#🎶ooooooh🎶

[mediumgayitalian]

Hazel thinks she hates New York.

It’s not Camp Half-Blood. She likes Camp Half-Blood, actually, likes the sweet-smelling strawberry fields, the rolling waves in the distance, the way every colour, every conversation or moment, just seems more. Louder, livelier. It’s only been a couple days but she’s fond of the place, even though the people are odd and the customs odder (seriously — who came up with the curfew harpies? Hazel is no stranger to demigod structural violence, but a group of demonic bird ladies let loose at a random time of “after the sun sets, usually” to kill and devour children and teens is a new level of weird even for her. Percy assures her that the harpy murder is alleged, as he has spent several summers in camp and has not seen it happen, but he is also an amnesiac and an enabler so what does he know).

It’s the stars, she thinks.

New York doesn’t seem to have any.

It was a shock when she was first brought back. How dim the night sky had become, how devoid, bereft. Uranus’ dome now pales in comparison to the dazzling Alaskan skies decades ago, even in New Rome, huddled away from California’s worst light pollution. Even in the middle of the Pacific, in quiet midnights aboard the Argo II, the sky seemed lonelier. She’s gotten used to it, for the most part, the tar-coloured skies, but New York is like the inkwells on the desk she shared with Sammy. They spilled them, constantly, clumsy hands taking the slap of the ruler in exchange for tapping fingers and quiet giggles, and the dark-stained woodgrain is a perfect amalgamation of the skies she watches now; stifling over the screened tent roof, silent as a packed grave. Unsettling.

She should be sleeping. Gwen’s snores beside her are familiar, and the ground is solid. A welcome reprieve from the months she’s spent at sea. But despite the exhaustion twisting in her limbs and bagging under her eyes, she cannot convince herself to drift. Her eyes remain stubbornly open, locked in with the stillborn sky, waiting, waiting, waiting.

Even the moon is dull.

Finally she can take it no longer. Careful not to wake her friend, she creeps out of her sleeping bag, wiggling out over the course of several minutes to avoid the loud rip of the zipper, The tent’s door she can’t muffle, so she opens it as quickly as possible, somersaulting out and zipping it shut behind her in under ten seconds. She holds her breath, hands braced on the taut plastic, straining to hear a shift, a sniffle, a snort of disruption, but there’s nothing. Gwen remains blissfully unconscious, snores steady and even. Good.

Sword firmly in her hands, watching warily for demonic chicken ladies (who are nowhere as sweet or cool as Ella, awful cousins are universal among species it seems) or whatever other horrible ‘features’ Camp Half-Blood forgot to mention to them, she picks her way out of the Roman encampment, through the strawberry fields, and towards the main.

It’s around three in the morning, she’s pretty sure. She can’t be certain, because she cannot see the sky, but she’s always had a knack for navigating the dark. Nico can, too. Perks of being an Underworld child, she supposes.

Hopefully Nico is asleep. (She replaced his cabin door with a solid brick of obsidian to force him to sleep, yesterday, so he better be, but he’s a slippery little brat and she does not doubt his ability to squeeze through the air vents she left for him, or something. His hair was probably greasy enough to slide him right through. He better have showered, or she is going to smack him. Hard.) If he isn’t, though, she wouldn’t mind his company. She is in the mood to complain about the modern world. And if he is, maybe she’ll go wake up Percy. Or wander around until the sun rises. Who knows.

She notices, as she wanders along the edge of the wonky cabin-omega, movement coming from the Big House. Most of the windows are dark, but the bottom floor on the left — the infirmary, she thinks — is dimly lit, conscientious of the late hour, and there is definitely someone moving around. She pauses, watching for a moment, and — yep. A blond boy, every couple of minutes, rushes past a window, stethoscope bouncing off his chest, new thing in his hands with every trip.

He seems harried.

Without much thought, Hazel pushes through the rickety screen door.

At first, he doesn’t seem to notice. Hazel is camouflaged, slightly, but the shadows, her black bonnet and dark sleep clothes blending in with the many shadows cast by shelves of equipment and gently swaying privacy curtains. The boy is busy, flitting from cot to cot, scribbling on charts and tripping over chords. He moves so quickly he is blurry, hard to focus on. It takes him almost a minute to stop, freezing in the dead centre of the overcrowded infirmary, and turn to face Hazel. He is tired, she notices. His eyes are darker than the bruises under them; glassy like black labradorite, and widen as they notice her.

“Oh my gods, you’re — you’re Hazel Levesque! Holy moly.”

“Hi,” she says, smiling slightly. “You look busy for this time of night.”

The boy waves a hand, returning to his fluttering — a little slower, this time, though. Less frantic.

