275 posts
Latest Posts by njkhis - Page 6
5/31/20
I couldn’t sleep last night. It has been very difficult to be present lately. Every time I have thought about this situation in the past few days my heart begins to race and my hands begin to shake.
Being Black means a constant struggle between being informed and constantly enraged, or mentally shutting down in an attempt to maintain your peace and avoid mental exhaustion. For the past few days I’ve teetered between the two, having to choose between being involved and being calm. Now I feel numbness. From the day we are born, day in and day out we are being watched, surveilled, insulted, degraded, criticized, beaten down, and brutalized mentally and physically. Every move you worry about, worrying how it will be perceived by others. Am I walking too close to this person? Am I speaking too loud? Should I share that experience with that friend? What will they say, or what will they not say? We are taught by society to shrink ourselves and hate ourselves. We are taught what we say and believe does not matter. We are taught that we should stay down for fear of being taken out if we get up. We are taught we are not allowed to have and express feelings the way other people are allowed to. We have a knee on our neck at all times, choking us slowly. And when we muster the strength and the power to stand up and say something about the constant discrimination, mistreatment, brutality, and psychological torture that white supremacy imposes on our lives, people seem to always find a way to justify the injustices done to us.
⁃ “Maybe you shouldn’t wear dark colors next time you go out...”
⁃ “You know you shouldn’t drive such a nice car in that neighborhood...”
⁃ “Maybe you shouldn’t go to that school or major in that field, you know how it is...”
⁃ “If you would have just cooperated, things would not have escalated...”
⁃ “Well they must have done something to be treated that way...”
⁃ “Are you sure it was racism? How do you know? It could have been something else...”
⁃ “Maybe you should try not being so angry...”
I am thinking about my grandparents who are not even 90 yet and have had this happen, names known and unknown to them, thousands of times in their lifetime. I can not begin to understand the immense pain they must feel reliving the many traumatic experiences of their childhoods growing up in the 30, 40s, and 50s in the Jim Crow South. I am thinking about my parents seeing this for the umpteenth time, who were born in the late 60s, a time when some thought the country was beginning to progress. I am thinking about Black family members and relatives and friends who are as enraged, hurt, exhausted, and numb as I am. I am thinking about how we will likely have to live these things again and again in our lifetimes. And I am thinking about the people that exist alongside us on this Earth that see but do not protest or oppose our constant dehumanization and extermination.
For you Black people, I am wishing you love and care and light and safety as we all are battling this situation, both mentally and physically. I know all of us are inexplicably tired. You are not a soapbox or a political robot. If what is healthier for you is not to speak right now, do that. If what is healthier for you is to be out right now protesting or having difficult conversations with people, do that. I see and understand both of you.
For you non-Black people who are speaking up, sharing information, donating, and protesting with pure and genuine intentions. Thank you. Please continue standing in solidarity and challenging the anti-Blackness in your own communities. Continue to amplify Black voices and stand with us.
For those posting one quick reposted photo displaying opposition or engaging in “don’t break the chain” Instagram trends because everyone’s doing it or so they don’t look bad, and then logging off to go back to using or letting their friends and family use the N-Word, profiting off of and appropriating Black culture, speaking over or attempting to invalidate Black people and their experiences, supporting cops and other racist institutions, and/or refusing to challenge your racist and anti-Black friends and family members (and this list is by no means exhaustive): what good does this do? Your words and posts without change and action mean nothing. Appearing to be anti-racist is not for clout or for safety from persecution. Lives are at stake.
For those who are displaying opposition with the ridiculous expectation to get praise or points from people for doing so: being anti-racist is your only option in this day and age. It is basic human decency.
For those who don’t really understand what’s going on or why, I encourage you to seek out the many resources that are available online that can explain more in depth the immoral country we live in so that you can be more educated on the reality of the situation. Do your best not to reach out to Black people to do the emotional labor and exhausting work of trying to defend our humanity to you. Many of us are extremely overwhelmed at this time between the racism we experience daily and what we see playing out in the country, and it is not our job to do the work of educating people about this system of white supremacy that we did not create.
