#knight writes

[nik-knight]

Chapter 10 of Ineffable Catboys is now up! Credit to @hg-aneh for the original idea that started chapter 1.

[crepuscular-coyote]

I try to howl but the sound catches in my throat and I choke

I try to howl but my voice dies before I can make a sound

I try to howl but I am a broken, broken thing, unable to speak

I whine and whimper and cry but I cannot lift my muzzle to the sky

So I howl inside my mind and pray the moon can hear me

[igknightedart]

Say that to my face, Booboo the Fool

@thenamesblurrito

[knightinkosherarmour]

Marshal and Mechsapient

A Follow up to my previous writing about my warhammer army.

Mechasapient-Magos Tsephor-10.54 was never very popular amongst even the inhuman adepts of the Adeptus Mechanicus. From the still human new adepts that he sometimes taught religious ritual to the highly mechanized Magi and Dominii that lead the Mechanicus, there seemed a consensus was unilaterally reached, that he was odd even by their standards. That suited him just him. It meant more often than not he was left alone either on the roosts in Deimos or aboard whatever crusading ship he was taken abroad by, and that was just a great place where he could take care of his pteraxii. They were always such good birds and he wanted to make sure they had been taken care of so well. Pteraxii were after all good omens and this had led him into taking the role of a lexmechanic, when away from his precious birds, Tsephor had taken to the role of a lexmechanic, analysis the vast reams of data of both the movements of pteraxii but also the prophetic datalooms. The way the numbers and statistics often feel into place was pleasing.

When put on a diplomatic assignment years ago with his close friend Magos Aleph-Gimmel, the same proved true of other Imperial delegations, though the terms cogboy and oilsniffer had been thrown around more liberally. At least there he understood vaguely why most people seemed to be displeased or ill at ease in his presence! The common subjects of the Imperium were unenlightened in the mysterious and glories of the mechanicus, though similar to his old friend  Magos Aleph-Gimmel in order to play the role of diplomat better, outward augmentations had been kept to a minimum. It still didn't seem to work for him as much as it did her though she had studied the science of charisma in a way that he had never really thought of doing. Pteraxiiken was much more important. The lack of augmentations ended then, after all it was important to have roosting pools for the razor sharp claws of his precious birds and mechandrites for refueling their flamers!

But at least here now on the First Deimos Explorator Fleet he was thankfully left alone and enough of his fellow tech priests didn't really seem to mind anymore! In order to take care of the pteraxii, those winged skitarii whose brains had been reduced to embarrassables a solitary part of the fleet’s head Ark Mechanicus, with enough facilities and resources to replenish any losses to his precious birds though he would never let that happen! 

It was here within the roost of the pteraxii that he could be often found and was found. Walking with the lack of fear a skitarii marshall should have Kattal-42/8 strode unbothered through the twitching and well oiled skitarii. The marshall barely had any human components left in it. It was far more machine than the guardsman it had once been, raised to perfection by the Fabricator Minoris. Necrodermis and wraithbone crisscrossed underneath human made alloys, circuit, and tubing for synthetic blood, leaving whatever flesh remained gaunt and starved of touch. If Kattal-42/8 had preferences for their body, this would be exactly how it would want it. The remaining flesh supported by a vast network of technology while they served ever for the glory of the emperor. The stolen spirit stone within its chest plating had saved its life in battle more than once. Its body even had a built-in respirator similar to its old guard uniform. 

Kattal marched forward as silent as could be towards the rotund Tsephor. From the noosphereic implants in Kattal-48/2’s eyes it could see his data signature in the moving mass of pteraxii. It was there that they were needed and there it would go. Kattal-42/8 served as the Vox of the Fabricator Minoris, being the only other techpriest allowed the key to her unique voxbox code and replicate her voice. Kattal approached Magos Tsephor and waited. Approximately 32.6 seconds was standard to wait when dealing with Magi to allow them to notice its presence and then terminate whatever they were doing. At approximately 33.1 seconds Magos Tsephor had not seemed to notice Kattal. Kattal-42/8 could not get annoyed. They had chosen to request the part of their brain responsible for that removed. 

Still. Something disapproving at this inefficiency at being noticed was rising within Kattal-42/8. “Mechasapient-Magos Tsephor-10.54,” Using the voxcode of her personal prophet and superior the Fabricator Minoris, was sure to get the magos’s attention.

