How About The Ineffable Husbands Finding Out About Beelzebub And Gabriel’s Relationship? :D

This Is Why We Go To Camp

At six years old, Keith was a scrawny, pale, wild haired little boy. He was short tempered and quiet, had a difficult time making friends, and preferred his books and karate classes to playing on the playground and going outside. 

As such, Keith had also never been up to the mountains. Mountains were hard to come by in the stifling desert heat of Arizona. So when a flier from the local parks and rec department came, advertising a six week sleep-away camp, his parents had thought it was a great idea to send Keith away to “make some friends” and “have a good time” away from home. He was less than thrilled for many reasons.

Keith’s List of Reasons Why He Should Not Go to Summer Camp:

(Presented by Keith. Written by Keith. Copyrighted by Keith.)

1. Summer camp is outside. Outside has bugs. Bugs bite.

2. There are going to be lots of other kids.

3. I won’t be able to read in the outdoors.

4. I have never spent the night away from home.

His list of reasons was very convincing, but not convincing enough for his parents not to put him on a bus full of loud children with a suitcase full of clothes and only one book for the whole trip. 

Keith can’t remember much of the bus ride there, now that he’s older, but he does remember stepping off the bus and stepping into a sea of children, overwhelmed and definitely smaller than everyone else. He had always been a nervous child, but this was like nothing he had ever experienced in his life. There were so many children, all of whom weren’t paying him any attention. 

“Hey! Are you lost?”

Keith remembered this moment quite clearly — it was one of his most fond memories. He looked up at a tall, gangly, grinning boy. There was a bandaid on his knee and dirt smeared on his cheek. He had the bluest eyes Keith had ever seen. 

“Yes,” he remembers saying, tilting his head back to look up at him. 

“My name is Lance,” the boy had said, holding out a hand to him. “I’ll help you find where you’re supposed to go.”

That was the day he met his best friend.

*

“Keith!”

Twelve years later, and Keith was still going to the same camp, but now he was a counselor instead of a camper. He was still a little awkward, still a little hot tempered, but this camp had done a world of good for him. Besides, he had met the single most important person in his life here.

“Hey, Lance.” He looks up from his clipboard, grinning at his best friend. Lance had grown into the gangly limbs. Now he was tall and handsome and often the object of many middle school girls’ affection (not that Keith could blame him, be still his gay little heart). 

“You get stuck in the Beavers cabin again?” Lance teases, slowing to a stop in front of Keith and reaching out to ruffle his hair.

Keith ducks away from his hand, swatting at him with his clipboard. “Um, excuse you, but the Beaver cabin is the best cabin.”

“Uh, no. The Turtle cabin is superior, obviously.” Lance laughs. 

Keith rolls his eyes. “Yeah, we’ll see about that at the tug of war competition.”

“Hey! It’s not my fault it rained and the mud got my kids.” 

“No, but maybe it’s because you have no upper body strength.” Keith teases. 

Lance gasps, pretending to clutch his pearls. “The audacity. How dare you come into my house-”

“This is the woods.”

“-with that sort of talk! Keith Akira Kogane, I expected better of you. And to think, they let you around children.” Lance whispers the word children, shaking his head gravely. 

“Yeah, it’s a tragedy.” Keith agrees, looking down at his clipboard.

“How many kids do you have this year, anyway?” Lance peeks over his shoulder. 

He does a quick count, smiling when he sees a couple familiar names. “Mm… seven, I think. They said they might add a couple kids if there are any last minute scholarships.”

“Hey, same!” Lance grins, taking his hand and pulling him along toward the place where the buses were going to pull in. “Come on, the kids will be here any second.”

“I’m coming!” Keith laughs, stumbling after him and shaking his head. 

He looks up at his best friend as they walk, his smile melding into something softer. Lance had been his best friend for twelve years, but at least in the past two, he’d developed a, er… crush. It was no secret that Lance was attractive — there was a reason he was the most popular counselor among all the kids. Not only was he handsome, but he was charismatic and had a way with the kids that Keith was always bordering on jealous of. 

But there was no way that Keith would ever make a move on it. They lived in different states, for one, and he wasn’t even sure that Lance even leaned toward guys. He didn’t want to ruin what they had. So, for now, he was happy with spending six weeks of his summer with his best friend and spending hours on the phone after camp was over, counting down to the next summer. 

There was no need to dwell on this, though, not with the buses pulling up to the campgrounds. He looks over at them, letting a smile tug at his own lips. This was the start of yet another great summer. 

