“Yes,” the answer came without a beat.

“Yeah?” His eyebrows raised slightly, a small smirk forming on his thin lips.

“You have no idea how bad I want you, Rhett,” you confessed, breathless.

Rhett let out a desperate noise as he reached for you and crashed his lips against yours in a bruising kiss, one hand cupping the back of your head. You moaned wantonly as his tongue expertly licked into your mouth. You should go upstairs, should stop before anyone sees you.

“Rhett, we should- we need to-“

“Yeah… Yeah.”

His hand linked with yours as he pulled you to the elevator, not wasting time pushing you inside and against the wall, the railing digging into your lower spine a bit uncomfortably. His lips reconnected with yours, a low grunt escaping his throat.

“So fucking beautiful,” he muttered, lips barely leaving yours. Hands explored your body, gripping at your soft hips and thighs, circling around to grab handfuls of your ass. The touch caused you to arch your body towards his, back bowing as he traveled higher and started palming your breast.

“I’ve thought about this - thought about you - for longer than I’d like to admit,” Rhett spoke, deep voice rattling in his chest. “Makes me feel like a dirty old man.”

You just whined pathetically, gripping at his lapels to anchor yourself. You were about to grind against the thigh that had pushed its way between your thighs but the high pitched ding of the elevator caused you to jump apart. Moving so fast, you would have thought you had been electrocuted.

A little old lady walked into the elevator, not missing the way you and Rhett looked disheveled. It was blatantly obvious what you were just doing. Rhett cracked a smile at her, nodding his head in her direction. Your chest was still heaving and your knees felt shaky.

She only went up two floors, a quick ride that felt like an eternity. Rhett’s pinky brushed against your hand where it rested on the rail, the small touch sending shocks through you.

“Have a nice evenin, ma’am,” Rhett said sickeningly sweet and you had to slap a hand over your mouth to stifle a laugh at the look she threw his way as she exited the lift.

Your stop was next and nerves bubbled in your stomach at what was about to happen.

Silence surrounded you and Rhett now as you walked to the room. Not a word was spoken as he unlocked the door and made his way inside. You stood in the middle of the room awkwardly, wringing your hands together as you looked toward the wooden floor.

Rhett tossed his jacket haphazardly onto the floor, approaching you slowly. Giving you the chance to run. It reminded you of a lion stalking a gazelle before it pounced. His calloused hands rubbed the length of your arms before his touch brushed the side of your neck, eventually cupping your face. A rough thumb caressed your cheekbone.

“Darlin’, look at me. Please,” Rhett spoke quietly, as if not to scare you. You continued to look down, which caused him to pinch your chin and lift your gaze to him. “Are you sure about this? We can- we don’t have to-“

“No. No, I want to. I have for a while. A long, long while.”

“Good,” he said, coming out an octave lower and his eyes landed on your red covered lips. His thumb ran across the pout of your bottom lip, tugging it down slightly. “I want to devour you.”

A shaky breath escaped you before you wrapped your lips around his thumb, sucking softly on the digit.

“Fuck,” he moaned.

You stood there for a moment, his thumb in your mouth and your eyes locked on each other. It made tensions rise tenfold. You pulled away with a ‘pop’, a trail of saliva following in its wake.

Impatience got the best of you as you started clawing at his tie and shirt buttons, nearly sending them flying through the room. Rhett chuckled at your huffy breaths of frustration as you yanked on his clothing. You threw the tie behind you, his shirt was shoved off his shoulder and into the chair next to the door. His belt made a loud clink as it hit the window.

“Easy, girl. Don’t destroy the room. Or my clothes,” Rhett teased, stopping your hasty movements. You finally took the chance to pause and look at the man standing before you. Hairy chest on full display. The dark hair traveled down in a continuous line all the way down to the waist of his pants. His soft stomach and love handles made your mouth water.

“You’re so- fuck, Rhett. You’re so sexy,” you said.

“My turn.” He untied the neck of your dress slowly, taking his time pulling the bow loose. He turned you so your back was to him, unzipping you unhurriedly. You let the dress fall to your feet as you turned to face him again, leaving you in your lingerie and high heels.

“My god. Look at you.” Rhett took in the sight of you. Black lace left little to the imagination.

Things moved in a blur after that. You nearly tripped over your own feet as you tried to remove the heels and he almost ripped your bra as he unclasped it with one hand. He tossed it aside and you tried not to giggle as it landed on the lampshade of the lamp that sat on the bedside table.

The edge of the bed knocked against the back of your knees as he pushed you softly so you landed on your back, bouncing on the mattress slightly. He stood between your spread thighs, undoing the button of his slack and pushing them down, revealing the tight black boxers he wore underneath.

You let out a quiet whine as your eyes traveled down his torso and stopping at the large bulge that was confined by the cotton. Even in the low lighting, you could see a small wet spot from the precum.

Large hands massaged your inner thighs as he spread them apart even farther, causing a slight burn in your muscles. He groaned at the sight of your barely clothed cunt. Rhett fell to his knees swiftly and delved into you without warning. Expert licks moved against your wetness through the thin lace, which had been quickly ripped away. His nose bumped against your bundle of nerves as his tongue explored your folds.

His long fingers soon joined his ministrations, finding that spongy spot inside of you in a matter of seconds. You’d question how he did that later. As of now, you tried to control your shaking limbs as he pushed you higher and higher towards your peak. Scratchy stubble rubbed against you, causing a delicious burn.

He stuck true to his word and devoured you, not leaving one part of you undiscovered.

Rhett’s lips wrapped around your clit and started sucking softly, tongue flicking against the bud. You trembled beneath him and your back bowed off the mattress, bucking against his mouth. A strong arm slung itself over your middle, keeping you pinned to the bed.

Your hands gripped his locks tightly, tugging hard when his tongue sped up.

“Rhett. Oh, Rhett. Fuck. Daddy!” It didn’t take much for your moans to become near screams and for galaxies to explode behind your eyelids as you came against Rhett’s face. Your body was jerking involuntarily as you traveled down from your high. Rhett placed feather light kisses against you before pulling away, hair sticking up in places and his face covered in your release.

He traveled up your body and kissed you soundly, the tangy taste of your desire mixing with something so Rhett made you both moan into each other’s mouths.

“Lay back, sweetheart. Gonna take care of you,” Rhett said quietly. You made yourself comfortable against the soft pillows as Rhett stretched you in preparation for his cock. “Damn pillow princess,” he joked. It made you smile.

He had three thick fingers inside of you before you stopped him.

“Stop! Please! I- I wanna come with you inside me,” you pleaded, gripping his wrist. He nodded and pulled his fingers out fleetingly.

You blindly shoved at his boxers and he clumsily kicked them off the end of the bed, his hard cock slapping against his lower stomach. Fuck, he was big.

Rhett pulled back and sat on his knees, gripping the base of his dick and placing it on your stomach.

“Look, baby. You think you can take me? Think you can handle daddy’s cock?”

“Please! Please, fuck me. Need it. Need you. Please!” You begged, lifting your hips and causing the leaking head to brush against your already sensitive clit. You simultaneously let out a loud moan. He rubbed himself through your folds, teasing you and him both.

“Wait, hold on.” Rhett pulled away and searched for his trousers, pulling his wallet out and rummaging through it. He pulled out a foil wrapper and ripped it with his teeth. You had never seen anything sexier.

“Can I do it?” You asked shyly, propping yourself up on your elbows. He handed the condom to you and kept eye contact as you rolled the latex down his length carefully. He was heavy in your hand.

You laid back once more, a trembling breath escaping your mouth as he lined up with your entrance. Even with his prepping, it was still a stretch. The slight burn caused you to hiss and dig your nails into his biceps. He took a break between each inch, time passing slowly as he made small thrusts. He eventually bottomed out, a broken moan coming from his chest as you squeezed around his length.

You stayed like that for a moment, both breathing heavily as his forearms caged you in.

“Daddy. Move. Please,” you whined, fingers moving tangle in the curls at the base of his neck. He slowly pulled out, nearly all the way, before thrusting back into you, the girth and length of him touching places you’d never been able to reach before. It started slow, he was allowing you to get accustomed to him.

However, it didn’t take long before his thrusts became a little rougher. His hands now were placed a the top of your head as he put his body weight into his movements, grunts escaping him with each pass, your high pitched breaths matching him.

“So tight. Taking me so well. Like you were fucking made for it. Made for me. All mine, all mine,” Rhett rambled. The headboard started to smack against the wall slightly as he pounded into you. You couldn’t breathe. You were approaching a feeling you had never felt before. Your brain was becoming fuzzy and your ears were beginning to ring.

“Da-daddy. M’gonna- I’m almost there,” you squealed as a particularly harsh thrust hit your g-spot.

“C’mon, sweet baby. Come for daddy,” his deft fingers started rubbing your swollen clit in tight circles and you let out a scream as your release washed over you. Rhett continued fucking into you until he pushed deep inside you and threw his head back towards the ceiling, filling the condom with his own release.

He collapsed on top of you, full body weight covering you like a blanket. You felt like were floating. Your hand absentmindedly rubbed against Rhett’s back, his skin covered in a light sheen of sweat. You stayed silent for a while, both trying to catch your breaths as you came down. He eventually pulled out of you slowly, causing you to wince. He discarded the condom and went to the bathroom to grab a warm washcloth and a glass of water.

You were quiet as he took care of you, smiling softly as he pulled you to sit up and take a few sips of water. You had never been cared for like this after sex. It made your chest constrict. You moved under the covers and waited for Rhett to follow suit. He immediately pressed his warm body against your own, pulling you tight to his chest.

“I can’t believe we just did that,” you said with a slight giggle.

“I can’t believe it took us this long,” Rhett retorted, fingers dancing along your spine.

You both laughed a little before it fell silent once again.

“Rhett?”

“Yeah, honey?”

“What does this make us?” You asked as you ran your fingers through the thick chest hair.

“Well… I think this means you’ll be sleeping in my bed when we get home. But don’t call HR on me.”

“You are HR, Rhett. Seriously, though. Are we like-“

“I want you to be my girl. I have spent the past several months falling in love with you. And I know it’s soon, but damn it, darlin’. You’ve stolen my heart,” Rhett confessed, his words causing your eyes to well with tears.

“Rhett… I- I love you, too.”

“The girls are going to be excited. They’ve been begging me to ask you to be my girlfriend since you moved in.”

“They’re trouble, I swear,” you laughed, snuggling closer to your man.

“They’re the reason I have all of this gray hair.”

“Yeah, but it’s hot. Very… very… very hot,” you responded, emphasizing the T. You giggled as he rolled over on top of you and started kissing against your neck playfully.

You kissed each other softly in the dark until you fell asleep holding each other tight. And when the sun rose in the morning, a new beginning would be awaiting you.

tagging those who may be interested:

@ryebecca @whisperofsong @floydsmuse @laracrofted @lewmagoo @withahappyrefrain @hangmanapologist @sebsxphia @bobfloydsbabe @callsign-magnolia @attapullman

[starlight-drive-in]

You Know What They Say About Pineapples

After Neve introduced them to him, Emmrich has a new favorite fruit - pineapple. However, he doesn't know too much about them yet, luckily for him the team is willing to share their knowledge over a tropical drink. Poor Rook nearly dies of embarrassment.

This drabble is based on these 3 lines of banter between Neve and Emmrich regarding pineapples, don't ask me how I got here.

2340 Words

Ao3 Link

There are some sexually charged glances and innuendo but no smut or anything. All in all this is quite silly but the thought would not leave me alone.

Takes place in the "still just flirting" stage of the relationship.

---

It had been a long, arduous day of trampling through Arlathan, unlocking ancient elven ruins by way of solving mammoth-sized elven brain teasers, and disposing of whatever adversaries were still brave - or in Rook’s opinion - foolish enough to try their luck with The Veilguard. 

A silly name, but Bellara had been so excited when she came up with the idea of a team moniker that no one had the heart to deny her. Rook had caught the others saying it on occasion and it was really starting to stick despite the initial thought of it feeling silly.

Rook now sat at the dining hall table with Bellara, a rough schematic of an elven artifact lay out on the table between them. Both of them trying to decipher what was wrong with the similar one they had found earlier today near The Shoreside Ruins.

“I still think its timing parameters are misprogrammed.” Rook theorized, leaning over the sketch. 

“It’s more than that, It’s like it's missing the timing component completely.” Bellara noted, biting the inside of her cheek, a habit Rook had learned was an indicator of immense concentration in her energetic friend. “But if that's the case then…” Bellara trailed off.

Rook knew from experience that now was a good time for her to give the elven researcher a moment. If the past was any indicator, a breakthrough was imminent. Perhaps even before dinner, if whatever Lucanis was working on in the corner was as complicated as it looked. Rook leaned back in her seat with a sigh, wincing as her abdomen reminded her she had fallen straight into that ledge earlier. 

“You really have to get better at hopping ledges, Rook.” Davrin jabbed playfully from the other side of the table, knife and woodblock in hand, “I think I’ve seen that look on your face every day since I met you.” 

“It’s cuz she doesn’t work out.” Taash added, studying a recently finished figurine of the resident woodcarver’s, “Horns were bigger.” They decided after a moment. 

“Does traipsing around the forest all day not count as a workout?” Rook countered. “Barely.” Taash responded. “You’re not engaging your upper body at all, which is why you can’t pull yourself up for shit.” 

“I’m a necromancer, not a trapeze artist.” Rook defended. 

“Emmrich doesn’t seem to have a problem. In fact, he’s in great shape if you haven’t noticed,” Davrin commented, throwing her a knowing glance, “but I’m sure you have.” 

Rook balked, was her increasing infatuation with the other necromancer that obvious? She was a generally flirty person, surely it wasnt that glaring that her harmless flirting was turning into more with Emmrich. Right?

Taash made a short, snorting sound that resembled laughter and Rook could feel the heat rising in her cheeks, at this point her best bet was hoping she could blame it on the heat from the fireplace. 

“I notic- I mean- I” Rook stuttered. 

Davrin chuckled as the door to the dining hall opened, revealing Neve, Harding and Emmrich, who were all carrying boxes from supply a run, in this case mostly varying bottles of liquors and other liquids, and dried goods, although the latter held a box containing something green and pointy. 

“And there he is.” Davrin muttered quietly enough to tease Rook, but not loud enough that the newcomers could hear. 

“Rook, got you that whisky you wanted from Minrathous, I put it on your tab.” Neve sauntered over to the table with the others, plunking down the bottle of amber liquor in front of Rook. 

Rook smiled, “Neve, you have impeccable timing.” she beamed.

“Don’t I always?” Neve grinned before heading into the kitchen with Lucanis, “But don’t uncork that right away, I’m making cocktails.” 

“Oh!” Rook said, surprised.

“And Emmrich, you got… what are those? Cactuses?” Darvin inquired. 

“Cacti” Rook corrected under her breath, earning her an exasperated look from her Grey Warden friend.

“I wish,” Harding chimed in, “They’re pineapples. Can you guys believe Emmrich had never had a pineapple before last week?” 

Taash’s eyes turned into two unbelieving orbs. “What? How?” 

“We don't have them in Nevarra.” Rook explained, but her eyes were on Emmrich as his face lit up, dark hazel eyes sparkling with excitement. Despite his age, he possessed a remarkable childlike wonder even about something as simple as a new fruit. 

“Oh Rook, They're delicious! Have you had the opportunity to try one?” He asked, taking the seat next to her, much to her delight. 

Rook smiled, how could she not? How were the others so impervious to his good-natured charm?

“I have! Varric had me try them when we got to Minrathous.” Her smile fell as she remembered that day, before all this. She shrugged off the feeling, it was hard to feel dark with Emmrich's unexpected brightness beside her. 

“And? Tell me, do you enjoy them?” He waited on her answer so eagerly, surely just to compare tastes from the same homeland. Yes, that was probably it. 

“I do!” She giggled. Was she really giggling? His presence alone made her feel giddy.

“Wonderful! Harding doesn't seem to like them; however, Neve says she can be made into a frosty drink that she thinks Harding would enjoy.” 

“I'll try my best!” Neve exclaimed from the coffee bar, which appeared to have a bottle of a different liquor on top of it as well as, what was that? Cream? 

“Then you shall not fail my dear Neve!” Emmrich encouraged. 

Rook’s eyebrow raised excitedly, “Oh that’s new! I haven't had them in a drink yet. Only the - what was it called? ‘Upside-down cake?” 

“What an interesting name.” Emmrich commented, steepling his fingers together as he leaned into the table to address Harding, “Tell me Harding, what is it you don’t like about the pineapples?” 

Harding shrugged, “I don't know, they’re just so… tingly?” 

In the background Rook could hear the distinct sound of ice magic as Neve worked on whatever this drink was. 

“Ice magic for making cocktails? Neve Gallus, you are a genius.” Rook called out to her, earning a wink. See? She was like this with everyone; it wasn't just Emmrich, she told herself.

Emmrich’s eyebrows knitted together as he considered Harding’s description, “Could you elaborate at all on that?” 

“I don't know, when I eat pineapple it’s almost like it tastes… spiky?” Harding attempted to explain as Neve sat down glasses containing a blended off-white drink that smelled of rum in front of each of them. 

“It’s because of the raphides,” Neve enlightened them. “Lucanis, come have a drink with us, the stove wont run away if you leave it for a moment.” she called as she rounded the table, placing one in front of Bellara, who took a sip without even bothering to glance up from her notes.

“If you insist.” Lucanis surrendered, joining the rest at the table. 

“Ah! raphides, that explains it.” Emmrich said decidedly. 

“The hells a raphid?” Taash said, taking a healthy gulp of the new drink. “Fuck thats good.” 

“Some plants contain small needle-shaped crystals, as a natural defense mechanism.” Emmrich began explaining with his customary, hand waving enthusiasm, as Davrin took half of a sip. 

Emmrich continued, “While harmless in small amounts, overconsumption can cause immediate numbing followed shortly by painful stinging and burning to the mouth and throat that can last up to two weeks! I had no idea that they were in pineapple, but that does explain the sensation Harding is describing.”

Davrin lowered his glass, “On second thought, maybe I’ll pass. Thanks Neve.” 

“Afraid of a plant?” Lucanis teased, his glass already half empty, “Why am I not surprised?”

Davrin rolled his eyes as Harding timidly sampled Neve’s offering. “Oh- oh wow. Okay, That's. Really good.” 

“See how excited she is? This is how I knew she was lying about the coffee.” Lucanis chuckled. 

Emmrich sipped carefully at the beverage, “Oh Neve! That's delightful!” He exclaimed. “I am so glad I've gotten to discover such a fruit.” 

Rook began to imbibe her own drink, pulling sweet, cold rum and pineapple taste into her mouth. Her eyes met Emmrich’s through her lashes in an inopportune moment, while her lips were still wrapped dutifully around the straw. She quickly glanced away but it was too late. 

Emmrich’s mouth parted as he gazed a bit too long at Rook, pale cheeks taking on a pink hue that surely was not from the alcohol. 

“Mmf, That's so good.” Rook hummed. Dribbling a bit of the drink onto her lower lip. She swiped it away with her thumb, then popped it into her mouth to suck the drop of sweet liquid from it. Only then noticing that Emmrich was still watching her. 

Rook shifted in her seat, suddenly hot and uncomfortable. In doing so her knee tapped against Emmrich’s. 

“Sorry.” She whispered. As the others praised Neve’s drink making abilities. 

“Quite alright, My Dear.” Emmrich reassured her, his hand twitched a small increment towards her where it lay on his thigh but remained where it was. 

How long had it been since she felt such a desire to simply hold someone's hand? Certainly since before she finished Mourn Watch training. 

Rook took another pull of her drink to try to wash away the awkwardness of the moment. 

“Yea pineapples are pretty damn good,” Taash announced before dropping into a low octave,  “They're also good for uh, other things” they said in a low voice into Harding's ear while tucking back a loose strand of her hair. 

Harding giggled in response, “Taash” she admonished under her breath.

“Really?” Emmrich brightened, suddenly back to the topic at hand. “Like what?” 