Magos Tsephor, a smile upon the half of his head that was still that brown skinned flesh, turned, “Ah! Aleph, it is a pleasure,” Though upon fully taking in who had been set here to summon him, his smile turned into more of a frown. “Marshall Kattal-42/8, I thought we had talked about using my old friend's voice!” Kattal-42/8’s limited social interaction software wired into motion.  The cogitators normally reversed for battle or finding ways of limiting sound transmitted struggled to process this. Tsephor was obviously talking in a friendly tone with it, unusual, but reminding it of the last time they had been used to summon it. The generative programs in its software provided the following response. “Yes. The memory exists within my memecore. However it is still within my parameters to provide messages from Fabricator Minoris Technoarchaeologist Magos Aleph-Gimmel Bellerov-2.0.” This was all said within the borrowed voxbox code. 

How people ever put up with Kattal-42/8 and yet found Tsephor strange to be around was always something that deeply made his mind blank out in confusion. He used to joke it was a bluescreen moment, referencing the ancient technogenie from Old Terra. “Yes, yes, Kattal, now Marshal what is the message?”

Finally. Kattal could deliver the message that was untrusted to be sent over the noosphere. Kattal, admittedly, itself did not know what the message was either. After a moment of ensuring they absolutely had the correct recipient, Kattal unzipped the message and let it play. Aleph-Gimmel’s soft voice streamed out from Kattal’s form. 

“Tsephor. An inquisitor is onboard. She will be conducting a sweep, come to my quarters, please give a numerical-prophecy about the status of what the likely outcomes.”

Both adherents of the Cult of the Mechanicus stared at each other for a moment. Neither was truly comfortable in the presence of the other. Tsephor was the first to speak, “Well, Kattal, it seems you ought to guide me back no?” That jolly honest smile was back upon his remaining lip.

Kattal just stared unblinking with its green augmented eyes. “Querry: why? This does not seem the most efficient route.”

“Well,” Tsephor gestured around with his many many mecandrites to the Roost around him. “It wouldn’t do if something would happen to me on the way up would it? Her quarters are many many clicks away aren’t they?”

Kattal, if they ahd the ability, would feel incensed at the implication their ship was anything less than safe. “Safety not a concern. Skitarii and sicarian patrols regularly all levels of the ship.” “Well, what if the Inquistor should find me or delay me! Marshall, I trust your patrols but…”

“Are you suggesting Inquisitor Seraphsdottir’s loyalty to the Emperor and the Omnissiah is questionable?” “I would never dare put a Inquisitor in such a… position but! It might slow us down, no?” Tsephor honestly had never once considered that. He just wanted to move as fast as possible and following behind Kattal would ensure everyone else onboard Deimos’s Cog  parted around them. That was not something Kattal would argue. The two after a little more deliberation they began the journey through the kilometers long spaceship. Magos Tsephor was sure to give all his birds reassurance he would be back as soon as he could with fresh promethium.

[temperedknight]

🖋 Saarinen saltspittle sounds like a badass

Sazarin Saltspittle is a Gnomish inventor and engineer, with a specific focus in magical power generation and storage systems. He was the secondborn son of a moderately powerful and very wealthy merchant family. A political marriage was arranged for him after he showed no interest in pursuing a personal romance, but it fell through due to differing personal priorities.

Hosting his elder brother's family for a lab inspection, a project of his - an attempt to source infinitely rechargeable from the aetheric tide - went horribly awry, disintegrating his brother Sarath and sister-in-law Marai, and trapping his niece Alaia in a self-sustaining feedback loop of magical energy, which Sazarin barely managed to contain before it went supercritical.

In Sazarin's world, the ocean is the domain of the god of death, and a known magic absorber. Hoping to unlock some secrets from its depths, Sazarin drained his family coffers to construct an undersea vessel, the Nereid Encumbrance Pelagic/Tidal Underwater Nonmagical Explorer (NEP/TUNE) and a set of powered underwater dive armor, the Tidal Recon/Investigation-Tall Observation Nereid (or TR/I-TON).

Using these platforms, Sazarin has begun scouring the sea for anything that might unwork the magical storm fomenting within Alaia. This search often leaves him in need of coin, which he makes by working as a mercenary; TR/I-TON is a terrifyingly capable combat system. He's worked alongside other mercenaries, the Crystal Golems of Oreish (the Sea-God of Death), and even the Order of Shivers of the sentient Apex Sharks (ask me about them if you wanna know more).

