“you Didn’t Need To Do This” + Any Ship !!!

“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.”

PLEASE DO NOT DO THIS:

there are several posts going around about how to best help if you witness an ICE raid/arrest as a (white) citizen. many of them are filled with extremely bad, LARP-y advice such as screaming at agents and getting physically close to them. in most cases, this is just going to make things worse for everyone at risk (including yourself). you need to stay calm, and avoid getting someone accused of resisting arrest.

to be clear: most of these fascists dont care about the law. “illegal” is not a magic word you can say to make them stop. and, being a white citizen is not an impenetrable shield. you can still be arrested, so be prepared for that. you are, however, less likely to be arrested, and MUCH less likely to be killed or held extralegally.

here is what you should actually do to help:

record, and make sure your phone auto-backups to a cloud. streaming can be problematic because its best to have lawyers look over the footage first. be aware they might also grab your phone, even without a warrant. if they’re grabbing it out of your hands, try to lock it. make sure you have a pin lock, not pattern or fingerprint. here’s some other ways to protect your phone from cops.

if you are able to film, and have determined it won’t escalate the situation, make it obvious you are doing so, because secretly recording is illegal in several states. narrate any violation of rights you see. here is a Q&A about filming ICE.

stay several feet back from agents, because they can claim you’re impeding them. if you’re recording and they claim this, take several steps back, and announce it as you’re doing so, if you’re filming.

ask if they are free to go, if someone is being approached. if ICE insists on the person asking for themself, and they speak spanish*, tell them “por favor repita: ‘am i free to go?’” (this just means “please repeat”) if the agent says yes, tell them “usted puede dejar”. if not..

calmly inform people of their rights if they are being arrested. they do not have to speak at all to agents, answer any questions without a lawyer, or sign anything. they do have to show their paperwork if they have it, but do NOT have to hand over the paperwork/passport, or consent to a search of themselves/belongings, without a judicial warrant (not administrative! here’s the difference). it is crucial that they give as little information as possible to ICE.

if you speak spanish, list their rights in spanish as well, and translate what the agents are saying. if not, keep the google translate app on your phone – it’s not perfect, but it’s quick/accessible and can download languages for offline use. you can also memorize this sentence: “no tiene que responder/dar su consentimiento” - “you dont have to respond/consent”

get their lawyer’s contact info, if they have one and are being taken away by ICE. many people carry a card with emergency contact info on it, including childcare info and loved ones, so you can offer to call those numbers for them.

call for legal help. do not call the ACLU or other big organizations for immediate help, call your local immigration help center (for New York State, contact IDP at 212-725-6422. for California, call the TRUST hotline at 844-878-7801). United We Dream is an immigrant-lead organization that provides aid nationwide, and can be reached at 844-363-1423. please save these numbers in your phone!

know the ICE rapid response network in your town, and keep their number on hand. if there isn’t one close to you, here’s how to make one.

finally, here are some useful toolkits:

comprehensive ICE response guide

know your rights posters for in-home raid readiness, community flyers, and informative videos

ACLU videos explaining what to do in various situations with ICE

*of course not every immigrant speaks spanish; people from south america are being targeted en masse right now, but may speak many indigenous languages as well as portuguese. so ask if you dont know what language someone speaks, and see if google translate can help.

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njkhis

1 year ago

hey

hey friend

dont kill yourself tonight ok

you have a really pretty smile and i know its not always easy to manage one but itd be a bummer if we never had the chance to see it ever again

youre really important and you matter a lot so stay safe and try and have a nice sleep

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njkhis

5 years ago

This is the declassified whistleblower complaint.

It's only 9 pages. You have time (and if you're American, a responsibility) to read this.

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njkhis

5 years ago

Ramsey Orta, the man who recorded the footage of Eric Garner’s murder, has been released from prison.

This man has gone through so much for the criminal act of not letting a cop kill a man and face no consequences. He was jailed, an attempt was made on his life, and his efforts to be heard about the mistreatment he faced was suppressed.

Please consider donating to The Ramsey Orta Welcome Home Fund if you have something to spare. No one should have to endure the things he has endured for demanding justice.

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njkhis

5 years ago

This situation in Sudan makes me so so so so so mad and angry because they CUT OFF the Internet so people can’t say what’s happening there and they rely on US to be SAVED because they’re currently living a NIGHTMARE they can’t even go to the streets NORMALLY and they can’t do ANYTHING ABOUT IT BECAUSE THERE IS NO INTERNET. THE SUDANESE PEOPLE RELY ON US. DO SOMETHING.

Here’s how you can help:

Donate to the United Nation High Commissioner for Refugees: https://donate.unhcr.org/int/south-sudan/~my-donation

Donate to the Sudan Relief Fund: https://sdnrlf.com/campaign-cat/featured/

Donate to the International Medical Corps for Sudanese Medical Aid: https://www.gofundme.com/f/sudanese-medical-aid

Share share share share!!!!!

They count on us!! If you know any other way we can help, please tell me!!

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njkhis

3 years ago

lucky charms, chapter 4

The Twilight Zone

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

People came easily to Luke.

That was not to say people generally liked him, necessarily. Some would say he had his father’s charm and his mother’s once beautiful features, and that was why he’d always attracted a crowd, but Luke hadn’t been his parents’ son in a long while. He was every bit the thief his father was and, like his mother, could see far past what was presented, but everything he’d built for himself had been from the ground up.

Even by demigod standards, Luke was the son of one of the lamest gods in Olympus- he wasn’t great with his hands like Annabeth, and he definitely couldn’t control lightning the way Thalia could. All Luke had was people. He could tell, for the most part, what buttons to push to upset, to anger, to flatter, to confuse; that was Luke’s talent. He was a pickpocket, a sleight of hand artist, and like most cynical, petty crooks, nothing slipped past him.

Luke understood how people worked. Understood what the flutter of an eyelid or a trembling lip meant, understood just how much tension in the brow separated grief and aggression. Above all, Luke understood that people were always exactly as they were not- playing a game of charades against the rest of the world as though that might protect them, in some way, from her jagged edges.

He’d always been too clever for his own good.