Rook suddenly recalled other details of the night she had first tried pineapple. Varric and her were in a decently packed restaurant, Harding had gone out for some air and a woman at a neighboring table had leaned in close, obviously drunk. 

“Feed your old man there some of that and he’ll be feeling ready to go before you get home, plus he'll taste better, if you catch my meaning.” She had said. 

Rook had recoiled, unsure of what the woman had meant at the time, but not liking the implications. Varric was a good friend, and he was a good looking man but she didn't see him like that. Later she had looked it up in a library. Turned out pineapples had a reputation of having several sexual health benefits. 

Now - catching Taash’s meaning exactly - she choked unceremoniously on her drink. Coughing as Davrin chuckled, and Taash gave her a knowing look. Her friends were pure evil. 

“Rook looks like she knows.” Taash smiled. 

“Rook, I seem to be missing something. Would you kindly enlighten me?” Emmrich asked her so innocently. If he wasn't twenty-something years her senior she'd fear corrupting his purity. 

“It’s just an old wive’s tale.” Rook muttered. 

“I should still like to know, you are all making me more curious.” he insisted. 

The others snickered. 

“Oh Emmrich,” Rook lamented. She had to save him, let him in on the joke. 

She beckoned him with her finger hastily, “Come here,” she said in a low voice. He inclined his ear toward her and she leaned in to meet him, his floral earthy smell invading her scenes. She resisted the urge to inhale more deeply, to bury her face in his neck and breathe deep. 

“There’s… evidence that pineapple promotes.” She attempted, “That they’re good for, uh. Blood flow. That sort of thing”

“Oh that's marvelous! Perhaps I should add it to my diet then.” he pondered excitedly. 

They all stared at him, Rook included. Was she not clear enough? She couldn't exactly bring herself to tell him it was specifically sexual health the fruit was known for. 

Emmrich leaned back, folding his leg over his opposite knee and took another long sip of his cocktail, “Although, I will have you all know. I have no problems with blood flow. Thank you very much.” 

“Damn. Alright.” Taash commented. 

“Good news Rook.” Davrin smirked. 

“You’re both horrible.” Neve said flatly. 

“I don't get it,” Lucanis deadpanned, heading back into the kitchen unbothered. 

“I got it!” Bellara exclaimed, finally looking up from her notes and schematics. “Oh! Hey everyone!” 

—

Later, after dinner and another cocktail, or was it two? Rook and Emmrich sat alone at the table catching one another up on their days. Rook was glad he had a chance to visit the Minrathous markets and Emmrich was interested in taking a look at the artifact her and Bellara had discovered himself. 

Rook fidgeted with the straw in her now empty glass. 

“Emmrich, about before, with the whole pineapple thing?” 

He cocked an eyebrow, urging her to continue. 

“I should have explained better.” 

“Oh, Darling, don't even think of apologizing. I've been a teacher long enough to know when I'm being taken for a fool. I find the best way to move past it is just to act unaffected. Trust me, it wasn't the first time I've been laughed at for not being ‘in-the-know’ on some innuendo or otherwise.”

Rook laughed, Of course he was a professional at handling embarrassment, she wished she could say the same.

“Luckily I caught on quickly enough to play along. Although…” he paused, looking at her more attentively now. “... Now that it's just the two of us, I wouldn't mind if you’d expound?” 

She looked away nervously, “Well besides the whole blood flow for sexual health thing. They make you … taste good apparently.” She mumbled. 

“As in your mouth?” He asked. 

“No, as in… your.” She motioned to her crotch with as much dignity as she could muster. 

“Oh!” He gasped, then “oh.” Softer this time. “I shall bear that in mind then.” He concluded, smirking at her. 

In reply, Rook popped a small slice of the offending fruit into her mouth and raised her brow. A challenge to be cashed in later, should this go any further. 

For now, she was happy to be here drunk on him, and rum… and pineapple. 

[imagine-darksiders]

Okay, so, sad girl hours right now.

Y/N has been a lot quieter than usual, and when asked “what’s wrong?” they immediately break down crying because they were having a shit day where EVERYTHING was going wrong, but didn’t want to bother anyone with their stupid human problems (there’s far greater things to worry about in the heat of the apocalypse), so they kept it bottled up only for that one simple question to shatter the dam holding them together. The four horsemen + my comfort giant ™ Ulthane.

Also if you’re having a bad day like me: one bad day doesn’t equal a bad life. You’ve made it this far; surely you can make it to wherever you want to go next! You are loved and you are valid. Don’t give up just yet. ❤️

Hey, I'm really sorry, I know you requested the Horsemen too but I got way too carried away with Ulthane, and wrote an 8000 word response to this ask lmao, and by then I thought it might be getting too long.

Content warning: This gets quite existential. Allusions to suicidal thoughts, talks about death and the inevitability of death. Depression. The end of the world. The Apocalypse, nihilism. Crying, smoking, cigarettes, emotional outbursts. Ulthane is trying his best to raise this tree full of sad, unpredictable kids.

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

This was always bound to happen…

Ulthane’s chest swells and sags in the wake of a mammoth sigh, like a wave kissing the shoreline before it retreats back into the tumultuous sea.

A tall, arched hollow carved out of the trunk of the Maker Tree allows him a limited glimpse of the city beyond this inner sanctum. Through the fragmented shadows of a thousand, whispering leaves, the night sky peeks back in at him, a vast, endless beast of shimmering obsidian, crushed velvet strewn above the Earth.

It’s dark out there, immeasurably so without the lights and sounds of a population that had once been two million strong.

He would have liked to have seen it….

From his usual post at the anvil nestled deep inside the cavity of the great tree, Ulthane’s gaze calmly trails after a tiny, tiptoeing shape that hugs the wooden walls, a dark silhouette creeping through the hollow and out onto the plateau overlooking Haven City.

Again, the brawny maker exhales a long, gentle breath as he lowers his hammer to the anvil and drapes a burly forearm across the cool, flat surface, ears tipped towards the ground in unhappy contemplation.

He recognises the silhouette.

It can only be one human.

You. Your stature, your gait. Not to mention that this is the third time in as many days that he’s spotted you leaving the safety of the sleeping nook to venture outside and into the wild, chilly night.

The first time, he’d merely turned you right back around at the entrance, giving you a gentle nudge with his fingertips and a disgruntled reprimand about not leaving the tree after dark… Or at all for that matter.

Your face was tilted down then - he assumed in embarrassment – as you slumped your way back up to the nook, never letting him catch a glimpse of your expression, and never speaking a word to the huge, hovering maker.

That alone had stirred a modicum of unrest in the back of his mind.

Typically, he’d had very little trouble getting a conversation out of you. But that night, he brushed your unusual silence aside, chalking it up to fatigue, or perhaps that strange habit some humans have of walking around in their sleep.

They even have a sleepwalker in their midst… Damn near gave Ulthane a heart attack when he turned around one night to find the little blighter standing motionlessly just behind his boots, their mouth slightly ajar and their eyes lidded full of sleep, staring past him at nothing.

The phenomenon is yet another curious facet of human biology he wishes he could share with an old friend of his.

Alas…

Ulthane had elected to keep a closer eye on you during the nights, even warned Elanya and Yarin that they might have another walking sleeper on their hands.

He’d hoped, perhaps naively, that it might have just been a one-time occurrence.

His hopes were dashed when it happened again.

Ulthane had never had his own younglings. Never really gave it much thought beyond his brother’s teasing.

‘You sure you don’t plan on havin’ yer own?’ Thane guffawed unhelpfully as he watched his disgruntled brother fish a tiny, spluttering Karn out of the aqueduct that runs adjacent to Muria’s garden. ‘You’d make a good sire.’

‘Not until you have some first,’ Ulthane groused back as a way to escape answering, settling the boy on his knee with a fist clenched around his overall straps, like scruffing a pup. Ulthane had made a mental note then and there to teach Karn how to swim the very next morning. Preferably in the Fjord, and not in their sacred waterways.

Helping Eideard raise Alya and Valus was preoccupying enough, and then Karn was born a few centuries after the twins hit their adolescence. The boy lost his dam, and thus it fell to the other makers in Tri Stone to keep their littlest tyke out of danger as best they could.

In hindsight, Ulthane is grateful that he had any experience with younglings at all, because sometimes, taking care of a tree-full of humans feels a bit like wrangling toddlers who won’t do as they’re damn well told. Oh, they used to, back when they first met the giant and were utterly petrified of him. He didn’t like that much, but at least when they feared repercussions, they actually listened if he told them not to go outside, not to talk to the demon lurking on the plateau, not to climb the upper branches, not to drink the rubbing alcohol, not to sleep in their bedrolls with their boots on, and…

Ulthane wrinkles his nose and groans as he scrubs a rough hand down his face. Stone be damned, maybe he would have made a good sire after all.

The second night, you’d managed to slip past the vigilant maker without detection. He only realised something was amiss when, from the corner of an eye, he’d caught a tiny, orange glow blooming to life in the pitch-black dark beyond the hollow.

Immediately alert, he’d lifted his head from his work at the anvil to look properly, and found his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him. There was a soft glow, small and round hovering in the darkness outside, several feet above the ground.

He squinted at it, watched it flare brightly for a moment before it receded to a softer burn once more.

….

“I’m just having a smoke,” you’d uttered tonelessly as he tromped through the hollow to find you leaning on the wooden ridge that separates you from a nasty, two-hundred-foot plummet to the city square below.

You didn’t turn around as you spoke. You didn’t need to. You could have heard the giant coming from a mile away.

Stealth isn’t something makers usually bother with…

Ulthane almost thought he should be angry. You’re a smart human. You should have known better than to leave the safety of the tree. But all he found when he loomed close enough to actually peer down and sideways at your face was something that took his great, thumping heart in a fist and wrung it dry.

Sad… is too gentle a word for it.

What he saw in your face at that moment, peering out over the city, shrouded by night’s enigmatic hue, was far more alarming to the burly maker than he’d ever admit to you aloud.

Oh, there was sadness there, certainly. But it was also so much worse than that.

With humans, it’s all in the eyes, he’s found. Humans have such astoundingly expressive eyes.

Dark pupils that expand and contract. Sclera that turns red from fatigue or anguish. Lashes that glisten like jewels when tears escape the confines of their eyelids.

Ulthane might be reduced to a soft-hearted fool whenever one of his – the - humans cries, yet he can’t stop himself from finding the act ethereally beautiful, in a way.

Tears are rare in other species, even among the younglings. In his own village, the river that brings them water is referred to colloquially as the Tears of the Mountain, a name steeped in reverence, life-bringing water.

There were tears on your lashes that night, he recalls.

They sparkled in the gentle glow cast by a thin, white stick that dangled loosely between your parted lips.

As the maker stared down at you, trying to decide whether he should be relieved you hadn’t ventured any further than that, or livid that you were out there at all, you raised your hand to your mouth and held the stick steady between two fingers, drawing in a slow, uneven breath. Ulthane watched on, captivated by the end of the stick burning even hotter in the deep, blue twilight.

Plucking it from your mouth entirely, you’d exhaled, and he was even more amazed to see you breathing out smoke, like dragon-fire. Ulthane could do little else but gawk down at the elegant cloud of white as it billowed through your lips and drifted up towards the sky. It’d been a long time since he’d seen a dragon… Looking at you then, he couldn’t shake the image of a poor, lonely beast gazing forlornly over a home it would never get back.

Ulthane had seen such looks before, on the faces of his fellow makers when their home fell prey to Corruption. The foul plague drove them further into the outer reaches of their own realm, trapping and isolating them, stealing their bodies and using their own people as puppets against the survivors.

One by one, the makers fell, those who were brave or foolish enough to try and fight back.

He’d watched the younglings lose their hope, their wonder at an infinite Universe. With each maker felled by the vile darkness spreading its tendrils across their land, the resolve of those that were left started to waver.

There was a pattern, Ulthane noticed, in those who were closest to death. They stopped being scared. They stopped being outraged and desperate to save their homes and themselves. Resignation became an entirely new plague, killing off the once bustling village of Tri Stone until only he and a few others remained. Apathy grew like a tumorous thing, deadening the eyes of all but the stoutest hearts and minds.

That’s what you looked like, he’d realised with the lurching, ominous chill of dread creeping up his stomach walls.

Resigned.

Hardly alive, just existing. Existing until the inevitable, as if you were already hand in hand with Death just waiting for the nod.

This was always bound to happen…

“Thought I told you to stop sneakin’ out here,” he’d eventually rumbled, his tone gruff and guarded, but his intentions couldn’t be softer.

You didn’t react to the maker’s words, merely continued to gaze out at the skyscrapers reaching up towards the stars. “Didn’t want to smoke inside,” you said quietly, “The others shouldn’t have to breathe this shit.”

All that did was set alarm bells blaring in Ulthane’s skull.

Pale, blue eyes turned to glare sharply at the innocuous stick poking through your teeth.

“And, er… Should you be breathin’ it?” His loaded question held a merit of danger to it, like the hammer of a gun, cocked and ready to fall at a moment’s notice if he doesn’t hear what he wants to.

Which made it all the more surprising that you didn’t immediately try to ease the maker’s nerves as you usually would. Instead, you raised your shoulders in a lazy shrug and hummed, “Either the demons kill me, or this cig will. Doesn’t really matter at this point, does it? Who gives a shit?”

Another odd, human colloquialism, but he got the gist.

Ulthane still isn’t particularly proud of what he did then.

Maybe it was the blasé reference to your own mortality or the blunt ultimatum, or even the suggestion that your life isn’t cared about. Something struck a nerve, and Ulthane wasted no time in reaching down and using the very tips of his thumb and forefinger to pinch the burning end of the ‘cig’ and pluck it out from between your teeth, unaffected by the tiny fire singing his calloused skin.

And then came the most egregious act.

He tossed it, flicked the tiny thing from his fingers and sent it sailing over the wooden ledge where it fell, down, down and further down until its glowing ember disappeared in the darkness dozens of feet below, extinguished by the rush of wind hitting its stub.

Ulthane fully expected some sort of retaliation. He even hoped for it. Anger, indignation, frustration. Hell, he half wanted you to round on him, all fire and brimstone and spewing venom, demanding that he go down there and retrieve your stolen treasure.

Anything. Anything at all that would have returned a little life to your lustreless eyes.

What he got instead was a deathly-quiet voice that cracked at the end of its sentence. “That was the only one I had left…”

Ulthane thought it might have hurt less if Yarin slugged him in the gut.

Looking back on it now, as he stands at his anvil watching you traipse aimlessly into the dark for the third time, Ulthane finds he can hardly blame you for resenting him.

You and the other humans… You don’t have much left anymore. And what little you do have is cherished with fierce devotion. Even the most mundane things. He can still recall the ghoulish howl one of the women emitted after her bracelet’s string snapped, spilling colourful beads across the floor of the tree, her desperation as she clawed after them, wailing. You were among the first to drop down and search with her. “We’ll get them all back, Sam,” you soothed as she clutched the broken elastic to her breast with one hand, knuckles bone-white, “We’ll find them, it’s alright. You’ll be alright.”

It was never just a bracelet.

And that tiny, little stick you called a ‘cig’ probably meant more to you than the old maker could ever comprehend.

A low, resonant hum starts up deep in the base of Ulthane’s throat as he tracks your silhouette across the hollow until you vanish out onto the gloomy plateau. Perhaps he should leave you be tonight…

With a grunt, the maker focuses back on the little talisman sitting on his anvil – a gift for the Horsman, whose efforts to recover more survivors from the crumbling city haven’t gone unnoticed.

Readjusting his grip on the hammer, he taps it half-heartedly on the metal casing, ears pinned back as he tries to quell the nagging thoughts scurrying about in his skull.

Suppose you fell off the plateau… Suppose you were spotted by a dusk-wing flying by overhead…

Ulthane manages to restrain himself for all of five minutes before he frustratedly tosses his hammer down onto the anvil’s surface with a resounding ‘clang,’ and shoves himself away from the workstation, stomping off towards the tree’s hollow, his brother’s laughter ringing in his ears.

In his haste not to hurry, he fails miserably, and at last comes bursting out onto the wooden plateau, eyes zeroing in on the small shape ahead of him.

It’s more of a relief than he’ll ever admit to find you leaning on the ridge, just as you had the previous two instances, arms draped across the top, shoulders hunched, your head ducked into the collar of a light, grey jacket.

Holding a breath in his lungs until he’s confident he can let it go quietly, Ulthane draws closer.

As he does, a sudden white cloud billows from your mouth, and the maker almost thinks you’ve managed to scrounge up another of those ‘cigs.’ But when he comes to a slow, heavy halt beside you and glances down, he can’t spot anything of its likeness hanging between your lips.

Belatedly, he finally realises what’s wrong.

It’s cold out here. At least it must be for a human with parchment-thin skin.

You barely acknowledge his presence as he reaches for the blue, well-worn cowl wrapped around his neck. Ulthane makes sure to grumble aloud as he pulls it over his head. “Hmph…catch yer damn death…” he mutters grumpily, pretending that the mere act of draping it over your shoulders and using the pads of his fingers to wrap swathes of warm fabric around you is a terrible inconvenience. He also tries hard not to fixate on the way his cowl spills down your back to pool at your feet.

Maker’s bones… You’re so tiny.

Sluggishly, you roll your head sideways to peer at the makeshift blanket, giving Ulthane a proper glimpse of your flat, unreadable expression lit by the luminous moon hanging overhead in a star-spattered sky.

Something ancient and primitive inside him is immensely pleased when you don’t reject the offer of warmth. It settles him, leaves his restless soul satisfied, though only by a small margin. You’re still out of the safe confines of the tree, in the dark, after all.

Everything else about the maker’s nature still urges him to get you out of the open.

But Ulthane has been around long enough to recognise a pattern when he sees it.

This is the third time he’s found you out here, alone.

Twice was a coincidence. But three times?

Deliberate.

He needs to get to the bottom of this now.

“You’ve been quiet lately,” he mutters, withdrawing his hands but lowering his hefty bulk onto one knee to be closer to your height. It’s only after he says it out loud that he realises, he’s right. You have been quiet lately. Moreso than usual.

For several, long moments, you remain inert, blankly staring down at the fabric cocoon you’ve found yourself in. “Have I?” you ask in a whisper, brows twitching as if they want to furrow but can’t muster up the energy to.

Humming pensively, the maker raises his head, keeping you in the corner of his watchful eye. “Been missin’ you at the anvil…” he admits, shrugging a massive shoulder to try and retain a modicum of indifference. If you only knew how much he looks forward to your company, he’d never be able to look you in the eye.

“In fact,” he adds, adjusting his weight, “Only time I seem to catch you nowadays s’when I find you out here. Where you aren’t s’posed to be.”

There might have once been a time when merely adding a stern inflection to his voice would send you cowering away from him. Some of the humans who are newer to the tree still do it. But you, over time, had stopped, realising that Ulthane was as likely to hurt you as he was to fly to the moon.

But it wasn’t often that he had to add those inflections. And if ever he did, it was usually because you or one of the others was doing something you really shouldn’t have been doing. Even then, you may not have cowered, but you’d certainly have the decency to look admonished, apologetic even. You’d offer the maker a quick, sheepish smile that worked wonders to appease him and earned him hours of teasing from Elanya and Yarin.

Now, however, he gets nothing. Not a flinch, nor a quibble. No sheepish yet disarming smile that puts a youthful quiver back into his heart. What he gets instead is a weary sigh, followed by a decidedly bitter, “Maybe I just want to be left alone, huh?”

A disconcerting pang hits him right in the pit of his stomach… Something is definitely wrong.

Perhaps it’s narcissistic of him to presume, but that one, barbed request from you is enough to set off a needling voice at the back of his mind, one that callously plants the seed that all of this - your behaviour, your apathy, your twilight excursions – somehow, it’s all his fault. Casting his brain about, he tries to think of something in particular he’d done that would cause you to seek distance from him, all the while pretending it doesn’t bother him nearly as much as it does. Aside from tossing your last ‘cig,’ he doesn’t land on anything that sticks out. But you’d fallen quiet and withdrawn long before that incident occurred.

