Puck It Chapter Seven

hey if you're trans in the us i love you. hey if you're queer in the us i love you. hey if you're a person of color in the us i love you. hey if you're a woman in the us i love you. hey if you're disabled in the us i love you. i love you i love you i love you

STAT

FDA will limit Covid vaccines to people over 65 or at high risk of serious illness, leaders say

The FDA announced it will limit access to Covid-19 vaccines going forward to people 65 and older and others at high risk of serious illness

hey! we thought this might be coming and here it is. and it sucks! mass vaccination is one of our best tools at preventing the spread of COVID. public comment is open until 11:59 PM EDT on the 23rd of May.

you can leave a comment here:

you can leave an anonymous comment, but usually non-anonymous ones do carry more weight.

Seven Seas of Rhye | (Chapter 4) Murphy’s Law

Some days, when Leo looks at Annabeth, he wonders if it is possible for someone to die and reanimate their own corpse.

Today is one of those days.

Her skin is ghostly pale in the lights of the bunker, her eyes — eyes that are framed by dark, heavy circles — are lifeless, unseeing, and her hair hangs limply around her face.

Her thumb picks at the ring on her left hand.

(Or the one in which all of the original pjo characters are a decade older when the Hero of Olympus series start.)

read it

These women must not get away with it. Here’s the link to the article.

Spread it like wildfire!

“you didn’t need to do this” + any ship !!!

Percy tests the weight of the present Annabeth has just pressed into his hands, rolling it over to see if it’ll give any indication of what’s inside. Whatever it is must be held down as thoroughly as the wrapping paper, which is more scotch tape than decoration. A fresh breeze blows off the Atlantic, rustling the stray curls that hang from Annabeth’s twin braids. August smiles kindly on her as it always has, with sunlight dripping down the contours of her body. Summer doesn’t shine on anyone else quite as gracefully. 

Annabeth’s hands fly out to cover Percy’s as he raises the present to his ear. “Maybe don’t shake it.” 

Percy freezes, noting the way she worries her bottom lip. He’s known her to be many things over the years, and nervous isn’t often one of them. “Annabeth. What did you get me?” 

“Open it and see for yourself.” 

When the paper and tape give away, Percy holds a cardboard box with a picture of his dream camera on the front—a dream in the truest sense of the word, given that he’s never said it aloud due to the long odds of ever get his hands on one. 

He must be silent for too long, because Annabeth shifts on the towel next to him. There’s still time for her to break composure and laugh, to tell him this is all a prank and tear open the box to reveal a gag gift on the inside. 

Instead she says, “I don’t know much about photography, but my dad has some connections through his university and they said this was the best for land and sea, so it won’t fry like your old one.” The words come out hastily, stumbling over each other in their rush to escape. 

Salt air whistles in Percy’s empty lungs. He doesn’t have the words for this—for her. “You didn’t need to do this.” 

That straightens her spine with a flash of defiance that melts away the nervousness, igniting the righteous spark in her eyes that Percy loves. “No, but I wanted to.” She jabs her thumb between his furrowed brows. “Don’t give me that guilty look. It’s my money and I’m going to spend it on my favorite person if I want to, especially on his birthday.” 

“You know I can’t accept this.” 

“Would you buy it for yourself?” 

“Annabeth.” 

“Answer the question.” 

“Yeah in like, five years. But I can’t—” 

“Nope.” Annabeth scrambles upright, spraying Percy with sand. “You’ll have to catch me first.” 

With that, she dashes down the shore without looking back. In a microcosm of the entire decade of their friendship, Percy grumbles and gives chase. The beach is empty, giving him peace of mind as he burrows the camera in their clothes before taking off. 

Annabeth is too many strides ahead, her braids taunting Percy each time her feet strike the sand. Time moves slowly, suspended in the afterglow of a summer spent just like this, running after the girl too golden to be true. 

Just as Percy starts to think it’s a hopeless pursuit, she veers into the water, stumbling through the waves and diving as soon as it’s deep enough. Percy plunges in after her, never more grateful for his years on the high school swim team than when he wraps an arm around her waist after a few strokes. 

They’re still close enough to shore to stand, the water rising to their heaving chests which are mere inches apart. It’s just deep enough for Annabeth to struggle to keep her lips above the swell of the waves, so Percy keeps holding on. Aside from that, he doesn’t know what to do. He wasn’t expecting to catch her, let alone hold her. 

