Anyways I Love Them - Tumblr Posts

finally got time to "finish" (better say color) this little practice of the smileys also yeah sorry for how bad organized it is

the greatest thing you’ll ever learn is to love and be loved in return

Guys I think they traumatized Edgar

Percy: Hey, look at this dude he's kinda hot ngl.

*Annabeth looks over, makes a face*

Annabeth: Percy, it's a good thing that you're already with me 'cause your taste in men is shit.

MY. SILLIES.

Not Huskerdust but Angel centric character study (feat. dad lucifer)

It's not a sharp pain. Not something that stabs and tears until you are nothing but pain and flesh and blood. No, it's constant. A low-grade ache in-between bone that gets worse when it rains. Always in the background, but easily ignorable if you can find something else to focus your attention on. If you can just not think about it. 

      Angel has perfected the art of Not Thinking About It.  

      His thighs are on fire, he doesn't even want to think about the mess that awaits his med-kit beneath his skirt, and still, he's more preoccupied with the weight in his chest than any of the vicious stinging going on literally everywhere else. Husk isn't at the bar when he tiptoes through the door, shame, he'd been hoping for a pick-me-up after today. They've been warming up to each other, he thinks, at least he's warmed to Husk and his- at first, rather off-putting- demeanor.  Husk remains as blithe and unreadable than ever. But he's stopped calling Angel out on it when he dons his 'fake' affect. 

      It's necessary, sometimes. The reality of his job is that it's exhausting. That it injures him about as bad as it might if he worked as a boxer, that he hates himself a little more after each shoot because he signed for this. He allowed this. Val never lets him forget.

      Sometimes, when the mood takes him, Val will want to 're-stake' his claim on Angel after he's been passed around a fair amount. Says, "It's to show the bitches what's mine" and Angel knows that includes him. It's never nice, never soft and overwhelming but only in the good ways, like it used to be. It just hurts. Val seems to take more pleasure in the humiliation of it than the act itself. He always moves faster when Angel cries, or bleeds, or- even better- both.

Angel's a professional, he cries when he needs to. When it means it'll be over faster, and he can crawl back into bed to try and sleep it off.

      He doesn't know if Val realizes that, if it would make a difference. If it’d make it worse.

      Point is, he needs to be fake sometimes, even still. Charlie, especially, wouldn't be able to handle it if he acted like he really felt all of the time. It helps him, too, focusing on maintaining appearances rather than the crushing realization that he is going to die, bloody and exposed. 

      Angel is so wrapped up in his- rapidly spiraling- thoughts that he doesn't clock the slumped form splayed across the couch, muttering to themselves, until they pop their head up at his late-night intrusion and lock eyes with him.

      Sans top-hat, and his usual cutting smile, Lucifer fucking Morningstar is staring back at him, jaw dropped as his gaze struggles to remain on his face. That's fair, Angel supposes, he hadn't bothered cleaning up before heading home, not wanting to spend another minute in the studio and thinking the majority of the hotel would be in bed. Keyword being majority. 

      Fruitlessly, angel crosses his lower arms in a way that attempts to preserve his modesty. 

      "What crawled up your ass and died?" Angel drawls. Perhaps not the proper way to be addressing the king of hell, but it's going to be light outside soon, and to be fair, he does look like shit. Huge bags gather beneath each eye, his cheeks gaunt with a unique kind of Victorian despair you only really read about in books. At Angel's words, though, he chuckles- it's small, but seems real-and pushes his disheveled hair back from his forehead. 

      "You're one to talk, hm?" Another chuckle, "Come here." He pats the space on the couch beside him and scooches over to give Angel ample room. As he moves away, Angel can see what he's been muttering over- a small round frame, holding a picture of what looks like himself, a much younger Charlie, and a woman Angel has never seen before. Ah. Well fuck. 

      Angel, unprepared to be dealing with this minefield of a conversation, shakes his head. 

      "It's late, your highness. I've gotta cleanup before today's 'morning bonding activities'." 

      Lucifer gives him a dubious kind of look.

      "You're going to do 'bonding activities' like that? You'll keel over. Come here, I think I can help." Angel isn't really sure how, considering angelic power hurts sinners and he doesn't see any med-kit around here, but he is vaguely afraid of rejecting the king of hell outright and incurring his wrath. They haven't had much time to get to know each other; considering Angel's track record with powerful demons, he's chosen to keep his distance. He's not sure how much Lucifer knows about his job either, or how much he knows about hell in general as it is now, considering he's been a recluse for decades. 

      "Uh..." Angel hesitates, glancing for a moment up the stairs towards his room. Wishing, more than anything, to be in bed cuddling with Nug right now. 

      "I'll be quick. Just... please let me help. You're one of Charlie's people, and I couldn't live with myself if I just looked away while you..." He gestures to Angel's body, and the violence carved into it, and Angel gets it. With a sigh, he makes his way to the couch and settles as far away as he can from where Lucifer is sitting, drawing both of his stiff legs to his chest when sitting normally makes him feel too exposed. 

