300 Artists, 300 Frames and a shared love for Good Omens and it's characters. We came together and created an animation of the kiss from S2. Here is the result:
@neil-gaiman
To get a better look at EVERY frame and artist, feel free to check out the project website here!
EVERY Frame Matters is a project organized by @dotswithbrainrot and @tsutsuya
i love how we started out this season with "loki has experienced romantic love for the first time and he is going feral because of it" and now, by the end of the season, the plot turned into "loki has experienced friendship for first time and he is going feral because of it"
The resources were made in the latest version of Photoshop CC.
PACK CONTENT
3 PSD coloring;
3 GIF textures;
20 Black & White textures;
2 Sharpen actions;
5 Grunge brushes for PS;
10 Tumblr header templates.
If you download the pack, please follow the rules:
RULES: Like and/or reblog the post, please. Don’t repost, re-upload, or put on packs and/or google drive. Don’t copy or modify any of my resources and claim them as your own. Credits are not mandatory, although they're very appreciated!
You can download it for free on Ko-Fi, or support me and buy it with points on DeviantArt.
Rating: G
Relationship: Ineffable Bureaucracy
Characters: Gabriel, Beelzebub
Summary:
1916, Vienna
The Archangel Gabriel is tasked with a new mission but he stumbles into a formidable adversary during his investigations: Lord Beelzebub. The two decide to work together despite their differences and Gabriel soon realises that the Grand Duke of Hell just might be what he was looking for.
On other platforms: ao3
1916, Vienna
The Archangel Gabriel was feeling like a fish out of water, and he did not like it, not one bit. He would have been outright upset at the Almighty for sending him down to another mission in such a short period of time (Rome had not been so long ago, after all), had it not have counted as blasphemy. When the Supreme Archangel of Heaven receives a scribbled note with an address on it, he does not question it. Especially not when the paper in question had an angelic seal of the highest authority on it. Besides an address, there was only one word on the parchment, written in all capitals: RETRIEVE. What Gabriel would need to retrieve was unclear. He tried to contact the Metatron for further clarification but even his archangelic influence could not get the Metratron to answer a blasted call when he was immersed in something.
Since the note seemed urgent, Gabriel did not bother to try the call again; if it was left on a note on his desk with such a high clearance, it was clear as day that it was a job only he could get done. And he would achieve it, that was guaranteed. As a messenger, he was rarely sent on artefact retrieval missions but he still had some vague memories about it when he was just a wee cherub; it was like riding a bicycle, or what were those human contraptions called again? Anyway, it was coded in his angelic blood from the beginning of time; he would retrieve this artefact without any incident whatsoever if the Almighty had ordered him to do so. However, that did not mean that he was going to be happy about it.
Alas, he resulted to inward brooding as the crowd dressed in all fancy garments and enveloped in cigarette smoke moved about him, taking seats at the tables with chipped polish on them, excitedly chattering about the weather, human politics or other nonsensical topics.
Gabriel did not care for these people, did not appreciate this empire (whichever was this one again? Austro-something?), and especially disapproved of the era's fashion. It wasn't like the archangel did not appreciate a good form-fitting garment. Actually, he cared more about clothing than most angels up in Heaven, maybe that was why his uniform bothered him so much. He was dressed as some sort of official military persona, in a heavy grey dolman with a cream coloured chemise under it. This part of the uniform was designed to highlight the chest area and visually shrink the torso but Gabriel, already being in possession of a rather large chest and broad shoulders, felt like he was in no need of such emphasis. He looked into one of the large mirrors in the room and had to admit in terror that he resembled a caricature on a Grecian urn. The purple embroidered cuffs did not help his efforts in blending in, not to mention that the row of shiny silver buttons in the front clamped down on his chest like pins, mushing his respiratory organs together (not that he was in need of lungs per se but it was still an uncomfortable sensation). Humans and their stupid clothing sizes!
He started to ponder whether he should have opted for a female set of clothing instead, but those seemed to be even less functional than his clothes. The women were dressed in bright coloured poofy skirts with stiffly structured crinolines underneath and even more strictly structured corsets above. The performers who were just entering the stage wore similar attires, albeit their outfits seemed to lack a lot of clothing items and were less embellished than those who were sitting among the audience. Gabriel's natural talent in fashion cautioned him against wearing dresses like this. He could not quite put his finger on it, but the way the women in this establishment dressed suggested performance and something else, something sinister.