And to think, twelve years ago, he’d tried to talk his parents out of sending him here.

Hello all! I’m participating in Klancetober, a klance-centric October prompt list. I’ll be posting at least one installment a day, but please have patience If I fall behind.

*

Day One: A Walk in the Park

It was finally cold enough to bundle up in warm clothes and drink warm pumpkin spice lattes and watch the leaves fall from the trees. It was finally, finally time to indulge in all the holiday feelings and the warm atmospheres. Even if that meant suffering through the Christmas section in every single store. Even if it was the first day of October.

Keith enjoyed the cooler weather. It was definitely better than the Arizona heat. He lived for the weather where all he needed was a light sweatshirt and jeans and beat up old sneakers. The heat was something he could permanently live without. But the cold? He would gladly live in the mountains, given the chance.

Lance, on the other hand… he had grown up in sunny, tropical Cuba. He hated the cold and took extra measures to keep himself bundled up and away from any semblance of chill. He bundled himself in scarves and fluffy coats and heavy boots and mittens. He looked like a colorful marshmallow in the winter, and Keith loved him for it.

Today, the first day with an overcast sky and the first day where it was ethically acceptable to put out orange fairy lights and spooky decorations in the front yard. Keith had watched fondly as Lance had wrapped himself in a hand-stitched scarf (courtesy of his mother; Keith had a matching one that Lance had pilfered for his own use) and a fluffy sweater.

“We’re only going to the park, you know.” Keith teases from his spot at the kitchen table, finishing off his cooling coffee.

Lance huffs, tying the scarf off into some sort of fashionable loop. “It’s cold! I don’t know how you’re only in jeans and a t-shirt.”

“I like it.” He chuckles, shaking his head. “Are you ready? You’re the one who wanted to go.”

“I know, I know.” The Cuban grumbles, sliding on his winter boots. “I’m ready. Let’s go see the leaves and stuff. Even if it is twenty below.”

“It’s sixty degrees, love.” Keith grins, getting up and sliding into his own shoes. “You won’t die of hypothermia just yet.”

“I’m gonna die,” Lance groans, reaching over and taking his boyfriend’s hand.

“You won’t.” Keith presses a kiss to his cheek. “Let’s go.”

The two walk out of the house, taking in the crisp, cold air and the sound of dried leaves scraping against the pavement as the breeze whisked them away. Keith swings their hands between them, smiling to himself.

If there was any sort of heaven to be had here on this earth, Keith was sure this was it. With a boyfriend bundled up in more layers than was necessary, holding his hand and listening to him chatter about the new fall related flavors his favorite cafe was introducing this week.

That, added with the serene calm of the autumn air, the clear path of the park by their house, and the leaves rustling in the breeze - this was heaven. Keith was sure of it.

“What’re you thinking about?” Lance asks, snapping him out of his reverie.

The Korean looks over at him with a smile, leaning over and kissing his cheek. “Just about how much I love you.”

His boyfriend flushes, smiling and tipping his head to the side. “Aww, babe. That’s gay.”

“I am so gay,” Keith laughs, tugging on his hand and kissing him.

“I love you.” Lance murmurs against his lips.

With a smile and a hand on his hip, he pulls back and looks up at his lovely boyfriend. “I love you, too.”

soft wlw asks

1. how long have you known you liked girls?

2. talk about the girl who made you realise you liked girls

3. are you in a relationship at the moment?

4. do you have a crush at the moment?

5. describe your crush!

6. do you tend to like more masculine, feminine, or androgynous girls?

7. do you look/dress more masculine, feminine, or androgynous?

8. what’s your gaydar like?

9. tall girls or short girls?

10. intimidating girls or kind girls?

11. hugs or kisses?

12. do you have an ideal ‘type’? what would they be like?

13. what’s your favourite personality trait of yours?

14. what’s your favourite personality trait for a girl to have?

15. what’s the best thing about liking girls?

16. do you have any friends who are wlw?

17. have you ever been to pride? if so, what was your first pride like?

18. do you like the lesbian flag?

19. what was your first kiss with a girl like?

20. who was your celebrity/fictional gay awakening?

21. what’s your favourite lgbt+ movie?

22. who’s your favourite openly wlw celebrity?

23. do you wear makeup?

24. who was the first person you came out to (if you have)?

25. has anyone ever come out to you?

26. have you found a community of lgbt+ people?

27. do you have any older lgbt+ people you look up to?

28. do you identify with butch/femme labels?

29. who’s your favourite fictional wlw?

30. what experiences are you looking forward to having in the future (kissing a girl, going to pride, etc)?

