Do You Guys Think. Maybe Just A Little. That Gabriel Does The Tiniest Bit Of Bird Stuff? Just A Little?

fic where gabriel keeps a diary and it’s all of his entries

“dear diary, this robot might be worth more alive than dead.”

“dear diary, today the machine brought me a corpse. i don’t know how to feel about that.”

“dear diary, today i learned robots can dream.”

blehh. i know i need to write to finally return from my hiatus but i can’t just post unfinished slop on ao3. luckily, this place exists!!

Beware of the story that lay ahead!

warnings: pretty bloody and gore-y(?), perhaps a little gay. non-graphic depictions of violence!

summary: gabriel and v1 at the end of a fight, the robot does just a little thinking.

Staring up at Gabriel with a large yellow optic was the damned machine, cast down from Earth into the bowels of Hell. Blood and dents and cuts rended open with clawed gauntlets littered their chassis, whatever odd mixture of oil and biological matter they had in there leaking out pathetically onto the floor below.

Justice and Splendor framed their head, the regal blades stained with essence both angelic and inanimate. Angels were supposed to bleed ichor, and yet here he was, a distinct red drip-dripping down from the chin of his helmet.

V1 would laugh were the blood enough to heal. But it landed against their plating uselessly, drying and clotting easily in Hell’s heat. They both panted, or at least would if either of them had the lungs for it. Gabriel’s side had long since been blasted open with a clever hit of buckshot, and V1 was severed into pieces like a cheap toy.

Each fight had been like a dance. The first was wide evasion, dashing and running and pushing and pulling. Each hit and miss was the rock of a boat, swaying their world back and forth with displays of rage and power. The second — this one — had been close and personal. Grappling hands and clinging nails, feet stubbornly dug into the floor and weapons all but forgotten in the proximity.

And they were beautiful. Together, in their blood and weapons, stuttering fans and coughs, fists and bullets and blades. Separate in V1’s precise design and Gabriel’s empty aura that dared brush up against their being, bringing them back together once again. It was all V1 could think as Gabriel joined them with the plunge of Splendor through their chest: they were beautiful.

who are these “castiel” and “dean” people. why are they everywhere. do they know they exist?

@hkrdoarts

fighting homoerotically isn’t enough. i need them to embrace at the end of battle, metal fingers digging into flesh wounds, bodies slotted together to make sure the blood doesn’t go to waste.

that or drawing them over some crazy youtube thumbnails.

cliterally

to everyone drawing gabriel with a massive chest:

keep up the good work

they’re so bad for each other. i need to make them smash.