The show started shortly and one glance at the stage was enough for the archangel to confirm his suspicions: whatever these women were performing was not something decent for sure. Their movements suggested frivolity and the emotions reflected in the faces of the audience bespoke of tales of sin, lust and all demonic things. While the archangel may not be the most well-versed in human affairs, he could clearly see that this place was tied to the other side in more ways than one. Gabriel, time-efficient as ever, wanted to move on, but since he was not given directions on how to retrieve whatever he had to retrieve, he decided to opt for blending in, taking a seat at a table in the back, face turned away from the stage. He tried not to care about humanity’s antics (they were far too below him, after all) but could not stop himself from eavesdropping on some conversations here and there. Unfortunately his attempts at espionage did not bear fruit: all the humans were talking about stupid politics, some kind of war (as if these creatures knew anything about what a real war is like!) and the women performing on stage.
By the time he turned his attention back to the performers, the obnoxiously mahogany wooden stage in the middle of the room was empty; the performance seemed to have ended. It took him no time to locate the ladies though, they were all huddled up at one of the tables, forming a loud swarm of red sequin, giggles and squeals, grouping around the table's occupant. As Gabriel moved closer to observe, he caught sight of the figure and his assignment immediately made more sense. The person – or rather, demon – at the centre of the attention was none other than Lord Beelzebub, the Grand Duke of Hell, in the flesh. More accurately, in black: they were dressed in an attire similar to Gabriel's in an inverse colour scheme. Their red shawl was currently draped over one of the performer's shoulders: she wrapped herself even more tightly in it as she pretended to stifle a coy giggle. Their hat – a large furry black thing – was missing too, currently residing on another girl's head. Their uniform was black with polished silver buttons and Gabriel begrudgingly had to admit that it suited them way better than it did him: their shoulder blades were sharply highlighted, and their waist cinched in just the appropriate amount. They stood there in their dark getup sprawled in the wooden chair as the women in red around them preened and cooed and giggled, trying to get the demon's attention; a crow in a field of poppies. Gabriel held his breath, whether in anticipation or in fear, he could not quite decide on it. He did not want to scare the crow by any means, not that they would notice him, they were clearly too gone for that.
“Play the one with the barometer in it…” their German sounded slurred and botched as they waved their glass of wine towards the group of musicians standing in the corner and tried to recite the lyrics of their requested musical number. Whatever song the Lord of the Flies chose, it was met with enthusiastic squealing from the girls. The band started the song, one that was clearly meant to encourage more of the hedonistic behaviours Beelzebub was currently engaging in.
Gabriel shook his head to shake himself out of whatever spell this demon had put him under. The artefact, he must retrieve it. He stepped forward, cleared his throat. The ladies paid him no mind, his subtle cough lost in the noise and pother. He clearly needed a firmer approach.
“Excuse me!” he did not mean to use his angelic voice, Lord saw his soul, he did not. It was just, all the noise and crowd and this enigma of mission frustrated him further by the second, and now here he was, booming like a vengeful warrior ready to smite anything on site at the smallest movement. The crowd froze: the girls parted in front of him,some of them grasping at their chests in earnest fear, the men at the tables reached for their swords, even the music screeched to a halt. Well, so much for subtle and easy missions, the archangel scoffed to himself. He got the demon’s attention at least:
“Gabriel,” their eyes lit up with recognition after their gaze measured the archangel from head to toe. Gabriel suppressed a shiver in his corporeal form at the demon’s blatant glaring. He recognized it for what it was yet did not dare to say the word “interest”, not even in his mind.
“Beelzebub,” he left off the honorific deliberately and the Lord of the Flies’ brows twitched in annoyance. Their eyes roamed over his form once again, Gabriel stood immobile under their gaze. If they wanted a fight, he would not back down, but Beelzebub just let out a delighted snort.