“Oh, yes, well. Lots of things to do. Julia’s collarbone was totally shattered, have to keep monitoring that, and there’s a group who got drop kicked into a broken onager, their recovery concerns me, and we’re rationing nectar again, and I swear I’m always running out of bandages, and I keep getting that niggling feeling, you know, when — you’re forgetting something? Important? But of course you have no idea what, and — I’m sorry.” The boy twitches, freezing midway through changing an empty saline bag, glancing back over at her. “Oh my gods, are you injured? Fuck, of course you are, it’s the middle of the night and you’re here, obviously —”

“Wait, I'm completely —”

“Oh, no, you’re fine.” He sighs, a full bodied thing, and turns his attention back to the chart in his hands. “You’ve got an old riding injury ‘round your left patella, though. You should get that checked out.”

Hazel blinks.

She…does have an old knee injury.

It was a riding accident, when she was nine. She doesn’t remember much, only flying, warm wind kissing along her face, bubbling out of her lungs as she laughed and whooped and forgot who she was, what she was, forgot the stones popping up behind her. They couldn’t catch her anyways. And she remembers falling, wind at her back, instead, and she remembers Sammy’s face, and the panic that clouded it, and her mother’s shouting. She remembers cold marble and an oil-slick voice and cool hands on her forehead. 

She blinks, shaking her head slightly. The blond boy has moved past her, now, pacing up and down the rickety cots, trailing his long fingers over bandaged foreheads and crooked elbows. His mouth moves softly and silently, hands glowing along, shoulder sagging, slightly, with every person he visits.

“You’re exhausted,” she observes. 

The boy smiles slightly, finishing a whispered hymn before turning her way. “Who isn’t?” His fingers twitch, in absence of a task, and start picking at the bandage around his wrist, wrapping, unwrapping, wrapping, unwrapping. “Is your knee bothering you? Unhealed injuries last longer for demigods. Especially after battle. Something about unsettled scores, I don’t know. The concept pisses me off so I refuse to entertain it on principle, but I can ease the pain if you like.”

Her knee does twinge, actually. It’s a damp kind of ache, like a headache in a rainstorm, but it's old and familiar, and hardly even registers. It smarts far less than her heart, anyway. 

Gaea’s gone. 

So is Leo.

Leo is gone.

She swallows. “I’m okay. I’m used to it.”

“Three years ago, a man named Michael Moylon went to the ER for a ‘headache’ he’d been ignoring. Turns out he was shot in the head but was used to the pain, so he didn’t bother.” The boy stands starighter, scolding hands on his hips. Hazel stares at him. “So.” He pats a padded bench with a papery cover over the seat. “Let me take a look.”

…Camp Half-Blood will always be, Hazel thinks, a strange, strange place, with strange, strange people. It’s hard to believe she once thought the Apollo-descendants of Camp Jupiter oddities; it’s hard to believe she once found anyone odd. Even outside of Camp Half-Blood. 

Gods, child-eating harpies. She really can’t get over it.

The medic wastes no time. The second she forces her feet to move, settling in on the cot, he is in action, tapping her pant leg gently so she rolls it up – which she does, flushing red and pretending not to see his bit-back smile – and prodding gently at the area, humming to himself. 

“Jeez,” he murmurs, pushing the tip of her kneecap with his thumb until she winces. “You shattered the whole bone!”

“There is no way you could possibly know that,” she argues. “I broke it – gods, I broke it ninety years ago, almost. And it healed.”

“It healed ish,” the medic corrects. “By ish I mean maybe someone tied a bandage on it and you were on crutches for a week.”

Hazel has seen a grand many things, even for a demigod. She has faced Titans. She has faced Giants. She has won, in all of these fights, she has held fallen comrades, she has wept for them, she has wept for decades, cursing and loving her mother in equal measure. She has stood her ground in front of six of the most powerful demigods to ever walk the Earth and defended her brother. She has faced off her own Father, even, and the broken power behind his eyes. She has bent the Mist to her will. She has bent the Earth to her will. It is not cocky to say she is strong, it is not arrogant to claim she has seen all there is to have seen. 

Still, the small pop of her gaping mouth echoes in the quiet, midnight infirmary, and the boy smiles, sideways and crooked, and shoots her a wink. 

“I could tell you how often someone two hundred thousand years ago ate shellfish by looking at a fossilized tooth. Believe me, I know what a shattered patella looks like.”

Modern medicine is a wild thing. Hazel has found that a lot of her friends in modern times have no idea how good they have it, and how wildly medicinal science has progressed in the last century. Aside from machinery and accurate devices, the pure knowledge that is widely available is mind-blowing. Hazel still remembers the looks she got when recommending calomel to a stressed out mother of a colicky baby in a cafe – it’s not like she knew mercury was poisonous. She remembers dosing out her mother’s calomel solutions for her deepest depressions. 

Still. There is a difference between modern medicine and near-divining her past with the barest touch of a bone through layers of skin and fat and muscle. 

