#i was STRESSED reading these books i tell you

[azriona]

Coffee Thievery

Pre-Bucky/Reader, ~500 words, Rated Gen (it's a meet-cute, guys, keep your clothes on). Set in the Not a Fairy Tale Kiss 'verse but not necessary to read that to enjoy this very fluffy ficlet. Today is Election Day and I wanted to give you a little bit of fluff on what is sure to be a stressful day. Please remember to vote if you're eligible and take care of yourselves! No coffee was harmed or spilled in the making of this ficlet.

Summary: It is a perfectly normal morning in Avengers Tower, and you are on a perfectly normal mission to steal Clint’s coffee, when a complication turns up at the breakfast table.

Read it on AO3 or just read it here!

The op is going perfectly when you realize you’ve been made.

It’s not your fault. Everything had been going exactly to plan: Clint’s coffee is sitting on the table, exactly where he always puts it. He’s forgotten the sugar – again, it’s a very reliable failing – and it’s not on the table like it usually is because you made sure of that as soon as you’d gotten back from the mission the night before.

So Clint’s digging in the deep well that is the pantry, trying to find the sugar, and you’re sneaking around the side like Indiana Jones, and that’s when you realize that it’s not just Clint in the pantry and Natasha on the couches reading her book.

It’s also the guy sitting at the other end of the table, holding his own mug of something and frowning at you like he’s about to blow your cover.

He’s cute, especially with his nose wrinkled like that, all frowny-faced. His hair’s dark brown and tucked behind his ears, like he normally wears it short but has missed a haircut or three, and you can tell even from here that his eyes are the bluest blue to ever blue. He’s wearing layers of soft cotton shirts and a strange shiny glove on one hand and he’s so clean-shaven you can see the slightly reddened skin, as if it’s been a while and he couldn’t wait another minute.

A little disappointing; a bit of stubble would probably look good on him. Contemplating how he would look more disheveled is probably why you’re distracted from your goal long enough to let him open his mouth, like he’s about to announce your presence.

You quickly start motioning to him Stop stop stop! Shut up shut up shut up! Slashing at your throat, one finger over your mouth, mouthing no no no, the works.

He stares at you, still incredulous, mouth open, before turning to look at Natasha.

Natasha looks up, looks at you, looks at Mysterious But Adorable, shrugs, and turns a page in her book.

MBA just looks back at you, still incredulous, but you grin and ease forward to slowly remove your goal from the table.

You’re already at the door to the stairwell for your exit when you hear Clint talking.

“We need to order more—fuck. Barnes! I thought you were watching my coffee!”

“I was,” says MBA – Barnes, apparently.

Barnes. Oh. It clicks.

“You were.”

“Yeah, I watched it as someone came in here, took it, and left again.”

“You…” Clint’s sputtering now.

“She went to the elevators,” offers Barnes helpfully, “if you want to try to catch her.”

“That little minx, I’m gonna—”

The door to the stairwell (conveniently on the other side of the floor from the elevators) closes quietly behind you so you can’t hear the rest of the exchange.

Which is really kind of too bad, because if that was James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes, fabled war hero, Captain America’s best friend, and just-returned-last-night-from-that-mission-no-one’s-telling-you-about, then he totally had your six and you kinda want to thank him.

(With your tongue. No no, bad thought, put that away, the guy was a brainwashed assassin for decades, you are absolutely Not Allowed to think about a teammate like that, nopity nope.)

(Well. Maybe once would be okay.)

It’s gonna be a great day, you think cheerfully, as you take a sip of Clint’s coffee and head down to Tony’s lab.

Read the rest of the series on AO3.

[footnoteinhistory]

Time for my big NYC Marathon 2024 recap post!! This post is very long, roughly organized borough by borough, and mostly for my own personal record since I don't feel like putting pen to paper rn

And because so many of you have supported me through all of this (like... all of everything in my life for a long time), I thought maybe some of y'all would be interested. Here is my detailed experience (+ some photos!) <3

Got up Sunday morning at 4:30 am, on the Midtown bus to the start by 6 am. My start wasn't until almost 11 am but I was so anxious about logistics I was happy to get to the start village earlier and sit around bored rather than later and panicked. Fortunately my charity team had a heated tent where I killed three-ish hours by people watching, forcing myself to eat bagels w/ peanut butter and bananas and graham crackers until I couldn't stomach any more, and meeting Meb Keflezighi (!!!). I've read Meb's book twice this year and was too starstruck to say anything to him other than thank you but! What a neat surprise to start the day. A grizzled volunteer held out two water bottles and I took one, then he gave me this look and shook the other bottle at me until I took that one, too. He knew. Trust the volunteers.

I was battling serious nerves leading up to the start line, which I'll skip for brevity's sake bc this is going to be a long post anyway. But by the time we lined up on the Verrazzano Bridge (I was on the lower level), I felt good. Excited. The anthem, the helicopters, the cannon, Frank Sinatra, crossing the start.

As you might know bc I've agonized over it extensively on this blog, my training did not go according to plan this year. I hurt my left leg in April, possibly a fracture, and struggled throughout the summer. I wrestled with the idea of deferring. Finally I decided that I would finish the race, even if I had to walk the entire thing. After a few weeks of speed-walking and rebuilding my strength, I felt okay enough to put a little more pressure on my leg and jog occasionally. I hadn't *run* more than 2-3 consecutive miles since the spring. Literally took a photo of my leg in the starting village with the thought it might be the last time it ever looks normal in case my shin snapped in half in some horrific freak stress injury mid-race. Peak anxiety brain.

So starting slow on the Verrazzano's uphill, I was so anxious I would feel that familiar twinge in my leg. I've felt it for months. Sometimes I'm not sure it isn't a phantom pain now. But I didn't feel it that first mile. Or the second, leaving the Verrazzano and thinking "oh, this could be fun." Or the next mile, entering the first neighborhood. So I ran for the next 10 miles straight.