"Can you even breathe in this thing?" a silver of amusement danced in their eyes as they gestured towards Gabriel’s all-too-tight getup. Great, so his disproportionate uniform was that obvious.
"I don't need to," the archangel ground out through his teeth, intent on not letting his hellish foe wound him up as they often managed to do. It would always be like this: Gabriel would be on a mission, he would run into Beelzebub one way or another, the demon would snicker at him, taunt him and laugh at him until every coherent ability for reason left the archangel, forcing him to result to shouting, or other very unprofessional forms of expression of anger. They seemed to enjoy him losing his composure.
“What the hell are you doing here, demon? Here to thwart me?” In reality, he did not need to ask: he knew that the demon must be after the same artefact he was searching for. The fact that Hell had sent one of their head operatives too only further confirmed his suspicions that this object was of utmost importance.
“As if,” the Lord the Flies snorted, the little buzzing liar they were. “I have business to attend to.”
“What business?” the archangel raised an eyebrow. The heavily gendered space of the orpheum didn’t seem like something the demon would actively seek. Not to mention all the nasty activities the men and women engaged in after the pleasantries of the dances performances ended. Of course he could not be sure that these humans were anything sinful since Gabriel’s knowledge of human sexual activities were patchy at best, yet, there seemed to be a pattern of such establishments existing ever since Gabriel’s first visit to Earth.
Up until that point, it hadn’t occurred to Gabriel that Beelzebub might be engaging in carnal desire. While demons unsurprisingly encouraged it, and many did partake in such acts, the Lord of the Flies seemed like a demon who would rather indulge in the sins that of more… consumable nature, as illustrated by their very sloshed state. But now that the thought wormed its way into his head, he could not get the image out of his mind's eye. He felt a pang of something unfamiliar in his chest that was not caused by the embellished buttons on his uniform; Gabriel decided to ponder on its meaning later, and shoved it down.
“A business that is none of your concern,” how they managed to stare down Gabriel when he towered a good head above them was beyond the archangel’s comprehension. He did not like it.
“We need to talk,” the angel changed tactics. “It’s about work .”
“What could we possibly talk about? You do your job, I do mine, all is well. That’s what we had agreed upon cent- a long time ago.” Beelzebub sneered.
“There has been a change in plans. In the plan. ” Oh that was sneaky of him, throwing The Great Plan into the mix! The archangel knew very well that carrying out The Great Plan was above all angels’ and demons’ personal whims and caprices. If it was something concerning The Great Plan, any ethereal being was obliged to cooperate, to secure the possibility of the Final Battle. Gabriel would have felt guilty for lying had he been sure that this artefact had nothing to do with The Great Plan. However, he could not entirely rule out the possibility of it, and hence, he was free of feeling any guilt.
“We need to talk. In private .” He did not care for the onlookers but the silence that persisted in the room made him uncomfortable. Not to mention that the matter was a sensitive one that should be discussed without the presence of any humans.
Beelzebub stared at him for an entire minute: Gabriel was sure that they caught him on his bullshit, but they both knew the protocol. The Prince of Hell let out a woeful sigh and downed the rest of their drink.
“Follow me.”
They disentangled their body from the chair, gathered their hat and shawl and waved a lousy goodbye to the dancers, much to the girls' chagrin. Whatever they fancied in this demon, Gabriel could not for the life of him comprehend. Beelzebub was scrawny and messy, and yeah, sure they might have expressive eyes, but that is all to the package. These ladies could not know that the Prince of Hell was well-versed in three different instruments, or that they could lead diplomacy meetings like it’s nobody’s business, qualities that would surely be more appealing to humans than their appearance which was far from conventional. (Gabriel did not know about humanity’s tendency of setting norms and their fascination with everything and everyone who disrupts said norms, therefore he could not explain Beelzebub’s popularity with the ladies.)
Gabriel followed Beelzebub up on grandiose marble steps only to turn right at an ebony door and enter what seemed like an office space of sorts.
“Is this your place?” the angel couldn’t help but inquire.
“I need some air,” they replied, completely ignoring his question and the fact that, similarly to Gabriel, they did not breathe. They grabbed a pair of blood red curtains, shoving the heavy velvet away to reveal a small balcony, surrounded by thick white columns on the sides. Beelzebub unlocked the door and stepped outside, gesturing for the archangel to follow.