Outside of combat and work, Sazarin is an inherently kind and generous person, though he lacks the social skills needed to form connections, and is generally a solitary man, preferring his lab to other people. He has a special affinity for children, and uses his spare parts and time to manufacture semi-magical wind-up toys. He's even built a toy or two for Oreish himself; the child-god's favorite is a mechanical fish which plays hide and seek.

Sazarin maintains a brave face, but is slowly spiraling into manic despair at his lack of success so far. Alaia has maybe a decade before the magic storm unravels her entirely and she is lost forever. It's a race against an unknown clock, and Sazarin isn't winning.

[igknightedvo]

you've ruined me I noticed something cool in a video game and I said to myself "yo blackarachnia check this shit out." it had nothing to do with transformers, spiders, or drawing dicks upside-down that post is just ingrained in my head.

Glad to hear that my random rambling as Shockwave has once again scarred someone for life lmao

[nik-knight]

A More Gentle Touch

He had hardly spent more than three hours in his human-shaped corporation, yet he was already winded by the time he managed to lower all the shop’s curtains and finally lock the door. A quick miracle was sent behind him to flip the sign to “Most definitely closed” as he trudged into the back room to rest for the evening.

There had been no other way around it. It had seemed like a brilliant idea at the time to invite the book dealer over for a few negotiations; after all, she was an old colleague of his and a delight to have conversations with. However, when spending most of an afternoon around a human, it was nearly impossible to keep up the vague impression of being a human without actually becoming humanoid. Overall, it was easier to spend that time in a human corporation than holding on to a miracled façade for that long.

That didn’t mean it wasn’t still exhausting, though.

It was like walking around in clothes that were much too tight. Humans certainly were not the largest of Her creations, but they were still quite clumsy forms with arms and legs that had to move at the same time, heavy skin, dense bones, and weighty organs all packed inside a cumbersome package.

He transformed as soon as he sat on the sofa. The relief of it all was soothing at least. Fluffy feathers took the place of stuffy clothes, white wings replaced his heavy arms, and those pesky legs thinned to a comfortable weight that could easily be tucked under his body.

Finally, he could be soft and small in all the right ways. He had no idea how Crowley could be humanoid so often without facing similar fatigue. Perhaps that was why the demon spent most of his spare time asleep.

Despite finally being back into his much more comfortable form, the extended period in that skin suit had ruffled his feathers just as literally as metaphorically. There was an itchy irritation under his feathers, but he was much too tired to groom himself right now. All he wanted to do was curl up with a cup of tea and a good book, but the thought of gathering the necessary materials to do so (or even miracle them up) made him want to do nothing but settle into the cushions and stay there until he had the energy to move again. He allowed his tired eyes to drift shut, letting the quiet and dark of the room calm him for just a bit.

He had only been in his weary siesta for a few minutes when he smelled a rather familiar aroma in the back room. He tiredly blinked open his eyes just in time to catch a fresh cup of tea on a saucer delicately placed in front of him. He looked up to see Crowley, in his humanoid form for some reason, pushing the cup closer to where Aziraphale could comfortably dip his beak in for a sip.

“My dear?” He asked, unsure why Crowley was in that form so late in the evening. By now he was usually a snoring pile of coils wrapped around the base of one of Aziraphale's table lamps.

“You looked a little flustered, so I figured you might need a pick-me-up,” he shrugged as if he hadn’t done anything special. Aziraphale could feel his feathers fluff up at the amount of love that was coursing through his tiny body.

“Oh, my darling, how very kin—”

“Anyway,” Crowley coughed, not letting Azriaphale hit him with another four-letter word. “Your feathers are all ruffled, and since I have hands at the moment, I figured I could… Help you straighten them out a little. ‘F ya like, that is.” He turned his head away, trying and failing to hide the embarrassed flush on his cheeks. Luckily Aziraphale’s happy cooing had him looking back just in time to catch the angel’s happy wiggle and flutter.

“Oh, that sounds like just the thing my dear, if you don’t mind terribly?”

“Not at all.” Without a moment's hesitation, Crowley’s hand was held open by Aziraphale, letting him step gently onto his palm so Crowley could bring him to his lap as he sat down.

Aziraphale stretched his wings out as best he could to give Crowley room to work, and soon enough the demon’s fingers were gently grooming Aziraphale’s wings. It wasn’t anything too deep or intense, but just a slight straightening of a few ruffled feathers along with long gentle strokes across the wing to calm the rest of the dove’s frayed nerves. They paused every few minutes so that Crowley could bring the teacup back to Aziraphale’s beak to drink, then it was back to the relaxing grooming that soon had Aziraphale looking like a fluffy melted marshmallow in Crowley’s palm.   