For those that are saying nothing at all, why? Aoki Lee Simmons said “My non-Black friends, I cannot begin to unpack your silence. I am scared of what it will tell me. The things you are here for and the things you are not, what do they say about you? About me for choosing you?” What do you want with me? Am I just another stamp on your diversity punch card? Do I exist to make you feel less guilty? How can you look me in the eye or call me friend knowing you do not actively challenge the systems and prejudices that kill people like me? It is shameful and disgraceful not to speak up and use your privilege when people need you the most. And I understand you do not have to post things on social media to care about things. But honestly, what the hell are you waiting for? If now is not the time to align yourself for the right cause, what is? Especially for those who know they have engaged in anti-Black prejudices, practices, and language. Isn’t now as good a time as any to prove yourself?
To all whom this applies: your lack of support, attempted justification for injustice, and chosen ignorance is a threat to my, my family’s, and my community’s lives and wellbeing.
We need to stop framing racism as something of the past. It is here, has always been here, and it has never left. White supremacy is the foundation of this country and all of its institutions. When the problem runs that deep, things have to be shaken up, flipped over, and burned down in order to change. If you’re putting more energy into calling protesters “rioters” or “thugs,” defending racist killer cops, justifying state-sanctioned murder, saying that “all lives/blue lives matter,” and demonizing Black people for reacting to the violently dehumanizing and fatal racism and anti-Blackness we face in this country... just admit that Black people demanding equal rights and equal treatment is disturbing to you. Just admit you are uncomfortable with disrupting your social position and the systems that keep you up there, and us down here. We have been peaceful, by the book, and complied with the law. We have taken a knee in peaceful silence. We have tried to have dialogue with you. We have resorted to violence. No matter which route we take, there always seems to be an issue. To racists and white supremacists, there is no “right way” for Black people to fight for their rights. Your respectability politics exists to control and surveil us. Stop telling Black people how to react to the systems that have created our pain, our anguish, and our trauma for hundreds of years.
I am talking directly to white and non-Black people of color. It is not enough for you to be neutral or simply “not racist.” We all must have strong values at this time, or we have chosen the side of the oppressor. It is not enough for you to post on social media. These things are important and do bring awareness, but with the brutality we are facing we need your monetary and physical support. We need your lifestyle and mindsets to change. Reflect on the prejudices that you hold and the ways you perpetuate or are complicit in racism and anti-Blackness. Stop making excuses for friends and family who are complicit as well. Explore the ways that you can educate yourself, others, and help. We need the world to actively and loudly value Black lives, Black well-being, and Black futures as much as they value Black culture.
If you know of any protests nearby and are well enough to go, I encourage you to. Please sign petitions. I have also included a few links of where you can donate to help the cause. (Please comment below any other petitions, campaign, resources, etc. I can amplify at this time!)
SIGN THE PETITION:
Justice for George Floyd | https://act.colorofchange.org/sign/justiceforfloyd_george_floyd_minneapolis/?source=dm_sms_optin_5-26-20
Justice for Breonna Taylor | https://act.colorofchange.org/sign/justiceforbre-breonna-taylor-officers-fired/?source=dm_SMS_shortcode_optin
Justice for Ahmaud Arbery | https://www.runwithmaud.com/
DONATE:
Campaign Zero | https://www.joincampaignzero.org/
Reclaim the Block | https://www.reclaimtheblock.org/home
George Floyd Memorial Fund Fundraiser | https://www.gofundme.com/f/georgefloyd
Black Vision Collective | https://www.blackvisionsmn.org/
Minnesota Freedom Fund | https://minnesotafreedomfund.org/donate
http://therapyforblackgirls.com
reblog to save a life
Local Bookstores Have A New Weapon In The Fight With Amazon
In the book industry, Amazon is Goliath, the giant who overshadows everyone else. But there’s a new David on the scene, Bookshop.org.
It doesn’t expect to topple the giant, but it has launched a weapon that could make Amazon’s shadow a little smaller, and help local bookstores fight back.
Bookshop.org, a website that went live at the end of January and is still in beta mode, is designed to be an alternative to Amazon, and to generate income for independent bookstores. And, perhaps more importantly, it seeks to give book reviewers, bloggers and publications who rely on affiliate income from “Buy now” links to Amazon a different option.
Profit from books sold through Bookshop will be split three ways, with 10% of the sale price going into a pool that will be divided among participating bookstores, 10% going to the publication that triggered the sale by linking to Bookshop.org, and 10% going to Bookshop.org to support its operations.
READ MORE
so direct action is not an option available to you. what can you do right now instead?
Be mindful of the content you’re putting on your social media accounts. Stop retweeting/reposting violent images and videos of black people dying. Know that content like this, even with trigger warnings included, can be very emotionally disturbing/distressing and yes, even traumatic, for black people navigating the internet right now.