The boy hovers wide, scarred hands over her knees, waiting for her nod. As he rests his palm on her skin she sighs, quick and startled like the quick collapse of a carnival tent; the bright, clear heat of his hands sinks into the pores of her skin and settles deep inside her brittle bones, warming a cold she hadn’t realised she’d been harboring. He begins to sing, under his breath, first, but slowly swelling with the night breeze through the open windows, swirling around the climbing plants hanging from the ceiling and weaving through the stone fountain in the room’s corner, pulling her lingering pain away with it. Hazel watches, wide-eyed, as the shadows take shape, chasing the song, of a horse, red-eyed and panicked, and a small little wisp of a thing, weak and limp. With every lilting note, the shadows get softer, and softer, and softer, until they wash away in the fountain’s stream. 

In the silence there is the warmth of the medic’s hand still on her knee. In the silence there is that same warmth, liquid, slowly pushing its way through her veins and blood, settling curled and tired in the marrow of her bones. In the silence there is, for the first time in nearly a century, a stillness, a total lack of the low, pulsating, ice-cold pain that has been quietly pushing from her knee for longer than it hasn’t. 

“Can everybody do that here?” she asks, finally, breathlessly. “Or just you?” 

Hazel makes no habit of the infirmary in Camp Jupiter, but biannual check-ups are mandatory and she is not immune to injury. Still. This is a relief unlike she has ever felt. 

The waves his hand, pulling back, and grins. “I take it you feel better?”

She answers honestly. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt better in my life.”

There is an ache, still, home in the dead centre of her chest, a lump still growing in the back of her through, and should she think too long, her eyes sting. But Leo is not…Leo is missing. And he is troublesome, like his great-grandfather, and slippery, and she has more faith in her friend than in Death. The ache is not overwhelming. The ache is tinged with something spiked and fiery, fueled by the genuine strength she feels in her body for perhaps the first time in my life. 

“Good.”

The medic twitches, slightly, as if he were about to reach out but thought better of it. He nods, instead, smiling, and walks back off to the end of the cots, where a monitor is beeping softly. This time, Hazel follows him, sliding off the bench and peeling the crinkling paper off her backside, stepping nimbly over taped-down cords and kicked-off blankets. She stands behind him, on her tiptoes, straining over his (too tall. People should stop growing after five-ten, she believes, except Frank who is an exception because he is cute) shoulders to watch what he is doing. He explains, around another muffled smile, each number and symbol, pointing to the freshly bandaged chest of the patient and muttering about reckless, thought-averse fools and internal bleeding isn’t real, nyeh nyeh nyeh and when I finally go insane and quit, they will have to beg for six business years to get me back I mean it. 

“Are the other medics this…” Hm. Unprofessional is probably not the word to use, here. “...Spirited?”

The boy raises a perfectly-shaped eyebrow. Hazel flushes. 

“The other medics are eleven and thirteen,” he says dryly. “And Kayla is currently over there –” he points to a snoring girl with dyed-green hair, who is bandaged in six different places and is sleeping upside down – “because she makes bad choices and has been demoted to assistant until I’m less mad at her, so.” He shrugs. “Spirited is what y’all get.”

“I didn’t mean to offend,” she tries. The boy just snorts. 

“Y’r’gonna havta try a whole heap harder to offend me, that’s for damn certain,” he assures. “If I was really gonna quit, I woulda done it two years ago when they slapped the head honcho badge on my shoulder and told me to get crackin’.”

Hazel stills. Demigod life is a – wild thing, she knows, and most have not lived as long as she has, ageing like amber in the depths of the Underworld while the world stretches on ahead. Percy’s face when he realized demigods could live longer than eighteen still haunts her nightmares. Camp Half-Blood is a loud, lively place, that burns brightly over its layers of ashes and yells over the sound of weeping ghosts left behind. That much she can gather. It should not be strange to her for an eleven-year-old medic, or an army of teenagers. Her own camp is guarded by an eight-year-old. 

But this boy still has stubborn baby fat clinging to his cheeks, for all his height. He cannot be more than fourteen. Fifteen, if she stretches. 

The youngest head medics at Camp Jupiter are twenty-two. Regardless of demigod life, skills take time to learn, and stomachs and hearts take years to turn to stone. 

“I’m – sorry,” the boy says, voice crackling like burning pyres. “I’m –” he forces a smile, a quick, strained thing – “I am, uh, spirited. Unprofessional. I haven’t slept in several days and I’m – uh, I don’t like working Austin too hard. He’s still learning, and he doesn’t like healing much, anyway.” He busies himself quickly with the patient he pointed out earlier – Kayla, the thirteen-year-old medic. It is quickly apparent that there is nothing to be done for her, and he stands there, back turned to Hazel, scarred hands twitching above her forehead until they settle, finally, featherlight, like he’s scared a touch will wake her. Like he’s scared a touch will hurt her. 