“That good, angel?” Crowley asked after about thirty minutes of grooming and an extra ten minutes of gentle petting that neither one of them brought up.

“Very good, my dear. Thank you so very much.” Aziraphale opened his eyes that he hadn’t realized he had shut during the grooming. He turned his head so he could look back at his darling demon. “I hope it wasn’t too taxing for you to stay in that form just for me.”

Crowley simply gave him a small smile and shrugged. “Some things are worth shifting for.”

There was only the briefest tingle of a miracle before Crowley suddenly found himself with a lap full of human-shaped angel. “Too right, my dear.” He swiftly leaned in, pressing his lips against the demon’s. Crowley stiffened in surprise, but quickly returned the kiss, keeping it gentle and soft just for his angel. When Aziraphale finally pulled away, he only had a moment's notice before suddenly there was a large snake in his hands and lap.

Aziraphale couldn’t help but chuckle. “Getting tired, darling?”

“Just get down here, already, angel,” he grumbled, doing his best to keep himself from hiding his face in his coils.

“Oh, gladly.”

Then there on the sofa was a significantly less ruffled dove resting in his favorite nest of black and red coils. The book Aziraphale had been reading earlier that day was conveniently placed against the long loops of the scaley nest so that Aziraphale could easily read and the serpent’s tail could easily flip the pages. (Aziraphale was yet to discover that his feathers poofed up the slightest bit when he was done with a page, giving Crowley the wordless cue to flip to the next one.)

“Oh, you’re too good to me, dear.” With a happy little wiggle to settle comfortably in his love’s nest, he set his eyes on the beginning of the chapter.

“Shaddap…”

And if Crowley buried his head right into the soft feathers under Azriaphale’s breast to hide his face, well, no one bothered to mention it. After all, Aziraphale had a good book and good company to enjoy.

And enjoy it they did.

[by @nik-knight for @katiefrog217]

[crepuscular-coyote]

I have the heart of a dog but I love like a stray that's never known kindness

Who craves the warmth of the human hand but flinches at the slightest touch

I love deeply, relentlessly, but you must wade through the flames of hell to feel it

Show me that your hand is not a tool of pain but one of care

Show me that your voice is not to reprimand me but to praise me

Reach into the depths of my soul despite my demons and I will give it to you and you alone

[nik-knight]

His World in Her Hands His skin crawled with the wrongness of it all. His eyes stung from the holiest of holy light, and every fibre of his being was telling him he was in the wrong place, that he shouldn’t be here, that this was wrong and forbidden. But She stood there waiting for him, and he had not been vaporized into nothingness, so he must’ve been permitted to be here just this once.

The weight of the angel he bore in his arms was nothing compared to the sinking weight of his stomach. His nerves were on edge as he approached Her, exceedingly careful not to drag his angel’s battered wings across the floor.

Of course Aziraphale had to play the hero this time. Of course he had to shield Crowley with his own body when Micheal attacked him. Of course the idiot had to sacrifice himself against a blow that was delivered by the one who threw Satan down to Hell herself. The hit would have killed Crowley, there was no doubt about it, but at least he wouldn’t have to see his angel like this, limp and lifeless with only the tiniest residual grace resting within the corporation proving that Aziraphale was just barely hanging on.

He finally reached Her, or about where he thought She was. His eyes were glued to the floor, not knowing if looking at Her with his damned eyes would be enough to set Her off.

“Please,” he begged. This was his last and only hope, and he’d beg and grovel on his hands and knees if it would convince Her to help, but he wasn’t going to let go of his angel. “Please, he’s all I have. He’s the only real good left on Earth. Lord, I’ll do anything, please…”

He stood there, gaze still glued to the floor, but now he was dripping tears onto Aziraphale’s wrinkled coat.

“Crowley,” She said to him. This made him finally look up at Her.

She said his name. Not the name She had given him upon his creation, but his name. The one he chose for himself ages ago.

That would have caused Crowley a whole different kind of crisis if there weren’t more pressing matters at hand.

She looked just as he remembered Her. She was Everything. She was Everything there ever was and Everything there would ever be. And that was all that could really be said.

“Crowley, what would you give in return for his salvation?”

Right to the point, as always.

“Anything,” he breathed. He wasn’t sure why She asked. She had to have known this already. “Anything at all. Please. Please, Lord, please save him.”

