jazzhands24-7-365

[jazzhands24-7-365]

Anyone else think they finally found the one friend you could always talk to and then realize that you’re the only one that’s ever been initiating the conversation between the two of you and if you don’t text or talk to them first you won’t be talking at all because same. And it hurts.

[jazzhands24-7-365]

Merry Christmas everyone!

I’m watching Yogi Bear’s first Christmas and I see Snugglepuss from and I don’t remember him being so zesty. He’s SO FREAKING ZESTY and idk how I never noticed this. Anyway that’s all. Thanks, Merry Christmas again 🫶

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[jazzhands24-7-365]

your daily reminder that this is a microblogging website and not every post you see is a sweeping well thought-out hot take for you to consider and many posts are in fact vent posts that blew up on accident

[jazzhands24-7-365]

I hope every writer who sees this writes LOADS the next few months. Like freetime opens up, no writers block, the ability to focus, etc etc you're able to write loads & make lots of progress <3

[jazzhands24-7-365]

I recently started reading The House in The Cerulean Sea and I’m only on chapter 7 right now.

But I can’t be the only one who sees Linus and Arthur as a gay version of George and Mary Cooper.

Like??? I don’t know why but that’s all I can see them as now.

Linus is George and Arthur is Mary.

I mean, they kinda fit eachothers descriptions almost perfectly. Obviously Mary is taller than George or THAT blonde, but it’s pretty close. And now I can’t see anything else and it’s bothering me. But it’s also kinda funny.

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i was in a thrift shop the other day and they were playing the most unsettling variations of normal christmas music, culminating in this rendition of the 12 days of christmas except it was like 12 guys all singing over each other and going “no!” and interrupting the lyrics with random other phrases until they deadass just started singing 5 golden rings to toto’s africa. can anyone confirm that this is a real song and not that i stroked so hard i astral projected into a universe where everything is somehow worse than it is here

[jazzhands24-7-365]

[jazzhands24-7-365]

nico's an extrovert forced to be an introvert and will's an introvert forced to be an extrovert and some of y'all don't realise that.

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Okay. But like who chose the colors of our pride flags? Why did they choose those specific colors? Did someone get elected to choose them or did they just decide they wanted to choose them?

No hate, but I kinda want cooler colors.

And like we could put designs on them instead of just strips and stuff, like we could put a DRAGON on the flags??? How cool would that be?

Idk, I want a dragon on our pride flags

[jazzhands24-7-365]

What’s your fantasy?

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Some of you haven’t heard “the Man” by Taylor Swift and it shows

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i ship valgrace. reblog if you ship valgrace

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*places an orange just outside a fairy ring to see what comes out* science is more of an art than a science

[jazzhands24-7-365]

Happy Thanksgiving everyone!!

I’m sorry for all of yall who have to deal with “those” relatives today, but I know you can do it! You’ll make it through, im rooting for you,

Once again, Happy Thanksgiving 🍁

Eat lots of food 😋

[jazzhands24-7-365]

This is literally so beautiful, I’m kinda crying

“I’d pick you up at the airport.”

“What?”

“If we were normal. I would — have one of those signs, you know. When you came back from your adventures.”

“Oh.” Nico snorts. “I’m still fucking off all the time when we’re normal? And you’re not coming?”

“It is woven within your very soul to fuck off as you please,” says Will sagely. “You get antsy. You know, like a house cat.”

He laughs when Nico shoves him. Less when he loses his balance and rolls into a tree, but he crawls back, anyway, kicking Nico’s ankle as he lies back next to him, folding his hands over his ribs. Nico watches him for a moment, tracing the round edges of his knuckles, until Will’s smile begins to twitch with him knowing, and he looks hastily back to the sky. It’s embarrassing, Will’s snorting huff of amusement, but more than that it’s electrifying, zapping a trail down Nico’s spine and making him shiver.

He can feel the heat Will is always throwing off, blazing every centimetre from his shoulder to his heels, a hair’s breadth away, a millimetre of distance.

“What else would it look like?” He clears his throat. “Our, um. Our normal?”

Will hums. “New York, probably. Big-ass penthouse with your trust fund.”

“I’m a trust fund baby?!”

“Hey, Nico, how much does dish soap cost?”

Nico opens his mouth, and closes it again. Will’s snickers get louder. Is it considered bad etiquette to banish one’s significant annoyance to the Underworld? Only permanently, probably. If he only keeps him there for a couple weeks it should be find. A couple weeks would be appropriately humbling.

“And what do you contribute?” Nico asks, instead of answering. (Not because he doesn’t know. Obviously. Because he is dignified, that’s why.) “Your dimples and boyish charm?”

“Yes, obviously.”

Well.

“…Okay, fair.”

Will snickers triumphantly.

“You still a doctor?”

“Mhm.” Will shifts, mouth curled in amusement. “Paediatric in Mount Sinai. We live close, by the way. You said it’s cause it’s close to Central Park but really you like to hide my lunch in the mornings to have an excuse to come see me.”

“Sounds like you forget your shit a lot, actually.”

“That, too.”

He looks over and smiles at Nico and for a moment he is convinced, wholly genuinely and truly, that the sun that’s been hiding behind the clouds all day has finally peeked out, because he can actually feel his whole body warm, in that slow-rising, penetrating way; he can actually smell the surge of sunshine in the air, feel the red glow in the backs of his eyelids, taste the brightness of the light. Every one of his neurons sinks into his system, sighing, cells reacting to thousands of years of memory of the gentle warm of the Earth’s closest star.

But the sun is not shining, and there is only Will, and his too-big teeth brush against the bottom of his lip, and his dimples show, and his eyes crinkle, and he is more radiant in even his old stained camp shirt and fraying jean shorts than his father has ever been and could ever hope to be. A thousand planets could thrive under a hundred blazing stars and none could come close to him. He knows it, how those ancients felt, the drunken surety as they stood and challenged the gods, swore up and down that their beloveds outshone Venus, Diana, Juno; Will does, Will does, and Nico understands intimately the hubris in a way he scoffed at as a child, because the words bubble and boil and threaten bursting inside of him now. What claim have the Olympians? Over sunlight? Over beauty? Over Will?

“We’re happy?” he says instead, choking hoarsely over the veneer words, over the blocked desperation, truth. “In our normal, we’re happy?”

“Always,” Will whispers. He twists onto his knees, crawling the two inches over to press close, close, closely, hand gentle on Nico’s stomach when he tries to sit up, and presses his lips to Nico’s cheek, dry, twitching with his smile, shaking with his laughter. Nothing is funny, and he isn’t joking, but Nico can feel the giddiness bubbling up and out of him the way sadness flows out in tears; when Will is giddy he giggles, constantly, hiding it barely in his hands, and now he presses it into Nico’s skin, because he knows how Nico aches to hear it, how he watches him like he’s burning it into the ridges of his brain. “I am always happy with you, Niccolò.”

“I love you,” Nico says, fiercely, and it will never be enough, not in English, not in Italian, not in Greek, but he will try. “Te amo. Capiscimi? I love you, Will, I —”

“I know.” The tiny little vibrations of his laughter are — intoxicating; Nico is drunk, ascending. “I know, di Angelo. Sap. I love you, I know.”

He dissolved into giggles into the crook of Nico’s neck, and Nico is lying, still, facing the clouds, and he is warmed, and he is warmed, and he is warmed.