Ahh you're so sweet ❤️ I have no idea if I'll continue it but if anyone else ever wanted to take a crack at it I would absolutely share my notes.

This is based off of the fic “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” by @renywrites which had this cool idea of a rainbow world and a monochrome world! I tried drawing chibi and then I’m like screw it, and made them more animal crossing inspired instead.

Taking a small break (just until the weekend) friends ❤️ it's been a long week and I hardly have the energy to get through the day. Thank you for all of your asks, they're making me excited to get back to things!

Galra AU Shidge... Not sure if that counts as a prompt but I can't think of anything to add to it

Hi! Let me say that I am so sorry that this took so, so long - but I really hope you enjoy this!

*

Ask to be Unbroken

The day Pidge met Takashi Shirogane was easily one of the worst days of her life.

It was the day after her entire family — the entire town — had been killed. She was the last, hidden away in the blood and carnage and wreckage, waiting for death to come on swift wings and take her like it had taken everything else. Ash and soot clung to her bloodied, matted fur. The smell of smoke and death was heavy on her tongue, in her nose. Whatever wounds she had were caked with blood and dirt and she could feel infection and fever seeping into her body with each hour that passed.

The Galra Empire had arisen. Her town was not the first town in opposition, though they might have been the last. The people Pidge had grown up with, the people who she had loved — they had stood up when the Emperor had begun killing innocent outsiders and turning a blind eye to the wicked magic his wife had grown fond of. She had watched her father and the other men in the town gather around her kitchen table, pouring over notes and maps and hastily thrown together battle plans.

She had sat in the hallway with her older brother, huge ears trembling as she listened as intently as she could. She had been there, constructing weapons and helping enhance ships when her father had finally given in to her insistent pleas to help their revolution. She had watched families lose sons, daughters, brothers, mothers, and fathers. She had watched bond-mates get ripped away from their beloved as the war raged and the Emperor’s wiles grew and his humanity dwindled and then evaporated.

And just hours ago, she had watches troops of the Galra horde kill families in cold blood and set the town alight in flame. She had watched her family get murdered, narrowly avoiding death herself. She had only survived because her older brother, Matthew, had pushed her into a cupboard and told her to be silent for once, Katie, and she had listened. Matthew had been dead at her feet when she’d pushed the door open.

Now it was only her in the ash and soot and blood that was left of what had been her home. Only her and countless piles of bone and fur that had once been her family and her friends.

Pidge didn’t know how long she sat there among the death and rubble. After her tears had run out and exhaustion had set in, she had sat down in the middle of what had once been the main road, staring into the horizon and wishing for death.

What came, however, was not death. Instead, a beat up ship with a worn looking Rebellion insignia painted on the side kicked up a dust storm in the near distance, disturbing the morbid silence. Four figures stepped out after the engines had cut, and Pidge watched with distant interest as they surveyed the area around them.

There wasn’t much left for them here. Just blood and dust and bones and… and Pidge. But she wasn’t much more, either. She closed her eyes, hoping maybe this was all a terrible, terrible dream and she would wake with Matt pulling her ears and laughing in her face, and her mother at the stove, and her father tinkering away in the yard.

When she did open her eyes, it wasn’t to Matt. It was to an unfamiliar voice, accompanied by grey eyes and fluffy ears poking out a tuft of white fur. She realized distantly that it was a male Galra, and that he was speaking to her. She blinked dust from hazy green eyes, reaching up to adjust the broken spectacles that she’d taken from her brother’s body.

“There’s nothing for you here.” She found herself speaking, her voice unrecognizable even to her own ears.

Those grey eyes she was looking into brighten a bit into something hopeful, and she has to close her eyes. There was no hope here, not anymore. Hope had died with the rest of her family.

“You’re here, aren’t you?” The Galra asked, his voice a soothing timbre.

An ugly smile twisted her face, her eyes opening to narrow slits. “Leave me to die with the rest of them.” She hissed, her ears pinned back. Her body was trembling.

“I think that would be a terrible way to die,” he said, his voice low and soothing and conversational, like they weren’t sitting in the prime example of the genocide the Emperor was capable of. She hated it. She wanted him to feel her pain. She wanted him to hurt, to feel the fire burning in her lungs and the stiff knots in her belly and the trembling exhaustion in her body.

“Besides,” the Galra continues, oblivious to her anguish. “I think your friends would want you to continue their fight, don’t you think?”