Report any images and videos you see where protestors’ faces are visible/unblurred, particularly in content surrounding the lootings. Don’t retweet or repost these images and videos. This can be a death sentence.
DONATE, PARTICULARLY TO MINNESOTA-BASED BLACK YOUTH MOVEMENTS / MUTUAL AID FUNDS WHO ARE DOING WORK ON THE GROUND. FOLLOW/BOOST IF YOU CAN’T.
• The Minnesota Freedom Fund, a mutual aid group fighting back against the unjust MN bail system, is taking donations. (Twitter)
• The Black Visions Collective, a Minnesota-based freedom fighter organization creating campaigns for justice, is taking donations. (Twitter)
• Reclaim the Block, a coalition to demand that Minneapolis divest from policing, is taking donations. (Twitter)
• Crowdfunding for black trans people in need thread.
• Comprehensive Minnesota bail fund/support document for May and June.
when are we gonna realize that these change dot org petitions are typically nothing more than performative activism that allows people who are unaffected (usually white people) to do the bare minimum and then pat ourselves on the back for being so involved and doing the right thing and standing up for people?
here’s the link to donate to george floyd’s official memorial fund if you are able to contribute. if you can’t donate, please share. being black shouldn’t be a death sentence.
and they were roommates (chapter eight)
The apartment’s spotty radiator has been the bane of Annabeth’s existence all winter, but in a dog pile on the couch with her two favorite boys, the persistent draft is welcome if it means they’ll stay put.
Percy’s voice drifts up from Annabeth’s lap, a bit too smug for her liking. “Bet you’re glad we got the big couch now, huh?”
“I have no clue what you’re talking about,” Annabeth lies.
A smile creeps onto Percy’s face as he taps Grover’s temple. The boys started with Percy’s feet in Grover’s lap, but Grover slid to the side during the movie marathon. Now his cheek rests on Percy’s stomach.
“Hey, G-Man, you know Annabeth wanted a loveseat? How the hell were we gonna fit you on a loveseat?”
Grover mumbles something sounding like “food” and sinks further into Percy.
Annabeth bites her lip. “Grover sleeps in the woods for fun, Perce. Not sure how much support you’re gonna get on that front.”
Percy cranes his neck to peek at Grover. “Is he drooling on me?” His head falls back on Annabeth’s leg, which has long since fallen asleep under his torso.
Annabeth doesn’t even pretend to look before she nods her head gravely. “Oh, absolutely.”
read on AO3
The Olympic Tribune
Leaving Los Angeles had never been in Piper’s plan, but a torrid affair with an actor and a classic car taking a nose dive into a swimming pool had chased her across the country to seek refuge.
Being out of a proper big city had been a hard transition at first, but after six months, Piper felt she was finally getting into a groove. Her apartment wasn’t far from downtown, a simple studio that she rented from a nice old lady, and she had finally perfected her morning routine: A bagel from Demeter’s Dough Bakery, a coffee from Hestia’s Hearth Cafe, and on the odd morning when she actually woke up on time, it included a walk through a small park in the neighborhood to say hello to the swans.
The Coeus building, which stood twelve stories tall and had a panoramic view of the city, was home to The Olympic Tribune, a well respected paper in the great state of New York. Founded the same year as the city of Olympic Harbor, the paper had always been a paragon of journalistic integrity, which is part of what attracted Piper to it so much. Well, that and the fact that they were the only paper out of twelve she applied to who called her back.
The paper was housed on the building’s top floor, the editor’s office taking up the south east corner and facing the city’s namesake harbor which was dotted with the countless ships that used it daily.
“This story is big,” Piper said as she looked out at the water, her arms crossed. “And I have a reliable source, the info is good.”
“Piper,” the editor began. “I respect your instincts, but you’re not here to be an investigative journalist.”
“Investigative journalist is a bit of an oxymoron, don’t you think, Lee?”
Lee Fletcher, who had been editor at the paper for ten years, rolled his eyes and joined Piper at the window. “Believe me when I say this story is not worth it, Piper.”
“So you admit there is a story there,” she said mischievously.
“The only thing I’m admitting is that you’re out of bounds.”
“You sound scared,” she said, her tone inquisitive.
“And you sound naive,” Lee said, turning to her. “A story like this will never get printed in this paper. So do yourself a favor and drop it before you get dropped.”