Though She was Everything, and thus hard to discern Her expression, he knew She was watching him closely.

“Would you give your life for him?”

Crowley expected this question, so he was more than prepared to answer.

“Yes.’”

The atmosphere in the room shifted, and suddenly there was a giant pair of hands before him, open and waiting for Crowley to move. He gently lowered Aziraphale’s corporation into Her hands, selfishly letting his fingers linger as he pulled away, not sure if he would ever hold his angel again. She waited until Aziraphale was carefully set in Her hands before pulling back and lifting the angel towards Herself.

At first, nothing happened. The atmosphere was silent save for the softest humming of holiness that existed everywhere in Her Domain. Then, so quietly Crowley thought he imagined it, there was a soft blowing of air. Similar to how someone might gently blow on glowing embers to raise a fire.

Crowley held his breath as the surrounding holiness focused into Her hands. It reminded Crowley of what it felt like to Create. Like gathering hydrogen and helium to make a tiny little star in your hands before setting it out into the black canvas of space to shine.

She was breathing life back into Aziraphale.

The next moment the focus was gone. The surrounding holiness calmed and rested loosely in the air, its job done.

“Crowley,” She spoke again. Without uttering anything else, She lowered Her hands, offering Crowley his angel back.

“Aziraphale, Aziraphale!” He panted as he nearly leapt up to take him from Her. “Angel, angel, angel…” He scooped Aziraphale up in his arms, holding him close and looking over him. He was still a bit of a mess with wrinkled clothes and ruffled feathers, but his chest was rising with the familiar habit of breathing, and his eyes were shifting under his eyelids as if he were dreaming.

And Crowley could feel Aziraphale wholly in his corporation again, not just withering vestiges of his fading grace.

Crowley sobbed with relief. His legs gave out under him, and he crashed to his knees, just barely managing not to jostle the angel out of his arms.

“Thank you,” he whispered in between relieved sobs. “Thank you, thank you…”

He cried and held his angel as tightly as he could without crushing him. He was making Aziraphale’s face wet with his tears as he peppered kisses onto his brow and into his hair. He coughed out pained ‘I love you’s over and over again, hoping that it’d stick, that Aziraphale would know this one thing. The one thing he could never manage to say, and he doubted he’d ever get another chance.

The room (if you could even call the strange dimension a room) grew quiet again as the demon’s sobs died out, giving way to a dreadful sort of peace.

Aziraphale had been saved, but Crowley now had his end of the bargain to uphold.

Still not having the strength to let go of the angel, Crowley looked up at Her again with a heart filled with equal parts relief and dread.

“He will still need rest for a while, but he is healed and whole again. A bit of time and care and he will be up and well again.”

Crowley nodded. He hoped that Muriel or maybe Maggie and Nina would be up to the task of caring for the angel after he was gone.

“And… when will I be destroyed?” He gulped, trying to be brave. “Do I have time to bring him back to Earth or do I…?”

Die now, his mind finished for him unhelpfully.

The holiness in the air bounced around with a jovial sort of movement, almost as if it were a chuckle.

“You are not to be destroyed, Crowley,” She said, sounding mirthful.

“But… but I agreed to give my life for him.” He hoped She wasn’t just playing games with him. He wasn’t in the mood to be given false hope just for him to be suddenly snapped into oblivion.

“And you will,” She promised.

Crowley blinked and suddenly She was there.

She had taken on a human-like form. Still made of pure Everything, but something smaller… almost comforting.

It was impossible to describe God’s appearance in something as trivial as words, but if Crowley had to, he would say…

That She looked like his Mother.

She smiled at him, and he could see it plain on Her face. It was the same proud look a mother might give to her child after learning they had helped an elderly neighbor bring in their groceries. It was soft and warm and something Crowley had never seen before.

She calmly stepped towards him, and it took all Crowley had in him not to try and flee. She crouched a bit and lifted a hand towards his face. He was ashamed to say he flinched the tiniest bit, but he then squeezed his eyes shut and lifted his head towards Her. He focused all his attention on the feeling of the angel resting in his arms. He wanted Aziraphale to be the last thing he thought about before he was wiped from existence.

Her hand gently cradled the side of Crowley’s face, and She used Her thumb to wipe the tears from his cheek.

“Oh, Crowley. It’s all right. Open your eyes.”

What else could he do but comply? He opened his eyes to see Her looking down at him fondly.