“How long have you been drinking here?” Upon closer inspection, the demon’s clothes were piling, the wear and tear of their garments suggesting that the Prince of Hell might have already spent more time on Earth than the usual allocated two months for field agents.
“Be brief,” they sighed, ignoring his second question as well. However, their tone faltered, confirming Gabriel’s suspicion that Beelzebub had not been to Hell for quite some time now. “My corporeal form is not having the time of its life.” the demon steeled themself and were now speaking in their no-nonsense, business-like tone they used whenever Heaven and Hell had matters to discuss. He heard this tone countless times icily cut across meeting rooms: a mixture of boredom and rigid unwillingness for compromise. Gabriel decided to honour their wish and get straight to the point.
“Hand it over,” he said, adopting his own signature business-like tone. Two could play this game just fine.
“Hand over what, Gabriel?” they sounded annoyed now.
“I will be gracious this time, and allow you a second chance, given the circumstances and all that," he made a circular motion with his hand to encompass the drunkenly messy silhouette of the Grand Duke of Hell. "Hand me the artefact.”
"I have no idea what you're talking about," had they said this two centuries ago, Gabriel would have called them a liar, but after so many diplomatic meetings that had occurred between Heaven and Hell in the past decades due to rising tensions, Gabriel knew better. There was always more to the demon than what met the eye. He proved to be right because Beelzebub continued:
"And even if I knew anything about this mysterious artefact, I could not tell you. Not anymore," the demon's face twisted in discomfort; the archangel found that misery looked horrible on them. Beelzebub looked tired, messy and slow: the demon reclining against the marble railing was but a shadow of the sharp-witted and confident leader Gabriel knew them to be. “I am no longer in a position where I can divulge secrets to you as your equal.”
They took a sharp and ragged breath that sounded more like a wounded sob and they finally spat it out:
"I have been demoted." Gabriel paled at the confession: surely the ears on his corporeal vessel misheard it: they could not be saying that they had been demoted.
"Huh?" he only managed to say as much.
"Bollocks, isn't it?" they huffed bitterly. "Apparently, I wasn't vigilant enough and have been consorting too much with the enemy ," they spat.
"It's called diplomacy ," Gabriel bristled indignantly, as if he had been the one accused of treason.
"I know," Beelzebub sighed in exasperation.
“Regularly scheduled corporate meetings ensure the harmonious end of times. It is not pleasant… but it is necessary. It’s a no brainer, basically Bureaucracy 101!” The Supreme Archangel was baffled.
"Try telling that to the Dark Council though, good fucking luck," Beelzebub blew strawberries dismissively, their expression all pouty now. "My office had already been moved up three circles and I am back on purgatory shifts , the most boring ass paperwork you can imagine without any benefits and no reach at all. I became a blessed office clerk ," they were almost hysterical now.
"Well, that can't be the end of it. I make sure to bring it up with the Metatron, surely he can…" Gabriel was cut off by the fondness in Beelzebub's eyes.
"I appreciate your determination, sunshine, but the Metatron has no power of jurisdiction in Satan's realm," the Lord of the Flies took in a sharp breath. "I can count myself lucky for getting demoted to another desk job and not to some on-the-field torturer agent. I just have to start over, I suppose, work my way up again and trust that Dagon's promotion won't get to her head. It's not like I don't have an infinity to work my way up the bureaucratic ladder again," they tried to be coy but the joke fell flat. Gabriel pressed his lips so tightly together in frustration the motion would have drawn blood if there had been any blood in his corporeal vessel. He didn’t say that he was sorry, he didn't need to; both of them knew he was.
“Well,” the archangel cleared his throat in unease. “Seems that I have to look for that artefact elsewhere. I’ll be on my way then,” he bowed awkwardly (was that blasphemy, bowing to a demon?) and took two steps back.
“Wait,” Beelzebub said: there was no urgency to their speech, nor was it a command: it was a proposed truce. “Tell me about the mission. While I cannot share information on the artefact, I might be able to provide my personal input on the matter if...” the following words seemed the pain Beelezbub more than getting drenched in holy water. “ you insist on pulling rank.” And that was why they were the leader of Hell and his most formidable nemesis, Gabriel marvelled. Always finding loopholes, that blasted bureaucratic genius of a demon!