Something in Pidge wanted to snap back, wanted to spit poison at his feet, rake her claws against his face. But the exhaustion won out the grief and she sagged forward, pressing her fingers to her face and letting out an ugly sob, one that made some part of her want to lean into this man and beg for comfort.

“Come with me.” His voice gave way to something pleading, and she doesn’t stop him when he cups her elbows. “Let’s make them pay for their deaths.”

Pidge looked up at him, her vision blurry, and took a breath. “What’s your name?”

He smiled, standing up and guiding her with him. “My name is Shiro.”

*

Pidge was taken to some sort of rebellion base after the Galra — Shiro — had coaxed her to join him and his crew.

She had heard her father talk of this place, once or twice, when she had snuck out of her room after bedtime to listen to the meetings. Somehow, it was nothing and also everything she had imagined. For one thing, there were many more people than she dreamed. Along with that, there were no maps and strategies planned by the light of the lamp — instead there were entire meeting rooms and holoscreens dedicated to that.There were differences, though. Many of the people looked to be close to her age. They functioned less like a military and more like a city, including the apartments and different shops.

Pidge didn’t get to see much of it at first. She was whisked away to the medical bay almost immediately after they had set foot in the hangar. Everything was so bright and clean, and she realized just how filthy she was when they pushed her into a private shower and gave her some sort of thin hospital gown.

Getting her brother’s blood out of her fur was easily one of the hardest things Pidge had ever made herself do. In some odd way, it felt like betrayal.

After she’d been scrubbed and poked and prodded, she was given a room close to the med bay, where they could monitor her. The room itself was lonelier than the dying city had been.

When Pidge was finally left alone to her own thoughts and devices, one thought took precedence over every other, and it was unwanted in the worst sort of way.

I am alive and my family is not.

What a cruel fate — outliving your parents and your older brother. Afraid of what was to come, Pidge bowed her head and cried for every lost life she had left behind.

*

Shiro was persistent in the worst way possible.

Every day, he showed up to accompany Pidge places; to the cafeteria, to the library, to the med bay, to her own room. At first, she’d done her damndest to ignore him. It was humiliating enough to have been found in the state she had been, but it was even worse to have to look at him and remember that he was also the one who had taken her away from the death she had wanted to die.

Nonetheless, he was adamant on staying around her. It became difficult to ignore the person who held doors for you or introduced you to people or put you in social situations where not talking was considered rude instead of necessary. Pidge was pushed from cold silence to grudging conversation in a matter of days.

(She tried to convince herself it wasn’t because when he smiled as she picked up the conversation to take it somewhere, he looked a little like her brother when he had found a flaw in a textbook. Gleeful and excited.)

But it didn’t stop there! Oh, no. He’d gone and introduced her to his crew, too, which meant now they came around more often. Tiptoe though they might around her, because she was still ticking like a bomb waiting to go off. Pidge became unwilling acquaintances with three more people.

Keith was Shiro’s younger brother, a hotheaded young Galra who shot off at the mouth and had a temper that often got him in trouble and in dangerous situations. He was the opposite of Shiro in so many ways, right down to his constant frown, that Pidge wondered if they could really be siblings at all. She and Matt had often been mistaken for twins, despite their three year age difference.

His mate, and partner in crime, was an Altean named Lance. He was just as mouthy, although his snark was more sass and often more playful in nature. He and his mate, Keith, often bickered, but Pidge deduced that it was how they showed their affection.

Her favorite by far was the Balmeran named Hunk. He was brilliant, whip-smart and one of the kindest people she had ever met. Although it was hard to get close to him, because they ran on the same wavelength that she and her brother had — and that was just too painful for now.

Pidge often found herself hanging with variations of the group — but Shiro was the only constant, like her solid shadow, a calming force beside her. It was overwhelming to be near such an easy version of family.

She tried to tough it out and be with them. She did. But after the second time they were all together, it became too much.

The trigger was sudden and unbidden. Lance and Keith had paused in their bickering to gaze lovingly at each other, caught up in some silly argument over what they wanted to eat for dinner. Hunk was talking, or trying to talk, mechanics with Pidge, and Shiro was sitting at her side, watching like an approving parent.

It was all too much. Too familiar. She could hear the screams echoing in her ears, could taste the blood and ash on her tongue. Her brother had let her borrow his book on Altean mechanics the night before it all happened. That same book had crumbled away to dust at her feet when she’d stumbled to crouch at her mother’s side.

Pidge stood with an audible, wet sort of gasp. Everyone stopped, but not her mind. No, her mind was filled with death and decay and the sickening sort of guilt that came with being the only one out of hundreds to survive.