“Are you saying you’re gonna fire me?” she asked, her tone playful as she tugged on his tie.
“No,” he said, pulling his tie from her hand. “I’m saying you’re new here, and there’s things about this city you don’t know yet.”
“Well then why don’t you enlighten me.”
Lee shook his head and sat back down in his brown leather chair, keeping his eyes on the city’s landscape as he began to squeeze the life out of a stress ball. “There’s a gallery opening Saturday night and the who’s-who of the city will all be there. Pick up your press pass from Mitchell, and grab a photographer to go with you. I’d recommend Lacy, she’s great with the blue bloods.”
“So what I’m hearing you say is keep covering my beat and bring you this mob story once I’ve got more of the info vetted.”
“Piper,” he said in a warning tone.
Piper walked briskly out of the office, waving to Lee as she went. “Great talk, boss!”
continue on ao3
and they were roommates (chapter seven)
“Piper, I’m having an emergency.”
“Okay, on a scale of English essay to ridiculously repressed feelings, how bad?”
“I can’t—wait, are those the worst things you could think of me FaceTiming you for?” Annabeth isn’t sure whether to laugh or take offense. “Actually, it doesn’t matter. What the fuck do people wear to parties?”
“I don’t know. A dress or something?”
“Piper, I know you know these things.”
“Then you would know I learned everything against my will, Annabeth. You’re asking me to revisit a very traumatic time in my life.”
“Just answer the question.”
“Okay, just know that my therapist will hear about this.”
“Piper.”
read on AO3
Repost to spread. (Not really humor)
Women in Mexico disappear.
Today is a historic day in my country, we’re fed up with gender violence in Mexico. They’re killing us. Picture this, you can’t walk outside your own house because you fear the worst, you fear that your clothes are too revealing, you fear that you’re too alone, you fear that you’re walking the wrong streets. Day after day you wake up to the news of another feminicide. They’re killing us. You see it, you hear it, you fear it. What if I’m the next one? You’re always wondering. They’re killing us.
10 women are killed every day, only because they’re women. And it doesn’t matter where we are, what we’re wearing, who we are. It’s not our fault, because they keep killing us.
If we keep up at this rate? What’ll be of us?
Yesterday we marched.
(None of the pictures are mine)
“I march because I’m alive and I don’t know until when.”
“Today, all our voices aren’t together because, from death, one can’t scream.”
“We’re not hysteric, we’re historic.”
“Mom, if you don’t find me, look up for me in the stars.”
Yesterday we screamed. We flourished.
“Mom, don’t worry, today I’m not alone in the streets.”
Our monuments bled to represent us.
We screamed.
But not today, today march 9th 2020. We silenced ourselves.
Today, we disappeared. No social networks, not a single woman in the streets, not a single woman working, not a single woman studying, not a single woman at any store.
What would Mexico be without us? If you don’t want us in the streets, fine we’ll disappear.
Without us, you’ll collapse.
Mexico woke up with no women ticket-sellers in the subway stations, no women tellers at the bank.
No women’s column on the newspapers.
No women at their jobs.
No women at school.
No women on the streets.
Mexico woke up with no women.
We can’t accept what we can’t change, but we will change what we can’t accept.
We are angry, and we will rise. Because without us, you’re nothing.
Mexico was painted purple by feminists today 🥰
Today, the feminist movement took the streets of mexico, with women marching for their rights and against the epidemic of feminicides that is taking place in the country 💕💓😭
When the march began to be organized in social networks, people were "worried" and critizised the lack of empathy (from feminists) with the women (specifically) who'd have to clean the streets after the marching - the cleaning ladies showed up to show their support tho 💖♀️
This was today and I'm filled with pride, I wasn't able to participate and it breaks my heart. However tomorrow is the mexican feminist strike - just like Icelandic women did in 1975 - tomorrow, Mexican feminist groups have called for a full on strike: no women in schools, work places or even on the streets. Women won't buy or sell anything tomorrow, or actively participate in the mexican society in any way, including social media. No internet tomorrow for us. So I wont see ya until the tenth. ✊✊✊
Hey, I don’t acknowledge a lot of things on this blog Ik, but this is truly important and something which not many people will hear about cause my country is fucked up. So, hear me out
I’m Mexican and I live in in the state where most feminicides (people killing women just because they are women) occur. Mexico City which is couple kilometres from here is the second one and so on. Mexico’s feminicide rate is worrying to a point you might think authorities are doing something, right? Well, no.