Then again, he is still trying to wrap his head around all the complexities of the human social structure… As he considers it, he realises with a sinking feeling that it’s highly likely he’s committed some sort of faux-pas and never even noticed…

Shit.

Scrubbing a hand over the back of his neck, he untucks his braid from the confines of his tunic and exhales roughly, nostrils flared in agitation.

“Look…” he sighs, roving his gaze out to look at the silhouettes of a dozen, towering skyscrapers, “M’not… V’e always been more for brawn than brain, mm?” Pausing, he raps at his skull with a solid knuckle. “So… If I… said somethin’ I shouldn’t have… and it… changed the way you see me-…”

Again, his voice trails off, and he returns his eyes to you, finding you tilting your face up towards him with the tiniest crease sitting between your eyebrows.

Are you angry at him? Confused?

It’s so hard to tell sometimes. A human’s face can tell a thousand little stories with one twitch of the muscles, fluid in a way makers and other species could never hope to be.

Ulthane’s chest gives a rumble, like something massive and subterranean passing far beneath the Earth’s crust. He truly hopes you aren’t angry at him.

“Just…” A pair of immense shoulders sag dejectedly as the maker squeezes his eyes shut, bracing himself before he pries them open again, peering down at you from underneath his crumpled brow. “Just tell me what I said,” he finally croaks, “And I’ll never say it again.” He never intended for it to sound so much like a wounded plea, wants to weld his mouth shut when his voice breaks unexpectedly.

Son of a bitch. These humans must be starting to rub off on him.

Deafening silence chases the end of his sentence, and for a time, he’s stuck observing your face fall gradually from a nearly imperceptible frown to a solemn, sympathetic wince.

“Ulthane… It… Hhh.” A rush of air bursts out of your parted lips, harder than a sigh. You’ve been doing that a lot lately, he realises. Dragging your eyes over towards the distant city, you gaze out at it for a second before returning them to the underside of Ulthane’s chin, your lips tilted down at the ground. “Listen. I’m not trying to be a dick, a-and I mean this in the best possible way… but it isn’t about you, I promise… You haven’t done anything wrong.” It’s the firmest voice you’ve used yet.

Glancing down, you blink miserably at the toes of your shoes poking out from under his oversized cowl. “I’m sorry,” you add, this time in a far gentler, wobbly lilt, “I’m sorry I told you I wanted to be left alone. It isn’t your fault.”

Oh… that’s… actually a lot more relieving than he’d care to admit out loud.

The speck of lightness that lifts his chest doesn’t last for long, however.

There still begs another question, one he’s hardly qualified to be asking… If your issue isn’t with something he’s said or done… then…

The notion suddenly occurs to him that you might be getting grief from someone else. One of your fellow humans, perhaps?

Before he can wrestle it down, a hot burst of protective indignation flares up in his chest. He’d have noticed, surely. Wouldn’t he? He’d know if one of his charges was being upset by someone while under his roof… Right?

Griping unhappily, Ulthane reminds himself that he’s nothing if not a persistent old bastard. And when he’d made his quiet, private oath to protect what remains of a species he inadvertently helped to eradicate, he didn’t just pledge his protection to their physical wellbeing.

The tremendous breath he exhales through his nostrils is strong enough to disturb the hairs on top of your head, a fleeting reminder of how even the smallest gesture from a man his size can affect you in some way…

“Right then,” he rumbles with a deliberate edge to his tone that sets your shoulders tensing under the soft weight of his cowl, “But there is somethin’ botherin’ you, aye?”

He sees you stiffen, watches the flicker of something raw and frantic pass over your dainty face. Then, he sees that mask of apathy fall back into place, hiding yourself away from him once more.

“Nothing’s bothering me, really,” you deflect, shrugging one shoulder as nonchalance might throw him off the scent.

Ulthane’s bushy eyebrows dip at the centre of his forehead. ‘Not having that...’

The sound of creaking leather and clanking metal fills the air as Ulthane adjusts himself onto two knees at your side, resting back on his hindquarters.

You actively jump at the sensation of a colossal palm cupping around your back, almost leaping away entirely before you realise what it is and force yourself to go still again, allowing the maker behind you to push warmth and sincerity into your windchilled bones.

As he covers your fragile spine with his hand, Ulthane’s instincts lay their rearing heads back down, appeased to have a physical wall of muscle and flesh standing between you and the outside world.

“Reckon I’d know if somethin’ was wrong with my favourite human,” he says, only half-joking, regarding you closely to gauge your reaction.

“Favourite?” you scoff wetly, “Now you’re just trying to butter me up.”

Giving a chuckle, he replies, “Maybe…” A heavy pause, then… “S’it workin’?”

Instead of a response, you suck down a lungful of cold air, letting it all go again in a slow, shaky breath. “You should go inside, Big Guy,” you whisper, turning to lean your weight against the wooden ridge again, “I’ll be fine in a minute. Just need a little more fresh air.”

Would it be hypocritical of him to call you a liar?

Shifting his weight, he hums - a tectonic, mellow sound coming from deep in the cavern of his chest. “Nah,” he decides quietly, “Reckon I’d rather stay out here with you till you tell me what’s wrong…”

He doesn’t say anything else. Doesn’t feel he needs to.

“Oh…” Your breath hitches. Already, you’ve started to tremble beneath his palm, and he’s fairly confident you can’t accredit it to the cold.

Persistent as he is, the Old One is also a patient maker. And while he doesn’t especially like the idea of letting you stay out here all night, if it gets him to the bottom of this silent state of mind you’re in, then it’s a bullet he’s happy to bite. Besides, he’s quick to remind himself that he’s here with you.

The other humans are safe inside, carefully watched over by the ever-attentive Yarin and a devoted Elanya. The pair have taken to guarding the upper nook where their charges slumber at night.

Which leaves Ulthane free to guard this wayward soul. He’s glad to. Outwardly, he wouldn’t usually even allude to keeping favourites. After all, it’s a badly kept secret that he has a soft spot for all the humans he’s brought here, even the elusive and ungovernable Jones who leaves the tree so frequently, Ulthane is convinced the man is trying to send him to an early grave.

But you… The soft spot he has for you is especially tender.

There in the darkness, he waits, silent and still, an unmoving sentry at your back.

Minutes pass, and only the hushed whispering of ten million leaves breaks the spell of quiet settled around you.

And then, an entirely different sound disturbs the peace. One that’s much closer to home.

That first wet, convulsing sob tugs the maker’s ears down a fraction, but he lets out a sigh, giving your back the gentlest of pats, encouraging another bleat of misery to jump out of you before you can stuff it back down your throat.

There you go…

Once the first few cries are shaken are loose, there’s no damming the flow.

Hands fly up to crush against your mouth as you lurch forwards into another sob, burying your face inside the relative privacy of your palms.

Before Ulthane can adjust his hand to catch you, your legs promptly buckle and give way under you, sending you crashing to your knees in front of the ridge and collapsing against it, turning sideways away from him, shoulder pressed to the wood.

All the while, his hand remains adhered to you.

Your back jumps up and down beneath his palm, broken sounds squeak out through the miniscule gaps between your fingers, and a confusing jumble of guilt and relief mingles together in the maker’s chest.

Crying isn’t something exclusive to humans, but they’re by far the most prone to it.

Ulthane tries not to dwell on the fact that he’s pushed you to this, like some, tenacious bully. His old soul yearns to extinguish any source of distress you might face. You’ve had enough anguish to last you a lifetime, after all. But the guilt he feels is buried well beneath a much more potent relief.

This had to happen.

‘This is good,’ he tells himself staunchly, trying in vain to steel his ancient heart against your soul-crushing cries, ‘This is better than the emotionless vacuum you were floating in before.’

Your body jerks viciously with each, strangled sob, teeth pressed against the skin of your palms to muffle each sound you emit.

You’re trying your best to be quiet. Subdued and secretive in your unravelling.

He knows he’s the one who wanted this to happen, but that doesn’t make it any less jarring to see you cry.

A century ago, if anyone were to ask Ulthane if he’d describe himself as a comforting maker, he’d have laughed himself hoarse. A bruiser like him? Comforting? He supposes it’s still laughable today.

Sometimes, he catches himself wishing he knew where Azrael had disappeared off to after the seals were broken. The angel would know what to say to you, no doubt. Daft bird is even more of a sap than Ulthane where humans are concerned, and ferociously intelligent to boot, even among Heaven’s scribes and scholars.

Why the White City’s brightest mage had decided that Ulthane was a maker to befriend, is a mystery that would have any sage scratching their heads and offering a helpless shrug.

‘Still,’ he muses, frowning gently down at the human quivering beneath his fingers, ‘You haven’t pulled away entirely yet.’

So perhaps, despite all of his clumsy, heavy-handedness, he might not be doing as terribly as he thinks he is…

Absently, Ulthane smooths his calloused thumb up and down your back, hyper-aware of the notches in your delicate spine. He’s glad he opted not to don his thick, leather gloves this evening. He feels gentler without them…

The cowl, however, has begun to slip off your shoulders, dislodged a little further with every breath you choke on.

Just as Ulthane withdraws his hand from your back and pinches the fabric to readjust it, his ears register a broken whisper drifting through the air.

“It’s all gone, Ulthane,” you squeeze out at last, hands cupped pitiably over your mouth so you can drag in a shuddering breath, “Everything’s gone. God – fuck!”

All at once, the cowl slips from his fingers and falls around you once more as the maker goes very still, his gigantic hand hovering stiffly above you. Slowly, a pair of pointed ears pin themselves against the sides of his skull, and a cold splash of realisation douses his chest in ice.

If he weren’t worried about startling you, he’d smack a palm over his forehead as comprehension ploughs into him like a runaway stone rolling down a hillside.

Of course…

How could he be so blind? Oh, he’s such a fool!

The most obvious reason is literally sitting in plain sight all around him, yet somehow, he didn’t see the woods for the bloody great tree slapped bang in the centre. He assumed your troubles were smaller, simpler. It feels like an insult to you, deducing that your despair was due to something so trivial as an untoward comment.

Hanging his head, Ulthane’s face twists up in shame.

Trembling like the leaves overhead, you clutch desperately to your own shoulders, fingertips bunching into the blue fabric draped over them. “What the Hell are we even doing?” you blurt out, ripping your hands away from your face and wringing them in front of you, “The world just fucking ended! It’s over, a-and we’re just sitting up here like… like fucking rats in a sinking ship!”

By now, you’re almost shouting, losing control of your own voice without any residual strength left to keep the emotions you’ve buried so deep from rising to the surface and bursting like pustules on your tongue.

It must hurt you to bare yourself like this, it is hurting you. The sudden change in your demeanour freezes Ulthane solid for a few, uncertain seconds, though he doesn’t stay motionless for long.

When you rush to swallow another breath, he stretches out an arm and envelopes you in his hand once more as if the weight of it might keep you from springing to your feet and fleeing at the slightest provocation.

You buckle under the appendage, leaning forwards to gulp in another lungful of air that collapses into a heart-wrenching sob. “I-I just-!” But you stuff your lips together to trap the rest of the words.

Ulthane latches onto your reluctance with a discontented hum. “Come on now,” he utters, wrapping large but cautious fingertips around your shoulder and trying to coax you into turning to face him, “Won’t do you no good keepin’ it all in now, eh?”

Your only response is to give your head a rapid shake, digging your fingernails into the cowl as you resist the giant’s gentle tugging. “I can’t,” you croak, voice hoarse.

“Yes,” the maker argues, “You can.”

It’s so matter of fact, you almost believe him.

For several, unpleasant moments, your breath continues to catch in your chest as your shoulders hitch up and down, and still you refuse to turn around and face the giant looming behind you.

Then all at once, like a flipped switch, the tension in your body disappears and you deflate like a ruptured lung, sagging in on yourself so abruptly, Ulthane jerks forwards, assuming you’ve passed out on him.

Before he can scoop you into his hand however, you shift, using your shoulder to shove away from the ridge and arduously manoeuvring yourself around until you’re leaning back against the solid wood. Reluctantly, Ulthane allows his hand to slide off your spine and it flops dejectedly into his lap.

You still won’t meet his gaze.

At least he can see your face though.

He always thought he had a heart of steel before he came to Earth, even liked to think that millennia of experience and trials would have left him immoveable and stoic like the maker heroes in Eideard’s stories.

It’s remarkably humbling to gaze down into the face of a human and realise he doesn’t know himself nearly as well as he likes to think he does. Because one glimpse of the wetness shining off your cheeks and the rivulets cutting glistening tracks down to your chin has Ulthane Blackhammer fighting back the urge to press a hand over his lurching heart.

He draws back a little with a soft intake of breath, gathering his thoughts before he presses his lips together into a resolute frown and leans towards you once more, his monstrous fingers shuddering with the effort of moving slowly and carefully enough to brush the pad of his thumb across your cheek.

That’s when you finally look at him.

Dazzling eyes shine with tears as they venture up to meet his own.

Your mouth opens, and in reverent anticipation, Ulthane pulls his hand away from your face, ears tipped forwards to listen.

“I just want it to be over,” you utter, so softly that he has to strain to hear you, “I can’t stand it… I can’t stand just waiting around to die…”

Ulthane’s jaw clenches firmly shut.

“Who says you’re dyin’?” he retorts, perhaps a bit more sharply than he intended, “Yer not goin’ to die.”

This time, your shoulders jump with humourless laugh instead of a sob.

“Look around you, Ulthane,” you hiccough, gesturing a floppy hand at the city to your back, “Every day could be the day those demons decide to climb up here and finish what they started. We all know it’s bound to happen. I wish they’d just… get it over with!”

The maker opens his mouth to argue, to gruffly retort that he’d never let the bastards get within a metre of you without having to go through him first, but you’re already carrying on.

“We’re all just living on borrowed time! And I can’t-!”

One again, your voice falters and fades, dying in your throat.

Swallowing audibly, you let your head fall forwards until your chin almost rests on your chest.

Ulthane works his clenched jaws apart, watching from beneath heavily furrowed brows as you lift your hands up in front of your face and stare down at your palms as if there’s an answer in them somewhere, if only you could see it.

“I just can’t keep doing this…” you finally murmur, letting your arms fall into your lap.

Apprehensive, Ulthane prompts, “Doing what?”

You don’t reply right away, and his heart is steadily making its way up into his throat by the time you pose a question, disregarding his own. “You ever think… it might be better to just… like… get it over with?” you ask, eyes pinched in tormented thought, “Instead of waiting for something even worse to happen?”

Suddenly, Ulthane hates the idea of you being so close to that two-hundred-foot drop.

The hand he’s braced on the ground to keep himself steady curls into a fist until his knuckles dig achingly into the wood underneath him. “No,” he all but growls in response, curling his lips back at an unseen threat, “It wouldn’t be better.”

“God…” Your head tips back, the base of your skull clunking against the ridge behind you as you squint tearfully up at the maker. If he looks closely, he almost imagines he can see the full moon reflected in your eyes. “There’s no future for us… We have nothing left. Everything humanity has ever worked for… millions of years of history… it’s gone, Ulthane. It’s just gone.” Another couple of tears slip past your lashes and dribble down your cheeks. Your bottom lip quivers. “There’s no coming back from this… is there? So why are we still bothering?”

Suddenly, the maker hauls himself to his boots – and he’ll be damned if he acknowledges the spike of real, unfamiliar fear that jabs him through the ribs. “Stop it,” he warns… Begs…

For a moment longer, you just look at him with that tired, beaten frown, then you lower your eyes and the moonlight disappears from them, leaving them dark and shadowed by your eyelashes.

“Yeah,” you sniff, “That’s why I’ve been quiet lately…”

Ulthane’s blood rushes through his ears and he’s struck with the urge to start pacing up and down along the tree’s outer path. Later, he’ll recognise it as adrenaline.

“Stone’s breath…” he huffs mindlessly, scrubbing a hand down over his beard. He’s bristling against an enemy he can’t put his fist through, and it wars with the maker’s reflex.

This is… this is so much bigger than he is… and that’s saying something.

He thought he’d be prepared for this if it happened. But all he’s been doing is burying his head in the sand, hoping that optimism and a steady, day to day routine of survival would keep the humans from losing their last dregs of hope.

The surrender in your voice, your eyes, your words… It’s like you’re there already.

What if he says the wrong thing? What if he can’t pull your toes back off the ledge?

What would Azrael say? What would Eideard say?

Something poignant, no doubt. About how hope is never lost so long as you’re still alive to fight for it.

But Ulthane is a defender, not a sage. His priority is your safety.

In a moment of clarity, he clings to that one fact, pushing for reassurance above all else.

Rattled, though not quite ready to face why, the Old one levels a finger at you, pointing it determinedly down at your face. “Now, you listen to me,” he starts, “I won’t hear no talk about how you’re not comin’ back from this. Moment you start thinkin’ like that, it’s really over. And I’ll certainly not be lettin’ you think those demon’s’ll be the end of you. Alright? You’re livin’ to the end of a long, safe life, so help me Stonefather.”

At the end of his reprimand, you try to smile up at him, a pitying thing that tells him everything he needs to know.

You don’t believe him.

“You have a future,” he continues, steadfast, “I’ll give you a future. I’ll make one for you, carve it out with my bare hands if I have to.”

He’d drag you kicking and screaming to the life you deserve if it comes down to it.

Eyes drooping heavily, you start to look down again.

“M’not lettin’ you lose hope,” Ulthane growls in response, and this time, he can’t stop himself from reaching down and curling a fist around you, gathering you up into his palm until you sit small and vulnerable at its centre.

You look a little surprised by the motion, blinking wetly into the old smith’s scowl as he raises you to his face and levels you with a look so full of conviction, you recoil from it, as if pushed by his sheer force of will. “You’re makin’ it through this,” he tells you unwaveringly, warm breath brushing against your collarbones. “You have to see how it turns out.”

“Even if it hurts?” you ask in a wobbly voice.

He stops just short of saying that he wouldn’t let anything hurt you. But that isn’t what you need to hear. He’ll prove it to you through action.

“Even then,” he relents instead.

Resignation settles across your face then, but it isn’t the same as it was before. It’s a kind of acceptance of the inevitable, but the inevitable isn’t death.

It’s Ulthane Blackhammer.

“But…” Still, you protest. “But I’m so fucking tired, Ulthane.”

Without hesitation, he shrugs a shoulder and says, “I’ll carry you.”

“That’s not what I-“

“- I know what you meant,” the maker cuts you off, fixing you with a sharp eye, “F’you’re tired. I’ll carry you. I’m a fair bit strong, case you hadn’t noticed. But don’t go forgettin’; you’re a fighter.”

You try to shake your head with a weak laugh, but he catches your chin with a crooked forefinger and tilts your face back towards him. “You are,” he insists, meeting your owlish gaze, “Been fightin’ to keep goin’ since day one. I… can see that now.”

He really can. He’s just sorry he never told you he noticed before.

“You think you can’t come back from this? You’re wrong. You won’t know unless you try. N’those other humans in there-“ He jerks his head backwards towards the tree. “-They’re gonna need all the help they can get to rebuild. You think Jones’d remember to feed himself without you remindin’ him?

There! At last, the minutest wobble of your lips as they twitch upwards at their corners.

Chest swelling with a modest injection of triumph, Ulthane cocks his own grin at you whilst you wipe your eyes on the sleeve of your jacket.

“Now, you just let ol’ Ulthane worry about those demons,” he announces, “You worry about gettin’ some proper shuteye. Can’t teach Elanya to play cards if you’re noddin’ off every five minutes, ey?”

A laugh this time. It’s a soft, warped thing with too much moisture, but it’s still a laugh. He counts that as a win.

There’s still the same, bone-deep languor clinging to your face, yet even that is a vast improvement to the indifference you’ve been displaying of late. Quirking your head to one side, you regard the maker ponderously for a minute, brows knitting across your forehead.

Then, “You really care about us, don’t you?”