His shoulders shake, slightly. It’s too dark for anyone else to see the twin droplets, splattering on the corner of her cot. 

Hazel’s chest smarts something awful. 

“Where are the other medics?” 

She knows there are none before he answers. He must know that she knows, judging the careful steadiness of her voice, the fleeting touch of her finger on his clenched fist. She pulls back when his hands begin to shake, worse than before, and his finger worms under the bandages on his wrist, pulling and twisting, twisting, twisting. He stands close to Kayla, still. Hovering, careful. His lips part, and Hazel holds her breath. 

“There were more of us,” he begins, hushed. His dark eyes track Kayla’s snoring. “I was the thirteenth. They were –” He looks up, suddenly, looks over, and the look in his eyes is like cracking ice, like a glacier that has stood for thousands of years breaking finally into the arctic sea and falling under its own weight to the sandy floor. Like the fractured flash of sky between lightning, like the azure glass shards of a Christmas ornament refracting back the twinkling candlelight. “It was so loud in here, once.”

Hazel tries to reconcile that, in her head. This boy standing at the edge of his younger sister’s hospital bed, his younger brother tucked safely away, awake for maybe the fourth or fifth day in a row. I was the thirteenth. 

Hazel knows a little something about unlucky number thirteen. 

“War?” she asks, quietly, remembering something Jason had told her, on guard on the Argo, about a Titan’s battle on two sides of the country. About an army of snake-monsters for them, and something on the other end. Something worse. 

“Slaughtered,” the medic says hoarsely. Another tear traces the path of the first, low light flashing off the sheen of it. “First the – first my sisters, the oldest, then my brother, then – all of them, at once, at the same –” He chokes, on something, on the truth of it or the pain of it or both. Something bubbles in Hazel’s chest, thick and oily, something like horror and pain and hatred; a pit of the same tar that killed her the first time bubbling through her veins and burning the back of her throat. Twelve children. Her throat dries.

“All of them?”

“Every last fucking one,” says the boy, and the pain swells from him so thickly and ardently Hazel is half-sure each ghost is standing behind her, boring into his gaze. “Every last one. I watched them.”

Hazel watched. She held her eyes open for as long as she could when the tar swallowed them, when Gaea dragged them down. Her mother’s kiss burned hotter on her forehead than the boil of the earth exploding around them, and the shine of Marie Levesque’s guilty tears glittered brighter than the diamonds popping like falling stars everywhere Hazel touched. She held her eyes open until the heat dried them blind. She watched, as long as she could, her prodigal mother sink, her beautiful, broken mother die. She had thought she would feel something worse, something like satisfaction. Vindication. Nico told her they hold grudges. She had known it about herself before then. But the pain of her body ripping from her soul was secondary to the pain of realizing, to the pain of finally understanding that her mother suffered, too. Pluto’s wanting had cost them both, and Marie had only barely been able to apologize. She had never been able to make amends. And now she walked, like all souls do, along the beaten paths of Asphodel, reduced to her guilt, to her anger, to her wanting. 

Hazel sits heavily on the one remaining cot. After a moment, the boy joins her. 

“I don’t think it’s worth it,” he admits, quietly. He meets her eyes when she faces him, blue-black in the candlelight. “All – this.”

She follows his gesturing hands. To the bandaged girl, Kayla, to the bloodied, to the sheets pulled over small faces. To the brothers and sisters slumped exhausted by bedsights, tear tracks dried on young faces. To the faded pictures rubbed worn with mourning, gentle fingers. 

They have never been thanked by the gods. 

She’s not sure it would be worth it, either.

“There’s nothing that will bring them back.”

It’s not consolation. It doesn’t sound like it, either; to her own ears it sounds defeated. Agreeing. 

“Do you think they’d even want to be back?”

“Probably not.” She swallows, thinking of Leo. Is he relieved? He’d insisted on being the sacrifice. She hadn’t fought him. She couldn’t blame him for wanting. “I wouldn’t.”

They sit in the non-silence. The medic pulls the bandages on his wrists until they are bruising; Hazel’s fingernails, unbidden, reach up to her lips, pick, pick, picking until salted iron dribbles down her chin, onto her pajama shirt. In the heavy stillness of the twilight there are people coughing, and snoring, and worse, moaning, groaning. Crying. Calling out for their mothers, for their sisters. Birds wail outside the open windows. Cicadas weep. Dryads murmur amongst themselves, sap dripping out of them in swathes.

“I know you’re a big-shot Prophecy of the Seven kid,” says the medic, smiling wryly at her. He sniffles, swiping a hand over his face; as the first rays of sunlight begin to stream in Hazel realizes he is spattered with a night sky’s worth of freckles. “But, uh. If you’re not busy, I could use a hand today. Every day, really. Whenever you’re free.” He exhales. "Sometimes it makes it a little bit worth it."