Brooklyn: The first half of the marathon goes through Brooklyn. It was such a fucking party the whole way. Our wave ran through some quieter streets and neighborhoods before hitting 4th Ave, but it was the perfect warm up. Everyone in the world and their mother tells you not to go out too fast in a marathon but it is IMPOSSIBLE not to—not only was I overjoyed to be running without pain for the first time in weeks, I was zooming around giving as many high-fives to the kids as I could.

I had my name pinned to my shorts and it was 100% the right decision. I've heard from runners who say it was too overstimulating or they had trouble locating friends and family when everyone was screaming their name, but I needed it. I'll get into that later, but even at the start it was such a boost. A woman on a highway overpass shouted "Hi Emily, welcome to Brooklyn!" The first kid I high-fived smacked my hand and said "LET'S GO EMILY"

The entirety of 4th Ave was incredible. I loved running through Brooklyn during the half in 2023 and I loved it this time. So many kids, funny signs, people offering tissues, live music, flags and banners. There were many Israeli and Palestinian flags throughout the course, which wasn't a surprise but still stirred up feelings. There was an older man standing alone with a Palestinian flag and we connected (I don't know how else to describe those fleeting interactions between runners and spectators but I had many; it's not quite a wave, sort of a nod, mostly eye contact, you just both know you're focused on each other for a moment). He yelled "stay strong, run for peace!"

Around Mile 8 at the Barclays Center I felt a cramp in my right calf. I assume this was a consequence of not having run more than eight miles for months before (better to go in undertrained than overtrained, they say, but perfect-amount-trained would've been great). That cramp stuck with me for quite while until every muscle was so cramped they were indistinguishable. But we will cross that unfortunately literal bridge when we come to it.

I managed to stretch it out, walk it off, and power on through until I met my family for the first time just before Mile 11. I liberally applied some Biofreeze to my calf and accidentally dropped my bag of SaltStick chews—a crucial error. Goodbye proper sodium intake for the second half of the race 😰

But I was still blissfully unaware of that mistake, running through the Orthodox Jewish neighborhoods and the rest of Brooklyn. Until I realized it on the Pulaski Bridge headed into...

Queens: If Brooklyn was a party, the two miles I spent in Queens were a brutal reality check. My calf cramp was not getting better, I was mad about losing my saltsticks, passing the halfway point was more intimidating than heartening. My half time was around 2:50, which is MUCH faster than I was expecting, but I knew I couldn't keep it up. I really do not remember Queens. There is a 25-minute gap in my camera roll from the Pulaski to the Queensboro. I recall it being loud, and I was a little overstimulated. I hadn't used headphones yet but put them in to check on the Bills game. We were losing, which did not help my mood.

Queensboro Bridge: I train in a hilly area, so I wasn't too scared when people spoke in hushed whispers about how difficult NYC's course elevation is. But the mood swings I experienced on this fucking bridge. First of all, it's never-ending. It goes up and up and up and up. I thought of Jareth, because they loved Simon & Garfunkel and The 59th Street Bridge Song is on the playlist they made that I listen to when I miss them. My calf was cramping in such a way that stretching could not reach, let alone fix. I started settling with myself—10 miles left, okay, I don't think I will be able to run again, I can walk the whole thing.

But then—we're going downhill again. I'm walking a little faster. We're taking the ramp off the bridge into Manhattan. I'm jogging. We're passing the 16-mile marker—from here on out, every step is the farthest I've ever run in my life. I'm running again. We turn onto roaring 1st Avenue!

Manhattan: 1st Avenue is very long. Everyone warns you about 5th Avenue, when you're close enough to the end you might fool yourself into thinking it's the home stretch—but no one (except Meb) warned me about 1st Ave, which feels uphill! Is it uphill?? It is also a 3.5-mile optical illusion. You look as far ahead as you can and that mass you see cannot be runners, that can't be where you're going, that is so far, the bridge to the Bronx must be closer than that. And yet.

My family also did not see me on 1st Ave as planned, which was kinda disappointing. They just didn't make it to the post we'd picked out ahead of time. I didn't want to be grumpy or ungrateful because they did travel all the way to New York for me, and I'm glad they were enjoying shopping and stuff on the UES, it's their vacation too! but like... you travelled all the way to New York for me. Maybe you could prioritize seeing me 🥺 BUT I was perhaps entering the mouth of the pain cave at this time. I'd been running for over 4 hours, the longest I'd ever done, I didn't have enough sodium.

The spectators were awesome. All along the whole course they were great—if it ever felt like too much, I just walked in the middle of the course and tuned them out fine. There's no way I would've finished without not just their vocal support but material support as well—a bag of pretzels was like manna from heaven. Spray-on Biofreeze. Drinks between the official hydration stations. Alcoholic drinks, too (I did not partake, but boy if there's ever a time to break your sobriety...). Tissues. Bananas and orange slices, cookies, Halloween candy, an angel who had my fave kind of Honey Stinger chews. I'd been eating my own gels every 30 minutes on the dot but I was starting to get sick of them. I took everything that anyone shoved in my hands, Gd bless the people of New York City and their generosity, foresight, and kindness.

The Bronx: Going up the Willis Ave Bridge I didn't know if I would be able to finish. I hadn't run in a couple miles. I looked over to my left and saw runners crossing the Last Damn Bridge and it looked unfathomably far away. I had over 6 miles to go, there was just no way. I wanted to lie down in the middle of the street, find a way to tell my family to pick me up here. But there was a woman on the bridge, the first spectator in the final borough, rocking a well-swaddled baby that couldn't have been older than just a few weeks in her arms, welcoming us to the Bronx. I had to keep going after that. I kept telling myself to just keep walking, step by step, and eventually I would finish.