“Pidge?” Hunk asked, trailing off. Lance and Keith look away from one another and over to her.

It’s all so much.

The overwhelming urge to flee hits her, and she stumbles in the direction where her room was, where she could hide and scream and beat her fists on the wall until her claws broke and she could bleed. Just like all of them had.

She presses her hands to her ears. They’re all up on their feet before she can make them stop, make them stay, make them leave her alone. All of them are speaking, all of them are asking things of her — all of them, except for Shiro.

A hand comes up to rest on her shoulder, and it’s like all of the rest of the world goes quiet.

“Pidge,” Shiro said, and she can feel herself fracturing.

“I can’t.” She gasped.

She expects to be asked to explain herself. She expects there to be more words, but she can’t put words to the feeling of ash and blood and flame clogging her throat. She can’t make them understand the guilt that she wears like a second skin.

But then she’s being lifted up into strong arms. For a moment, she struggles, but then Shiro is nuzzling her ears and it’s so familiar that she relaxes with a wet sob into his chest. After that, the tears that have become plentiful in these few days return in full force.

Pidge is carried back to her room, but Shiro doesn’t put her down. Instead, he climbed his way into her bed, nestling her smaller body close to his and holding her the way a lover might. Her ugly sobbing turned to weeping, giving way to weak exhaustion.

“You will not feel this way forever.” His voice was close to her ear, making it flick back to brush against his cheek.

Good, she thought, because I am broken and if I break anymore I will turn to dust.

“You aren’t alone, Pidge. You will never be alone.”

“How aren’t I alone?” She argued, her gaze clouded with liquid anguish. “I have lost everything. Everything. I have no family, no home. I’d say I’m pretty alone.”

The male Galra was quiet for a time, rubbing his cheek against her ear. His silence was not malicious; simply thoughtful.

“I am here.” He offered after she had settled back into the horrible spiral of death and dead and dying and guilt.

“What?” Pidge was bewildered.

“I am here,” Shiro said again. She could feel his smile, soft and timid, against her head. “I will not leave you.”

“You cannot stop death, Shiro.” She said, resigned.

“No,” he agreed, pulling back a bit. His fingers caught just under her chin and she found herself looking up into the same grey eyes that had pulled her from her stupor the first time. “But I can promise to be here for as long as I can.”

Let me in, his gaze screamed, stealing the breath from her lungs. Let me show you how I will stay.

She didn’t want to. All of her instincts warned her to push him away, to turn him to the door and order him out. It was logic now. Get too close to people and it would kill you to watch them die. She had already died a hundred times over — one more would fracture her beyond repair.

But another part of her was drawn to his soft reassurance and his willingness to help her heal.

Put me back together, that part of her begged. Put me back together and ask me to be unbroken.

“You promise?” Her words are whispered, afraid to be loud in case someone heard and came to rip them away again.

Shiro’s smile is the soft sheets of her childhood bed. His eyes are the grey of the dusk in the summer in her village. His closeness is the balm to every ache that had seeped into her bones and weighed her down. “I promise.”

Pidge had never believed anything more in her life.

I love your writing! Can you please do 5+1 Things-type with ineffable bureaucracy?

Thank you!! And of course I can, have some angst <3

(According to Wikipedia and also some forms of Judaism, Zadkiel is the archangel of benevolence, freedom, and mercy. Zadkiel is also said to be a he, but I’m considered to be a she and I say fuck gender so that’s not what’s happening)

*

1.

The first time she questioned, she was only moments old, bathing in the light of her holy Creator, awash with love and wonder and glory. 

“Who am I?” She asked, picking herself up from the floor, her wings new and brilliant and trembling with the effort of simply being in the presence of such magnitude. 

You are Zadkiel, said the one who had breathed life into her, the one who had put every golden freckle on her face, the one who had a Plan for this little angel. 

“Zadkiel,” she echoes, the name clumsy on her tongue. “I am Zadkiel.”

You are the benevolent one, God continues, the merciful one, the one who harbors freedom. You are one of my Seven.

“I am Zadkiel,” the little Archangel repeats, looking up to the One Most Holy, a smile on her lips. 

2. 

The second time Zadkiel questions, she is hand in hand with her lover, Gabriel. They are standing on the outskirts of a crowd, in which the greatest Archangel is speaking. Lucifer was something of a prodigy here, a perfect being who held the attention of everyone around him. His tongue was silver and his reasoning sound. 

At least, it was to a select few. 

“One day he’s going to regret the things that he says,” Gabriel says, his gaze dark and his grip on Zadkiel’s hand tightening. 