Let me tell you about some atrocious feminicides:
Minerva, she was one of the first victims, if not, the first of this year. She visited some family to celebrate New Year with a guy named Fernando. When they returned to her house late at night, she was stabbed by Fernando, killing her and leaving her on the floor. She was 42
María del Pilar, she lived in Guanajuato (one of the many states we have) with her boyfriend; they had gone out to buy some groceries. She had received threats from her ex boyfriend. She was buying bread and milk when one guy on a motorcycle came and started shooting at the air. She ran and hid in a store but the guy found her and when she tried to escape, he shot her in the face and ran away.
Isabel Cabanillas de la Torre, she was 26, had a four years old kid, she was an entrepreneur and an artist. She was part of a campaign which focused on defending women’s rights and the fight against feminicides. Her friends and family shared on social media she was missing and two days later, she was found dead in the center of Ciudad Juarez, in some place known as “El corredor seguro para mujeres”. She was shot dead in the chest various times.
Ingrid Escamilla, she was 25 and after fighting with her boyfriend, he decided that the best thing to do was killing her. He stabbed her and skinned her from the head to the knees, he removed several organs and threw them in the toilet and the sewer. The media not having any empathy, published the photos of what had happened, you could literally see Ingrid’s skinned body on first page everywhere.
10 women are murdered in Mexico every day. We want to live, we want to laugh, we want to be safe and the people we should trust, the government is doing nothing!
Our president is...I don’t have words to describe him. But things he has done? 0. Women had told him the situation Mexico is going through, they had asked for help and he has minimised the problem saying we make a big deal out of what’s actually happening. Mexico is a big joke to the rest of the world right now because he’s selling the presidential plane...Wait, but he’s not, the plane’s on lottery tickets. Yeah, you could win the fucking plane if you had the luck.
So, we as women decided that no one but us were going to do something. Since yesterday we’ve been doing stuff.
On March 7, women across the country did a human chain, protesting against what has happened.
Today, we’re gonna march for kilometres protesting about all the women we lost along the way. The one that have disappeared, the ones we didn’t know anything of. For the ones we’re still waiting to come home. For the ones we know are dead but not gone nor forgotten. But guess what? There has been threats, people wanting to hurt women with acid and some awful things.
And on March 9, we’re disappearing. We’re not going out, we’re staying home pretending we’re gone. This movement is called “Un día sin mujeres” (A day without women). So people can see the impact it would have if all of us just disappear.
We have manifested before, maybe you saw the pictures of monuments which were “vandalised”.
But all of that happened after women went to the police and only received harassment. All of that happened when our voices were not heard. And peace stopped being the right way to manifest.
Cause maybe you have seen Mexico after protests, because those are the only pictures anyone has. But, have you seen the ones where there is no “violence” against monuments?
The first photo was taken in Mexico City, the fountain known as “Diana Cazadora” (Huntress Diana) surprised everyone with red waters.
The second one is known as Minerva. A fountain in Jalisco where of course, many women are killed and disappeared everyday.
They water turned red for all the blood which has been shed. And few hours later, they were “fixed”
Or, let me show you an altar made also in Mexico City.
I was there and not even one reporter took photos. It was an altar for some of the women. And the second one? It is one of the most emblematic monuments in the city. “Ángel de la independencia” (Independence Angel). The altar was there and why is it like that? Since one of the protest it’s been like that under “reparations” truth be told, it’s the government’s way to tell us that we can’t do anything to monuments for they are covered and protected.
Yup, our government protects monuments way more than the citizens.
Please, take a moment to read this.
fic is up!!!!!
title: ‘cause you’ve been sinning in this city
summary: In which Percy finds a soulmate who doesn’t believe in the concept, consequently goes through the various ups and down of losing and finding said soulmate again, struggles to name his cat, and tries to answer some of life’s most unanswerable questions. College is definitely not supposed to be this hard, probably.
pairing: percy/annabeth
genre: honestly????????? part angst part crack
word count: 46,000+ (IM SORRY)
other: IM VERY SORRY
links: ao3 || ffnet
percabeth | godswap au | 1500 words | commissioned by @zacharandom
Anger is a comfortable emotion, one that greets Annabeth at the door like an old friend—somewhere to retreat when the outside world gets too loud. Being a daughter of Ares has given her many strengths, and sometimes Annabeth feels a little too strong. Some days her heart beats like a war drum. She can feel the pressure in her veins, her pulse hammering through her body like a soldier’s march.