I hoped crossing the 20 Mile marker would be a boost but it made me feel like crying, if I had been hydrated enough to cry. The Boogie Down Bronx was popping but I could not match their energy. My legs were not going to run another mile. I was literally staring at the road taking one step at a time, my head down.

Then out of nowhere I felt someone next to me. Another runner, a middle-aged guy I'd never seen or spoken to before, came up beside me and patted me on the back and mumbled something I didn't hear before jogging off, something short like "keep going," "you got this," etc it could've been anything we runners say to each other on the course from time to time. It doesn't really matter what he said because just that pat on the back gave me fresh legs. Literally it was like I was on the start line again. I cannot explain it at all, I am tearing up just remembering it right now, the most powerful moment of my race. I immediately picked my head up and started running again and ran the rest of the Bronx. Everything hurt, but I could run through it.

I thought about getting his bib # and looking him up but I decided not to ruin the magic. My literal savior. We bobbed around each other a few more times but I lost him when I stopped on...

The Last Damn Bridge: There's an annual hype squad on the 3rd Avenue Bridge, the final bridge of the marathon that takes you back into Manhattan, and I've connected with some of them on FB. Their project this year was putting the names of runners' late loved ones on posters to give us an extra boost at Mile 21. I'd completely forgotten about it until I started passing the boards, then backtracked to find Phil's name ❤️ The organizer saw my name bib and said "Your name is Emily? My name is Emily, too! We have to take a photo!" so we did :) That interaction gave me a boost out of the Bronx and onto…

5th Avenue: You hear many warnings about the subtle but brutal elevation on 5th Avenue, which takes you from Harlem down almost 50 blocks to Central Park. I did not notice the elevation at all, or at least did not register it as elevation. I was mostly focused on trying to stay conscious. I wasn't ever urgently concerned that I was going to pass out, but if someone had bumped into me I probably wouldn't have gotten up. I was fighting back dizziness—but having fun again? Fun might not be the word but I have pretty positive feelings looking back on 5th Ave. The Bills won—I listened to part of the fourth quarter bc I needed to mentally be anywhere else for a few minutes. My walking speed was about equal to my "running" speed at this point so I mostly settled for walking.

Fun crowds, lots of people saying my name. Saw my family for the second and final time! I only stopped for a moment—my cousin said "How do you feel?" and I kind of fake smiled/laughed (?), my eyes not really focused on any fixed point, and said "I just need to keep going" and stumbled away into a jog. AND THEN I SAW MY FAVE TIKTOKER? I am not big into tiktok but if any of you know Dutch (dutchdeccc) I ran past him, did a double-take, TURNED AROUND and went up to him?? I spit out something incoherent like ohmygdiloveyourvideos, he was so sweet he grabbed my hand and said oh my gd thank you so much you are doing so great you are amazing! and I ran off into Central Park 😭

Central Park: There were making the miles longer here. I need to see the numbers and cold hard facts about the course measurements because these miles were longer than the other miles. I hated every second of miles 24 and 25 in the park. THAT was the pain cave. That was, of course I am going to finish because I came this far, but I have never felt this bad in my life. Running would get this over with sooner but my legs are no longer functioning and I might end up eating asphalt so we are walking 16-minute miles until we're out.

I knew certain ways my body would react to the distance because I've done long runs, but I didn't know most of the ways. Like, of course I have a calf cramp, that's what happens. But your legs spasming like in those videos you see of shaky runners who collapse right before the finish line—suddenly oh shit, I understand how that happens. It's not just one foot in front of the other, if I can't run I'll walk—at some point you cannot walk, but you have to figure out how to keep walking.

Central Park was fucking The Long Walk by Stephen King. I keep trying to remember specifics but I think my brain is blocking them out on purpose.

Central Park South: I'm crying again just recalling this. The final mile. You leave the park and run from Sherman's statue and the Plaza Hotel to Columbus Circle before reentering the park for the .2 finish. The hugeness of the marathon and achieving this goal finally hit me and I started crying, like actual tears—but my chest was so tight and achy that crying made it very hard to breathe, instantly, which was actually scary, so I stopped crying QUICK. Gathered myself. Most people were sticking to the right-hand side of the course, along Central Park, mostly empty of spectators. But I fucking needed people.

I can't overstate the power of the crowds at the NYC Marathon. Of course hype spectators are fun at any race, the cheering really is uplifting, the signs are funny. But at 25.7 miles you need more (at least I did) and New York City fucking delivered. I started walking along the barricade on the left, lined with people, and stared as many of them as I could dead in the eye. Literally forcing eye contact with these strangers lmao. It happened throughout the race—you catch a spectator's eye and connect with them, they say something right to your soul and you believe them. But I swear that entire barricade came through for me. It was sunset but still light enough they could read my name on my bib. I started jogging, high-fiving the kids, just looking from one face to the next begging them to talk to me, kept running just to see the next person. And they were smiling and cheering and it worked. I felt like the only person on the fucking course. I kept running even when I had to go right back into the park, uphill .2 miles to the finish.

I kept thinking "this is so fucking hard this is the hardest thing I've ever done if you just keep running to the finish you never have to run ever again." I truly felt like I sprinted across the finish line fast as Usain Bolt, but looking back at the video I was hobbling slightly faster than my 92-year-old grandmother.

The finishers area kinda makes you feel like a toddler, which is fitting because at that point, mentally, you can't think clearly. Like, your brain doesn't have any fuel left to process what's going on after running for 6 hours so the volunteers shepherd you through like a preschooler. Here is your medal, great job!, let me get you a warm poncho and wrap it up tight for you, do you see those big green signs over there, just follow them, yep!, is this bag too heavy for you, are you sure, okay, you did so good today. We must look like stunned baby deer.

Walked to Lincoln Center to meet my family. Nightmare bc once you're on the streets you directly encounter non-runners for the first time all day and most of them do not give a fuck. And as I said, you are physically and mentally struggling already.