“I absolutely insist,” he grinned, way too pleased. Demons and angels liked to bare their fangs and assuring the other that they had no power over them, but in many cases, a major gap in ranks could intimidate lesser angels or demons into submission: that’s why the back channels existed in the first place.
Gabriel then recounted the events in Heaven, the strange paper, the Metatron and all. Angels had fallen for lesser sins than confiding in the enemy, yet Gabriel was still here: surely that must mean that he was doing his job well. There was just one problem: Gabriel did not actually know anything about the artefact.
“And, what do we know about this artefact?” Gabriel’s corporeal heart did not do a blackflip in his chest upon hearing the plural and anyone who suggested otherwise would be properly smitten down to Hell.
“Erhm... Well, it is an artefact that I have to retrieve.” No matter how closely he and Beelzebub worked together at times, admitting a lack of knowledge to the enemy did not suit Gabriel’s character. Cooperation was just fine as long as they remained equals; the minute there was an imbalance (especially if it was in favour of the demon), things had a tendency to… well… escalate.
“Yes, I’ve gathered that much,” the Grand Duke of Hell’s voice was dripping with sarcasm.
“Yes, exactly…” Gabriell hummed, stalling for time and desperately trying to come up with something. Every second passed in silence only further raised the demon’s suspicion and left eyebrow.
“Why so shy now?” Beelzebub took a step closer, looking up at the demon with a weird mixture of glee and wariness as the archangel’s posture stiffened at the close proximity of their corporeal forms. “Come now, I have offered my services before,” the demon purred and Gabriel knew the double entendre was intentional on their part, probably a byproduct of the alcohol. “There’s no shame in asking for help… Pride is a sin after all, is it not, Gabriel?”
The blasted demon was right. If he were to find this artefact, he needed to be less prideful about it. It’s not like Beelzebub would go and blabber about Gabriel’s lack of skill in artefact-hunting; and even if they did, no one would believe them anyway. He sighed defeated and fished out the envelope from the pocket of his well-pressed suit.
“I have received these orders. I must warn you, they are very vague.” He slipped the paper into the demon’s hand. “It is no surprise, given that the Almighty’s plan is indeed ineffable…” he tried to add to save some face but was cut short by Beelzebub’s laughter.
“This is no Metatron’s seal,” they were hysterically howling now and Gabriel’s discomfort grew with each passing second. “This is Dagon’s forgery of the Metatron’s seal. Did you know she was a scribe before she had fallen? She has incredible penmanship, no wonder she is the Lord of the Files. But like all demons, she has a weakness and that is pride: there, you see that little curl on the top of the seal?” they turned the paper towards Gabriel who reluctantly moved closer. “That’s her signature. She can’t resist signing her own artwork, the narcissistic bastard,” Beelzebub shook their head incredulously. “Pft, if demons only knew how easy it is to fool angels with a piece of shiny paper and ink…”
“So what does that mean?” Gabriel cut them off impatiently.
“It means you've been played for a sucker, sunshine” the Lord of the Flies was way too delighted at this discovery for Gabriel’s liking. “She had set you up for a wild goose chase. Must be a new trick up her sleeve to establish her dominance as the new Grand Duke of Hell. Marvellous! I would promote her for such a brilliant prank had she not, well, been promoted already,” their voice had a hint of bitterness to it. “One thing bugs me though,” Beelzebub started to say then stopped mid-sentence to giggle at their own unintentional pun. Almighty preserve him, Beelzebub was truly inebriated; Gabriel could count on his fingers the amount of times he could hear the Lord of the Flies laugh before today. He could sense that the demon really had hit rock bottom.
“One thing bugzzz me though,” they tried again, buzzing slightly. “Why this address? I don’t believe in coincidencezz.”
Gabriel did not either.
“Maybe she wanted to double-cross you?” Gabriel proposed, seeing no use in beating around the bush. “Hoped that I would smite you on sight? Two flies with one stone?”