Everyone knows—Annabeth, Percy, the camp, Clarisse. And they, for the most part, know to stay away. Annabeth busies herself with a punching bag or dummy in the arena for a day and comes out her usual self, no sign of her father’s blessing.
But that takes time she doesn’t have.
Redesigning Olympus takes its toll. After the Titan War, Annabeth is determined to make the city of the gods a fortress. No one—Titan, God, or otherwise—will be able to turn her work to rubble. She and it will live on for millennia.
Annabeth’s spends her days locked in Cabin 5, muscles stiff as she sketches, calculates, erases, recalculates. Food appears next to her a few times a day—courtesy of Percy, no doubt.
Silena was the only one of her siblings who could get close when these moods struck. The rest of the Ares cabin want a wide berth during these times, so that’s what they give Annabeth. She tells herself it’s what she wants too, but that doesn’t stop her from missing Silena’s steady hand on her shoulder telling her to take a break.
Annabeth shrugs off her emotions and continues her work.
Footsteps register from Annabeth’s right, which she chalks up to Percy coming with lunch. However, when Annabeth glances at the clock on her desk, she finds the light stings her eyes as 6:30 PM glares back at her.
She looks over her shoulder to find Percy, but not as expected. He stands off to the side, his cotton shirt tight across his broad shoulders, sleeves straining when he crosses his arms. Add in that he’s wearing gym shorts instead of those god-awful cargo pants she’ll never admit she loves… it’s a sight she’d lean back to admire on a different day.
She turns on her desk lamp and picks up her pencil.
“Annabeth, take a break.”
Keep reading
Commissions Open
Hi everybody! I’ve recently found myself out of work and unsupported, so I’m opening writing commissions to compensate. (You can also buy me a coffee if you’re feeling particularly generous, everything counts.)
Prices (approx. $8 an hour, includes editing + revision):
$2 per 100 words, so
500 words = $10
1000 words = $20
1500 = $30
Maximum 4000 words
I’m willing to write for most fandoms, or even OCs if you can provide me with character and plot detail. However, if I’m being asked to do extensive research (watch a show, read a book, study a wiki about your obscure fav, learn the nuance of your OC), I will need to be compensated for time
Smut is extra and will be calculated after discussion
I will not write:
Character x reader
Rape/non-con
Incest
Pedophilia
I reserve the right to decline any commission
How to commission:
Prices in USD, payment via PayPal
Email me at bipercabeth@gmail.com (which is also my PayPal) with your request
I’ll send a confirmation email and ask for clarification on any details
Commission price will be paid in full before I start
General info:
For examples of my work, browse here or on my AO3
I’ll write any genre (angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, etc.) and nearly any trope (only one bed, friends to lovers, you know the works), just be sure to specify what you have in mind
I’ll write for most fandoms, pairings, and characters, but my strengths are with PJO/HOO and The 100. Feel free to browse my tags page to see what other content I’m familiar with!
If you have any questions, feel free to send them to me either here or via email
mob au: research
Jason hates to admit it, but the city library is, hands down, the most beautiful building in the whole city. It’s three stories of white marble and reflective glass surrounded by lush green gardens that have the local botanical society swooning year round, create an oasis in the heart of the downtown district that cannot be beaten. Olive trees line the long walk way up to a series of grand walnut doors hand carved with depictions of wildlife that look so real they might jump right off the wood, giving anyone who approaches the air of a grand entrance.
Leaning against one of the building’s imposing Doric columns, Jason looks out at all the people enjoying the lawn, having picnics and playing with their dogs and he can’t help but remember Luke’s words about Annabeth not being the villain he thinks she is. Watching the people of his city that he has taken an oath to protect, the thought that maybe he’s right begins to creep in, but before it can settle, his shoulder is being bumped, pulling him from his thoughts. He frowns and looks up to find his partner, Reyna, donning her signature brown leather jacket over a royal purple blouse.
“Took you long enough,” Jason teases.
“Some of us actually have a life, Grace,” she says with another nudge.
Jason rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, let’s do this.”
He leads the way into the library, stopping abruptly to read a golden plaque that marks the main entrance:
This library could not have been possible without the generous support of local businesswoman, Athena Pallas. The passion Ms. Pallas has for Greek architecture and the pursuit of knowledge were the foundations of this project and this city will forever be in her debt.