There is a veritable library’s worth of to-do lists for Hazel to work through tomorrow. Today. She’s a high enough rank that her presence and her direction will be missed. 

Regardless, she smiles back. 

“Yeah.” She reaches for his hand, and he releases his bandages, holding their palms together. “Yeah, I’ll hang out in here today.”

[worm-food09]

✨️Put 5 songs you listen to, post it, then send this ask to 10 of your favorite followers :) 🎶

Ok slay :>

Not in any particular order? Also thanks for the ask @confetti39x :3

- Let Them Know They’re On Your Mind by Cavetown

- Play With Fire by Sam Tinnesz feat. Yacht Money

- Are You Satisfied? by Marina and the Diamonds

- heart attack by Cavetown

- Just Add Water by Cavetown

Sorry I haven’t been active a lot guys I’m just kinda going thru it rn <33

10 followers: @howlingcommanddo @half-eaten-baguetteee @musicalfan78 @lams-is-canon @hopeless-gay-shipper @ooooooh @samsayswhatever @kaylinalexanderbooks @hammyham-o-o @sparrow-the-tired-lesbian

[plastictoyphone]

Ooooooh Nugget 🎶

@joanbarrie

*Nugget was in his room, doing some paper work and checking the weapons. He seemed very busy.*

"Yes?"

[thecargays]

Ooooooh, barracuda 🎶

[masters-fav-apple]

Alrighty champ since it’s your birthday I got ya a little something 🎶🎶

*he hands you a present in sparkly red wrapping paper*

Yknow as a little thank you for being an amazing minion!

*she lets out a gasp, taking the present excitedly and shaking it a few times*

"Oh, thank you, master Shadow Milk Cookie, thank you! Ooooooh, what could it beee?????"

*she sits down and begins to unwrap the present, wrapping paper flying everywhere*

[edenfire]

🌸🎶 ooooooh~ 🎶🌸

angel's lil oohs during loser baby are soooo cute🥺💗💞

[jhonmerism014]

Every time I see Anniflama's Poseidon in his horse form I just think that he's a "Homosexual horse from the mountains🎶oh-oh-ooooooh" (joke in Spanish, sorry)🌈

[haveihitanerve]

Avengers: Age of Ultron is my favorite movie, and I am not going to attempt to explain it because I really don't think i can, but here are some of the best quotes from Ultron that I feel the need to share

“Language” “I know, just slipped out” “for gosh sake watch your language” “thats not going anywhere anytime soon”

“Oh look theyre all lining up” “yeah well, theyre excited” fucking obliterates them

“Somebody wanna deal with that bunker?” *destroys it* “thank you.”

“Guys, stop we gotta talk this through.” *shoots all of them* “it was a good talk.” “no it wasn't.”

“Please be a secret door please be a secret door please be a secret-.... Yay!”

“Thor report on the hulk.” “the halls of val halla are filled with the screams of his victims.” *bruce, buries face in hands, steve looks at the roof like lord give me strength, nat looks at thor like what the hell, thor anxiously scrambling to save it and does not succeed*

“Boss?” “Oh no hes the boss, I just design for everything and pay for everything and make everyone look cooler.”

“Hes fast and shes weird.” 

“How is he?” “Unfortunately hes still barton.” “Oh how terrible.” 

“I don't have a girlfriend.” “that i can’t fix.” 

“I've seen her flirting. Up close.” *walks away* *wait a min-*“w-what do you mean up close?” 

“No more renovating.” *in the middle of battle* “you know i think ill make the dining room a little space for laura.” Nat: no one eats in a dining room

“That the best you can do?” “you had to ask.”

“The city is flying, we’re fighting an army of robots, and I have a bow and arrow.” 

“Steve, he said a bad language word.” “You tell everyone about that?” 

“Very very interesting theories. I have a simpler one, you're all not worthy.” *groans, clint sticks tongue out at him*

“Cap doesn't like that kind of talk.” “you know what romanoff..”

“Aw junior. You're gonna break your old mans heart.” “Clearly you've never made an omelet.” “he beat me by one second.” 

“Go to sleep go to sleep go to sleep.” *hulk: roars* “...sorry.”

*steves face when clint greets his kids*

“We would have called ahead but we were busy having no idea that you existed.” 

“Do me a favor. Try not to bring it to life.” *tony: this bitch again? Why are you around every fucking corner you overprotective stalker*

*tony throwing darts* *clint throws a bullseye while hes taking his darts out*

“They're a mess.” “yeah. But they're my mess.” 

“Don't take from my pile.” 

“Just an old man who cares very much about you” tony being the only one to call fury Nick. (and maria hill but in a different movie so wtv)

“What were you napping?”