      Lucifer chuckles, again, and Angel can hear what he mutters to himself, this time.

      "Just like Char-Char, roly-poly-ing as soon as you get hurt." 

      Angel bristles. "I'm not your fuckin' kid, sicko. Do what you're gonna do and let me go, I've got a pig to feed."

      Lucifer meets the words with wide eyes that almost immediately soften into something gentler, almost baleful. "Sorry." He mutters, then cups his hands and closes his eyes. After a few seconds, golden light starts to pool in the makeshift basin he's created, building upon itself until it's about a half-inch deep. Looks angelic to Angel, and, despite his name, he knows that kind of shit will kill him if he gets too close. 

      "Sir, I dunno if-"

      "Shh..." Lucifer hushes, eyes still closed. There's a knit between his brows that wasn't there before. Angel wonders if getting in touch with his powers is painful at all, after what happened to send him here. He glances at the picture on the table, Charlie and her father look ecstatic, with matching face-splitting grins that they're exchanging with each other. The woman stands about an inch away, with primly folded hands, and a restrained smile on her lips. Angel isn't quite sure how to feel about her. 

      Before he can ponder any further on Lucifer's family and love life, the angel gasps, "Done!" 

      In his hands, the once-golden pool of light has turned a deep red, almost-like blood, just a shade lighter. It's a little close to Val's color, and Angel has to be thankful that it's liquid, not smoke. 

      "Now, can you set your legs down?"

      Angel doesn't tear his eyes from the liquid in Lucifer's hands. What if it's not a cure? What if it hurts? Worse, what if he likes it? maybe that's what Lucifer's banking on, him liking it. that's how Val got him, and the colors are almost exactly the same.  He can feel his chest constricting. He knew he should've just gone to bed.

      "Ooookay... Or we can chill for a little bit." Lucifer gingerly places his cupped hands in his lap and lets out a low, unassuming whistle. Angel hates that it helps him calm down. 

      They stay silent and frozen for another few minutes over which Angel's breathing- excruciatingly- slows and his shoulders drop.

      "Sorry..." It's his turn to mutter. Lucifer just smiles at him. 

      "That's alright. Can you get your legs now? Or do you need a minute?" He's so nice. Why is the king of hell so nice? Why does Charlie have such complicated daddy issues when her dad is so. Fucking. Nice? Angel throws his legs off the couch.

      "Do your worst." He almost tacks on a 'daddy' at the end there, but catches himself just in time. Force of habit. 

      Lucifer smiles to himself like he knows, but telegraphs his movements as he leans forward and presses the liquid to the middle of Angel's chest, right at his heart. Angel flinches a little at the initial warmth, but Lucifer kindly ignores it, stepping back as soon as all of the liquid has- somehow, likely magically- seeped into Angel. 

      It's pleasant. Doesn't hurt, even as Angel can feel all of the deep, bleeding wounds on his back and thighs closing up. All he can feel is a steady warmth, like sitting in front of a fire, as it works its way through his body. A satisfied hum remains thrumming through him, even as the liquid finishes its work. 

      After less than five minutes, Angel feels as good as new. He doesn't think he's felt this good in decades.  He can't help the grin that creeps onto his face at the well of feeling that bubbles in his chest.

      "Shit! Thank you, sir! I feel great."

      Lucifer is already looking at him when he whips his head around to thank him. He's got a wistful sort of look on his face that Angel couldn't even begin to decode. He returns Angel's grin, even looks a little better-for-wear himself. Got some color back, maybe.

      "Anytime, Angel. And I mean that, anytime at all, even if it's not dawn and we're not the only ones here. I know a thing or two about keeping up appearances. It won't be a big, embarrassing thing."

      With that, he winks and from thin air, his hat, coat, and staff appear, falling precisely where they usually sit. Once Angel recovers enough from the shock of that to look back at his face, his trademark pointy grin is firmly in place.

      "Good morning Charlie! Ready to seize the day, huh?" He calls to a disheveled looking Charlie; she must've just woken up. 

      "Mo-" A yawn interrupts her greeting. "Morning, dad... Angel?" Angel grins over at her and nods.

      "Just got back. Don't worry, I'll be up and at-em for our 'bonding activities' or whatever, m' just gonna go feed Nug."

      For a moment, she seems dubious, but before she can ask further, Lucifer swoops in. 

      "I was just telling him to go get a little power-nap in! Here, while he does that, how do we feel about pancakes?"

      Charlie gasps, sufficiently distracted, and follows him to the kitchen.

      "My favorite!"

         Angel chances one last glance at the two of them before heading upstairs. It’s a domestic scene, Lucifer has magicked an apron onto himself that says ‘Be Nice to the Cook’ and is whisking frantically while Charlie dozes on the island behind him. He’s still smiling, even when turned away from her, but Angel can see that it’s pasted on.

         The picture has disappeared, too, he notices, when he finally turns away.

         He’s not quite sure how he feels about any of this, right now. But nothing hurts.

         Not anymore.