But getting that medal is really fucking cool. And worth it

I won't bore you with the rest of the night (mostly ouch ouch stairs ow big step ough lying down hurts standing up hurts shower hurts eating makes me nauseated sleep is impossible) but over 24 hours out, I've never been sore like this. Just uncrossing my ankles hurts. I've always enjoyed the ache of a tough workout but this is something else. Proud of it though. However, unfortunately, I will be losing a toenail. Some may say that is a rite of passage for a distance runner but unpleasant and painful and kinda makes me dizzy nonetheless.

I've still barely had time to emotionally process any of this. I've wanted this for so long. Even as I was doing it, and trying to live in the moment, I could not believe I was actually running the New York City Marathon. And in 2024—this year I've dreaded for so long, the 10th anniversary of Phil's death, a year that's been unexpectedly brutal on me in so many other ways, too. But Phil was with me every step of the way, literally.

I've been wearing the medal all day even though it rubs against the sunburn on the back of my neck, trading little smiles and nods with my fellow runners. We fucking did it. I had no idea what that meant two days ago, what it took. If I did, I'm not sure I would've even tried. But we fucking ran the marathon babyyyyy

This is kind of the only thing I want to talk about so if you want to talk about it or have any questions or anything just let me know 🥺

[the-universal-sun]

How do you think the Stan twins act when unwell/hurt, do they hide it or are they more likely to seek someone for comfort or help when regressed?

Thanks in advanced!

Thank you for the ask! Small content warning for brief mentions of the act of throwing up, nothing too much!

I think to an extent, both Stan and Ford, no matter their headspace, would attempt to hide any sicknesses or injuries. To the point a rule needs to be put place for both of them to tell when they not feeling okay, physically or mentally

For Ford, he’s just so used to having to take care of himself whenever he gets hurt that he doesn’t really think to tell Stan that he’s hurt. He’s had to take care of himself, his injuries, by himself since Bill came into his life, and even more when he was traveling the different dimensions. Besides, he may be little but he can take care of himself, right? Wrong. He may be able to put a bandaid on, but he doesn’t think to clean it disinfect it, and he doesn’t play any gentler, meaning he keeps running around, falling and hitting corners, making his scrapes and bruises worse, which means he starts to cry. Stan panics for several minutes, wondering when his Poindexter got hurt so badly, was Stan playing too rough? But no, once he got Ford’s tears calmed down, he asked what happened and Stan’s even more upset when he found out Ford was already hurt but just didn’t tell him. Didn’t he trust him? Did Stan do something to lose his brothers trust? Stan knows his questions have to wait until his Poindexter was big again, these questions would only upset him even more, and the point of regressing is not not stress. What Stan does do is clean and bandage any scrapes or cuts, kisses any bruises, and decides it’s snack time and then nap time. Big talks can come later.

It is different for if he’s sick or mentally unwell. He can’t really hide his sniffles and coughing (Ford would so have the ipad kid cough), but Stan thinks it’s cute that he tries. But he quickly gets Ford some cough syrup, a decongestant, and some warm honeyed milk, and lays him down in bed with a nature documentary, baby reading him some books at request. If Ford’s not feeling to well mentally, he still tries to hide it, and he does really well. Really only Stan can tell, but that’s because they know everything about each other. Stan can tell when Ford isn’t doing to well by how his eyes will shift aground rather than focus on one point. How his smile seems to turn up evenly at mouth corners, instead of tilting up to the right, his real smile. How he hides his hands more when he usually talks with them, throwing them around to explain his point. But since Stan can tell, he knows to be gentle and soft with Ford, wrapping him up in a blanket burrito, Dr. Mittens tucked closely to him, and softly rocks him. Or, after the twins find out and spend time with their small Grunkles, goes up to Stan, loosest sweater in hand, bundles into the sweater with Stan’s help and curls up into his lap. Stan only wants to take the best care of his Little Poindexter, so he’ll do or be whatever Ford needs in that moment.

Now Stan is different, not only because he’s a younger little, but because of how his trauma affects him. He’s so scared of being a burden, of being abandoned, that he will actively hide any injury, illness, or bad days he’s having because he’s just so terrified that Ford will get tired or annoyed with him. If he sneaks too much pudding and gets a stomach ache, he’ll keep it to himself, just sitting solemnly on the floor until he either throws up or whines too loudly and Ford asks him what’s wrong. Which is his weakness, if asked by Ford if he’s feeling bad or ill, Stan cannot lie to him because that will make him feel even worse than he’s feeling now. If he gets a scrape or a cut, he’ll panic and won’t have the mind to bandage anything, so he just winces everytime his clothes move against his injury. Ford watches his with a hawks eye when he’s little, so he can only hide his injury for so long until Ford’d on him, kissing his boo boos and cleaning and bandaging them. Stan always braces himself for lectures or for stern words, which never come. Ford soothes him with soft touches and gentle coos, telling Stan he’s not mad, that he can never be mad at him (true) but to “please please please say something the next time you’re injured, Lee. I care so much if you’re hurt, I want you to enjoy being little without worries of this, sweet boy. Please let me take care of you.”

I mentioned in my Halloween drabble that Ford has a rule for Stan to tell him if he’s feeling overstimulated or anxious, or just feeling bad emotionally in general. That rule pertains to both Stan when he’s big and when he’s feeling smaller, when he’s Lee. The rule was first for Stan when he’s Big Stan. He got overwhelmed in a busy crowd in Gravity Falls, and left Ford’s side to hide out in an alley way. Ford was so scared to see him missing and ran around searching for him. Stan felt so bad that they both agreed to Stan saying something if he was getting too in his head and anxious. That way, Ford could take him to some place quiet, to help him calm down and settle him. The rule extended to when Stan was Little after his first meltdown. He had a nightmare, never told Ford, and was anxious and on edge all day. And sometimes, when people have bad anxiety days with no way to cope, the smallest things all joined together can cause a meltdown, which is what happened to Lee. Again, Ford wasn’t mad whatsoever, he just felt upset that Stan didn’t feel like he could come to him when he was feeling upset and unwell. Now whether he’s feeling Big or Little, Stan will tell Ford when he gets to feel to much and Ford will take care of him, whether that means taking him to a secluded and quiet spot and just softly talking about inane things to calm him down or wrapping him up in a weighted blanket, his stuffies, and maybe a pacifier if he’s feeling little enough.