“Cap you got incoming.” *cut to steve trying to breathe on a car* “incoming already came in.”

“You get hurt, hurt ‘em back. You get killed… walk it off.”

“Evacuate the city.” *no ones moves* “get off your lazy asses.” *fires gun*

“🎶Ooooooh i'm decrypting nuclear codes and you don't want me to.🎶” (tony drop the full album im waiting)

“You're not a match for him cap.” …. “Thanks barton.” 

“Cap can you keep him occupied?” “What do you think i've been doing???”

“Beep beep.” 

“Stark is right.” “oooh its definitely the end times.” 

*everyone's faces when vision lifts the hammer*

“Iron man the ones hes waiting for.” “thats true, he hates you the most.”

“You cant save them all. You'll never-” *gets yeeted off city* “Ill never what? You didn't finish!!!”

“Keep up old man” *lifts bow* “nobody would know. Nobody. Oh last i saw him and ultron was sitting on him. Yeah he’ll be missed. That little bastard. I miss him already.” 

“Fury you son of a bitch.” “Whoo! You kiss your mother with that mouth?” 

“Its terribly well balanced.” “Well if theres too much weight you lose power on the swing so..” 

“Romanoff. You and banner better not be playing hide the zucchini.” 

“I was born yesterday.” 

Thor: says something serious and meaningful. Steve:...But if you put the hammer in an elevator..” Tony: itd still go up. Steve: elevators not worthy

“Im gonna miss these little chats.” “then don't go.” 😭

“Besides this one” *smacks tony* “theres nothing that cant be explained”

“That man has no regard for lawn maintenance.” 

“I will miss you tony.” 😭

“You wanna keep staring at the wall or do you wanna go to work? I mean, it is a nice wall.” “thought you and tony were still gazing into each others eyes.” 

Just them having casual conversations mid battle. I love. 

Its just that they are able, allowed to be a team, to be friends, we get to see them bond, not hate each other, we get to see serene team moments, we get the original six, its just them having a lot of fluff even with all the angst

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Wait. We can ask for wedding mood boards now ?! Ooooooh you know which one I am obsessed about: Lloyd and Mimi 🥰

🎶 Lloyd is gonna marry Mimi, Lloyd is gonna marry Mimi 🎶

(If you are not doing it anymore, sorry and ignore that ask)

Here ya go

[needyraincandy-u]

📹 What If the Government Made You a Nerd? 🪽

Alright, no, guess that made her move her ass faster than one would expect. And because she's a little paranoid, what better than to make a stream about Conspiracy Theories tonight?

A very stupid conspiracy theory, at that, but it tends to attract the nerds just fine.

It's because of it that Ame wastes no time in getting dressed into KAngel's cosplay. She felt such anger build inside that she didn't even let Sakuya decide what she was gonna stream tonight...

...either way.

🎶Background music: Internet Angel🎶

Once her cam is on and the stream is live, the Internet Angel would make a pose in front of the camera while wearing a wide smile; cheerful and hyper as ever.

"Hey cuties! It's KAngel, the fixer who controls the entire world!"

For a stream that will more or less be improvised due to her impulsive behavior, the stream is getting enough views and it's only been a pair of minutes- almost half a million followers, at that!

The chat would be greeted by people on the other side of the screen, already greeting their idol.

╔══════════════════════════╗

■ hey kangel

■ HEY KANGEL!!

■ hiii KAngel owo

■ oooooooohh

■ I've been waiting for this

■ I always watch your streams!

■ mhm

╚══════════════════════════╝

She couldn't help but internally smile rather maliciously, although she also loved having the attention of her fans, rather than overthink about the other streamer.

"Do you guys like conspiracy theories? I do, so I read about them a lot."

Thankfully, these are topics and things that Ame has read about in her own free time, out of mere and genuine curiosity, really.

"So I thought maybe I could share some of my favorites with you guys here and there."

MUAHAHAHA! She could already see some people pay for some Super Chats, even! How can she not love her little army of otakus?

╔══════════════════════════╗

■ yall nerds love these

⭐ ooooooh i love conspiracy theories im EXCITE

■ You like conspiracy theories too?

⭐ Conspiracy theories scare me

╚══════════════════════════╝

After making a pause so her fans could react and write down their opinions for a bit, she cleared her throat and continued, after moving up a finger.

"Today I'll be talking about the nerd culture conspiracy theory!

Some people say that it did not develop organically, and it was actually spread by the Freemasons.

They wanted to turn the Japanese masses into nerds to numb them. Sounds wacky, but what if it did happen?"

Oooooh...the more gullible people would fall for this, she was sure. There seemed to be a bunch that even were a little scared at the idea, and others that found it interesting.

╔══════════════════════════╗

■ Don't go to deep...