Caught off guard, Ulthane’s ears tip down, and he instinctively glances over his shoulder at the hollow to check that nobody is lurking there before returning his attention to you, lifting one shoulder in a bashful shrug.

“Well… I, erm…” Clearing his throat, he lowers his voice and shoots you a gruff look. “Don’t you go spreadin’ that around…”

As if it wasn’t as plain as the nose on his face.

Eager to change the subject, though not so eager to be rid of that fond, sombre look he's receiving, the maker twists his head around and bobs it towards the tree's entrance. "Ready to head back in?" he broaches, "You can sleep down by the anvil on my cowl, if you want." One of the beds would be better for you, but... selfishly perhaps, he wants you close tonight.

You seem to agree, offering the maker a shy nod in return.

"Yeah," you acquiesce, leaning back into the pads of his fingers that curve up behind you, providing support when your jaws part with a wide yawn.

Trying not to smile fondly at the sight, Ulthane begins tromping steadily back inside the tree, his nerves settling down as he carries you nearer to the light and warmth.

"Ulthane?"

"Mm?" he rumbles in response.

"Thanks... for caring, I mean. I owe you one."

His footsteps falter just for a second. Abaddon's face springs unbidden into his mind's eye. A golden sword and a promise that all would be well...

Swallowing hard, Ulthane wafts the memories away like a bad smell and offers his dour response.

"You don't owe me a thing."

[tekumaniac311]

Rider Rescue: Conclusion

We continue right where we left off with the two dogs staring at eachother while their teammates looked on.

"Dogbite..?"

"Dogday...."

"Uuuhh..you two know eachother? Why's he look like you, Captain?" Picky asked. Dogbite raised a brow "Oh! You never mentioned me at all to them?" Dogday took a huff and glared "Guys, this is Dogbite...my brother."

"YOUR WHAT??" Hoppy snapped. "Well..NOW it makes sense, both of you look very alike." Bubba said calmly. "Yep..he's younger than me by 3 years." Dogday responded before looking at Dogbite "Dogbite, this is my team: Catnap my second in command, Kickin Chicken, Hoppy Hopscotch, Craftycorn, Bubba Bubbaphant, Bobby Bearhug and Picky Piggy."

Dogbite looked at each one before looking at his brother. "This...THIS is your crew?" He said confused. "......Yeah, their the best a captain could ask for." Dogday replied.

The entire abandoned church was filled with the sound of Dogbite laughing out loud, Dogday just glared at his younger brother who was on the floor laughing and clutching his chest. "Hahahahahahaha!!! They suit you, bro!"

Dogday's expression darkened, til Z piped in "I know each personally, they make a great team." Drago then added "And i have read their mission logs, they've done pretty well for themselves." Dogbite rose to his feet and cleared his throat "Welp, since i've had the opportunity to meet your team...why don't I introduce you guys to mine, Leopard cuff Z."

Leopardaisy went behind Z and cuffed him, Dogday immediately took offense "Hey! He's one of the good guys, little bro!" Dogbite just scoffed "Could've fooled me, come on. We'll take you guys to our ship and have some grub." Z then looked to Dogday while he was escorted by Leopardaisy and his hands were cuffed. "Your brother's kinda..arrogant." Dogday just sighed "I noticed..." Craftycorn meanwhile was walking beside Drago as they were heading back to the ships, she looked at him for a brief moment, blushing.

"Wow." All she could think. They soon arrived at the parked ships where FixFox had just finished examining Dogday's ship and repaired it. "If all cultists pilot like that. Prototype is screwed..I managed to fix up the damages." Dogbite nodded "Good work, Fixfox. Go back in our ship and get the others."

They entered Dogbite's ship where they were greeted by the rest of Dogbite's team. "Well big bro. If this is your team." He said pointing to Catnap, Kickin, Crafty, Bobby, Hoppy, Picky and Bubba. "Then allow me to show you mine, THE BEST in the business." Drago rolled his eyes in response.

"This is Drago Kitano, my second in command." Drago gave a gentle bow. "Hajimemashite." Said Drago. "Berserkerine, my enforcer, my muscle." Berserkerine clicked his neck "Sup punks?" Picky couldn't help but chuckle. "You been taking your protein, huh?" Dogbite laughed "For a pig you sure know how protein works. This is Leopardaisy, my stealth expert, sneaky."

Leopardaisy still had Z handcuffed "Yo, nice to meet ya. Soooo where do you want me to put him, Captain?" She asked "Put him in a cell, Leopard make sure he doesn't escape again." Dogbite told her, Bubba then piped in as the pink leopard took Z away. "Z is really a good guy, Dogbite. I think you should look at his records."

Dogbite scoffed and rubbed it off "Can't believe everything you read Bubba, my top communicator and chef knows that to heart, Mama Mammoth." He parted to show Mama Mammoth with her arms crossed "On the contrary, Captain. Z has shown numerous cases of heroism and even helping out Dogday's team on a number of occasions." Bubba raised a brow, impressed by Mammoth's statement. Mama then turned around "Come now, Lemur. It's fine"

Lemur almost hiding behind Mama Mammoth, walked out from behind her. "This is here is Lean Lemur, the youngest of us...and the sweetest." Mama said with a smile. "Eerr...hi there, I've heard a lot about you guys..." Lean said nervously. Bobby gave a friendly wave at the little lemur "Hello." She said. "Lemur may not be the most social of my crew i admit, but he's quick in danger and a solid second-best in communication and helping out. And we love him for that, don't we guys?" He asked his crew as he ruffled Lemur's head.

Prettybird then walked in with a scanner "Hello there, just scanning for any injuries the cult may have done." She said with a smile. "Well the cult didn't TORTURE us." Hoppy said amused, Pretty nodded "Okay, that's good, but i'm only just checking." Dogbite then introduced "Prettybird here is more than just well..a pretty bird, she's the best medic I could ask for, and got a huge taste of fashion, i admit."

KickinChicken meanwhile was..stuck in a trance looking at Prettybird's makeup-covered eyes, Pretty herself then took note at Kickin's staring. "Hi."

"Hi." Kickin spoke back, Prettybird..looked pretty. Luckily for him, Pretty looked at Kickin fascinated as well. Up until Dogbite walked up, noticing the glare between them. "Hold up, nurse. You may not wanna hang with my brother's team, they likely have got a stench from being around him too much."

"Woah, he doesn't let up.." Catnap gestured to Dogday "Yeah...probably because of me.." Dogday replied, FixFox then spoke "Oh hey, Dogday. I fixed your teams ship, and restored your electric and security systems. Name's FixFox, this teams engineer." She said smiling. "Thanks, FixFox. I think me and my crew have gotta get back on our duty." Dogday said calmly before facing Dogbite. "Hey..Catnap? You and the guys go get the ship ready, I wanna talk to Dogbite for a minute." Catnap nodded and the crew left with him, Bobby then turned back for a moment.

"Hey, we should hang out at Kissie's sometime." She said happily before joining the others, Kickin gave a wave at Pretty whom responded with a wink, Dogbite rolled his eyes amused by Bobby's comment before turning to his own. "Hey guys, you go chill out. I to wanna chat with my brother personally."

After Dogbite's crew also departed, the two brothers were then left with eachother, Dogday cleared his throat. "Sooo, I imagine your mad at me for leaving you behind when I left for the academy? I admit i shouldn't have left in such a rush..but...The Prototype was causing so much chaos and pain so I had to--"

"I'm your brother, I know you like the back of my hand." Dogbite replied "Your impulsiveness to help others, wanting to be there for everybody. Dogday, i FORGIVE you for leaving me, for I eventually stood up for myself and joined the academy to become a Rider myself."

Dogday looked..relieved, looks like there was gonna be no heated or tension after all, or so he thought. "I admit, the main reason i became a Rider was because of the Prototype, pretty sure everyone has the same reason, but i've got a second reason: You." Dogday raised a brow "Me?"

"Yeah, you. Aside from wanting to stop the Prototype, I want to be better than you in what you do. And take out the Prototype way before you and your group of clowns can." He said with a snicker. Dogday just stared "Dogbite, we're on the same side, there's no need for dominance or competition." Dogbite just cut him off "Tell yourself that AFTER me and my crew take out the Prototype. One day your gonna admit that i've always been better than you.

Dogday sighed and got up, preparing to leave "Guess i'll see you around..little brother." Dogbite nodded "You to, big brother."

After Dogday's ship left, taking the incapacitated cultists with them, Dogbite then went to the cell room to check on Z, only to find Leopardaisy in the cell instead "Hi, captain." She said nervously. "What the hell?! That faceless bastard, did he hurt you?" He asked, releasing her from the cell. "Nah, just tasered me and left. I'm sorry captain." Dogbite sighed and patted the pink leopard's shoulder "It ain't your fault Z's a slippery cat...we'll get him sometime."

"Welllll he gave me a lollipop as apology for putting me in the cell instead." Leopardaisy said, Dogbite gave a heavy sigh "One day we'll get him."

Meanwhile back in Dogday's ship, Dogday had activated automatic pilot and had slumped back in the chair, to ponder about his brother. "Little brother...." Dogday sighed "Someday that arrogance will get you---"

"CAPTAIN!!!!" Yelled Hoppy. "Right in the goddamn ear.." Dogday murmured "Yeah, Hoppy?" He asked facing her.

"We got a stowaway" She said gesturing to...Z! "Z?? Weren't you arrested by my brother?" Z chuckled "Yeah, while you and your brother were talking, Leopardaisy was about to put me in their ships cell, i gave her a harmless shock and put her in the cell instead, i then snuck out and hid in your teams ship." He said with a ":3" emotion on his visor. "Someday that arrogance is gonna get him in some serious trouble." Z added.

"I was going to say that." Dogday spoke.

The three then chuckled together as the ship flew.

THE END

Space Riders AU by @onyxonline

[askror]

Hey Marine, have you ever heard of a shaggy dog style joke? I feel like it's the sort of anti-joke Blaze would love for some reason, though I'm curious how Surge would take the punchline too.

"So there I was, walkin' up the street with two big rutabagas in my hands. Biggest bloody veggies I'd ever had in my life. I was walkin' around all those rain puddles and trying to avoid all the fresh paint that was on the doors. Took me ten bloody minutes, what with the size of the rutabagas and all! 'Struth, it was a pain in the butt! But finally, I get myself back to the house, and I walk right up to Tabby, right? Drippin' wet but with the 'bagas, holdin' 'em over me head, and I say, 'Gotcha the biggest bloody rutabagas on Windmill Island, cobber!' And you know what this galah says to me?"

Blaze, who had been somehow managing to listen to this five minute long story with rapt attention, tilted her head and blinked those great big golden eyes: "No. What did he say?"

"He says 'I've seen bigger, Marine.' " Marine held her hands out dramatically to either side as if she'd just performed some acrobatic feat and was waiting for an applause. The feline rapidly blinked, her face slowly shifting between different shades of confused.

"I don't understand. Is Tabby perhaps a... Rutabaga aficionado? A vegetable maven of some kind? No... Wait. Tabby is a well-traveled individual, yes? Perhaps he discovered something strange in his travels. An isle of mammoth produce!" She smacked a fist into her hand, suddenly driven with powerful resolve. "Where is it, Marine? Next time we visit the Southern Sea, we could slay a few and have provisions for quite some time. Gardon makes impeccable vegetarian stirfry." "That's... urgh." Marine had had a feeling this would happen. Blaze was way too serious to laugh about something like this. Or even conceive that the joke was basically that you wasted someone's time in the grand scheme of things. She'd try Surge, though. That sheila knew how to laugh! Surely, she'd pick it up.

----

Gardon yawned as he stepped onto the deck of the Firewind, freshly brewed coffee in hand. What a beautiful morning! The sun was rising over the endless blue horizon, unimpeded and free. A world of mirrored glass, blue and sprawling. Nothing but the sounds of the sea for miles and miles-

Creak... Creak... Snore...

The koala guardsman looked up with bleary eyes to find Marine dangling above him, all wrapped up around her midsection by a rigging rope and hanging off of the mainmast like a Halloween decoration. Her mouth was open and noisily sawing logs, the raccoon somehow having managed to fall asleep in this state overnight. Pinned to the rope around her chest with a tack was a piece of paper with jagged, messy handwriting scrawled on it: " IN TIME OUT FOR BEING REALLY FREAKING ANNOYING. FEEL FREE TO USE AS TETHERBALL"

Gardon sighed wearily: "I'll get the ladder."

[tonydaddingham]

Some of the posts you've reblogged lately have clarified some of my thinking about how Gaiman has reworked the characters from the original text. In the novel, Aziraphale and Crowley have at base the /same/ flaw: they evade thinking about the ramifications of their actions by displacing everything onto their "job" requirements. To which the novel says, no can do. Aziraphale has his moral epiphany at the airfield before Crowley does, but it is by and large the same epiphany. Most of the rhetoric about offloading responsibility goes to Crowley, either directly or in free indirect discourse, but he's also the dominant viewpoint character of the two. For that matter, we are told how Crowley /feels/ about where Aziraphale has led him, morally speaking, but we aren't privy to Aziraphale's interiority during this moment. In a sense, though, that doesn't matter, because there's no reason to believe that the sense of liberation is any different.

In the series, though, Gaiman ramps up the tension in S1 and S2 by splitting up their problems. Crowley still has the "but it's not my FAULT" moral flaw, considerably amplified with even more suspiciously unreliable narration, and he still thinks about his work for "head office" as just that, a job. But Gaiman rewrites Aziraphale so that, as other people have pointed out, he thinks about being an angel as an identity (and being a demon, for that matter). I think you can make a good case that unlike in the novel, in the series neither character fully grasps how the other conceptualizes himself. This is one of the reasons that the novel's moral epiphany doesn't happen in S1, and can't happen in the same way in S3. Crowley nudges Aziraphale as though he were nudging him out of a job, not as though he's nudging him into an entirely different sense of personhood. Aziraphale praises Crowley's goodness because he essentializes it, seeing it as a sign that Crowley's demonself is continuous with his former angelself ("you were an angel once"). In S2e1, we have the very telling dialogue in the coffee shop where Crowley knows all of Aziraphale's "voices," but doesn't understand why it ought to set off fire alarms for him that Aziraphale so needs to report to him for praise. This sits alongside the tension in the Job minisode, in which Crowley is openly disaffected with both Heaven and Hell, but doesn't see the situation in the same existential terms as Aziraphale does. The end result is the S2e6 car crash, in which each character proposes to the other in a way that solves their /own/problem.

LWA i’m guessing that this is you - let’s face it, noone else sends me asks like this - but by some chance that it isn’t, congratulations anon you sound just like them (and now i’m slightly terrified that there might be two of you lurking around my blog).

also - apologies that it took such a long while to come back to you; my original response was approaching half a dozen pages just for aziraphale alone (and i wasn’t done by a long shot), and then i remembered to great disappointment that tumblr isn’t exactly the forum for such a long post (future rhi: haha you played yourself, this is still a mammoth response). at which point, i basically had to rewrite it all over again, condensing it (future rhi: you failed) down into what i’m hoping are my key points. i wish i was joking when i say that you’re currently reading what is probably the fourth or fifth version of this response.

i think where a lot of disconnect happens in how we view aziraphale’s journey throughout both seasons stems from thinking that the concept of being an angel is all-encompassing, instead of potentially also being multiple layers that aziraphale has steadily been shedding throughout the story. personally, i think there are three distinct areas around aziraphale’s identity as an angel; heaven, god, and being good. a lot of these overlap and intertwine with each other, for sure, but i think it's too much to ask of aziraphale, as the audience (and crowley), to be able to abandon it altogether in one fell swoop. being an angel is not the whole of what aziraphale is - this much is evident - but to his mind, it's the core. dismantling that, stepping away from that, and finding who he is might be without the overarching expectation and pressure of being an angel is no doubt terrifying... and potentially we're not giving that struggle enough credit.

to my mind, he disconnects from heaven fairly early on in the narrative, as far back as job, and continues through the ages with a sense of fear - or, at best, trepidation - from them. however, this tenuous allegiance carries through to s1 when it severs entirely with the call to the metatron; i truly do not see any instance after this point chronologically where aziraphale has any fondness or loyalty to heaven as the institution, nor the archangels. he is unique in being an angel that has experienced the fullness of earth and humanity, and this has influenced him fundamentally into being an angel that is so 'other' from his peers that he's by default unrecognisable, almost alien, and is deprecated and dismissed as a result. it's the very first modern scene we see of him in s1 - putting him in direct contrast with gabriel (arguably The angel of abrahamic religion; the one that nearly everyone recognises, and considers to be the epitome of What An Angel Should Be). crowley has similarly influenced him through the ages; he's made aziraphale think outside of the dogma that heaven instils as being the irreproachable, righteous, Good Side - as well as encourage him in his hedonism and self-interest (literally the reason why they both endeavour to stop the apocalypse in the first place) because it is important to aziraphale personally, and he takes pleasure and happiness from it. aziraphale "[keeps] up appearances" for the sake of complying with heaven and not raising suspicion, but is ultimately "an angel who goes along with heaven as far as he can".

aziraphale's relationship with god is little more complicated, but again - i think aziraphale reaches the stage where he is shown time and time again that god chooses to be distant, and not to act or intervene*, which is something aziraphale cannot fully reconcile. as he sees it, hell does bad things (as does heaven, as is demonstrated with the apocalypse), and where you have the power to stop it, you should. equally, if you have the power to do something good, you should do it. he takes literal issue with this in job, where he learns that god is resolutely refusing to intervene in whatever hell is cooking up for job and his family, and he instead chooses to defy this and go to crawly to beseech him to not hurt them (obviously not realising that crawly has reached that page already). he holds out hope that god will do the right thing, but the storm comes from hell, starts early even, and god does not stop it - would not have stopped it, even if the children were above, and not in the cellar.

he cannot reach any other conclusion than crawly must be right, and god in fact wants the children to die. when it comes to the lie, and aziraphale resigning himself to falling for it, i do wonder how he reconciles this after he doesn't fall - my thought currently is that aziraphale believes that god has seen his 'transgression', and chosen clemency - to forgive it - but aziraphale fears she may not do so again. it makes sense that aziraphale then is so resistant to the Arrangement later on, and then why he appears so set on not helping thwart the apocalypse because that would be going against the plan (despite, yk, evidently agreeing with crowley and privately wanting to stop it as much as crowley does). this is once again shattered by the call to the metatron; aziraphale holds out hope that the almighty will fix everything, surely this is the time where they would intervene, job and his family is one thing, but destroy the entirety of their creation? but... god won't even get on the call with him. that to me is, once again, where aziraphale lets go that particular strand of what makes him an angel - as far as i can recall, we see no instances in 2023 where aziraphale declares any outright loyalty to god or to heaven*, even going so far as to initially reject heaven (and god, presumably, by extension) - "i don't believe there's anything left to be said, i've made my position quite clear" - until he is given the opportunity to... fix it? improve it? mend it? restore it? semantics, but "make a difference" plainly recognises that how it currently exists, or how it currently functions, is wrong.

*although, ultimately, this is arguably the only moral solution for god as far as humanity is concerned. an omnipotent and omniscient being should not get involved, nor even a vaguely powerful one (i'll take "free will" for 500, alex).