The little Archangel blinks, looking up at him in confusion. She’d always walked the line, always done things that had pushed patience or made the other angels nervous. Most said it was her connection to freedom, but Gabriel chalked it up to her ability to be difficult.

“What do you mean?” She asks, and shrinks when her lover turns a sharp glare her way. 

“The things he’s saying are treason, Zadkiel.” He hisses, pulling her away from the crowd to speak with her privately. “You’d do well to disregard him, he has nothing to say that would do any of us any good.”

The little angel averts her gaze from Gabriel’s, staring at the gold cobblestone under her feet. She didn’t like being told what not to think, didn’t like having her feelings disregarded and swept aside. Gabriel was good at that, though, especially when it came to the Great Plan or anything related to it or Her.

“Alright,” she relents at last, if only to have him release his crushing grip on her hand. 

He does, relief seeming to help him relax. He tilts Zadkiel’s chin up, giving her a kind smile and leaning down to kiss her. “It’s better this way.” He murmurs when he pulls away.

But Zadkiel wasn’t so sure.

3. 

The third time she questioned, it was in a private nook of Heaven, in the lap of her lover. 

Lucifer had been cast out of favor, banished to tar pits and fire and endless suffering. A handful of angels had come too, and Zadkiel had nearly been one of them. She had seen the disappointment in Lucifer’s eyes when she had shied away and hidden behind Gabriel, still walking her line.

After nearly driving herself mad with guilt and doubt, Zadkiel had to tell someone. And who best to tell than the one she had fallen in love with?

Gabriel listened silently as she spoke of treason and guilt and worry — so many things that angels were simply not meant to have. He let her speak until she was out of breath, out of words, and finally feeling a bit better. 

“Zadkiel,” he says, slow and soft. 

“You haven’t the faintest how worried I was,” the little Archangel breathes, turning to face him, a relieved smile on her face. “I thought I would burst!”

“Zadkiel,” he says again, a little louder this time.

“Maybe I was wrong, you know? About all this? Maybe I was just being silly.” 

“ZADKIEL!”

The littlest Archangel falls silent, looking up at her lover. Gabriel’s face was stone, his eyes cold and hard, his mouth a thin line. Her smile fades, the relief following. 

“Gabriel,” she says, her voice wavering as she realizes the gravity of what she had done. What she had said. “Gabriel, can you still love me? It was only a slip, just a lapse in judgement…”

“I do not love traitors.” Gabriel growls, and shoves her away.

4.

Her next question comes from ichor stained lips, from the depths of a place that had sounded so good when it had come from Lucifer’s stories. The air smelled of singed flesh from the wings that had been burnt black as a punishment for her crimes. Her beautiful freckles, the ones that had been painted so delicately in gold all those years ago, were now blood and diseased flesh. 

There was an emptiness in her heart, if she even had one now at all. An absence. A place where once, she could feel the love and warmth around her. Now all she felt was rage, and hatred, and disgust. 

They had watched her fall, with pity! Those who she had called her friends had looked away when she begged for forgiveness, when she screamed and cried and was torn from the sky. They had watched Her shatter the halo that tied her to the stars, and had done nothing about it.

Tears drip from her eyes, her breath coming in ragged gasps that sounded like something a wild beast would make, not one who had been part of the Heavenly Host. All this for a simple doubt? All this for a slip, for questions that had been asked by another?

Zadkiel looks to the heavens and screams, cursing the Creator that had created this. She screams until her voice breaks and she gasps for air, her voice as broken as the mess she had become. 

“Why?” She asks, to one who was not listening. To one who would never listen again.

5.

The next time she sees a part of the heavens, she is called Beelzebub, and she is a Prince. 

It takes her by surprise — all the angels were supposed to have left Eden. It was her job to clean up what was left, take what Hell needed, and leave the forsaken garden. All the angels were supposed to have been gone.

Gabriel doesn’t see her, not at first. 

Do you remember me?

When he does, there is no recognition. There is no trace of the love he had once freely given, only the disgust and repulsion that she had seen the day she Fell. Gabriel looks as though he’d rather be anywhere else, looks more pretentious than she remembers, and she vows specifically to make him suffer for what he’d done to her. 

+1.

Six thousand years later, after a failed end of the world, Beelzebub finds herself in bed with none other than the one she had loved so many years ago. 

It had become a regular occurrence for him to be in her bed, sometime after Rome had fallen. Try as she might, her rage died quickly, and it was easier to bed him than to admit that still, in some ways, she missed him. But as the years went on, their hate-fueled fucking softened, and turned into an attachment neither of them knew they needed. 