These two love each other so much :,,,))))

(Sorry if Stan’s seems much longer than Ford’s, for some reason, though I relate to both of them, Stan just inspired me so much)

[separatist-apologist]

You could’ve done exactly what you suggested: ignored it. Instead, you got on your high horse to preach about how we are all Very Bad for sharing harmless memes. Relax 😌 Let people have some fun on this very stressful Election Day.

You're so brave saying this on anon like it's not very obvious who you are but ok.

Because the fandom revolves solely around you, your needs, your enjoyment. It's a fandom of one versus a community. Fascinating how every single event runner is saying the same thing: you guys are making this not fun, and here you are ONCE AGAIN telling me to get off my high horse.

Reading is so hard for a book fandom, why don't you point to where I called you all Very Bad? "Harmless" except it is creating drama FOR the event, but I would never expect you to care about that because you don't care if it scares away other people or if a day of memes ruins the event itself.

Glad you got to have fun though.

[ameagrice]

Capsize

percy jackson x fem reader

chapter thirty-seven | out of the grave, into the woods.

It’s September 9th, and two days have passed since Percy. Chiron tells you to have hope; maybe he escaped before the place went kaboom. You didn’t see a body, so you should keep the hope alive. You viciously respond that no, there wouldn’t be a body if it was blown to a million pieces, would there?

You eat more than you ever have. The week that passed in the maze had been particularly busy, so much so you’d scarcely had time to eat anything proper. It’s nice to stuff your face, sitting with Annabeth in comfortable silence.

Everyone knows. Everybody knows what happened, by September 9th. Chiron holds a small meeting and explains exactly what happened to the others. Some suggest sending searchers down into the maze to continue what you couldn’t, but Chiron declines the suggestion under the excuse that it’s too dangerous as of late. Percy will turn up eventually, he concludes.

“Have faith,” he sighs, looking around the room. His eyes land on you, where you sit with folded arms and bloodshot eyes nestled between Annabeth and Travis.

It’s hard to do when your mother refuses to answer your prayers. You pray every night for Grover and Percy’s safe return, all week, every morning. You beg any god that will listen to just grant you this one thing, and allow Percy to still be breathing. A tense week passes, and at the week mark—September 14th—since you came out of the maze, hope is beginning to wane. You see it in Chiron’s face with every falsely enthusiastic speech, and in your friends. Annabeth helps you to make a new weapon in the armoury, a lean, light sword made of celestial bronze. You’re working on convincing one of the other campers to charm it to make it smaller, taking inspiration from Riptide. Convenience is key.

By September 15th, people have lost hope. A whole week of people trying to come home should have shown some signs, at least. Another week passes, with no such luck. And then a third. You barely move from the Big House, not really feeling much up to participating in activities and practice fights. You’re just getting into reading a new book, scrunched up in the chair on the porch, when Chiron approaches you, with a solemn look on his face.

“Another book?” He tries for a smile. You see right through him, raising your eyes above the line of your book. There seem to be more stress lines under his eyes. “That’s the third this week alone.”

You raise it a little higher. “I like reading. You can get lost in books pretty easy.”

“I like a good read myself,” he admits. “Maybe not three six-hundred-pagers a week, though.”

Now, you do smile. Just a little.

“I didn’t come here just to halt your peace, my dear. I wanted to talk to you about Percy, and Grover.”

Of course. It’s all anybody wants to talk about with you.

You snap shut the book and pay Chiron all your attention. “Okay.”

He eyeballs the ground for a second. “I think it’s time that we begin to build up a burial shroud for Percy, and begin the proceedings for Grover. Three weeks is…it is unlikely for them to come back to us now. A week, a week and a half at most, is the usual waiting time for heroes to return. I’ve seen this many times before, my dear. Three weeks is too long. It’s time we pay our respects to our friends.”

It’s a hard pill to swallow. You feel your heart stammer in the ribcage, tiny shooting pains going haywire. You’ve had these pains all of three weeks—Chiron calls them a reaction to stress, and grief. It’s why he encouraged so much rest, so little training. Your eyes fill with strong tears and your throat thickens.

“Okay,” you manage. A leaded weight pulls your innards down, and something else grinds them together. You feel overcome with hopelessness, a feeling alike deep and terrible sadness, gut-wrenching. You only want to cry until you can’t cry anymore.

“As Percy’s longest friend,” he continues with a hard swallow, “I wanted to ask you personally, if you’d like to create his burial shroud. As an honor to him.”

You want, in that moment, your dad. You want the comfort of a parent, even though you know you won’t get so much as a hug from him. You want home.

You ask Annabeth to help you in making Percy’s burial shroud. A heaviness settles over camp the next day, and everyone you talk to or pass by offers you a sympathetic look, a hand on the shoulder. Together, you pick out sea-green fabric, and tie in some gentle details of deeper greens and little dashes of blue. You find it in yourself to delve bravely into his left-behind cabin, and dig a seashell from the wall beside the statue of his father. It’s a creamy-pale colour, and lined with streaks of red and pale peach, engrained with bits of sand like it had just come directly from the beach. You weave a few into the fabric until your fingers are sore and pricked with blood. It’s all very factual, death and its proceedings. You find yourself zoning out, staring at the soft material in your hands and thinking of absolutely nothing, at times. Annabeth gently says your name, and pulls the needle from your bloody finger. It takes all day to make it perfect, but you finally complete the burial shroud, and tie it off with a pretty bit of creme ribbon and sea rope.