*i've said it before and i'll say it again; where aziraphale says "but heaven! it's the side of truth, of light, of good", this to me is not aziraphale saying that heaven is itself good. that would be in direct conflict with his willingness to "make a difference". if he thought heaven was perfect as it is, 'making a difference' wouldn't even come into it. to that end, he knows it isn't - and instead i see it that aziraphale thinks these are the qualities that heaven stands for, what it ought to be... not what it currently is.

last thing on god: aziraphale even literally steps into god's shoes in ep5, during the ball - it's all very well, admirable even, that he hosts and crafts the ball to be a curated environment where maggie and nina might realise that they have fallen in love with each other, he thinks he's doing the right thing by intervening... by getting involved. but as you say, the book epiphany hasn't happened for them at the end of s1, not even in s2, and aziraphale hasn't learn the lesson of why "messin' about" might actually be the wrong thing to do. in fucking about with the ball, he completely tampers with the free will of not only the girls, but everyone else. nina reflects this back at him, and it visibly unnerves him that she does so; he is removing free will from all present (or, attempting to in nina's case), but is doing what he considers to be right and ergo what he thinks god should do (in his eyes). he doesn't reach the free will realisation, at least not as far as is evident to the audience, and it is clear that when the issues surrounding playing god are highlighted to him (by both nina and crowley), he chooses to dismiss it. he is doing what he thinks is right, but in doing so is literally demonstrating the shortcomings he has in his faith in god.

but aziraphale and the concept of goodness? ah. this, to me, is still the key part of his identity that he is struggling to let go of. aziraphale by the point of s2 accepts that he is not perfect. the first meaningful scene we see of aziraphale in the post-s1 timeline is his interaction with maggie; he forgives the rent, does a kind and compassionate thing, but very readily recognises that he did it for his own self-interested motivations and prioritising himself first (so far as to look uncomfortable when thanked for it by maggie, and referred to as an “angel” as a result - aziraphale knows that his motivation was not angelic at all). a ‘younger’ aziraphale, i do not think, would have so openly admitted to this, and instead would have laboured it as a purely selfless, kind, and benevolent thing on his part... and it would have taken crowley probing further to get it out of him that he did it out of self-interest. this doesn’t preclude that aziraphale was being kind to maggie - kindness is in the perception, not the intention (imo) - but he accepts his shortcomings as far as being an angel is concerned, and the freedom of breaking away from heaven grants him the freedom to do so. but contrast this with his taking-in of gabriel. aziraphale is not stupid, and is evidently frightened, anxious, and suspicious of him turning up at the bookshop, but what becomes clear to him is that this is genuinely someone under threat, in trouble, and lost; yes, he gets frustrated with the situation, but he offers gabriel/jim sanctuary, and is set in this decision before crowley even enters the picture. he makes the clear assessment that the wanker-that-is-gabriel is not the being sat before him, and instead chooses the route of kindness.

aziraphale is not always a good person, and there are multiple instances where this is proven, but there are equally just as many instances that show that he is - and i think he accepts that he is someone that is a mixture of both. that being said, this is still something that he is self-conscious about (if shax's jibes at him in ep6 is anything to go by), but it stems more from a place of aziraphale feeling that he is not enough for heaven, or for god - that even, perhaps, he doesn't deserve to be an angel; i don't think it's out of place to say you can accept the traits that make it so you do not fit in (and in fact be glad that you do not), and yet still feel ashamed and anguished that you have been rejected for the same. there is a case to be made that this in part may be why he accepts the metatron's offer to return to heaven and run it - that it's an offer from the voice of god himself, in acceptance of who aziraphale currently is - but i do wonder how far aziraphale believes this.

now is finally time to start bridging the gap to crowley, because it is clear that being good is paramount to aziraphale. however, the issue is that the sense of being good is paramount, and he still conflates it with what is right. crowley is not to blame for this, but he is undoubtedly a guiding principle in how aziraphale develops this sense; crowley constantly challenges aziraphale on his rigid, often deontological mindset of "the action must be good for it to be the right thing", and instead makes him consider the wider, consequentialist picture; that sometimes, "the action might be a bad thing, but if it results in a good thing, that is the right thing". he reaches, therefore, the conclusion that if crowley ends up doing the right thing, he therefore must be good - and ignores all of the events, all of crowley's behaviour, that point to the contrary. hell, he even ignores all of crowley's own protestations to the contrary. as you say, aziraphale essentialises it.

maybe aziraphale does think that crowley is, at his core, the same person he was as an angel, but... personally, idk how far i currently interpret this to be the case (my thoughts are more along the lines of 'crowley is, regardless of being an angel or a demon, a good person, and that's what counts', but maybe i'm optimistically giving aziraphale more credit than is due). in any case, upon reflection, aziraphale has not learnt from the 'shades of grey' argument... not in relation to crowley. sure, i think aziraphale accepts that he himself is a light shade of grey, but crowley? i don't think he fully comprehends that that same school of thought must apply to crowley too - crowley is not a wholly good person, but arguably is an often dark one who sometimes chooses to do good things/knows when not to cross the line - and therefore lands on the expectation that crowley would return to heaven with him to do good - because that's the right thing for a good person to do. aziraphale has turned to crowley, and holds him to the same ideal to which he previously held in heaven, and arguably in god. these are entities that aziraphale thinks ought to stand, and perhaps originally stood, for "truth, light, and good", and when that went down the shitter in reality, aziraphale has turned to his own reality and found crowley instead. the faith - and comfort that it brings - had to go somewhere. that is not a responsibility crowley should shoulder, under any circumstance, but in not recognising that aziraphale is doing it, aziraphale hasn't been dissuaded from it either.

but hey, let's finally discuss crowley (and if you're still reading... incredible). look, i've made no secret of my... criticism? of crowley, and to reiterate not only what you said in your ask, but also what we've discussed at length; crowley is not a reliable narrator. this, regrettably, makes me reconsider accepting what are posed as core principles of crowley's character. he does not give a consistent account of the fall; whilst what he does say may be, at best, piecemeal snapshots of the events that led to his fall and, at worst, be completely false altogether, the conclusion is the same - there is something missing, and i'd wager that it is something that he doesn't want to admit, confront, and/or reconcile with. add this to his reluctance, or outright refusal, to accept accountability for his actions on a number of occasions, as well as his tendency to skirt around or fudge the truth, and i naturally do not default to taking his word as gospel; that's not to say that i think he has a nefarious, hidden agenda hiding away (obviously not), or is an entirely reprehensible character, but from an audience perspective i think if we're to anticipate some Major Revelations in s3, this is a key place to start.

one quote, from s1, that sticks out to me is, "crowley was all in favour of armageddon in general terms, but it was one thing to bring it about, and another for it to actually happen." this literally is the summary, for me, of all of crowley's ouroboros/boomerang/"this will no doubt come back around to bite me on the ass" characterisation. if i (contrivedly) rephrase this, it reads to me as 'i'm not that bothered about the end of the world and humanity in theory, and happy to add in bits and pieces that would make it happen, but i will have an issue as soon as we start gearing up to press the big red button'. as such, i think we have to contend with the fact that crowley may not be as moral as has been widely accepted. maybe i'm assuming too much, but if you were truly of moral standing, presumably even the notion of setting out plans to destroy the earth would be a big no-no, if you are in fact against the apocalyse because it would mean the destruction of humanity. but of course, this would presume that crowley has any way in which he can viably refuse (which, he doesn't) - to which end, therein lies the dichotomy of the nuremberg argument. is it an immoral action when you don't have the room to consider the moral option? regardless, does that absolve you of consequence?

this would also, presumably, be at odds with AWCW's objections to armageddon as put to us in the pre-fall scene, right? so, to me, the conclusion i reach is this; first, that AWCW obviously does not want the stars, the universe, to disintegrate as a mere bookmark in the wider 'great plan', but this does not come from an altruistic viewpoint; it comes from a more selfish one. and that's totally fair - i probably too would have issues with spending my entire (and at this time, 'entire' is unquantified) existence building and creating, only to see all of my work go down the drain as if it's nothing. but - i do not see it as him having any ulterior, selfless consideration for humanity. second, crowley likes earth, but for the convenient and clever things that exists because of - and in concurrence with - humanity. the reasoning he gives to aziraphale for stopping the apocalypse is just as true for him as it is for aziraphale. there is the line of "you said you would be testing them, but you shouldn't test them to destruction...", an echo of his sentiment at the flood, that gives weight to crowley privately wanting to stop armageddon for humanity's sake. i agree with this assessment on the whole; that crowley holds it as an equally strong and valid reason for thwarting it. but i think it is also fair to at least suggest that this reasoning may also stem from crowley's own personal feelings about the fall - a group of angels that were, presumably, tested to the point of their own destruction - and how god, in his eyes, perhaps should have learnt from that event before planning to do the same to her Ultimate Creation. this, for me, is a little more in line with his characterisation as has been presented so far. 

but then again, crawly seems to be acting selflessly in the job minisode. i, once again, am largely inclined to agree... but for the sake of exploration, i do wonder how far it's entirely selfless, or altruistic, and instead how far it's a projection of thwarting god in the sense of rectifying his own punishment. a case of 'i went through this and it's shit, humanity doesn't deserve the same thing the same thing to happen to them', vs. 'i went through this and it's shit, and now she's up to the same old bollocks because she's awful, so im going to thwart it as a big fuck you to god'. maybe there is no real distinction, or maybe it's a bit of both at the same time, but the former would more strongly suggest to me that, looking at the parallel between job and the fall, crowley was the entirely innocent party in his fall just as humanity is/was, which i don't personally buy. 1827 and preventing elspeth's suicide is a little closer to the mark where selflessness is concerned; "you have sinned very bigly - trying to kill yourself?! it's not on!" strikes me that crowley is now acting out of the interest of keeping elspeth out of hell, where it is pretty clear Bad Things occur. there are other clear instances of good too* - he gets the humans out of bookshop in ep5 and brings back mr brown from hell, he treats jim with kindness once he establishes for his own peace of mind that he's not a threat, and he protects maggie from being accosted by demons (and this is not to mention how he, on the whole, treats aziraphale). suffice to say, crowley is clearly capable of selflessness, and doing both the good and right thing, but i do think that he doesn't necessarily act with selflessness and goodness as his default motivation. there are enough instances to suggest that he isn't a completely moral character.

*now that im thinking about it, it seems that it's largely when the threat of hell specifically looms that crowley is at his most selfless..? hmm.

crowley does centre around the thinking that being an angel/demon as like a job - and tbf to him, it's not an overly out-there conclusion to arrive at. heaven and hell are presented as corporations and they're referred to as "head office", he is given a workload and told to report back, he stretches the truth about what work he is personally responsible for in those reports, and crowley describes himself as a 'former demon' (as if he ever stopped being one - even as a fact of being, he is a demon). so yeah - to him, it is a job. and as you say, he assumes that aziraphale sees it the exact same way which, clearly, he doesn't. crowley states that he never asked to be a demon which may well be true, but it's equally possible that he was given the option to step away from heaven and god, and took it (not knowing that becoming a demon would be the result), to my mind, it's almost like he got sacked from a start-up because he didn't like the direction the company was going and Had Things To Say/actively resisted and denounced it, and then was forced to work in a - in multiple ways - a worse work environment. it's an understatement to say that he's under no illusions that hell is awful, and he too "goes along with [them] as far as he can". however, i'm not entirely sure that we have reached where crowley has his "as far he can" moment like aziraphale has - the fact that he says to aziraphale he said no to hell, when he absolutely didn't, rings alarm bells. 

as explained above, aziraphale doesn't see it in this way at all; what i think crowley finds difficult to understand is that aziraphale's experience of being an angel is very much different to crowley's. aziraphale has existed for millennia on earth as an angel, and aziraphale’s purpose and meaning is wrapped up in being an angel, in everything that it entails, and specifically being an angel that has walked amongst humanity. just as aziraphale is never fully able to empathise with crowley’s position as a demon, and all that occurred to get him there, crowley is just as unlikely to fully empathise with the importance aziraphale places on his own angelhood. in comparison to crowley's situation in being sacked from a start-up, a hypothetical fall for aziraphale would be like being sacked from a business that, whilst you may not agree with them in the majority, has provided you with a career that is the only thing you know how to do, continues to pay for your home and benefits, and without it would leave you stripped of any purpose and meaning, and no idea on what it makes you/where it leaves you without it. and even then this doesn't really scratch the surface - again, aziraphale doesn't see being an angel as being a job.

the final fifteen is where all this comes to the surface. when the two of them individually have their backs against the wall, with no discernible way out, they have very different responses. aziraphale fights, and crowley flees. heaven is a seemingly insurmountable problem that stands in the way of them being left alone (and being together). aziraphale's response is to try to change it, to fight. crowley's response is instead to flee the situation entirely. this is the same with armageddon - another seemingly insurmountable problem - where aziraphale's response is to go above everyone's heads and dial 9-9-god, and crowley's response is to flee. neither of these responses are wrong, both are completely valid, and i genuinely think it is equally possible to see the situation from their individual perspectives. but neither of them understand the other's. aziraphale, who sees crowley as a good person who will do the right thing, doesn't understand why crowley won't fight with him, won't do (as he sees it) the right thing in making heaven what it always should have been, and is instead choosing to flee. crowley, who sees aziraphale as someone who like him as quit his job and wants nothing more to do with either of their former bosses, doesn't understand why aziraphale is choosing to fight, won't prioritise them, and won't go off with him. once again, both are equally valid thought processes to have, but are borne out of being rather significantly off the mark in understanding the other, and instead thinking that the other will act in accordance to what they individually believe the other to be.

[noneedtoamputate]

It's Christmas, and I'm reading "Masters of the Air," so it's not surprising that I've been thinking about my grandpa today. He was a staff sergeant in the Army Air Corps during WWII. He served as a radio operator on cargo planes flying The Hump between India, Burma, and China.

On September 16, 1940, the first peacetime draft in U.S. history was enacted, and his name came up. He went to Fort Knox for training, and on a day off, he went to Mammoth Cave. When he came out after the tour, he found out Japan bombed Pearl Harbor.

He went to flight school and did well. He had a test flight on a day with terrible weather and failed. He was the final flight that went out that day. The rest of the exams were cancelled because of the conditions. But you didn't get a second chance. I think he always felt a little bad about that, but maybe that rainstorm saved his life.

He dated a girl who worked on the training base. All his friends were getting assigned overseas, and he was still stuck in North Dakota. He found out she had been putting his name on the bottom of the pile so he could stay longer. (No, this was not my grandma.)

He told me a story about all the college kids who ended up in his unit. Him and the other guys would ask, "What did you major in?" And a lot of times the answer was engineering. "That's great," they would say. "Go engineer that broom over there." (Doesn't that sound like something the rest of Easy would say to Webster if he had studied engineering?)

He was one of the last GIs sent home in 1946, because it was uncertain whether there would be a war with China. The first thing he did when he got back to Indiana was buy a car. My mom's friend's mom said all the girls in town were a little bit in love with him when he came home. He must have had fun, because he didn't start dating my grandma for another three years.

He lived a long and happy life, but there are times now that I am older, that I've had things happen to me, that I wish he were here and we could talk. He said he would never have chosen to go to war, but he was glad he had the experience.

[ejzah]

A/N: It’s a bit late, but happy birthday to Kensi Marie Blye! Thanks to @mashmaiden for the fic scenario and general brainstorming.

***

The No Good, Very Bad Birthday

Deeks hefted a large cooler into the back of his truck, pushing it alongside two suitcases. There were also two camping chairs and hiking gear.

“Is that everything?” Kensi called from the ground. “If you let me take a look—”

“Oh Kensi, my love, did you really think I would fall for that? I’m not letting any details slip about this trip.” Deeks shifted to the side to block Kensi’s view as she tried see up into the truck. “So, it would be best if you just gave up trying.”

“Yeah, that’s not going to happen.”

She did step back so he could secure the top, and extended a hand to help him down. Together, they walked back into the house where Rosa and Roberta were entertaining the twins.

“Are you guys ready to go?” Rosa asked, passing Sophia to Kensi when she reached out. Deeks hauled Caleb up into his arms.

“Yeah. I’m going to miss you guys.”

“Adaba,” Sophia replied, patting Kensi’s cheek.

“All the numbers, doctors, and other important information are still in the binder on the counter,” Kensi said. Rosa nodded along, paying more attention than Roberta as Kensi and Deeks ran through the instructions.

While Deeks took Kensi on a surprise birthday trip, Rosa and Roberta had offered to take care of the twins. This wasn’t the first time Rosa had stayed with the twins overnight, but it would be the longest.

“I know you’ve got this handled, but don’t hesitate to call if anything happens or you need us to come back. Even if it’s just because you get sick of these two,” Deeks added. He tweaked Caleb’s cheek, hefting him higher on his hip.

“As if I could ever get tired of my beautiful brother and sister,” Rosa said. “We’ll be fine. Now please go have fun.”

“Of course they will.” Roberta rolled her eyes. “By the way, where’d you hide the key to the liquor cabinet?”

Deeks ignored her, turning back to Rosa.

He hugged her tightly and Kensi came on her other side, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

“Thank you.”

“We love you, call if you need us,” he said, and snuck a glance at Roberta . “And keep an eye on your crazy grandma.” He whispered the last part as he and Kensi passed the twins back to Rosa and Roberta.

“I will, but nothing’s going to happen. Love you, guys. Have a fun birthday, Kensi!” Rosa called after them on their way through the door.

***

“Are you going to tell me where we’re going?” Kensi asked, snuggling into Deeks as she rode in the passenger seat of the truck. They’d been driving for a couple hours now, and the scenery had become distinctly greener and less populated.

“I guess we’re close enough. We are going to spend the next four days at a cozy little cabin. It’s not Mammoth, but the views and trails are supposed to be amazing,” Deeks told her. He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. “And there’s a fireplace and hot tub outside.”

“Ooh, sounds romantic.” She nuzzled his cheek, letting her hand creep up his thigh. “Where did you hear about it?”

“Kat. She said she stayed in one of the cabins a few years ago and it was amazing.”

“Well, if Kat gave it her seal of approval, then it’s got to be good. That girl does not like to endure any hardships,” Kensi said, and Deeks chuckled in agreement.

“No, she does not. Show ponies and filet mignon.”

“I could have done without the ponies, but the food was phenomenal,” Kensi admitted. She hadn’t known quite what to expect of Deeks’ surprise; anything would have been great, but was a little relieved they weren’t headed for a four day survival hike. The past couple years, combined with motherhood had lowered her appreciation for those kinds of activities.

They drove through increasingly winding roads surrounded by forest until they reached a small guardhouse. Deeks showed the guard their pass, and he was provided a small map of the grounds, keys, a pass for the truck and waved through.

“This is gorgeous!” Kensi exclaimed as they drove by rows of luscious trees. Deeks followed the directions on the map, stopping beside a clearing with a wooden cabin.

“This is a little more overgrown than I expected,” Deeks commented as they passed a tree growing through the crack between two slats of wood on the porch.

Inside, was a short entryway that immediately opened into a den area decorated with wooden furniture. It was small, but cozy-looking, and contained a fireplace as promised.

“It’s cute,” Kensi decided.

“I was going for luxurious. As per Kat and the website’s reviews. This is more…forest ranger.”

“It’s rustic, which I happen to like.” Nudging his shoulder, Kensi stepped back outside. “C’mon, let’s unload the truck and then we can explore the rest of the place.”

“Ok. But if the jacuzzi doesn’t work, I’m writing a strongly worded Yelp review,” he said as he followed her out.

***

Further exploration revealed most of the rooms had some level of water damage or decrepit amenities. The bathroom also sported a large spider in one corner, which they decided to leave to its own devices—though Deeks reserved the right to squash it if it made any signs of movement. Luckily for the owners, the jacuzzi did in fact work, though it would need a thorough cleaning before it would be fit for use.

They saved the master bedroom for last. Fortunately, the bed seemed reasonably sturdy, and clean. Though the same couldn’t be said of the floor beneath it. It creaked with every step, and Kensi didn’t point out the dark stains underneath.

Even though it wasn’t what Deeks had anticipated, it seemed good enough to her. She didn’t think they’d make it out of the bedroom for much of the first couple days.

With that in mind, Kensi threw herself back on the bed, tugging an unsuspecting Deeks with her, one hand tangling in his hair while the other settled comfortable on his lower back. His hands automatically fell to her hips, his body reacting to Kensi’s against his.

“Don’t you want to check for bed bugs, first?” he asked, his tone only half-joking.

“Baby, we have a full four days to ourselves. As much as I love our children, I’m looking forward to the uninterrupted alone time with you. Are you really going to waste a moment of it worrying about whether or not the sheets are two thousand count thread?” she asked.