Annabeth tilts her head westward. “Sun’s setting,” she notes, her ribcage swelling under Percy’s palms. “It’d make a good picture.” 

Percy doesn’t have to look to know she’s right, though the shot he’s thinking is more portrait than landscape. The sky is alight with a palette of orange, pink, and yellow cast on the clouds, like the only grey thing allowed in this photograph are Annabeth’s eyes. Her face is smooth, an uninterrupted line of shadow cupping her cheekbone down to her neck. There is just as much to be said for her shadows as for her light—it’s the contrast with each that makes the other. 

A particularly tall wave slaps their shoulders in an attempt to pull Annabeth away. Percy adjusts his grip and tugs her closer, one hand on the back of her thigh as her legs hook around his waist. Neither of them misses their simultaneous sharp inhale; they just can’t make out what it means. 

Annabeth’s hands trace a brave path along Percy’s shoulders, collecting droplets of water with a light touch. “You can pay me back for it. One dollar a month.” 

“Annabeth...that’s—” 

“The rest of our lives? I know.” She runs her fingertips along the back of his neck with a smile glimmering like the sunlight on the waves. “That’s how long I’m hoping to keep you for.” 

They come together slowly, creeping together as the sun kisses the horizon with the same soft touch. Waves part as they pass, looking to flow through space between them that no longer exists. Every inch of skin presses together, held in place by desperate hands dimpling the soft flesh underneath. All their lives have lead them toward this moment in one consistent arc across the sky, traveling west to finally collide. 

Percy pulls back to take a mental snapshot, afraid of losing the memory of the the rise and fall of Annabeth’s chest against his and all the movement a camera cannot capture. Language does not leave much space in the brain for memory, and so it is the first thing to go as he takes her in.

“Perce,” she says, colored with a mix of vulnerable and smug only she could wear well. “I’m gonna need you to say something.” 

“They’re all going to be of you.” 

“What?” 

“The pictures.” One of his hands leaves her thigh to flirt with the edge of her jaw, the ridge that divides light and shadow. He watches her through the new lens of new love and presses his smile into her skin with the same delicate touch of August. “They’re all going to be of you.” 

planning their next move

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Please spread the word that enrollment for health care ends Dec 15. #obamacare

mybroadband.co.za

Zimbabwe orders Internet shutdown

When the Zimbabwean government ordered internet service providers to shutter parts of the web in an effort to curb anti-government protests,

I’m only able to send this because I’ve got a VPN but yesterday even VPNS were blocked today if you don’t have a VPN you can’t read news or use WhatsApp or Facebook or any social media they’ve only put the Internet on to avoid human rights issues you have a huge audience gaud, an audience who should care.

the most depressing part is that it's not even kamala's stance on genocide that is costing her the elections. i wish it were. it's people genuinely shifting for trump. but it's the pro-palestine movement that's going to get the blame for it.

famous last words that make me go feral and tender at the same time

— “Happy.” Raphael (1520)

— “I’m still learning.” Michelangelo (1564)

— “A great leap in the dark.” Thomas Hobbes (1679)

— “It has all been most interesting.” Mary Wortley Montagu (1762)

— “Now is not the time for making new enemies.” Voltaire, when asked by a priest to renounce Satan before his death (1778)

— “Go live in the country. Stay in mourning for two years, then remarry, but choose somebody decent.“ Alexander Pushkin, Russian poet, to his wife (1837)

— "Take courage, Charlotte; take courage.” Anne Brontë, to her sister Charlotte Brontë (1849)

— "I must go in, for the fog is rising.“ Emily Dickinson (1886)

— "Now comes the mystery.“ Henry Ward Beecher (1887)

— "Pull up the shades; I don’t want to go home in the dark.“ O. Henry (1910)

— "Swing low, sweet chariot.“ Harriet Tubman (1913)

— "It’s very beautiful over there.“ Thomas Edison (1931)

— "I don’t think two people could have been happier than we have been.“ Virginia Woolf to her husband (1941)

— "Are you happy? I’m happy.“ Ethel Barrymore (1959)

— "I love you. Sleep well, my sweetheart. Please don’t worry too much.“ Rob Hall, to his wife (1996)

— "A life is like a garden. Perfect moments can be had, but not preserved, except in memory.” Leonard Nimoy (2015)

— "I want to be with Carrie.“ Debbie Reynolds (2016)