“You said you would give your life for him, and so you will.” She spoke in the same voice he’d known since his creation, but here in Her smaller form, it did not sound like the booming thunderstorm that echoed across time and space. It sounded human.

Strange. He didn’t think She liked humans anymore, but perhaps he was wrong.

She knelt down in front of them and rested Her other hand so that it sat on Aziraphale’s shoulder. The angel sighed quietly, still asleep.

“You will give your life for him. You will take him home to Earth and you will care for him as he recovers. You will give your life caring for him, protecting him, and loving him. You two will care for each other, protect each other, and love each other, just as you always have.” She gave Crowley a happy, patient smile. “It won’t always be easy, and you may have to save the world again a time or two, but you’ll muddle through it together just fine, I’m sure of it.”

Crowley looked at Her, then down at the angel in his arms.

“…You gave the Earth a good protector,” He muttered tiredly, still reeling from having his loved one saved and himself being permitted to live.

“And now I’m giving him a good protector,” She added conclusively. “Demon Crowley, the First Tempter, the Serpent of Eden… and the Guardian of the Guardian of the Eastern Gate. That’s quite a title.”

“Bit of a mouthful,” he tried carefully, still unsure about what She thought of him.

“Don’t like it?” She teased.

“Nah, ‘s all right,” he shrugged. “I’ll get used to it.” He attempted a weary smile, then hauled himself up on his feet with the angel still cradled gently in his arms.

She stood with him and reached up to place Her palm on his cheek again, and he leaned down a bit so She could reach him more easily.

“Go now. There is much yet to be done, but your angel needs you now.” She stood on her tiptoes for a moment to place a gentle kiss on his brow.

Before Crowley could even react, God pulled away, and Her form returned to the larger form of Everything that She always was--

--And then he was in the bookshop.

He firmly decided that he would unpack all of that once he got the angel settled and resting in bed.

For now, he sat the angel down on the couch, propped a pillow under his head, laid that ugly tartan blanket over him, and went deeper into the bookshop in search of some fresh bedclothes.

God, from wherever She was, looked down upon Her two most interesting creations and marveled at how they and their relationship kept on surprising Her in the most wonderful ways. She looked at the bond they’d built over 6,000 years… And God saw that it was Good.

[Written for @camilleflyingrotten]

𝘖𝘩 𝘈𝘻𝘪𝘳𝘢𝘱𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘦…

[igknightedart]

Thinkin' about Dread and how these are all technically the same character in the same specific AU 😅

At least I've more or less settled on the name and character details with this one but uh...yeah, hopefully my rampant perfectionism at least produced an interesting character evolution lmao

[knightinkosherarmour]

having been off of my estrogen for like a few weeks bad

[nik-knight]

A Spark in the Darkness

[Written for @hg-aneh]

He should have expected a reaction like this.                              

He knew Crowley better than he knew anybody. There should have been no doubt in his broken mind that the demon—er, the other demon, would fall apart at the news of Aziraphale’s, well, Falling.

Though Aziraphale wasn’t really expecting anything—thinking of anything—as he made his way up the escalator and back to Earth. He didn’t feel like it would do any good.

He didn’t feel anything.

He suspected all the feeling was burned out of him the moment he collided with the molten sulfur. The Fall itself had been a blur of screams and burning feathers. Its impact is what did him in. Her Love, his holiness, and his grace had been ripped from his very being the moment Heaven’s floor gave out under him. Anything left of him must have been burned away during his struggle to escape the boiling pool of sulfur. It felt like years from the time he landed to the time he was able to crawl onto the rotten ground of Hell. In reality, it must’ve only been a few minutes, but that hardly mattered when the Aziraphale that came out of the sulfur was not the Aziraphale he had been before.

There, on the grimy basalt ground of hell, Aziraphale looked at himself to inspect the thing he had become. As far as he could see on the outside, very little had changed. His clothes somehow survived the Fall, but the bottom half of his body was surrounded in a great plume of ash. It settled until he gathered the strength to pull himself into a standing position. The moment his feet met the floor, the ash kicked up again, reforming the great plume that would follow him in the same manner flies followed Beelzebub.

When he looked inside himself, however… that was a different story.

There… wasn’t anything there.

No Love, no grace, not a single particle of holiness remained. Inside him was a vast and empty blackness. A void. A vacuum of nothingness. His multitude of eyes, his flaming wheels, his true self… were all gone.

He may have had the body and the name of Aziraphale, but there was nothing left of the angel he once was.