“I don’t think two thousand is a—”

Kensi cut him off with a kiss, her hand sliding up the back of his shirt. Ot successfully distracted him from any further objections and within moments she had both of them out of their shirts.

***

Deeks woke sometime later to sunlight streaming across his face and a naked Kensi tucked between his arms. Burrowing his nose in Kensi’s neck, he sighed contentedly.

“See, it’s not so bad after all,” Kensi mumbled sleepily.

“Yeah, but you were willing to have sex with me in the middle of the desert while we were on the run from the federales. Your standards aren’t that high,” he pointed out. Kensi made a half-hearted swat at his back, that ended more like a caress.

“I was trying to get you to wake up.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Oh my god!” Kensi groaned. Deeks hid his grin in her shoulder, his body shaking with laughter. “You’re terrible.” Despite her proclamation, nudged his chin so she could reach his mouth, her lips moving softly over his.

“We should eat something,” he said breathily as Kensi kissed her way down his neck and chest.

“I’m not that hungry.”

“It won’t do us any good if we pass out from exhaustion.” At this, Kensi lifted her head, rolling back onto one elbow.

“I hate it when you make sense,” she sighed. Planting a hand on his chest, she pushed up, hovering over him. “But when we get done, you’re mine.” She dipped her head to kiss him one more time, then used his chest to sit up.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Deeks said. Rolling out of bed, he grabbed his discarded shorts, tugged them on, and headed for the kitchen.

Kensi wandered into the kitchen in just his t-shirt about 10 minutes later, finding him in the middle of filling a large pot with water. She peered over his shoulder, examining the boxes and cans spread over the small counters.

“What gourmet meal are you making me?”

“Fettuccini in a rosé sauce. Hopefully. Apparently the state-of-the-art kitchen is a little worse for wear too. Kat and I are going to have a little talk when we get back,” he said grimly, frowning at the hand-written sign taped over the oven that read “Out of order”.

“It’ll be ok,” Kensi insisted. “We brought enough food that doesn’t need to be cooked or at least doesn’t require an oven.”

He took a deep breath, reminding himself that he wasn’t doing either of them any good by constantly whining. “Sorry, you’re right. I just want you to have a nice birthday weekend.”

“I already am.” Kensi took advantage of his current position to slip her hands in his back pockets and squeeze. “I’m going to go to the bathroom and when I get back I’ll chop vegetables or something.”

Deeks continued prepping, getting out a bag of green beans, a jar of tomato sauce, and cream cheese. He was just dumping the sauce into a smaller pan when he heard Kensi make a truly bloodcurdling scream.

He didn’t have a gun with him of course, but out of instinct, he grabbed a chef’s knife and ran for the bathroom.

“Kensi!” he shouted, kicking the door open. He expected to find blood, an armed intruder, possibly a bomb. He did not anticipate Kensi to be standing over the sink, shaking out her hair. “Kens,” he repeated, slowly lowering the knife. “Everything ok?”

She turned around, eyes blazing. “No! I was washing my hands and a toad fell out of the ceiling and on my head.”

“A toad?”

“Yes. It was huge. It landed somewhere over there.” Pointing towards the other side of the room, she crossed her arms as Deeks poked around. He found said toad cowering—as much as a toad could cower—at one end of the tub.

“Oh, it’s just a toad, Kensalina,” Deeks said, cupping his hands and lowering them inside the tub. The toad obligingly hopped into them.

“I don’t care, they’re slimy and gross and I don’t want them in my hair.”

Deeks tried to keep his amusement at his tough-as-nails, could make a raft out of twigs Kensi freaking out over a two-inch amphibian.

“Do not laugh,” she ordered with a fierce expression.

“I would never,” he promised, making a hasty exit before broke that promise. “I’ll just take this little guy outside.”

Fortunately, the rest of the evening passed without anymore excitement. Dinner turned out pretty good, and they tumbled into bed, making plans to explore one of the trails the next day. Assuming they made it out of bed in time.

***

“We should have brought a machete,” Deeks said, settling his hands on his hips as he considered the fallen tree blocking their path. “Or maybe an electric saw.”

At the start of the leisure trail, everything had been fine. As they got deeper into the woods though, it became clear that no one had been back here in a long time. The path was overgrown with brush and trees had fallen in multiple places. Clearly, things had changed significantly since Kat stayed since Kensi could never imagine her stepping foot on this trail.

It wouldn’t have been that bad if Kensi had actually dressed for a wilderness hike. Instead, she’d foolishly worn shorts and a t-shirt, and she was now splattered with mud and scratched up. Deeks hadn’t faired much better.

“We should just go back.”

“No, we made it this far,” Kensi objected. She didn’t really know why. She was hot and itchy, and wanted nothing more than to go back to the cabin and shower. Somehow it felt like she’d be giving up if they didn’t finish this stupid trail. “There was a sign for a fire pit about half a mile back, let’s try and find that.”

“Are you sure? Cause I have no problem going back and spending the rest of today in the jacuzzi. Sans Frankie,” Deeks told her, and she rolled her eyes.

“I cannot believe you named the toad,” she groaned. Together, they turned around, retracing their steps.

“Well, pets have to have a name.”

“Oh, we are not keeping that thing. He can have the bathtub back when we leave.”

“You mean he’s not growing on you?” Deeks teased.

“No. The dog would probably end up eating him at some point anyway,” Kensi pointed out, and Deeks grimaced, following her as she took the slight right that the signpost indicated.

After a small incline, they found a small raised wood platform with two benches and chairs surrounding a brick fire pit.

“Huh, they actually told the truth this time,” Deeks commented. “I was expecting like a pit of snakes or something.

“Or quicksand,” Kensi added with a wry grin. She plopped down on the closest bench, feeling a soreness in her thighs from the unexpected trek.

“This is kind of nice,” Deeks admitted, taking the other side of the bench. He put his head back, letting out a relieved sigh.

A second later thunderous crack rolled through the air and without warning a sheet of rain poured down from the sky, instantly penetrating the foliage above.

Kensi stared in shock, completely still for a few seconds, then she started laughing.

“Happy birthday! I’ve officially gifted you the worst vacation ever!” Deeks shouted over the rain drops. “I’m sorry!”

“Deeks, come here.” Beckoning him closer, she grabbed the front of his now soaked shirt and kissed him firmly. She pulled back, her lips smacking against his. “I don’t care what we do or where we do it. If it’s eating sushi at the most extravagant hotel in the world or chasing toads out of a barely functioning bathtubs, I want to do it with you.”

“I wanted this to be special though.”

“It is. In its own way,” Kensi said. “The fact that you planned all of this, even if it didn’t turn out the way we expected, is special. And I love you for it.”

“I love you too,” Deeks murmured, leaning in for another kiss. They made out for a couple minutes as the rain soaked through their hair and clothes. Deeks pulled back, water dripping off of his nose.

“Do you want to see if we can get the deposit back, find a Super 8, and maybe get some ice cream?”

“Yes,” Kensi said immediately. “As quickly as possible.”

He laughed, mouth settling into a fond smile.

“Happy birthday, Kensi. Let’s never do this again.”

***

A/N: Thanks for reading this silly story!

Side note, up til I was around six, we had two pet toads. One was named Frankie.

[siremasterlawrence]

Moonlight On The High Seas

Leon Wild is a pirate on the high seas of the Atlantic Ocean well known for his bloody ire, harsh attitude and corruption consuming the world in dramatic fashion of horrific odds scenes.

He stood proud on his pirate ship using his binocular telescope reaching for it in his coat pocket he yanks it out elongating it to full form and places it on his eyes as he stares ahead on him.

Staring in to the see he can see the moon in all its glory the moonlight dances across the dark blue sea delicately free flowing for all to see and he is mesmerized unable to look away.

He is immobile at this point frozen I place his eyes growing a bit dim getting narrow he is starting to peer down seeing something very strange in the sea a wave of hand from in the ocean.

He is lost at the sight of a started looking boi well odd to him flowing in extremely high and fast speeds under the ocean as he flips upward and leaps in to the air then landing in to the ocean.

He dips down descending just a bit with his fin in the air it swings back and forth right in front of his eyes Captain Wild is in a deep like state catching his eyes their is magical glow to it.

The Captain’s eyes are now glued to the sea creature he walks forward ignoring the call of his crew closer and closer to get edge of the boat the sea man smiles so brightly at him.

He calls him using his hand to urge him to the edge of the boat he walks forward ever so closer to him and he falls absolutely in a state of love and pleasure to fully consume him.

The water suddenly rises up from the ocean in to the sky it floats in an encircling pattern on and around him changing into a colorful multiracial of arrays of covers to wave him on.

“Captain! Captain NO!” The crew screams as they race to his side trying to hold him back.

“I have to walk to him, I must be with him.” He begins to murmur a bit to himself but it only grows louder.

The crew is frighten for his life arranging on all four sides of him as they try to push him propelling him back.

Captain launches them back continuing to move to the only person that matters to him his true leader.

“Captain resist”

“Please wait for me”

“WAIT”

“Yes! I am on my way “

“Here I go”

He strips off his clothes bathing in the white light of the moon taking a plunge into the ocean and the mermaid takes his hand as they swim away.

“Yes, enter in to the void be like your ex Captain.”

The end

Debauchery Of The Night

It is a cool crips winter night in the darkness

with the air swirling as people enter the Lord of the manors Prince Leon sitting on a table awaiting the change that is happening all over the world.

He has no idea I am the young man who is bringing the massive mammoth of a wave that has brought down all of the last of the royal families and their connections in our existence.

The great hall soon fills up to the brim of the wall covering the area radius wall to wall in a great fan fair of excitement to meet the Prince himself enters with a power radiating from him.

He hops onto the chair sliding onto the main table in the great hall he starts to do a slow sweet dance so sexy he feels himself grow more confident with himself he lifts his pale hands in the air.

He pumps his fist in the air signaling for the event to commence as the trumpets sound loudly blaring through the window the whole entirety of the country shouts uniting in his and their downfall.

A few miserable hours earlier people were at work trudging around doing their daily jobs and activities exhausted from the grind of simplicity and complexes of what we truly experiment.

Barrels of lights hit including the spotlight

from the sky roof shining down on him as he is now given an aura of golden glow making him look all saintly because he is indeed a devil.

He hops off the dinner table dancing across the room as the spotlight hits him yet again as he attracts people to swoon through the hall the music addictive quickly swooping them up.

A young man takes the stage of the great room in the state picking up a microphone he begins to speak informing the crowd to keep dancing and to listen without a care of the world.

“Hey Prince Andrew! Great Party! You forgot one thing.”

“I would love to give you a gift”

“Would you like it?”

“Bring it on! Bring it on”

“Everyone silence! In three…two…one”

“Drop that shit down”

“Hell yeah!”

“That is glorious”

“Magical! What a beautiful sensation”

“By the way this is for one night only”

“The moon is being roped to you “

“The cracks, the lines all a sight to behold”

“Worthy of a king”

“Indeed”

“Sure you concur”

“What are you thinking?”

“I….i….why can’t I…..hahaha”

“Because you miserable oaf! I you met the orb of doom”

“Enjoy your final thoughts”

“The fog is eclipsing it all”

“Infact all you can do it be him”

“The dumb party animal”

“Everyones favorite Prince”

“A joke”

“This my kingdom now”

The end

[enddaysengine]

Xulgaths (Paths Beyond)

One of the reasons for my posting slowdown last year was looking ahead and send daunting prospect of covering every xulgath variant featured in Extinction Curse.  Don’t get me wrong, I was also excited about it, xulgaths are great! At the pace I was moving out though, it would’ve taken months. Today we are going to cover the base model and expect those variations to pop up occasionally as side quests. And yes, if you plan on doing anything related to xulgaths, make sure you check out the Extinction Curse adventure path, along with Occult Bestiary, Monster Codex, and Darklands Revisited.  

Xulgath's defining cultural feature is that they got knocked back several civilizational levels thousands of years ago and have been unwilling or unable to recover. While they are a Stone Age civilization, there are a couple of things to keep in mind. First, while they don't have the rest of Golarion's fancy new technologies, a lot can be achieved with stone, bone, and sinew, so they still have skilled laborers. Second, the ruined cities of their ancestors could contain just about anything, so they absolutely could reverse engineer lost technologies unexpectedly. Third, magic is still a thing and xulgaths definitely have access to it, with the arcane tradition being the only one that doesn’t fit. Plus, those unexpected past technologies could absolutely include magical innovations, not just engineering. 

Biologically, xulgaths have two main features. Xulgath stench is iconic, so expect them to not be as bothered by the rotten and the foul as other humanoids. If the table is comfortable with it, this is a good opportunity to make the encounter more visceral. Smells don’t get involved as much in writing and games as sight and sound, so take advantage of that olfactory opportunity. The other thing about xulgaths is the generations of exposure to the Outer Rifts and (unrelated) magical radiation have made them extremely prone to mutation. This could be to a body horror aficionado’s delight, but it’s also a great excuse to throw new and weird variants of these reptiles at your players. Again, see Extinction Curse for exemplars.  

Finally, the T-Rex in the living room. Xulgaths have a strong affinity for dinosaurs, which is a great excuse to haul out every prehistoric critter in the book. It’s also a useful way to distinguish xulgaths from serpentfolk, who also live in the underground ruins of their empire and are also highly prone to mutation. The dino aspect does wonders for giving xulgaths their own identity, so make sure you use it. 

Relations between xulgaths and other humanoids range from uneasy tension to outright violence almost everywhere. They are likely the calmest in the Land of the Mammoth Lords, although they still aren't exactly friendly. Nevertheless, the region's Kellids and Xulgath respect each other's drive to survive and admiration of massive, prehistoric creatures. Once every decade, xulgath emissaries emerge from the Darklands for the Night of Skin and Scales, where they exchange tales of gods, spirits, and shamans alongside hallucinogenic fire pits. 

Szvean the Iconoclast spurns all gods, declaring that all deities have exploited and marginalized the Xulgath people. She hates demon lords, but truly despises Aroden. More than any other mortal, she has mapped the tunnels beneath Axis in search of a way into the Last Azlanti's realm. Once within, she plans to destroy the last of his legacy as he destroyed her people, but in the meanwhile, she must contend with Norgorber and Thamir's minions. 

Many xulgath communities consider conjoined twins, or twinskulls, to be blessed by one of several demon lords. Some less orthodox communities believe this blessing to come from the First World rather than the Outer Rifts. They believe twinskulls are touched by Imbrex, granting the power over stone and oracular insights. Many of these twinskulls dream of the Statue Lords, but in the place of the fey city of Anophaeus at Imbrex's feet, they see a vast plain of ancient ruins and megalithic stones. Most scholars are quick to dismiss these as flights of fancy, but some maintain they contain some element of truth. Whether these are prophecies of the future, recollections of the past, or some kind of dreamscape within Imbrex itself remains to be seen.

[imsickofpasswords]

A theory of the Ineffable Plan.

By elsamirrre5322 on YouTube

Realistic_Street1312 on Reddit

ParkSeo-Jun on Fandom

Imsickofpasswords on Tumblr

(Yes, all me!)

Book of Genesis 1–11: And God said: 'Let us make man in our image"

From Neil Gaiman’s MAster Class: When you tell a story, it is crucial that you completely believe in what you're writing

Hi, Good Omens's fellow victims! Like so many, I have been trying to cope with Eternity (I mean the dreadful period between season 2 and, either season 3, or my personal Armageddon.) That rotting brain of mine came up with a theory regarding the message that Good Omens (book and show) is striving to convey. What is it that Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman believe in so hard, as human beings and writers, that they want the whole world to understand it? Well, what I found, whether or not it is accurate, is at least beautiful. So I wish to share it with you.

Before I begin and you accuse me of pedantry, know that my every sentence begins with an invisible imho.

***

Since there is no way around it, I'll talk about the ship and the cruel, heart-wrenching, forever traumatizing, law-should-forbid-that-kind-of-things, cliffhanger. No matter how hard I think, this ship is the most beautiful love story ever (yes, imho). Is it because it doesn't involve burning passion, emphatic confessions and great sacrifices? It's about beings who harbor the same inner values but underwent such different trials that their personalities ended up diametrically opposed. Their love (and loneliness) pulls them together and allows them to rub off on each other, but they still retain their identities and won't go against their principles for the sake of the relationship. In the fight, they both proposed to each other, I mean proposed, like, let’s get married. And neither of them got rejected. They both wanted to be together, and made that part perfectly clear. What they declined was the terms of the contract. Either Crowley going back to pretending he trusts Heaven’s institution, or Aziraphale abandoning his faith. They both expect to be loved for who they truly are and believe in. And of course, this is exactly what they will achieve… True love instead of the illusion of love. First prediction in my Silly and Hopeful Book Of Prophecies.

***

Having taken the mammoth out of the room, I’ll explain my theory.

Whilst reading the book, I realized that the original story was never that of Aziraphale and Crowley (worry not, I have plenty to say about them…). It was that of Adam (originally, William the Antichrist) and the Them. More than that, it’s a saga about humanity achieving its full potential.

***

God

Of course, we should begin with God, since God created humanity, the universe(s) and the rules by which everyone and everything must abide. So. Who is God? Well if I could answer that, I'd probably know how to make a whale. I don't know how to make a whale. But certainly there are things we know, or can guess about God.

First, she (I’m a woman and it makes me obscenely happy to write “she” here) is the narrator. Second, she does not play dice with the universe. The first fact means that God can see everything, down to an angel and a demon drinking solidly for two hours, or a nightingale singing in Berkeley square. Second statement means there is no such thing as chance or hazard in that universe of hers. Everything happens for a reason.

It sounds like God wrote everything, everyone's destiny, like Gaiman and Pratchett did for their characters. Crowley says so himself. Humanity, Aziraphale, Crowley, everybody, they are all characters in the book called The Great Plan.

I think God injected herself in her own story under the disguise of Agnes Nutter. Only God can always be right.

So, here we have Gaiman and Pratchett hiding behind God, and God hiding behind Agnes Nutter. The Bible turned into The Great Plan, and then into a book of prophecies.

But what kind of person is God? Is She compassionate, loving, merciful? Yes. I firmly believe that. Err… Wait. Same God that drowned almost everybody, goats included, and wanted to kill Job's children… and goats!

“When his life was ruined, his family killed, his farm destroyed, Job knelt down on the ground and yelled up to the heavens, "Why God? Why me?" and the thundering voice of God answered, "There's just something about you that pisses me off.”

― Stephen King, Storm of the Century.

Yes. Same God who never failed to prove herself a master torturer, a mass murderer and a serial killer in a single package. How do I reconcile both sides? Death… is only temporary! I mean, Jesus could bring Lazarus back, Adam resurrected a fuckton of people, and Crowley easily performed miracle escapes. Maybe death isn't the terrible thing we think it is… (except for Nazis? But Nazis aren’t really human, are they?) As for Job's children and goats, God knew that Crowley was around, up to no evil…

Having said that, I remember Stephen King writing something else. Whoever remembers that quote, let me know. Something like this: " If God created everything, then It must rule over both Good and Evil. If It only rules over Good, then there must be someone who rules over it all. I’ll worship that someone as the actual Almighty."

I agree. Good and Evil are like two faces of a coin. Death introduced Itself as the shadow of Creation and states “I’m neither of Hell, nor Heaven”. Evil must be the shadow of Good. And everything is a part of God.

***

The Adams

No, not the family, come on! What would they be doing here? Ah, attending the Second Coming. Come to think of it, it's indeed the kind of event they wouldn’t want to miss…

Anyway, their name is spelled Addams and I’m actually talking about the two Adams of the story. Old Adam, who ate the forbidden fruit in the garden of Eden, and young Adam (I mean Adam Young) who steals apples in the garden of his neighbor. As I see it, they are allegories of Humanity.