■ you're way too into this

■ great choice

■ ?!

■ wh-what?! (ó﹏ò｡)

■ I'm scared...

■ no way

■ I love these kinds of things

■ that took a turn

⭐ I'm not a nerd!

╚══════════════════════════╝

For a moment, she took advantage of the fear some of them felt, making the scariest face she could, with a disturbing smile and her eyes wide open, almost empty.

Woah, she COULD be a little scary even as KAngel.

"Everyone watching now would be dancing to the tune of the Freemasons! Aha!"

╔══════════════════════════╗

■ I'd believe anything you say KAngel...

■ I don't mind these streams actually

⭐ Feels like you're going to eventually go off the deep end if you keep this up...

╚══════════════════════════╝

Well, that last comment...naaaah, she will be fine, as long as she doesn't try to understand all these conspiracy theories while being high or something.

Now that would be a problem.

"But it's okay, 'coz even if you were all manipulated into being nerds, you got to meet a real life angel!"

Her expression totally softened again and her cheeks even blushed a soft red, going back to that innocent smile and giving a cute pose for her viewers, if only because she knew it always made them melt.

Winking at them once, too.

╔══════════════════════════╗

■ the more i watch your streams the more i like you

■ LETS GOOOOOOOOO

■ I want to keep watching forever!!!

╚══════════════════════════╝

She had all her nerds in the palm of her hand, but it was around the time of finishing the stream for today. Fruitful, she would say!

...and hopefully taking all the attention away from the other streamer that TRIED to shit on her.

"It's time to read some comments!"

╔══════════════════════════╗

⭐ ooooooh i love conspiracy theories im EXCITE

╚══════════════════════════╝

For the first one, she smiled, before letting both of her hands rest on her hips for a moment.

"Right??!? But promise me you won't get too paranoid. And if you do, promise me you'll go to therapy!"

Gotta do the good action of the day and recommend therapy, ahem.

╔══════════════════════════╗

⭐ Conspiracy theories scare me

╚══════════════════════════╝

After reading this one, KAngel made a monster pose with her hands, as if she was showing her claws and trying to be intimidating. RAWR!

"Scared? Maybe you should turn off your modem and go outside before you uncover more truths online."

Well, guess that was it for today.

"Goodnight, cuties! Sleep well and don't forget that the Internet Angel is protecting you all from above! 🙏BLESS🙏"

And as expected, many comments would follow with the same kind of goodbye message, to close the stream of the Internet Angel.

╔══════════════════════════╗

■ 🙏BLESS🙏

■ 🙏BLESS🙏

■ 🙏BLESS🙏

■ 🙏BLESS🙏

■ 🙏BLESS🙏

■ 🙏BLESS🙏

╚══════════════════════════╝

[kattythingz]

For the ask game: ❌ 🎶 🤡

Ask and ye shall receive!! :D

🤡 - what's a line, scene, or exchange you've written that made you laugh?

Ooooooh, excellent question! I do fancy myself a little funny in my banter, ehehe, and yeah I'm a loser that laughs at my own jokes sometimes. There's this moment in particular from another wip of mine (brownie points to anyone who can guess what it is. Hint: it's a revamp) that really gave me a kick:

“So glad that’s settled!” Ed yelped. “I’ll be going now!” “Oh, no, don’t rush on our accou—” “FUCK OFF AND DIE SINGLE!” Ed should’ve kept his mouth shut. While Mustang spluttered with satisfying indignation, Darius and Heinkel howled with laughter in mortifying tandem with everyone else, and Teacher made a horrible, horrible noise of understanding that had Ed’s feet stumbling before he picked them up to speed-walk faster than he ever had in his entire life.

🎶 - do you listen to music while you write? What song have you been playing on loop lately?

Oh, yeah, absolutely. Music while writing is a MUST on most days; I do get the rare case of being overly distracted by the music and thus writing in silence. As for what I've had on loop—Pricey by Kam Prada, oh my god. The song is SO painfully edgreed-coded (and greed overall), it was on the SPOT. I heard it ONCE and was obsessed. My Solaris playlists can't handle anymore additions, plz. (They can. If anyone has recs absolutely send them my way.)

❌ - what's a trope you will never write?

Omegaverse. Fucking OMEGAVERSE. Extremely sorry to my followers that enjoy it but I absolutely despise everything about this trope. From the social dynamics to the heats to how there never seems to be any nuance to them—all of it pisses me off to read. It's the first tag to get yeeted whenever I scroll through ao3. Again, super sorry to the enjoyers, but it's just not for me. It's really not.

Thanks for the ask!!!