The emptiness inside him explained his lack of feeling. Aziraphale had nothing but a body, his memories, and a forever ruined set of clothes. He did not have the capacity for emotions or feelings anymore. He supposed he should be grateful for that, but that would involve the use of emotion.

So then. There wasn’t really much to do now. He’d failed his task of fixing heaven. Although he knew deep down that such a thing wasn’t possible, he had to save face in order to try and find a way to protect Crowley and himself from both Heaven and Hell—

Crowley.

That was the whole point of this mess in the first place, to protect Crowley.

And now he was Fallen. He was no longer the angel Crowley fell in love with, but the sad husk of what was once desirable to the demon.

There are many things Aziraphale should have felt about that, but he couldn’t muster the energy.

Instead, Aziraphale turned and made his way out of the sulfur pits.

If nothing else, he could at least inform the demon of his Fall. Then the poor thing would no longer need to wait for an angel that would never return.

Which, of course, led him here to his bookshop where Crowley was now on his knees, desperately grasping onto Aziraphale’s filthy coat and sobbing.

He could smell the charcoal of his own wings behind him, but he didn’t bother to turn and look at them. He knew they were black. He didn’t bother to look down at the weeping demon, either. Instead, he stared at the far wall of the shop and considered his current options. There weren’t many, but that made choosing his next task much simpler.  

He finally moved his head down to look at the fellow demon. He was still kneeling there, sobbing and calling Aziraphale an idiot. It provided further reason for Aziraphale to go through with his next task.

“Crowley.” The word was flat and toneless, but it got Crowley to look up at him, nonetheless. “I have a question.”

Crowley, of course, was a wreck, still mourning the loss of his angel. It was probably insensitive to interrupt him, but the former angel wanted an answer.

“Do you hate me, Crowley?”

The other demon’s eyes widened, and he stood up abruptly to be eye to eye with Aziraphale.

“W-what?”

Aziraphale was fairly sure Crowley heard him the first time, but he repeated himself anyway.

“Do you hate me?”

Crowley then made a series of sounds that were very much not words. Mostly sputtering, really.

“What kind of question is that?!” he demanded, looking very hurt. That wasn’t Aziraphale’s intention, but he could do nothing about it.

“I just need confirmation that this form is no longer necessary.”

The expression Crowley wore went from hurt to confused very quickly. Not wanting to wait for Crowley to ask him to explain, Aziraphale continued.

“I wanted to keep us safe so that one day we may truly be free, but I failed. I’ve Fallen. I am no longer the angel you cared about. I want to be sure that I’m no longer needed.”

Crowley’s eyes widened again, this time in fear. He grabbed Aziraphale by the shoulders and pulled him closer. “Angel, what are you talking about? You’re not making any sense. What do you mean ‘no longer needed?’”

Despite his inability to feel, he nearly swore he was about to become irritated by Crowley dodging the very obvious subject.

“I can no longer serve God, and I doubt I’ll be of any use in Hell. You meant more than anything to me.” Aziraphale wondered if saying that out loud to the Metatron in his enraged state caused his Fall. “I want to be sure that what you say is true, that you are better off on your own. If you hate me, then I will know that there is no reason for my existence to continue. It is getting late in the day, and I believe most of the churches with fonts of holy water will be closing their doors soon.”

Crowley gaped at him for a solid five seconds before he began shouting in Aziraphale’s face again.

“You absolute fucking hypocrite!”

“It was a yes or no question.”

“NO!” Crowley nearly screamed. At that moment everything went very, very still. The sounds of traffic outside ceased along with the usual bustling noises of the city. Later they would discover that Crowley accidentally froze time for a few minutes, but for the moment, their only focus was each other.

“No…” Crowley said in a softer, almost defeated voice. “No, Aziraphale. I don’t hate you. I never will.” Carefully, Crowley gathered Aziraphale’s hands in his and simply held them.

Aziraphale’s abdominal area felt strange.

“But I hurt you. I abandoned you, and I failed you. Surely you hold nothing but contempt for me? I’m also Fallen now. I am no longer your angel.”

“You will always be my angel,” Crowley promised with honest and sincere eyes.

“…Even when I am like this?” Aziraphale gestured to himself and the ash that had almost entirely settled on the bookshop floor.