For Grover, it’s different, and Annabeth carries this one forward better than you because she’d known him for a long time, a hell of a lot longer than you knew Grover. She sits down on the sofa, and almost tears the earthy-green and gold fabric with how forcefully she grips it. Annabeth acts normally, but her lip trembles. She presses them together to stop it, reaching out to the table between you both for the needle.

By evening, just as the sun is going down and the sky is burning orange, you’re finished with Percy’s shroud, and Annabeth is finished with Grover’s. They’re not due to be burned until tomorrow evening, but Chiron said it was in everybody’s best interests to finish them sooner rather than later. It would make the process of burning them a lot easier to handle, apparently. You’re but a second away from blowing up, taking action with screaming and hacking at the strawberry fields; so, anything to lighten the situation, really.

“We should really get some food before curfew,” Annabeth set aside Grover’s shroud. “C’mon. They’ll be looking for us if we don’t turn up, and you know what Travis has been like, worrying this week.”

You huff a short laugh. “Guy hasn’t stopped.”

It was true. He’d been so attentive to your every want and thought that you felt somewhat guilty for dropping him the way you had done to accompany Percy into the maze. You felt like such a terrible friend, recently. But if Travis was holding it against you, he didn’t show it a bit. Ever the selfless.

Your stomach growls painfully, prompting you to stand and hold Percy’s shroud for another second or so, before dropping it safely next to Grover’s. The silky material slips from your fingers and hits the table carefully. The clock above the door tells you it’s nearly seven o’clock at night, and you haven’t eaten a thing since breakfast.

Annabeth is long gone by the time you force yourself to leave the room. You can see her in the distance, walking to the dining pavilion. You stop against a wall, breathing deeply and exhaling heavily, just taking in the air. It smells of pine trees and strawberries, and something warm. The sky is burnt orange and lined with golden clouds. An otherwise perfect evening, if you weren’t hearing Grover’s voice in the back of your mind.

He’s shouting your name, so distantly it feels like he isn’t even there at all. You wish you could help him. His voice grows louder, and closer. You begin up the hill just as you hear breathing—hard, heaving breathing like the person it’s coming from has ran a marathon.

You spin, somewhat startled, and your jaw drops so hard you think it might have landed in Tartarus. “G—GROVER?!” He’s really here. Really! With sweaty hair, missing a sleeve of his jacket, but he’s here in person. Grover is alive. “Holy cows. Holy cows. Holy cows—”

“I did pray to some holy cows, actually,” he nods out of breath. Grover puts his hands on his hips, tilting his head back. The sun is setting very quickly, and really it’s nothing special tonight compared to every other night, but to Grover, it must be amazing.

All the breath he gets back in his lungs is swiftly knocked right back out again. You lunge for him, the relief falling like a heaviness from your shoulders. Grover is a little bonier under your hugging arms than the last time you were together, but he’s in one piece and here in front of you, and it’s more than you could ask for given the circumstances.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” you breathe. With your heart beating ten-to-the-dozen, it’s difficult to discern whether you’re about to have a heart attack, or if you’re developing some sort of condition from all the scares. “Really. It’s good to see you.”

He’s shocked. Of course he is; you’ve barely shown even camaraderie towards Grover before. You think it might be time to change your tune.

“I wasn’t sure you’d gotten out,” he sighed, pulling back. “I’m so sorry for leaving the two of you, but look—I found him. I really did. I found Pan.”

You blanch. Not solely from his insinuation that both you and Percy got out, but that he found what he’d been looking for. You can’t help smiling.

“Really? You’re sure?”

“One hundred percent!”

“We should go tell Chiron, then.”

Heaviness settles in your gut the closer you get to the dining pavilion. You figured that’s where Chiron will be—eating like nothing’s wrong. You haven’t eaten properly in days.

Everybody is seated by the time you arrive. Chiron is, as you’d guessed, at the table and eating as well. It must be the movement from the corner of his eye that turns his head to face you, and it’s a result: he sees Grover; tired, drooping-at-the-shoulders Grover. Chiron stands so abruptly that the table shrieks, the legs scraping against the floor, and campers groan and cover their ears, turning to face the commotion. They follow the leader’s direction, and see him too. The sky is burning, the clouds on fire, and fire in the heart flickers.

A great deal of clamour comes next. It’s all very factual, in the after. They yell Grover’s name and people come running, some in relief, some in disbelief, and some in excitement.

He eats his heart out at the head table, and nobody bothers him. You sit together and for a little while you laugh. Annabeth smiles so hard her cheeks must hurt, and the three of you manage to relieve the last few days and weeks with some joy, especially now Grover has found what he’d been looking for.

It doesnt change the fact that you go to bed with a heavy heart and a sorrowful stomach, and don’t get a wink of good sleep, tossing and turning until the cows come home. When morning comes, you’re sore-eyed and sore of heart, dressing in jeans and a sweatshirt despite the warmth of camp itself. On a day where all eyes will be on you, it’s comforting to feel somewhat sheltered by sleeves and neckline.

You don’t eat breakfast, though your stomach grumbles and whines, and you can barely manage to get a glass of apple juice down. People are casting you looks from every table, because they all know what you’re about to do. After all, his burial shroud is only metres away, folded neatly in a small box before the open fire pit.

Finally, after breakfast of little words to anybody, Chiron smiles somewhat skewedly and directs everyone to crowd at the pit. A few girls from the Aphrodite cabin are crying crocodile tears, pretending they’re oh-so-sad over the loss of Percy, though they haven’t spoken to him before, or if they have—only to ridicule him for tripping during track, or letting an arrow fly too early. Silly little things really, that make Percy, Percy. And you miss him.