As Crowley said, most universes come pre-aged, while this one will be allowed to grow. In the same way, Humanity is a species that will be allowed to grow. What ever for? Entertain God? Eternity does sound boring. Certainly a God could use a good laugh once in a while… But Nah. What do people do when they're bored with their lives? Hint: not their best idea? They have children! (or pets. Pets is a good idea…)

At the beginning, Adam and Eve are all of Humanity. They can't tell good from evil as they haven't experienced anything yet. Despite looking like full grownups, they are still babies. Crowley designed, not a star factory, but a fancy wallpaper indeed, for… a nursery.

Now, how is Baby Humanity supposed to grow? Crowley! Good ol’ Crowley! His temptation is the first opportunity to exercise free will. It’s the first lesson and the reason why the apple isn't at the top of a mountain or on the Moon. Choose for yourself, and see what happens. By eating the forbidden fruit, Adam and Eve don't actually get any knowledge of right or wrong. The first sin marks the beginning of the teenage rebellion that is necessary to grow beyond what was taught. Everything that comes after is like an initiation rite. A six-thousand year long initiation rite with angels and demons along the way as teachers and… the end of the world as a final test.

At the end of season one, Adam Young is back to being human. He represents Humanity at a later stage. An almost fully grown humanity that has learnt a lot (too much?) about free will. Once again, it takes Crowley’s intervention (just slightly motivated by the idea of Aziraphale’s threat never to talk to him again…) to push Adam towards the right path. Note that I didn’t write the good path. I meant the right path, the one that wasn't created for him even before he was born, I mean the path he made for himself.

The main difference between Old Adam and Adam Young deserves to be stressed here. Adam Young’s education was provided by other humans, his parents, his friends, Anathema… It means in 198X any random human is that evolved, already. The question is, how did Humanity reach this level of knowledge? And power?

Yes, power. Armageddon was stopped by… whom exactly? Humans! Humans only. Anathema, Newt, the Them. Meanwhile, Aziraphale and Crowley were gonna kill the Antichrist, a kid! A KID! And who stopped them? Madame Tracy, a stupid (I’m not the one saying), psychic, Jezebel-of-Babylon with a good heart. A nobody? No. A human.

***

The education of Humanity.

Let's stop to notice that Crowley and Aziraphale are adoptive parents from the get go, watching the kids anxiously from afar, wondering if they actually fulfilled their respective mission as an angel and a demon, not knowing that having kids goes way beyond giving them toys and feeding them applesauce. It's a life sentence. Your kids will always call you at ungodly hours, seeking comfort after a nightmare, no matter how grown up they are. There’s no escaping to Alpha Centauri, and forgetting about them!

What I find interesting is who Aziraphale and Crowley are, and how meaningful it would have been if God had actually chosen them to be the Godfathers of Humanity.

Crowley is the one who questions everything, right? And how does one learn? Through questions. Those who have children know what I'm talking about (no wonder God won't raise her kids herself, being humans or Jesus🙄). It is often said that Science (Man-made god) replaced God. And how does science work? Yes, questions again ! Goddamn, annoying, neverending, pain-in-the-neck questions… Curiosity is the first tool. It's curiosity Crowley injected into Eve, to tempt her into eating the apple.

Crowley is also the one who would suggest a suggestion box. Because he has… IMAGINATION…(here, you need to picture Aziraphale turning a turnip into… an INKWEEEELL… ). IMAGINATIOOOON…. That ability is very, very important. Should I say paramount? God being a writer, possibly a mixture of Pratchett and Gaiman, she can only treasure imagination. Imagination is what created Good Omens. Imagination is what allowed Crowley to stay in his burning car. It was Adam's tool to change reality. Human imagination brought War, Famin and Pollution to life and it's human imagination again, that of three quite ordinary kids, that destroyed them. Not a flaming sword, not an angel, not a demon, mere humans gifted with imagination. And free will. Gifts from a fairy godmother named Crowley.

Aziraphale? Aziraphale didn’t come empty-handed either.

Was he just passing by, fortuitously, when Crowley called out for help? Is it pure coincidence that they created the universe together in a no-sex-involved-whatsoever fashion? I mean, the higher-ups designed universes, universes, man! Big, complicated, extremely sophisticated things, but they couldn’t think of a system that’d be set into motion by a single angel? Come on… And was it just a hazard that Crowley and Aziraphale ended up together on Earth, with the mission of thwarting each other? (Balancing each other?)

No dice. What, then? Crowley is the darker shades of gray. Aziraphale is the lighter part of the spectrum. And God knows that. God knows that Aziraphale isn't as white as he looks, although he does look very white. How does she know that? Because she checked. And several times, if I were to guess. God sees everything. And yet, she asked Aziraphale what happened to the flaming sword. When he lied his way out, she could have punished him, but she just went quiet. She wanted to know 1) if he would lie, if he would dare stand up to Her to protect the children, and 2) if he would trust his inner compass.

Aziraphale has other strong suits. He’s very gay and bubbly, and fluffy, and fun, and embarrassing, and endearing, and adorable, and… yes, I’m in love with him, say you aren’t. At the same time, he is quite strong-minded and aware of being Crowley’s soft spot. He can have his demon do things to please him (to a certain extent), with just a cute glance or a frown. He is Crowley’s anchor.

What’s more, Aziraphale is very conservative, and not just where fashion and music are concerned. He has unwavering faith in God (I mean God, not the institution of Heaven) and nothing, not his love for Humanity, not his love for crêpes, not even his love for Crowley (not sure about the order here), will change that.

Last but not least, our favorite angel is intelligent. (Since it’s Pratchett and Gaiman saying so, it must be true.) He is the ONLY one to point out the existence of the Ineffable Plan. And the ONLY one to figure that it might diverge from the Great Plan. Without the need to hear it, he feels what the ineffable plan is. And that’s why he trusts God. Although he is able to admit the error of his ways, I don’t think he’ll be doing the "you were right” dance this time around. Third prediction. (Boy, do I wish that one isn’t accurate…)

Aziraphale and Crowley were chosen as godfathers because, together, they are the perfect balance, they are black and white and the entire spectrum in between. And somewhere in this spectrum is the most important thing in the universe. Although the ingredients may have been the same, I don't think Aziraphale and Crowley were created with the same recipe as the other angels. Neil just revealed on Tumblr that Aziraphale and Crowley together are a circle. They are perfection. This circle is what God wants for her children. A mind that has no beginning and no end, a God-like mind.

Aziraphale and Crowley intuitively know that. It’s the reason why they turn into an evil nanny and a good-hearted gardener, in hope their combined influences will make a real human being out of the Antichrist. It’s easy for them. Because, this is what they’ve been doing from the beginning! They spent their entire time on Earth playing the nanny and the gardener! For not one kid, but for all Humanity as a youngster. Aziraphale and Crowley are masters at it and it’s thanks to them that Humanity has learnt so much. Pay attention, it looks like they didn't do much, in the end, to prevent Armageddon. But they raised the kids who prevented Armageddon. Of course, the ineffable husbands got some help.

Earlier, I mentioned angels and demons being teachers. They’re all doing the same job, infusing humanity with both Good and Evil through temptations and blessing, having them make choices and watch the outcome. Here, I must say that in the story, (and in History) it feels like demons have all the easier parts, as their pupils seem to always be way ahead of them, from pretty much the beginning. “Yes, always this easy”.

“Light thinks it travels faster than anything but it is wrong. No matter how fast light travels, it finds the darkness has always got there first, and is waiting for it.” ― Terry Pratchett.

When Crowley creates the universe, what comes first? Darkness. He has to summon light into it to reveal the marvels it contains. Are humans like that? Darknesses that require some light (not too much, otherwise they’d go as blind as angels) to unravel their actual beauty? So. Angels bring light. And demons just have to make sure the darkness stays into place? Something like that. But… if angels and demons are both working towards God’s plan, how is it they keep bickering? Stop. Is there a scene, a single scene where they actually argue? I can’t remember a single one… They all want the same thing. Get the bloody job done so everyone can call it a day and go home.

Why then were demons demoted and casted away? Crowley doesn’t even seem to understand what happened to him…

I guess it’s time I talk about the rebellion and the fall.

***

The Principal

The Principal? Who’s that? The one above the teachers, of course! The Metatron!

THAT Metatron… You want to kill him right now, don’t you? You want to peel off his skin with a blunt knife, you… wait, he doesn’t have a skin… and he probably can’t die anyway. You want to drink his soul with the tiniest straw? Tie him to a chair in front of episodes of Dora the explorer? I feel you.

Not sure if the Metatron has a counterpart. In the novel, his counterpart is Beelzebub, but it doesn’t feel like they’re playing in the same league. I mean… God’s voice, right?

There is a theory going around in the fandom that the Metratron has been editing people's past/memories, using the Book of Life. That theory was written by an actual novelist and it did sway me. However, if it were completely true, it would probably bother me. First reason is I don't want what I already saw of Aziraphale and Crowley's first encounter to be fake, even in the slightest. Second reason is… If you have the power to edit people's lives, why be so subtle about it? Or does the Metatron think he can make surreptitious changes that God won't notice? Hm. I don't know. In the novel, The Book of Life doesn't exist. The one who can "arrange matters af is you never even existed" is Adam. Not sure if this goes against the theory or sustains it…

Here are my own theories. Plural. I gave that bastard a lot of thoughts. I’m afraid none of them involve the disparition of the eccles cakes, sorry.

At first, I had a theory in which the Metatron was instrumental in the rebellion and the fall. It went like this. The Metatron is the voice of God, the Spokesman, as Aziraphale put it. Only when God herself initiates a conversation do you get to talk to her directly. Otherwise, you have to go through the Metatron. (The reason why Crowly envies Job’s opportunity to at least "be able to ask the questions") The Metatron may decide to withhold your message AND answer whatever he wants. Could he have used his position to create a cleavage between God and some of her most powerful subjects? What for? To overthrow God and rule in her place. Demons were sent to Earth, of all the horrible places in such a vast universe, so they could draw strength from all the human souls they’d lure to Hell… So they would grow tougher, smarter and more dangerous.

But that doesn’t seem right. God can see everything, remember? Okay, she could be traveling between universes, leaving Metatrons behind, as governors. In that case, of course, things might happen that she doesn’t know of. Even so. She and Satan still talk to each other. They at least met once, when they made that bet about Job. Surely, any misunderstanding would have cleared up then? Besides, in the book, Crowley mentions talking directly to God, although She just smiled instead of answering. I don’t know. I do have another theory of the Metatron though. Way more simple. Everything was set up by God.

God needed teachers for her children, but with angels being all good, better and best, the kids would only have learnt half what they were supposed to know. Besides, how would they make choices? They would just become angels as well. Obedient, boring, sickeningly good angels. God has that already. So, how did God trigger the rebellion? By using the Metatron.

Let‘s take a moment to think about who, or should I say what the Metatron is. He is a voice. All he knows is what God can say. He is oblivious of everything God cannot or doesn’t want to say. By definition, he is that one part of God that can never be aware of the ineffable plan.

I came to think of the Metatron as an AI, with flawless logic. If SF has taught us anything, it’s that any purely logical mind would want to eradicate humanity, seeing it for the nuisance it is. The Metatron must think that God made a mistake. Maybe God went nuts? Eternity with Elgar… it kind of gets at you after a while… Luck of the devil, the Metatron is there to save the day! What’s that universe where angels go around falling in love with each other, anyway? Nonsense! It's all because of humans' malfunctioning minds.

The Metatron’s sacred duty is to destroy humanity, if it is the last thing he does. To achieve that, he sees to it that a certain number of angels go rogue. Then he sends them to Earth so when the second war breaks out, the entire human race will go as collateral damage. In this case, the Metatron is the one who picked the evil teachers. He did the dirty job, unbeknownst to himself.

Another scenario is that the Metratron has nothing to do with the rebellion and is only striving to stick to the Great Plan, after Armageddon went sideways. In that case, God herself picked the teachers.

In both cases, the question is, was there actually a war? We all noticed how vague Crowly is about the fall, even while talking to himself. "Next thing you know i'm going a million light-years, freestyle-dive into a pool of boiling sulfur." And he can’t remember the guys he is supposed to have fought alongside with. There is some memory tempering here, or I don’t know anything. Either no Great War at all, or a war without Crowley. My bet is a war without Crowley. I read something in the book, can't remember what exactly, but I jumped and said “There must have been an actual war!” Besides, one explanation for a disabled angel like Saraqael could be a war wound. I guess?

Crowley sounds like he loves God, as much as Aziraphale does. This scene, where he snakes around his executive chair, saying "You said you’d test them". Maybe it’s just me, but I read hurt and love in his eyes, love for the world? Love for Aziraphale? Love for God? The reason why Crowley is dead set against going back, isn't it because, or partially because he feels he was betrayed by the One he loved and trusted most? I don’t think Crowley could have gone against God and seriously, how much trouble can you get into, just for asking a few questions? But then, if you’re going to submit your questions to the Metatron, who can’t entertain the concept of a flaw in the system…

***

The final tests.

It's like shoving a knife into the heart of a cake to see if it is well cooked. There's no way around the knife I'm afraid. God needs to find out if her children are fully grown humans. But what does this mean for Her? What does it mean, should it mean, for any parent?

It should mean that the young adults are now able to think for themselves, elaborate strategies to survive on their own, fight and overcome whatever life will throw at them, and… become a better version of their parents.

This is no longer high school, lads. This is college. So exams come in two waves. Midterm. The students have to prevent/overcome/survive Armageddon. And they do.

Armageddon didn't happen. Free will happened. Adam refused to follow his predetermined path and asked both sides to stop meddling into people’s affairs so humans can start to think for themselves. His friends rejected the nightmarish world that was left to them as a legacy. Dog became his own dog and is probably playing hide and seek with cats right now. Anathema decided to stop living according to a book written by her ancestor, NO MATTER how useful and accurate the predictions.

Yet another message here. Don’t let people tell you who you are and what you’re supposed to do. Your life and every choice at every turn are yours to make.

Notice that both God and Agnes sort of vanish at the end of season one. Agnes’s book is burnt by Anathema, and God goes silent. As if something happened that changed the course of what was already written. It's like Adam said: what is written doesn't matter. You can always cross it out. The great plan stopped right there.

And the ineffable plan took over. The ineffable plan is written by human beings in a decade-long essay that will decide if they passed the final test or not. (Of course, they pass, the show is called Good omens! Another prediction, gosh I'm so good, this is beginning to scare me!).

At this point, I think God is satisfied already. I mean if God is a writer and her characters achieved enough self-awareness to write their own story, then… they're real! I suspect writers' secret dreams have always been just that. Playing gods, creating universes and bringing characters to life! Not as puppets, but as sentient beings who will do as they please once the author rests their pen (closes their laptop, let’s be modern… but without bebop). I'm sure Sir Pratchett, having tea with Death, is kicking his feet at this very moment, seeing how many fans have fallen in love with either Aziraphale or Crowley or both and are spending so much time imagining the rest of their adventures.

A clue in the book. When Anathema burns the second Book of Prophecies, the smoke takes the shape of a smiling Agnes who winks at the world. I will always wonder if anything was written in that so-called sequel… Agnes wrote her book for her descendants and God wrote the Great Plan for her children. They must both be very proud that their offspring have finally spread their wings!

Now Humanity has cut the strings and gone from puppet to real living being. And that's where the fun begins. Because there is more to being a human than meets the eye. And this is what season 3 will be about. Oh, I know, it doesn't seem like there is an invisible imho. It's because there isn't! XD

***

The Second Coming, or season 3.

The concept of the Second Coming confuses me a great deal. Because of Jesus. The story doesn't seem to really involve Jesus as we know him, the one and only, the miracle doer, the precious son of God. There is a Jesus who ends up on a cross, alright, but no one says anything about him being special or performing miracles or anything. At the same time, there is an Antichrist, miracles measured in lazari and a second coming ( of Christ, I presume?). I went and picked some people's minds on Reddit. They had several interesting opinions, involving the third baby, Greasy Johnson, Muriel being Jesus under cover, and angels not minding the boss's son who only got this far through nepotism.

We see Christ nailed to a cross in the opening credits of season 2 and we see him again on the banner of the resurrectionists. All this considered, it looks very much like Jesus will have something to say about what happens next. I hope not, for it would probably feel like a Deus ex machina to me. That said, I think that the most important thing about Jesus has already been stressed out, his message.

Anyway, Jesus or no Jesus, there should be, as mentioned in the Scriptures, mass extinction, resurrection, judgment and either punishment or reward. Unless… the Scriptures don't apply anymore, since the great plan went down the loo and the new writers certainly don't want to see the world go to ashes. Unless… Wait. Wait a sec. We're talking about… humans! Hh!!!! That's it. We're baked. Literally. Nice knowing you.💀

And so what? What if humans only achieve self-destruction? Their choice. At least they got to choose.

But that's not really what I expect from season 3. Again. Good Omens.

After not-Armageddon, humans were granted a little time to study further. What will they learn? I don't think there can be a not-Second Coming. That would really be underwhelming, not to say disappointing. There has to be a planet-size all-out war at the very least, with pupils going berserk against their teachers (serves them well for highjacking nuclear weapons designed by their students! ) Only when the teachers have bent both knees, can the students show… mercy, kindness, compassion.

Love?

Jesus's message was "be kind to each other". Neither angels nor demons know how to do that. Both are cruel, cold and unforgiving. Heaven wanted to kill Aziraphale just like Hell wanted to kill Crowley. God on the other hand, used Agnes's last prophecy to save them, from what would have been real death…

God is much more than the sum of her angels, Good and Evil. Mixing good and evil triggers a chemical reaction that is the actual secret recipe to God's purest, greatest form of power. Yes. Love.

Aziraphale and Crowley drew enough strength to perform a 25 lazari miracle because they became one AND risked everything to protect their former enemy. They showed compassion and granted forgiveness (not to mention hot cocoa!). Gabriel and Beelzebub only love each other. They're not perfect together. Aziraphale and Crowley grew feelings that go further and run deeper than just romantic love. They experienced and mastered every aspect of love.

Every day, it's getting closer, love like yours will surely come my way…

Love is the last lesson. And the last gift. Now I know it sounds like everybody will end up naked with flowers in their hair… I for one wouldn't mind such a scene… I mean, if it's for the sake of the plot, what can you do?👀

… Anyway, that's how the students, following the example of the masters, embraced both sides of their true nature to become more than Heaven incarnate or Hell incarnate. They learn how to love and pass the final test! Last prediction. Almost last.

***

“There was never an apple, in Adam’s opinion, that wasn’t worth the trouble you got into for eating it”. At the end of the book, (Warning! spoiler ahead!) Adam, "half angel, half devil, all human, is slouching hopefully towards Tadfield.

... for ever."

For. Ever.

Aw, I forgot a gift, I'm afraid… Eating the apple was the path not to death (for man was probably created mortal as everything else). Eating the apple was the path to immortality. Crowley did the right thing. And so did Aziraphale. Adam is immortal because he is a successfully completed human. He's not the only one. They who were created in the image of God, the children of God, have become…

new Gods.

After that? Well… I guess the Bentley will become her own car and go with yellow and the self promise never to play a Queen song, ever again. The new gods may throw Earth into the trashcan since it's worn out anyway. Or maybe they'll restore it? Somehow I'm not afraid for books. I have a hunch that books will survive… Perhaps some of the gods will join the distant lights that "may or may not be stars?" They'll be like seeds, they'll travel through darkness to create new universes, new god factories…

What? Aziraphale and Crowley? They don't have to choose sides anymore. They were always on the same boat. And God loved, loves, them both. They can just love each other and be who they want to be. Adam, who could read Aziraphale and Crowley's minds, said: “I know all about you, don’t you worry”. Everything will be just fine.

What are they doing right now? Not sure. They're writing their own story too. But I guess it involves flying at the speed of light (or the speed of darkness?) to find the best spots for having picnics and reading books and listening to nightingales. I'm sure they'll stop by Paris. Somewhere near my house? I know a nice place for crêpes…;)

[shamandrummer]

"The Seven Generations and The Seven Grandfather Teachings"

Discover Indigenous wisdom for a life well lived in James Vukelich Kaagegaabaw's book The Seven Generations and the Seven Grandfather Teachings. Based on ancient teachings from the Anishinaabe/Ojibwe people, this self-published (2023) book about the Ojibwe language offers not just historical insight but valuable life lessons for modern times. The book's teachings emphasize the alignment of words with actions and the importance of leading a holistic life. The central theme is the concept of interconnectedness: "Aanji-Bimaadizing means, 'transforming your life'." This is no ordinary transformation. It extends far beyond the self, touching the lives of past, present, and future relatives. We live in a reciprocally interrelated world where every action we take ripples forward and backward in time.