Gabriel had gone from the thorn in her side to the only one she wanted at her side. He didn’t remember her from Before, but after millenia, she didn’t really remember herself either. Just this. Just the decay and the power and the throne. Zadkiel was dead, and what remained was something better.

Her questions faded over the years, too. She no longer cared why she’d been cast here, just how she was going to get an army in gear enough to get her paperwork finished. Gabriel had proven his loyalty many, many times in hundreds of different ways, so there was no question anywhere near that. 

Now she was more concerned with lazing about in bed with the Archangel, his hands on her skin, and perhaps the lazy pleasure that came with it.

“Morning,” comes Gabriel’s voice from behind her, rough with sleep and from the activities they’d indulged in the night before. His hand wraps around her slight waist, pulling Beelzebub flush against his body.

The Prince pretends to be irritated, wiggling around in a half attempt to get closer and a half pretense of annoyance. “Ugh, you’re too hot.”

“I know,” the Archangel says smugly, pressing a kiss to the back of her neck. They both knew she didn’t mind it either way. 

Beelzebub rolls over, settling into his chest and looking up into those purple eyes. Gabriel gives her a lazy smile, his arm adjusting to rest on her back. The casual intimacy had been too much, once, had hurt too badly. It was a reminder of things she had once had, and until Beelzebub realized he didn’t remember, she thought he was making fun of her. 

But now she knew the truth. Now she could look into his eyes, bask in his warmth, and feel safe enough to be vulnerable like this. 

Now she could look into his eyes, into the I love you that always lingered, and for once since the beginning of her life, didn’t find the need to question it.

“reblogs aren’t important you’re just whiny”

yeah because when you see this

tell me you don’t get annoyed.

tumblr’s algorithm only cares about posts that are reblogged, it doesn’t count likes. posts don’t get promoted or circulated when they only have likes (the way instagram functions), only reblogs matter for increasing reach on tumblr as a platform.

support content creators.

I'm so glad you enjoyed it!! ❤️ I hope tomorrow is better for you!

I’ve been watching a lot of Mad Men because Jon Hamm and I cant stop thinking of like a sixties AU with Gabe and Beez, or just switching out broody Don Draper for Gabriel so could I suggest a domestic 60s set Ineffable Bureaucracy thing?

I decided to do 1968 because of the Apollo 7 mission (I think Bee is just a huge space nerd) and also because I have no idea what Mad Men is (thank you for giving me a new show to watch though, holy shit!! Jon Hamm is a gift). I tried very hard to do this in a 60s setting but it may come off more as 50s themed- I pulled some familiar stuff I know from The Help and read up on some careers before I hopped into this. Bee’s name is Beatrice in this because reasons.

*

Gabriel loved his life. He had a good job working as a Creative Director in a big advertising company, made enough money to be comfortable, got the weekends off to do whatever he pleased, and had a lovely wife to go home to. 

Wife. The concept was still foreign, still made him shiver and smile and feel mushy as could be. Bee would tell him to shove a sock in it, if she were here.

He and Beatrice Romanov had gotten married only a month ago, but only because she had insisted she was going to finish her college degree before he was allowed to strap her down. Gabriel would have liked to have married her the minute he had seen her under those trees in the college courtyard, but she had put her foot down. 

It took a lot more to court her than just a charming smile and a compliment, he had learned very quickly. In fact, the first time he’d done that, he’d ended up with a milkshake in his lap. 

“I’m not a cheap whore,” the soon-to-be love of his life had snapped, her dark eyes blazing with hellfire. “Don’t treat me like one.”

Gabriel had never been spoken to like that by a girl — or anyone — before. At first he was offended, so he made it his duty to try and outdo her in each of the classes they had together. Unfortunately for him, he’d found his match. She was whip smart, mean as a junkyard dog, and took shit from absolutely nobody. Many men had walked away with tattered dignity and a broken nose after attempting to tame this wildfire of a girl. 

He quickly found that instead of wanting to defeat her, Gabriel wanted to impress her. He wanted her to give him that sharp little smile she got when she won. He wanted to hear that laugh, wicked and graceless, that she would let loose on occasion when she was around her friends. He wanted those dark eyes to be on him, always. He wanted.

That wanting turned into a game of cat and mouse very quickly, both of them doing things that had society frowning and the other taunting them to continue. Heated looks across classrooms. Stolen kisses against the bookshelves of the library. His hand on her thigh, her back pressed to the cold stone wall of her dorm building. 