You barely notice that Chiron is speaking until he’s finished. The soft blue is in your hands, palms up to the sky. You hope they’re watching.

It smells of smoke that will stick to your hair and clothes, of flames that burn your hands even this far out. Orange, yellow, and wicked red all dancing together in the grate like it’s a terrible little party just for Percy.

You have to clear your throat out hard, it having been in disuse since yesterday. Sets of eyes are on you, big and waiting. A few Aphrodite girls are pulling sneering expressions, because they’re not fans of other girls being the centre of attention.

“Uh—well,” you start, wondering why on earth you hadn’t prepared something earlier. There’s a hard lump in your throat, rolling around and around and around and you think you might choke on it. “Percy was my best friend. He meant a lot to all of us, a great deal, actually. I can’t think of one moment where Percy…”

And suddenly you can’t think at all. There’s pressure behind your eyes burning away like the fire in the grate. Your stomach hurts because you’re so hungry you’re starving. The brain fog because of this is alarming, and you can feel the casual facade start to falter. Why can’t you find the words.

You cough a jarring laugh. Annabeth whispers your name from just the front row, moving to get in your line of vision, concerned. She’s upset but she’s holding it together much better than you are.

The blue in your hands is beginning to absorb the sweat from your skin. “Percy was…there are no words. I think his actions said more, anyway, if I’m honest. Truth be told,” you finally look up from your shaking hands, “truth be told, those of us who knew Percy properly already knew that. Percy was just—”

When you lift your eyes just behind the crowd, you begin to notice something strange. A figure. A boy, in immaculate clothing and tanned like he’d just spent a week at the beach. His shirt is ironed and crisp, and a thin circle of white shells is clasped around a wrist.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Annabeth urges. Her voice shakes when she carefully pulls you aside. “You don’t have to do this. It isn’t fair.”

But your eyes are stuck glued to the boy getting closer, so close that you can make out the green of the eyes you’d recognise absolutely anywhere.

“He’s right there.”

“I know, it’s fine, I can take this.”

She attempts to pry the material from you, but you’re not having it. Clenched in your fists, you nod to the distance, as the lightheaded feeling grows.

“Percy’s here. Percy’s here.”

Heads turn. Bodies shift. Chiron moves through the crowd and pales considerably because he sees what you see. At last, people gasp, people yell out, people rush forward to surround him. But he only has eyes for you, and they’re glossy ones at that.

Your head spins. “Dear god, I think I need to sit down.”

And indeed, down you go.

—

This chapter’s title is taken from the acoustic song ‘the let go’ by Elle King. https://youtu.be/RcnUJTIyjXs?si=HO1lzccJfsaF6SbQ (1.18 seconds)

Taglist:

@bl6o6dy @embersparklz @lilyevanswhore @rottenstyx @rory-cakes @i-am-scared-and-useless-bisexual @marshmallow12435 @lantsovheiress @distinguishedmakerpandapatrol @twsssmlmaa @gayandfairycore @padsfirewhisky @emu281 @charlesswife @jessiegerl @tojismassivemantiddies @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @nothankyou138 @obxstiles @mxltifxnd0m @cxcillia @itzjustj-1000 @sp00kcanwrite @randomesthings @fratbrochrisgf @prongsflower @bugszi

[frogs00]

hiii can i request a janis x regressed fem reader. nothing specific, just fluffy cuteness hehe. thank you:3 <3

Apple Juice

Summary: Janis worries when reader doesn't show up at school, only to find her girlfriend is perfectly fine, and little.

Warnings: Fluff, age regression

Pairings: Janis + Reader

Y/n didn’t show up at school today, which wasn’t typical considering she was an excellent student. Janis knew you wouldn’t miss it for no reason and it made her worried, she texted you a few times but you hadn’t responded— up until now.

The text was a string of incoherent letters and emojis but she could make out a few words. She bit her lip in thought scanning the message over again, concluding you were regressed, she knew you tended to regress when stressed or overwhelmed, really a lot of factors went into it, and she was more than happy to help.

Also, from the looks of it, you were in a good mood… Maybe? Considering the happy emojis used, it wasn’t unlikely but also looks could be deceiving- and was that a frowny face?

Janis quickly shook her head, she was reading too much into things. She’d check on you later, and you’d be okay.

She hoped so.

Due to the worry for her girlfriend, she was very antsy in class. Art was her last period of the day, which she was usually happy with, but right now she just wanted to get out of here.

“Girl, tell that leg of yours to calm down, you’re shaking the table.” Damian spoke, shooting her a playful glare, “I’m trying to sketch. The Mona Lisa didn't happen on a shaky table.”

“And it also wasn’t created by a seventeen-year-old, gay man in the twenty-first century with a knack for annoying me.” Janis retorted, making Damian recoil.

“Rude, but okay.” he studied her, “Girl, what’s got you so worked up?” he asked, concern bubbling in his voice.

“Sorry, sorry. I just want to see y/n.” Janis bit her lip and sighed, worried for her precious girlfriend.

“Darling, she’s fine,” Damian patted her hand gently, then retracted his, “She probably just needed a day off, you know that girl overworks herself. Worst-case scenario she’s sick, but she would’ve told you if she was so calm down.”

No, you wouldn’t have been able to tell her since you were regressed, or at least she thought so. Still, she also knew you weren’t sick. Janis would’ve been able to tell the day before. So maybe she did have nothing to worry about. She nodded “Yeah, you’re right.”

She shrugged and decided to sketch you out a little picture. She knew you’d enjoy it.

_

You were startled by a knock on the door. Blinking rapidly, you internally debated whether or not to open it, you didn’t want to open the door for a stranger, and you knew that wasn’t good, so you just continued coloring in the Paw Patrol coloring book. You turned up the music playing through your headphones, trying to ignore it.