[imogenh001]

When you smile it kills me

🎶Oooh Oooooh ooooooh🎶

[reverentwormpriest]

🪕🎶🔥🎵 ooooooh a pirates life sounds just right ☝️ sounds quite nice I could say that twice 😋 sounds quite nice 🙏 you wont live long 😨😿 fuya lee da lay lay lodaleedalow 🗣 smash and gouge and stab and poke and choke you out 😳 that's a pirates life 💥😚 pirates life 🦜 short but nice ⚰️ fuya leeda lay lay fuyaleedalowwww ‼️😭🔥🔥🪕🎶🎶

[surlyqueen]

For the, like, two people who will appreciate this...

My kid: Let's play The War Of Sandwing Succession! You be Blaze

Me: 🎶 OOOOOOH I SHOULD BE QUEEN BECAUSE I'M THE PRETTIESSSST! I AM POSITIVELY *DRIPPING* WITH RIIIIIIIIIIZZ! 🎶

Husband: *snorts his drink*

[allamericanb-tch]

crimson rivers thoughts (16)

@tastetherainbow290 this was genuinely terrifying to read

chapter 38

REGINALD 😭 marlene you menace

pocket sized sirius i love marlene

marlene telling james about dorcas 

mcgonagall is tatted i love that for her

huey just trying to be nice and then regulus just being regulus 😧

"Poor Huey is having a really bad night," 😭😭

"Yes. I recognize it, because I, too, have had intentions to get in your pants.” oh james

“shiny topics” is james a niffler 

jegulus

STOP TALKING ABOUT SWAPPING SPIT mono is making me bitter about this

🎶ooooooh shut up and dance with me🎶

barty mention

voldy 😧

dorcas pov <3

dumbledore mention booo

i’m scared for when the war starts

dorcas trying to keep marlene safe

🎶i almost doooooo🎶

“Yeah, but it's not like I want you any less when I'm sober." ahhhhhhh

oh no they’re fighting now

“Dorcas wants to give her the world. Dorcas can only give her nothing.” ok just break my heart then 

oh no what did voldy do

rip walburger and onion black

chapter 39

wow were just really jumping in here aren’t we

barty

“he wasn't even heartbroken the first time he stepped up and saw the flower from the previous day right where he'd left it” the first time… does this imply there are many flowers left

vanity 💔

cream cheese bagel this is so gardenofrunar coded (not tagging bc you haven’t read this far yet but if you do catch up and read this HI TWIN how does it feel being the cream cheese bagel moot)

sirius is so dramatic i love him

“"It's not a date," James and Regulus announce at the same time.” sureee it’s not

“Writing more sad boy poetry, no doubt,” 😭

james is down bad (crying at the gym everything’s coming up teenage petulance)

effie ❤️‍🩹

oh no the quarter memorial is the quarter quell 😧

don’t make them go back in the arena please 

“the door won't just magically open for him” (mere moments later) “The door proceeds to magically open”

james losing it when he finds out regulus is here 

everyone offering to make regulus a plate and every time he’s like “no i ate but thank you”

regulus being horny 💀

“Regulus can swim now”

they’re hugging ❤️‍🩹

wait did dumbledore kill grindelwald

oh no not catching fire

this is going to be devastating isn’t it

i knew it was coming and yet i was still surprised

chapter 40

“On Regulus' twenty-sixth birthday, James shows up at his door not with a flower, but with a hat.” eeeeee (don’t lure me into a false sense of security)

and now it’s sad

oh they’re kissing

baby

“on my fifteenth birthday, I wished on the sunrise that you would kiss me” no but james starting liking regulus when he was 15 ?!

hanky panky

"You'll always be my Reg” ❤️‍🩹

“Safe sex is important to Barty” you’re a real one, barty.

james keeping sirius updated on him and regulus 😭

BROTHER FUCKER 😭 sirius is a menace and james eats it up

we’re getting the rules for volunteering 

im so scared right now

REGULUS 

sirius volunteering 💔

REGULUS VOLUNTEERING?!

baby

i’m going to cry there are tears in my eyes right now

the mayor is aberforth?!

effie no ☹️ zar don’t do this to me please

“Sirius stands there in the arms of the parents he's only ever truly known, and he weeps.”

🎶this is the last time i’m asking you this🎶

sirius calling effie mum ❤️‍🩹

andromeda <3

dora ☹️

“they’re ruined too” 💔

regulus and sirius are liars but i guess that just comes with being a black

no this is so sad things were just getting good for them

zar why would you write this

“james "sit down" potter and regulus "im sat" black” i love the end notes but this does NOT make up for what you did

[freelancearsonist]

Let's 🎶 do 🎹 some 🪩 ABBA! 🪩 Please! (I am crushed that my favorite, Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! is a single and not on the album but alas 😂)

ooooooh BUT this is such a good selection with so many fanfic primed songs 😩 it's hard to pick just one but i will give you:

song: andante, andante

character: javier peña

sdflkjsdlfksdf i'm so excited to see what comes of this one <3