Mostly because that's exactly what human beings should be doing. They made their own choices. They chose the path of darkness and to assume he'd had control of that was...demonic in nature. Manipulative in nature. To do so was violating everything he was supposed to be rooting for.
Everything he was supposed to be a part of.
Everything he was supposed to believe in.]
...I.
[He runs a hand through his hair. Simply put, as an angel he should have provided a better example. That was his whole point. To be an angel was to guide. That had been stripped away by his actions.
And he is back at that edge for him. His edge. Does he say fuck it to humanity? And fall? Or accept...failure?
it's too much. It's so huge. How can they do it Lord? What kind of creatures have you made?
He draws in a shaky breath.]
Ordinarily I'd say...something. About this. And I'm supposed to guide and tell you she forgives but this whole...need for redemption is new to me. I should have helped you be better and I didn't.
...so.
[fuck. This is hard.]
What do we do? I'm not going away. I failed you-
[pause] I want to understand why because if I don't I'll fall. And that scares the fuck out of me.
[ Luther's not an especial chatterbox to begin with, and he's even more curt and terse now, trying in his own way to pick his way through this subject. There's tension rigid in his neck, those broad shoulders that he's now having to get accustomed to again, for a third fucking time in his life.
Gabriel's trying to figure things out, and as much as Luther might want to look away from it himself — pretend that the past ten years didn't happen, that he didn't just have a firsthand glimpse into how very bad he could've become, and even worse, did become — it's hard to look away from it. He keeps waking up from dreams that aren't dreams, that are memories instead. Cracked bones and the fierce, uncomplicated joy of bloodied hands and a job well-done. It had been so easy.
(And, worst of all, he's pretty sure a part of him misses it. The simplicity. The satisfaction. The comfort and sense of well-being. Home. He had had a home, a duty, a responsibility again, and he had worn it well.
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obediences) wrote2019-03-28 10:51 am
no subject
Mostly because that's exactly what human beings should be doing. They made their own choices. They chose the path of darkness and to assume he'd had control of that was...demonic in nature. Manipulative in nature. To do so was violating everything he was supposed to be rooting for.
Everything he was supposed to be a part of.
Everything he was supposed to believe in.]
...I.
[He runs a hand through his hair. Simply put, as an angel he should have provided a better example. That was his whole point. To be an angel was to guide. That had been stripped away by his actions.
And he is back at that edge for him. His edge. Does he say fuck it to humanity? And fall? Or accept...failure?
it's too much. It's so huge. How can they do it Lord? What kind of creatures have you made?
He draws in a shaky breath.]
Ordinarily I'd say...something. About this. And I'm supposed to guide and tell you she forgives but this whole...need for redemption is new to me. I should have helped you be better and I didn't.
...so.
[fuck. This is hard.]
What do we do? I'm not going away. I failed you-
[pause] I want to understand why because if I don't I'll fall. And that scares the fuck out of me.
no subject
[ Luther's not an especial chatterbox to begin with, and he's even more curt and terse now, trying in his own way to pick his way through this subject. There's tension rigid in his neck, those broad shoulders that he's now having to get accustomed to again, for a third fucking time in his life.
Gabriel's trying to figure things out, and as much as Luther might want to look away from it himself — pretend that the past ten years didn't happen, that he didn't just have a firsthand glimpse into how very bad he could've become, and even worse, did become — it's hard to look away from it. He keeps waking up from dreams that aren't dreams, that are memories instead. Cracked bones and the fierce, uncomplicated joy of bloodied hands and a job well-done. It had been so easy.
(And, worst of all, he's pretty sure a part of him misses it. The simplicity. The satisfaction. The comfort and sense of well-being. Home. He had had a home, a duty, a responsibility again, and he had worn it well.
Too well.) ]