Only a minute later you heard the knock again, louder this time, and your irritation spiked. You got up and threw the marker down, muting the music, and walked towards the door.

“Baby, it’s Janis!” You heard from behind it, your irritation instantly faded and you smiled cheekily, fumbling with the lock and opening the door.

“Jan!” you practically tossed yourself on her, wrapping your arms around her waist then looking up at her, “Hi~”

She laughed, pulling back to get a look at you, her worried brown eyes scanning you, “Hey, sweetie,” You were still in your pajamas and had maker smugged on your face, the sight made her heart melt, “You weren’t at school today, I was worried.”

“I text you, though,” you pouted, not understanding her worry.

Janis chuckled and nodded, “Yes you did! Good job,” she patted your head tenderly, “Can come in?” you nodded eagerly.

“I draw, you wanna?” you asked, guiding her to the coffee table you were sitting at.

“Sure, honey.” she agreed, sitting down next to you criss-cross, and picking up a green marker, coloring in a tree idly. You drew like that in silence for a while, and then she turned to look at your focused face again, “Are you okay?” She was beyond curious to what might’ve caused this regression.

“Yes. Okay.” You nodded absentmindedly. She squinted at you, nose scrunching up for a second, then she relaxed.

“Good,” she looked down at your color page and tapped it with her pointer finger, “This is pretty neato if you ask me.” she grinned and ruffled your hair.

You giggled, “Neato.” You repeated, dragging the world out. She found your amusement endearing.

She set down the marker and nodded, “Yep, want to snuggle and watch TV?” you let out a small ask and nodded eagerly.

“Bluey?”

“Sure, sweetie. Bluey it is.” she stood slowly, gathering up the supplies and putting them away. She knew your parents would get irritated if they were left out, and probably be a little suspicious.

When she returned, you were already curled up comfortably on the couch, clicking the remote till you found what you wanted. She plopped down next to you with a dramatic sigh and you turned your head slightly to look at her and she grinned mischievously.

Suddenly, she scooped you up, and you giggled as she prepared your face with kisses, “Noo, it tickles!” you pushed her face away, and she pouted.

“No kisses?”

“Uh-uh,’ You shook your head, then laid your head on her shoulder, eyes fixated on the screen. You lay like that for a while, Jnais liked this show herself, she wouldn’t admit that out loud but she did, so it was more than tolerable. Especially since she got to spend time with you. She really did like taking care of you or simply just spending time with you when you were in this state, it made her feel almost special the fact you trusted her.

After a while, your voice broke the silence, “Can I have apple juice?” she couldn’t help but smile softly.

“Mhm, I know how my baby loves her apple juice,” she chuckled, “Snack too?” she asked knowingly, sliding you off her lap.

“Yes, pwease!” you gave her a cheeky grin that melted her heart and frankly made her want to squeeze you to death from pure cuteness. She got up to grab you a juice box, herself a glass of water since she was frankly thirsty too, and some goldfish in a bowl.

You were sitting rather politely at the coffee table once again, still staring at the characters dancing across the screen. She set them down, and you hummed out your thanks and drank and snacked. You were suddenly quiet again, but this silence was less peaceful, you seemed tense.

“What’s the matter, little one?” she asked softly, scooting forward to stroke your head.

“I dunno,” you shrugged, picking at your nails, “Mommy and Papa are yelling a lot, I don’t like it,” you mumbled, and her heart clenched, sympathizing deeply.

“It’s okay, it’s not your fault,” she whispered, you perked up at that.

“It’s not?” you sounded unsure.

“Nope, not one bit,” she tapped your nose and your smile reappeared, she loved that smile. She loved seeing your joy. Gosh, you made her such a softy.

After you finished the snacks, she put everything away. You two moved to your bedroom in case your dad came home early, and watched videos on Janis’s phone. She could tell by the way you were rubbing your eyes and the occasional yawn that you were getting tired.

“You wanna sleep, sweetheart?” she asked softly, clicking off your phone.

“Mhm, stay?” you asked, curling up more snuggly against her side.

“Of course, baby.” She smiled, kissing your forehead, watching you fall into some much-needed rest, quick to join you. She was right not to worry, but she knew she would again, after all, she loved you too much not to.

A/N: Low-key got bored, and got a bunch of writing done, expect more fics soon, maybe even another today. Enjoy my first Agere fic, though!

[a-menaceinpink]

read the green bone saga this week and i’m just saying. if you want an in-depth political fantasy mafia thriller (yes all of those words apply) set in a post colonial nation that is navigating an unsure global political position and the potential exploitation of its culturally significant resource that simultaneously explores the bonds between family and how they can take different shapes in the wake of loss and love and life, with brilliantly developed, fleshed out characters and realistic pacing (both in world and in the actual delivery of the story). i HIGHLY recommend.

[szappan]

university.. university leave me alone

[heavenknowsffs]

Unpopular opinion: listening to an audiobook doesn't count as reading

[junonreactor]

yaay

[crunchycrystals]

hey what the hell is that lil nas x line in the sun and the star

[wanderingmausoleum]

gríma girlies rise up

[sparkly-skies]

This one is titled "I needed to urgently work on a presentation* so instead**, I somehow spent my whole day doing fuck all instead and the evening listening to Laura's Buam and consequently experiencing the whole spectrum of human emotions over the span of like, four to six songs" and goes out to @mondscheinprinzessin, naturally, for dragging me into this band.

[just-rogi]

.

[greenlakegalpals]

the branwens have strilalonde energy.

qrow is a dave strider that started drinking his problems away like a true lalonde

raven is a rose lalonde if rose was raised by striders and developed a sudden hatred for wizards

[belovedblabber]

Listen, I love movie! Aragorn, I really do. But book! Aragron wins out for me by virtue of being objectively more of a fucking weirdo