Spill it! Are you in love with Lute?
There's a furrowing of brows followed by a testy click of talons along a desk and finished with a derisive little snort. Just why everyone is so emotionally invested in his and his lieutenant's affairs is beyond his understanding- and technically his pay grade to prattle pretty about. Plus, it's not like anything he could regurgitate in regards to the matter would ever suffice as an acceptable answer to anyone whom would ask him such a question other than her that made up the subject of its inquiry. Perhaps that was why he was apt to play his word games, because at least if he could undermine the overall intelligence of a third party, he'd get something out of the exchange that wasn't the rolled eyes and rancor of someone who had already decided the answer for him as seamlessly as creation had decided his past partners with an unspoken but settling sentiment of 'suck it up'. Such engagements had always been with an end goal in mind- and he'd be dishonest if he didn't enter into most- if not all manner of relations under the premises of progress pistoned out of a need demanded of the first few to forge- that twit angels would glamorize and see as some pristine privilege they could but pine over and wonder the lot of mortals to be so miserable to shoulder it's cause.
Perhaps that was why he and his ever the sanctimonious superior seemed so at odds at times. He was so often given women that were to be of some service to his role that would have been retired by now had it not been for the whole extermination business that it seemed he was incapable of a deeper level of care that extended past provider...later teacher in the case of his lieutenant.
But what good was a right hand if it didn't align with what actions he needed take? What good was a rib that did not shelter a heart so easily dismantled were it not for his own ruthlessness aimed toward combative interception? When there was no need for the latter thanks to the curated deeds of his right hand in cutting down the obstacles that would impede his designs, then his hand was not only concerned with how it clasped the axe in it, but also the strings attached to the instrument that his weapon also served purpose, even if it was one barely understood by those that heard the sharp edge of a soul used to shatter so many in a singular strum.
Sometimes it just sounded like music- because that was really all it ever was- brought to life by a song in the garden in the same amount of days it took to create the fucking world. A right hand would know that along with every chord and trembled wrist. And she did.
"For the record, no one is ever 'in' love with anything. It's not a damned Olympic sized pool you just topple in one day because you didn't see on the horizon and it's not something you claw your way out of and leave whoever else fell in to drown. Sure, some would love to spin it that way so they can claim you're only 'in' love with a process. Maybe an idea someone becomes instead of themselves. But that's because seraphim exist in a vacuum where you 'live, laugh, love' without any semblance of why. Without the hard shit. Gravel on bare feet's a hard concept for those with wings. I might have them now, but I don't hold my approval at a jumping height because I have the wherewith-fuck-all to recognize you don't just love what you're given and stop at any sustained faults. You get those together ~ until your edges fit so finite that anything set to pry them apart can get fucked." Talons fan ever so briefly enough to intertwine and steeple as if ending the prayer of his own musings with culpable if not condescending smile.
"I am."
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Today I woke up thinking about what an interaction between these two would be like.
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We are not robots; we are athletes pushing ourselves to the limit every day to achieve our dreams of winning races. F1 is a sport where emotions run high, and passions run deep.
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my mod has found sae… curses and hexes all the way 🙏
@underlashes-redhead
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“There’s, um,” He has never seen her fumble with her words, Rose taps her nails on the metal arms of the chair, “I have your mother’s ring— if you should ever want it.”
Astonished, Rafe cannot find himself able to respond to that. His head is full of cotton candy and his stomach suddenly sits still. His throat bobs with the words that won’t come to him.
“I saw the way you two were today and,” Rose bites her smile and nods at Kiara, “I’ve never seen her like that, or you for that matter.”
“I— it’s,” Rafe’s mouth opens and closes, completely losing all sense of articulation. Words leave his mouth with no idea what they’ll form. “I’m… we—”
Rose grimaces apologetically, knowing she’s just pulled the rug under Rafe. “I understand it’s early. You and Kiara probably don’t want to think about all that but, just wanted to let you know. It was always meant to be yours. I don’t mean to scare you or anything.”
There’s anything but fear running through him. Only the same weightlessness he felt when he broke his leg as the adrenaline pumped through his body to protect his mind from the pain. There’s no pain now, never was, just the absence of any fears because there’s something even more powerful coursing through him.
Read chapter 17 of Kiara and Rafe’s Comprehensive Guide here
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If no one's gonna simp for Gallagher after that quest, I would. Yandere!Gallagher minicomics coming soon /silly
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