Grandparents – family connections in general – figure largely in Kaagegaabaw's story of the way Ojibwe language was handed down by a people who understand the land and their place on it. He points out that when we hear a word like Nookomis (my grandmother), we hear a sound "created by a person who knew this land back when it was covered by ice a mile high, before Gichi-gami, the Great Lake, Lake Superior, existed. When we use the old words, we are using words that were spoken by someone who saw woolly mammoths, giant Mooz (moose) and Misamik (giant beaver)."

Kaagegaabaw is proficient at explaining the heart of the Ojibwe language. He demystifies the vocabulary, breaking words into small parts for a clear understanding of their meaning. The primal language conveys a "Great Law" that helps speakers live in peace, harmony and balance. He cites the ancient Iroquois (Haudenosaunee) philosophy of considering the impact of each decision on the next seven generations. Seven generation stewardship is a concept that urges the current generation of humans to live and work for the benefit of the seventh generation into the future. As we navigate through the labyrinth of modern existence, how often do we stop and ask, "How do my actions today honor my past and pave the way for my future?"

The seven generation teachings, known as Gichi-dibaakonigwewinan, are truth, humility, respect, love, bravery, courage, honesty, and wisdom. The chapter about honesty indicates that just speaking the truth isn't enough; it's also imperative to align your words, actions, and intentions. Kaagegaabaw asks why would we use a sacred gift from the Creator, the Ojibwe language, to deceive others? The language demonstrates that the consequence of deceit is disorder. Only those who are out of balance will lie. As Kaagegaabaw put it,"Observe how I live, and the truth will invariably come out of it. It always does."

Kaagegaabaw concludes by pointing out that when we change and improve ourselves, we change and improve those who came before us and those to come – connecting them. As Kaagegaabaw so eloquently put it, "If I change myself, have I changed all of my relatives?" Though his ancestors were victims of colonization, genocide, and subjugation, Kaagegaabaw believes they can be healed through his interconnections with them. "I can still heal them," Kaagegaabaw asserts. "We are still writing our ancestors' stories."

About the Author

James Vukelich Kaagegaabaw, a descendant of Turtle Mountain, is a renowned international speaker, author, educator and digital creator. His keen insights were developed through speaking with and recording elders and native language speakers across North America as part of the Ojibwe Language Dictionary Project. James is a passionate advocate for sharing how to live a life of 'mino-bimaadiziwin,' the good life. For over twenty years, he has facilitated community language tables, consulted with public and private organizations on language and cultural programs, and traveled internationally as a keynote speaker. He has been featured in numerous publications, podcasts, radio & television programs. James lives in the Twin Cities, Minnesota with his wife and son.

[tekumaniac311]

Vacation on Kadeem: Part 1

The passenger ship arrived on the spaceport of the planet Kadeem, various passengers departed from the ship, either coming home, or here on holiday, or here on business. Among them was a tall, furry brown mammoth, she looked over her shoulder at the blue elephant accompanying her.

"Welcome to Kadeem, honey." She smiled with a gesture of her hand.

Bubba Bubbaphant looked around intrigued "Looks great here, Miss Mammoth." Mama Mammoth smiled and took Bubba's bags for him "Follow me, I'll take you to my home where you'll be staying."

The two headed down the street, with Bubba looking around at various shops and restaurants, even street perfomers. "Miss Mammoth? I'm intrigued to how Kadeem behaves."

"I'm glad you asked, you see Bubba. Kadeem is always about hard work and entertainment all wrapped up together in a bowel of gumbo." She cheerfully explained "Sounds great." Bubba said intrigued

The pair took a cable car ride to Mama's neighbour hood and soon arrived at her family home. "So, here's where you lived?" Bubba asked Mama "Of course! Lived here since i was a kid, used to be a candy shop over there i would go to after school." She said pointing to a spot of homes. "Shame it's not there anymore, oh well."

Mama then knocked on the door, answering was a tall dark grey mammoth, taller than both Mama and Bubba. "Daddy!" Mama called

"Why Macawi! It's so good to see you!" The grey mammoth pulled Mama in for a hug "Macawi?" Bubba asked confused. "I forgot, 'Mama' more or less was my nickname back at the academy and stuck. Macawi is my birth name."

Mama's father then looked to Bubba "And who is this?" Mama spoke "Daddy, this is a friend from the Riders, Bubba Bubbaphant, Bubba this is my dad Manny Mammoth."

"Well come on in, you two. Anika, darling? Our daughters home and brought a friend!" Manny called out. Approaching was a large brown female mammoth, her fur a much darker brown than Mama's "Ah, Macawi! How are you my hard trooper?"

"Fine, mom." Mama said happily "This is Bubba, he's staying with me this week." Anika happily clapped in response "Dinner will be ready in a few minutes, we'll chat more then!"

With the parents departed, Mama then looked to Bubba "I think you may have to sleep on the couch though, hun. Sorry about that." She shrugged, Bubba just scratched his head in response "No worries, Mama. I think i'm going to enjoy this vacation exploring your homeworld."

TO BE CONTINUED

AU belongs to @onyxonline

Mama Mammoth belongs to me

[wizardlizardtravels]

It was a 20 degree snowy day when I decided to go on a trip to Mammoth Cave. This was due to me assuming that a cave would be a good vacation on a winter’s day due to it staying the same temperature no matter what it was like outside. Was it still cold? Yes of course it was, especially when we first entered it was essentially a wind tunnel. My work jacket could only protect me so much. I registered for the historic tour, and if you have never been I highly recommend it as your first tour. I laced up my boots and got on my way. Our tour guide was a man full of humor but also harsh truths about the cave system. He was formerly a high school science teacher and it shows in the way that he carried himself.

On this tour I learned about the slave labor that went into carrying this cave. We learned of the low light that the slaves had to work in. I had the pleasure of getting to blow out the lantern. It was pitch black, one could not even see their hand just a few inches from their face. No one screamed thankfully, we had forewarning. We learned of the nitre and salt that was mined from the caves. We learned a little bit about how limestone is used to treat heartburn. Our group was also treated to an old gospel hymn that had been sung for years in the great cave. Our tour guide had a lovely voice as he showed us how the cave allows the voice to echo and made for a great tune.

Mammoth Cave is the world’s largest cave system and it shows. It stretches out to roughly 425 miles, and that is only the parts of the cave that are mapped. The cave has stood the test of time and has graffiti in it from all the way back in the 1700s. Back in the 18 and 1700s people would use melted animal fat and oil on a stick in order to painstakingly dot by dot paste their names onto the cave walls or even the taller ceilings.

Bands have even played in Mammoth Cave. Back in 2023 the Louisville Orchestra, featuring world renowned cellist Yo Yo Ma played in the caverns. One can only imagine how beautiful the orchestra must have sounded down there within the ever stretching maw of the cave. I for one wish that I could have seen that likely masterful performance live.

A stretch of the cave called Fat Man’s Misery was surely my misery as well, even as a man who is five foot and about a hundred pounds it was still a bit of a nightmare to get through. Our tour guide warned us that these caves were no place for people with claustrophobia and went on to quip how odd it would be for someone with that specific fear to book a tour in the first place. I had to think it odd either way it is for I and many other people to pay money to have a complete stranger take us into a dark tunnel several feet under ground.

I took a small walk on a trail where Floyd Collins got trapped near. Floyd Collins, if you are not familiar with this famous story of a caving adventure gone wrong, was a caver who was trapped in what is today called, “Sand Cave”. He got trapped in late January of 1925. The whole thing was a huge spectacle with food vendors and even bootleggers selling their wares. Collins ultimately died despite rescue efforts. I went on a small roughly quarter mile trail showcasing a few of the landmarks.

The tour itself was around two hours long and roughly a two mile walk. It was a fun experience and I look forward to doing other tours sometime as well. Overall I highly recommend a trip to Mammoth Cave. It will surely be a trip that will be unforgettable as you behold the majesty of this gigantic cave.

I hope you enjoyed this blog and please leave a comment as well. Thanks for reading.

-Nick

[stargareed]

Jon Snow’s Favorite Fleetwood Mac Songs

6. Dreams (1977)

Last night he had dreamt the Winterfell dream again. He was wandering the empty castle, searching for his father, descending into the crypts. Only this time the dream had gone further than before. In the dark he'd heard the scrape of stone on stone. When he turned he saw that the vaults were opening, one after the other. As the dead kings came stumbling from their cold black graves, Jon had woken in pitch-dark, his heart hammering. Even when Ghost leapt up on the bed to nuzzle at his face, he could not shake his deep sense of terror. He dared not go back to sleep. Instead he had climbed the Wall and walked, restless, until he saw the light of the dawn off to the east. It was only a dream. I am a brother of the Night's Watch now, not a frightened boy.

(Jon VII, AGOT)

5. Sisters of the Moon (1979)

The white wolf raced through a black wood, beneath a pale cliff as tall as the sky. The moon ran with him, slipping through a tangle of bare branches overhead, across the starry sky.

"Snow," the moon murmured. The wolf made no answer. Snow crunched beneath his paws. The wind sighed through the trees.

Far off, he could hear his packmates calling to him, like to like. They were hunting too. A wild rain lashed down upon his black brother as he tore at the flesh of an enormous goat, washing the blood from his side where the goat's long horn had raked him. In another place, his little sister lifted her head to sing to the moon, and a hundred small grey cousins broke off their hunt to sing with her. The hills were warmer where they were, and full of food. Many a night his sister's pack gorged on the flesh of sheep and cows and horses, the prey of men, and sometimes even on the flesh of man himself.

"Snow," the moon called down again, cackling. The white wolf padded along the man trail beneath the icy cliff. The taste of blood was on his tongue, and his ears rang to the song of the hundred cousins. Once they had been six, five whimpering blind in the snow beside their dead mother, sucking cool milk from her hard dead nipples whilst he crawled off alone. Four remained … and one the white wolf could no longer sense.

"Snow," the moon insisted.

The white wolf ran from it, racing toward the cave of night where the sun had hidden, his breath frosting in the air. On starless nights the great cliff was as black as stone, a darkness towering high above the wide world, but when the moon came out it shimmered pale and icy as a frozen stream. The wolf's pelt was thick and shaggy, but when the wind blew along the ice no fur could keep the chill out. On the other side the wind was colder still, the wolf sensed. That was where his brother was, the grey brother who smelled of summer.

(Jon I, ADWD)

4. Tusk (1979)

One of the giants coming up on them looked older than the rest. His pelt was grey and streaked with white, and the mammoth he rode, larger than any of the others, was grey and white as well. Tormund shouted something up to him as he passed, harsh clanging words in a tongue that Jon did not comprehend. The giant's lips split apart to reveal a mouth full of huge square teeth, and he made a sound half belch and half rumble. After a moment Jon realized he was laughing. The mammoth turned its massive head to regard the two of them briefly, one huge tusk passing over the top of Jon's head as the beast lumbered by, leaving huge footprints in the soft mud and fresh snow along the river. The giant shouted down something in the same coarse tongue that Tormund had used.

(Jon II, ASOS)

3. Never Going Back Again (1977)

Once he swore his vow, the Wall would be his home until he was old as Maester Aemon. "I have not sworn yet," he muttered. He was no outlaw, bound to take the black or pay the penalty for his crimes. He had come here freely, and he might leave freely … until he said the words. He need only ride on, and he could leave it all behind. By the time the moon was full again, he would be back in Winterfell with his brothers.

Your half brothers, a voice inside reminded him. And Lady Stark, who will not welcome you. There was no place for him in Winterfell, no place in King's Landing either. Even his own mother had not had a place for him. The thought of her made him sad. He wondered who she had been, what she had looked like, why his father had left her. Because she was a whore or an adulteress, fool. Something dark and dishonorable, or else why was Lord Eddard too ashamed to speak of her?

(Jon V, AGOT)

2. The Chain (1977)

"He told me that a maester's collar is made of chain to remind him that he is sworn to serve," Jon said, remembering. "I asked why each link was a different metal. A silver chain would look much finer with his grey robes, I said. Maester Luwin laughed. A maester forges his chain with study, he told me. The different metals are each a different kind of learning, gold for the study of money and accounts, silver for healing, iron for warcraft. And he said there were other meanings as well. The collar is supposed to remind a maester of the realm he serves, isn't that so? Lords are gold and knights steel, but two links can't make a chain. You also need silver and iron and lead, tin and copper and bronze and all the rest, and those are farmers and smiths and merchants and the like. A chain needs all sorts of metals, and a land needs all sorts of people."

(Jon V, AGOT)

1. Go Your Own Way (1977)

He lay on the ground afterward, clutching his prize and bleeding quietly, too weak to move. After a while, he realized that if he did not make himself move he was like to bleed to death. Jon crawled to the shallow stream where the mare was drinking, washed his thigh in the cold water, and bound it tight with a strip of cloth torn from his cloak. He washed the arrow too, turning it in his hands. Was the fletching grey, or white? Ygritte fletched her arrows with pale grey goose feathers. Did she loose a shaft at me as I fled? Jon could not blame her for that. He wondered if she'd been aiming for him or the horse. If the mare had gone down, he would have been doomed. "A lucky thing my leg got in the way," he muttered.

(Jon V, ASOS)

[sinceileftyoublog]

Black Belt Eagle Scout Interview: Expanding My Vulnerability

BY JORDAN MAINZER

Katherine Paul began the Black Belt Eagle Scout set at Pitchfork with whispered singing. As “My Blood Runs Through This Land” progressed, the song a standout from their third album The Land, The Water, The Sky (Saddle Creek), Paul’s singing transformed into a wail, albeit muted by her own guitar distortion and Camas Logue’s mighty drums. Fittingly, Paul’s voice never seemed like it was at the center. It was there, telling her stories, but always equal in sonic and emotional importance to her surroundings. Sometimes, the neighboring elements were symbolic, like the guitar solo of “My Blood Runs Through This Land”, “emulating [her] ancestors running,” as she told me at Pitchfork. (Paul is Coast Salish/Swinomish, raised in the Swinomish Indian Tribal Community in LaConner, Washington.) Other times, they were perhaps coincidental, as when she sang about being “engulfed by beauty” on “Don’t Give Up”, right as her singing was overwhelmed by the swirling of Logue’s drums, Nay Wilkins’ bass, and Claire Puckett’s guitars. No matter what, the set was a masterclass in tension and ultimate expressiveness, the songs exponentially louder than their studio versions. With every repetition of “Need you, want you” on Mother of My Children’s “Soft Stud”, the guitars bellowed with mammoth force, the crowd whooping in approval. It was breathtaking.

The Land, The Water, The Sky is inspired by Paul moving back to the Swinomish Reservation on which she was raised, as well as her metaphoric personal journeys. The record contains love songs of varying recipients: her surroundings (“Nobody”), her immediate family (“Spaces”), her local queer community (“Sčičudz (a narrow place)”). This time around, she worked with some notable collaborators on the record, like multi-instrumentalist Takiaya Reed of excellent Melbourne doom duo Divide and Dissolve, who co-produced the album, and Mount Eerie’s Phil Elverum, who sings on “Salmon Stinta”. Though Paul played many of the instruments on the record and certainly led its expanded instrumental palate, its instrumentation and production was not a one-person affair like her previous two albums. Many artists find working by themselves intimidating; in contrast, for Paul, opening herself up to other musicians in this way was a key part of her growth in confidence. Ditto for playing live. “I have a really amazing band,” Paul said. “We’ve grown so much...for most of the year, we’ve been on the road non-stop, so we’ve learned how to work through certain sounds and passages together.”

Paul and I sat outside the festival press tent (as JPEGMAFIA boomed in the distance) to discuss The Land, The Water, The Sky, playing live, her writing process, and Divide and Dissolve. Read our conversation below, edited for length and clarity.

Since I Left You: You have three albums already and a somewhat limited set time. How do you decide what songs to play at a festival?

Katherine Paul: I really wanted to play a lot of the new album, but also bring in some of what I felt are the heavy hitters from my previous album. [Songs] that make the set flow. I tried to put some of the new singles in the set, and some that are the favorites in the previous albums. Since you’re playing to a lot of new people, too, something that keeps the energy up.

SILY: I definitely felt that with what you chose to play. I had never seen you live and wanted to come in green, so I didn’t watch any videos, and your set was definitely louder than I expected, in a great way. There was a lot of play with dynamics and catharsis and release. Are you feeling those emotions on stage?

KP: Yeah, I mean I feel like we kick it up a notch, and I like to rock out. For this show, I played on an amp I don’t normally play out of, and I loved it. I kind of want to get one. I love playing loud guitars. [laughs]

SILY: When you play live, do you find yourself in a similar headspace to when you wrote the songs? Are you trying to channel on stage what inspired you to write them in the first place?

KP: I think about what they mean to me, which is maybe a similar thing. I think about why I play certain parts. When I play “My Blood Runs Through This Land”, the guitar solo is supposed to emulate my ancestors running. It’s raw and beautiful. I think about that and put my feeling and playing into those thoughts. I like to make a connection to what the song means to me when I play it.

SILY: On the record, you did a lot of the instrumentation yourself. Do you find adapting the songs to the stage, with a full band, just as rewarding as writing and recording them in the first place?

KP: I’m still learning. That’s what I’m realizing. Sometimes, my natural instinct is to play them how they sound on the recording, but lately, I feel like I want to put a jam in there. [laughs]

SILY: You played “Don’t Give Up” right before playing “Indians Never Die”. In interviews around the release of Mother of My Children, you were talking about “Indians Never Die” and the idea of always taking care of the land. When you sing on "Don’t Give Up”, “I was only seventeen, I was only seventy,” is that a similar sentiment?

KP: “Don’t Give Up” has a lot of writing about my mental health and taking care of myself, having that knowledge that we’re still growing as people and trying to figure things out, whether we’re seventeen or seventy. That’s what those specific lyrics mean, but I think that could tie into, by taking care of myself, I’m taking care of the connection to where I’m from.

SILY: I also like the phrase on the song, “engulfed by beauty.” It suggests being almost overwhelmed by nature, and it works with the heavy reverb of the music.

KP: Yeah. Being swallowed by it.

SILY: Have you gotten to see anyone else at the festival?

KP: I got to see snippets here and there: Vagabon’s one and a half songs, Weyes Blood, Big Thief, yaya bey. I wanted to see Julia [Jacklin], but I couldn’t. Her set was so short. There was a lot of running around, getting food, getting situated.

SILY: Do you like the new Divide and Dissolve record?

KP: I haven’t heard it yet. I’m waiting for the right time to listen to it. I know it’s out, and I want to listen to it when I’m at home on a walk. When I heard the previous record, I was just gutted. So I want to listen to this one walking around in the woods or something.

SILY: Apart from the specific stories and changes in your life that inspired The Land, The Water, The Sky, is there anything else unique about it as compared to your first two records? And how is it a continuation of them?

KP: There are still those glittery sounds within the pop genre that pop up. The uniqueness comes with expanding my vulnerability as a songwriter, having different people play on it. It shifted my perspective of what my songwriting can be. Before, I was more afraid to take risks and do different things, but now, I feel better about it--almost encouraged.

SILY: Are you the type of songwriter always writing, or do you have to set periods of time for you to sit down and do it?

KP: I definitely have to set time aside to do it. I have so much going on in my life. [laughs] It’s hard to always be writing.

SILY: Is there anything else upcoming for you?

KP: I’m working on a mini tour documentary with Evan Atwood, who did the photo [on the front cover of] the album. We’ll have some live recorded versions and filmed versions on the songs. This coming winter, I’m just going to write music and figure out what’s next.