“It’s two birds,” Beelzebub corrected him. “And Dagon is not like that. Although one time, she did eat an entire pack of printing-paper in one sitting, so who knows what goes through the brain of that gilled maniac. She was like a paper-shredder except faster,” they mused. “I don’t know, sunshine” they shrugged finally. “And I hate not knowing,” they pouted and slumped against one of the marble pillars.
“Sunshine, really?” he asked incredulously, ignoring the rest of the sentences for the moment; it was the third time they called him this nickname today.
“You're so bloody bright. With your stupid halo and your stupid fake smile, and your stupid white uniform, it’s blinding like goddamn sunlight. Can’t see shit, can you turn it down?” the demon slurred, their eyes crossing in a dangerously impossible way.
“I think you had way too much alcohol. I turned off my halo before landing on Earth.” Gabriel’s brows furrowed in confusion.
“Oh, then I must already be hungover. Blessed demonic metabolism.” They propped their elbows onto the balcony, staring out into the city shrouded in night. In the distance, the dark curls of the Danube rolled by, the foam glistening in the moonlight. The streetlamps were already lit, casting orange halos on the coaches standing nearby the establishment. Coachmen and stableboys bustled by, gathering hay and water for the horses, should any of the distinguished gentlemen decide against staying the night. A peaceful silence stretched between the two ethereal beings.
“Hey”, Gabriel suddenly bumped his shoulder into Beelzebub’s, whether to keep the demon from falling asleep or to get their attention was unclear. They looked up into his face in response. “I know my word does not mean much to you, given that I’m an angel and all that, though I am The Supreme Archangel might I add, so…” he cleared his throat when he realised he was getting sidetracked. “Anyway, so for what it’s worth, I think you are an amazing Grand Duke of Hell. You are competent, tough, calculating” the archangel was counting the adjectives on his fingers. “Albeit a bit hard-headed at times, and in all honesty, quite scary, but… But they were lucky to have you, they just hadn’t realised it yet.” Gabriel looked into their eyes with no hint of sarcasm or patronising intent. “Give it a few days, let the place fall apart a bit, and trust me, the whole Dark Council will be coming back on their knees, begging you to rejoin their ranks.”
Beelzebub turned away from Gabriel, looking down onto the street below, and the warm smile slowly melted from the archangel’s face.
“I suppose you’re right,” they mumbled finally to no one in particular, their gaze fixed on the waves roaring in the river now. Gabriel let out a sigh of relief he did not know he had been holding. He finally understood: the scribbled “RETRIEVE” did not mean a thing but a being , a demon more precisely. The Supreme Archangel was not the sharpest tool in the shed, but he didn't need to be in order to know that the Lord of the Flies had few whom they could confide in. Dagon, accustomed to her master’s tendencies to drown their sorrow in booze and attention, must have grown sick of Beelzebub’s wallowing and took matters into her own hands. So, the Lord of the Files in her despair turned to the next person Beelzebub was known to confide in: him. For a brief moment, he entertained the thought that Dagon might have been worried for Beelzebub but it suggested something dangerous: that demons, like humans, had feelings too – which would have entailed an entire set of questions in itself, so Gabriel shut his musings down quickly. The thought that another demon knew about their fraternising should have scared him but it produced a warm fuzzy feeling in his chest instead. As Beelzebub started snoring beside him – having fallen asleep as they were, half-draped across the balcony – the archangel looked up at the stars. He wanted to put this moment in a chest, to lock it away deep down where not even the Almighty could reach it, and he did not care if it was blasphemy.
The following week, he received another sealed envelope while he was filing away the weekend’s miracle roster. This time, the letter was more elaborate, even if only slightly. "LB is home. Ty." it read, followed by the Metatron's seal of approval. If Gabriel squinted hard enough, he could see the signature little tail that wasn't supposed to be there. He smiled as he tore the letter to shreds and set fire to the remains. Beelzebub might be demoted but they are working their way up slowly until the two of them can meet on equal grounds again. And every day, that day was getting closer.
Cause that's what villains do... They make themselves happy at the expense of others. But it just makes them more unhappy. I know what it is to feel your heart go dark. And that... That isn't something to idolize. It's something to pity.