“We all started out that way when we Fell,” Crowley admitted with a pained crack in his voice. “You can become like your old stuffy, fussy, book-loving self again. I’ll help you. And maybe there’s even a possibility that we can make you an angel again. I can’t promise you anything on that front, but the Metatron did mention that demons can rise again, yeah? Maybe if Heaven discovers that they lost the only truly good angel there was, we can get you risen. You never know.” Crowley shrugged.

He was always Aziraphale’s beacon of hope, especially when it seemed all was lost.

Aziraphale’s throat felt strange now, too.

“You still want me? Even as a demon?” It didn’t make sense to him at all.

“Aziraphale, you could be a worm and I’d still love you.”

Love.

They both knew it, but still, hearing it for the first time was something entirely different.

There was a strange prickling sensation in his eyes now. Perhaps his corporation had been more damaged from the Fall than he realized.

“So, what you said before…”

“I’m a demon,” Crowley shrugged. “I lied.” Without waiting for a rebuttal, Crowley leaned forward and wrapped his arms around the being that would always be his angel. “I love you, Aziraphale. We’ll make things right again, I promise you. Even if it’s just us as a pair of demons trying to save the world, we’ll make it through to the other side. Together.”

“…On our own side…?”

“Yeah, angel. Our side.” Crowley squeezed him harder, holding and promising him that they'd fix this.

After several moments of Crowley holding him, Aziraphale finally reached around to wrap his arms around Crowley. It only seemed appropriate.

They embraced.

He couldn't remember a time they’d ever done that before.

And then he felt something.

Suddenly a spark caught somewhere deep within Aziraphale, deep in where his angelic soul used to reside, deep where Her Love used to culminate within him and disperse throughout the rest of his being, making him the angel he was-- or, the angel he used to be.

But now there was something new there, something bright. No, that wasn't right. It didn't exactly feel new. It felt... familiar. As if it had actually been there the whole time, hiding, lying in wait.

It came out now, this spark, this one little star in the dark, vast oblivion that was his being.

It felt so, so right.

It was a connection. It was them. The both of them. Together as they were always meant to be. It really had been there all along, but with Her blinding, ever-oppressing Love taking up most of his True Self, it never truly had the chance to shine on its own.

Aziraphale inhaled a sharp gasp and squeezed Crowley back. He pulled the other demon closer to him as that spark suddenly exploded into a super nova. In one huge rush, every feeling he’d ever had for the demon and the Earth in the past 6,000 years exploded within him. It was glorious and painful at the same time. Feeling was amazing. Feeling was excruciating. But it was real.

The pinpricks he’d felt in his eyes overwhelmed him, and soon he was sobbing just as hard as Crowley was earlier. Crowley’s eyes weren’t dry either, but the intense release of it all had Aziraphale nearly collapsing on his best friend. Crowley kept him steady, keeping him on his feet when he couldn’t himself. Just like he’d always done. Just like they’d always done for each other.

Crowley slowly guided them to the floor, never letting go of him for even a second. He let Aziraphale slowly return to himself as much as he could in his fragile state, and Aziraphale was grateful. He wept in grief for the loss of his grace, but he also wept in relief that Crowley, despite everything, was still there for him. The other demon had managed to ignite something within the former angel, something that had always been there, but was now finally free.

It was something more magnificent than anything She could have given him, for it wasn't made of Her Love; it was made out of their love. The pure, ugly, messy, wonderful human love they’ve found here on Earth.

It was love.

And it was hope.

🪽

he fall on my demon till i disgrace

[nik-knight]

ever gonna write more of that fic based off of art by hg-aneh?

Yep, I recently updated with a new chapter last week which you can read here, or on AO3 here. Not sure when chapter 8 will be uploaded since I'm still working on the details of it, but I'll post it on AO3 first. I'm also writing other things, like original works, so Ineffable Catboys is still in rotation. Of course, you can always find catboys content on @hg-aneh's tag "#catboy omens". Also, all the writings I do on tumblr, Good Omens or otherwise, can be found on my blog under the "#knight writes" tag.

[crepuscular-coyote]

There is something beautiful about stalking

Moving ever so quietly behind your unaware form

One paw in front of the other

Your ears twitch and you tremble like you know what's coming

Your eyes grow wide with fear when you see my teeth glint from the shadows

But no, I will not kill you

All of the fun comes from getting close to you, my dear

Close enough to bite but letting you run off into the wilderness

Hey, praise my self control, won't you?

[igknightedart]

Hey, I know censorship is still a lil fucky around here but would it be worthwhile to still make a valveplug themed blog for that kind of art?

asking purely hypothetically, of course