it's difficult to apply common fandom tropes to Gabv1el on account of how their meet cute went, but I keep thinking about how an Arranged Marriage AU would go:
Probably something along the lines of how, during the New Peace, Mankind guns for Heaven and its infinite resources rather than excavate in Hell, thus begins the long-belated Space Race. Heaven and its Council don't give a shit until they figure out how to reach and subsequently terraform the Fourth Sphere. War starts, but humanity has an edge in not only numbers but also technology, nevermind that there are human souls in the solar system Spheres that are sick of how the Council and higher angels are running things.
Fast-forward to the point where humanity starts making ground towards the edges of the Eighth Sphere and then the peace talks began. Part of that includes a marriage between mortal and divine. Gabriel, brightest of Heaven and one of the few higher angels who actually gives a shit about the mortal plight, is chosen as Heaven's representative. The Council is banking on Gabriel well outliving his mortal spouse and then having a massive political advantage via the prenuptial agreement, while Gabriel just wants to be a good husband for as long as his spouse is alive.
But instead of sending a super important leader figure or extremely wealthy mortal, Mankind digs up their deadliest machine from the Final War era, pretties them up, gives them the mission directive of ensuring they outlive their angelic husband, and then arming them to the metaphorical teeth.
And then I actually can't think of anything beyond Gabriel getting extremely offended upon first meeting, insults ensue throughout their shaky courtship until V1 kicks his ass, and then Gabe almost consummates their marriage prematurely as a result. Also the whole thing just being framed as a pulpy space opera because why the fuck not.
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Aro4Aro Stancy Break-Up AU Part 1
Or: Steve Harrington and Nancy Wheeler are both aromantic. Neither realize this. Poor Jonathan Byers ends up in the middle.
It hits him like a slap. The sounds of the party outside the bathroom door distort, muffle, cease. He can’t hear anything past Nancy’s words.
“Like we’re in love?” he asks. He cups her face, like you’re supposed to cup your girlfriend’s face. It’s soft. Nice. His gut curdles.
“It’s bullshit.” She spits it at him, eyes unfocused, mouth snarling.
He wants to ask her, “how did you know?” Wants to shake her and demand what gave away the game, where he went wrong. He doesn’t. “You don’t love me?” Steve asks.
“It’s bullshit.” She doesn’t sound angry anymore. She sounds like she’s going to cry. That’s what keeps his feet planted.
“Okay,” he says, backing up a few steps and dropping his hand from her cheek. “Let’s get you home, Nance.”
It’s hard. Nancy’s all elbows and flailing limbs. Even when she’s plastered, Nancy knows what she wants and right now, that’s away from Steve.
“Get off me.” The looks he gets from the partygoers at the bottom of the stairs tells him exactly how this spectacle is going to go over at school tomorrow. Didn’t you hear? Steve Harrington’s just a chip off the old block. Can’t seem to take no for an answer.
“Harrington?” Jonathan Byers’ disgusted face tells him that it’s going over just the same for him. He stands at the bottom of the stairs, a red cup in hand. A bit of the lurid red spiked punch sloshes onto the floor as he passes it to one of the kids he’s standing next to. He takes a single step forward, pushing up the sleeves of his jacket like they’re in some action flick. “What the hell are you–”
“Jonathan,” Nancy says, slurring. Her mouth is stained that same lurid red. Her sweater, too. “It’s bullshit.”
She’s crying when she says it. The gossips surrounding the spectacle are already whispering to each other, giggling behind hands and faux concern, too quiet for Steve to hear over the music. Something swells in Steve, a latent desire to bodily shield Nancy Wheeler from anything coming her way. Even if it’s just high schoolers. Even if he’s bullshit.
He sighs. “Help me get her home, man.”
Jonathan’s arms drop, his sleeves rolling down as gravity does it’s job. Steve refuses to meet his gaze, eyes trained on his sneakers, watching them shuffle back and forth on his toes with indecision, until they finally make their way toward where Steve and Nancy are stalled out at the bottom of the stairs. Jonathan must put his arm around her because her weight on Steve’s back lessens.
They limp their way through costumed teenagers, shoving through when the bodies seem unwilling to move. The chilled October night air hits like relief. Steve gulps it down.
“Where’s your car?” Jonathan asks, quiet.
Steve finally looks over Nancy’s head at the other boy. He doesn’t look mad anymore. His brows furrowed in a expression Steve isn’t familiar enough to read. “Did you drive?” Steve asks. “Did you drink?”
“Mom has the car.” His shoulders droom, like that’s somehow a shameful admission.
“Did you drink?”
Jonathan shakes his head, “barely got my first sip.”
Nancy’s hiccuping between them, muttering quietly to herself. He hears some choice B words – “Barb” and “bullshit” and “boyfriends” – before tuning her out.
He fishes his keyes out of his back pocket, tossing them left-handed to the other boy. “Can you drive?” he asks, relieved when Jonathan nods.
Steve leads the way to his car where it’s parked down the block. It takes concentrated effort to shuffle Nancy into the backseat. She lays down, face smushed into the leather seats. They don’t bother trying to wrangle her into a seatbelt, just close the door and slide into the front.
When Jonathan starts the car, Blondie belts out about her heart of glass – la, da, da, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, yeah, riding high on love's true bluish light – at a volume that really emphasizes the tonal shift the night’s taken. Jonathan turns the volume all the way down until all they can hear is Nancy crying in the backseat. The true soundtrack of the night.
The twelve minute drive to the Wheeler house drags on for hours. Jonathan's knuckles are white on the steering wheel, and Steve's head keeps boucing off the glass of his window with how he's pressing his heated cheek to it. Nancy stops crying by miute three, starts snoring by minute eight. No one says a word.
Steve and Jonathan don't communciate beyond hand gestures and mouthed commands as the lever a grumbling Nancy out of the car and sneak her into her house and into her bed without waking anyone up. She's going to be pissed in the morning. Her teeth are unbrushed, she's still in her stained sweater, and her shoes are still in, shoved under the quilt on her bed with the rest of her. Steve lingers at the threshold, staring down at her as she sleeps. She's so beautiful it makes his heart stutter nauseatingly.
This is what love feels like.
Jonathan is already settled into the driver's seat when Steve makes it back out to the car. He slides into the passenger seat, looking out the front of the windshield, palms sweating.
"What now?" Jonathan asks.
Steve looks at him from the corner of his eye, surprised to find the other boy already looking back. "Take me home?"
Jonathan turns the key in the ignition and drives.
Part 2
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the priestess of interface orthodoxy, IO
A technopath supervillain who didn’t have bad intentions, but she didn’t have very good ones either.
She mostly just wanted to make sure she and her brother could survive. And then she was trying to hide her smuggling activities from her brother and girlfriend. Then the relationship broke and before she could apologise, her ex was killed.
So the logical next step was to use forbidden exotechnology to bring said ex back to life, right?
we build a world and burn it down / everything is pretty when we burn it to the ground!
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