One night, Gabriel took the bait, and had his world shattered by his name broken on her lips, her body bare against his, those eyes looking up at him like he was the only thing that mattered in the world. 

Gabriel woke up the next morning with his vessel of hellfire next to him in bed, her inky black hair spilling over his pillow and tickling his nose. The sunlight streaming in the window made her skin look like porcelain, her body ethereal and too perfect to belong in even Heaven. The frustration and pent up tension that remained in him quickly gave way to something that melted his insides, took his breath, and made him pull her closer and press a kiss to her hair.

Three years later, he knelt in front of her with a small velvet box and watched those beautiful dark eyes glisten with tears and love and the promise of a future.

And now he got to go home to his future every single night.

“Leaving already?” Comes a teasing call as Gabriel packs his things up for the weekend.

He looks up, then gives his co-worker a polite smile. “Ah, Sandalphon. Yes, it’s my night for the dishes and Bee wants to watch the Apollo 7 launch with me.”

“You’re whipped, you know.” Comes the predictable laugh, accompanied by others in the office who were bad at pretending to not listen in on conversations. “That wife of yours has you on a leash.”

Gabriel shakes his head, unable to help his smile. “What can I say? I like a girl who takes charge. Evening, gentlemen.”

He leaves with wolf whistling and whoops following him out, but his mind is focused on calculating how much more time it would be until he got to go home to his wife. If he stopped at the supermarket and bought her favorite bottle of wine and some flowers, it would only add another fifteen minutes…

*

“You’re late!” Comes the call when he closes the door. He winces — he had been trying to be quiet so he could surprise her. Nothing got past Bee. 

“Sorry, my love.” He calls, slipping his shoes off and treading carefully into the kitchen. 

The sight that greets him is one he’d come home to for the rest of his life, but one that would always make his heart swell and his knees weak. 

His wife was standing at the stove, stirring what smelled like spaghetti sauce, a red gingham apron tied around her neck and waist. Her hair was pulled back from her face, piled messily on her head and stuck through with a knitting needle (his mother had gotten them for her, trying to insist she needed to be more ladylike. Bee wore them in her hair out of spite. Besides, they did well in a pinch).

“Hello,” Gabriel walks over, pausing to kiss her cheek before fetching a vase to put the flowers in. “I brought you something.”

Bee glances up, surprise flickering in dark eyes, before she smiles. “Sap. Put the wine on ice, we can have it with dinner. It’ll be ready in a little bit.”

“It smells good, Bee.” He does as he’s told, then pulls up a chair at the table to sit and talk with her while she finishes dinner.

His wife blows a stray hair from her face, her brows creasing. “Your mother sent the recipe to me. No, she showed up to my work to give it to me. Spent twenty minutes going on and on and on about how a good housewife always makes her husband’s favorite things…” Bee makes an irritated noise. 

“At work?” Gabriel sits up, frowning. “I’ll talk to her…”

“No need,” she says, with that grin she used to give him just before she dragged him behind a building at school and kissed him senseless. “I took care of it.”

“Bee,” he says, a rush of fondness and exasperation rolling over him. And maybe a bit of dread. “What did you do?”

“Oh, she’ll call you about it later.” She waves a hand, her smile growing. 

Gabriel didn’t even have it in him to be upset — his mother was insufferable about everything Bee did. About how she dressed, how she behaved, how she treated Gabriel. When Bee’d refused to marry her son in a church, that was when Gabriel accepted that he was going to be stuck in the middle of an eternal feud.

But watching his wife move around their kitchen and complain about her day, he found he couldn’t mind. It was amusing to see his wife come up with petty ways to get back at the people who annoyed her. It was definitely a good reminder that she would put up with none of his shit, not ever. 

“Are we watching the launch during dinner?” Gabriel asks when she turns the stove top off. 

She brightens. “Yes! And the newest Star Trek comes out tonight, too. You don’t mind if we watch both?”

Gabriel gives her a fond look, getting up to get them both some wine. “Not at all. Whatever makes you happy, darling.”

Bee grins, blocking his way and leaning up on her tiptoes for a kiss, her fingers snagging and wrinkling his work shirt. He bends to meet her, his hand resting against the curve of her spine and tugging her closer against him as their lips meet.

The chase had been well worth it, Gabriel reflects, as his wife hooks a hand around the back of his neck and pulls him down farther to her mercy with a wicked smile. He wouldn’t trade any of this for anything.

how do I find a fic that’s exactly like the one I’ve just read but also different