Reyna scoffs, “Businesswoman is quite the generous title.”
“No kidding,” Jason adds.
The detectives enter the library and neither of them can help but be awed by the interior’s beauty. The slight gleam of the gold leaf crown molding catches their eyes, their eyeline following down the wall to the bookcases with delicate owl carvings and the olive leaf patterned carpeting.
“At least she had taste,” Jason says in a low voice.
Reyna shrugs. “I prefer a Roman aesthetic myself, but this isn’t too bad if you like the Greek thing.”
continue on ao3
PSA
You know what bothers me the most about how little coverage the Australian fires are getting?
I could mention that 18 people are now dead, several are missing and over 1000 homes are lost. All at the start of a new year. +3 million hectares of land is gone. People feel a little bit of empathy, maybe they'll reblog this or give it a like, but they'll give it no second thought.
But if I were to make a post just solely about the fact that 500 million animals have been killed in these fires, including 30% of all koalas meaning they're close to being functionally extinct, people would share the fuck out of it. They would start GoFundMe pages, they would guilt people into reblogging shit with the classic, "if you don't reblog this you don't have a heart." You know that trope yeah?
You all fucking shoved posts about the Amazon fires down our throats. "Oh but they were deliberately lit on Native land." You don't think we understand that? Do you know that is exactly what's happened here? As a woman of Aboriginal descent, do you get how upsetting it is for me to watch my country burn? To watch my friends houses burn to the grown whilst they're left to flee to the beach in hope's of not being burnt? Do you know how upsetting it is to think that the house that I grew up in probably won't be standing in a couple days? All because the RFS are not allowed to backburn because of politics. Politics who don't understand a single fuck about anything that is happening.
Every night I have to try my hardest not to break down in front of my family because I am so upset and so angry about this whole situation. Men and women are out there fighting this fire, missing out on time with their family, time at work meaning they can't afford to feed their family either, they miss out on holidays too.
My brother was sent on a strike team up to Sydney for Christmas. He almost didn't make it back for New Years, even when he got home, he was so tired to go out so him and I stayed at home and played the PS4. And what makes me angry is that some families out there don't see their brothers come home, their sons, their fathers, their sisters, mothers, daughters.
Because people are dying.
And no one other than Australians give a single fuck!
Canberra currently ranks at number 8 for worst air quality in the world right now. The elderly in nursing homes are being evacuated and have nowhere to go. People were jumping in lakes, were swimming out into the ocean to get away from the fire as it started to burn the beach.
And what does our Prime Minister do?
He arrives at fire impacted towns, in a nice and expensive 100k BMW, to give his thoughts and prayers. Not aid, not water and food, not money. But thoughts and prayers.
"I'm sure he's just tired."
"No, no. He lost a house."
"Oh."
How more insensitive can the fucker get? This isn't a Prime Minister. This is a disgrace. May I also mention we are in our worst drought yet but "we" just sold 409 million dollars worth of drinking water overseas.
I am begging all of you by this point. Please, help out our victims of fire and drought. Donate to whatever causes you can, search the internet, I'm sure there are plenty out there. Donate packs of water, toiletries, food that doesn't spoil, socks, sleeping bags, anything.
Every small gesture you do makes a big impact on somebody who lost everything.
Riptide Chapter 4: Super Percy
As the sun begins to touch the treetops, the surface of Lake Naiad shines like a million miniature diamonds are dancing along its surface. Percy stands on the edge of what has become his favorite body of water, jeans cuffed above his ankles, as he listens to the soothing sounds of the lake lapping at his feet, birds making their ways back to their nests for the evening, and the bickering of the sister spirits who routinely kick his ass.
“Mother said to keep training into the evening, do you want to disobey her?” Cordelia says curtly.
“It is not about disobeying mother, but about knowing we are dealing with a human, Cordelia. He needs rest, he is not like you or I,” Hali says back.
Cordelia scoffs. “Well that’s glaringly obvious, given his skill level. Or lack thereof.”
“Why must you be so petulant!”
“Why must you be so lax!”
They have been at it for about twenty minutes, discussing Percy’s training regimen and if it’s enough to get him ready to be a full-fledged champion. Percy has no say in the matter, and even he knows getting between sisters is a bad idea, so instead of chiming in, he decides to simply enjoy the scenery as the water slowly heals every scrape and bruise he has collected over the course of the day. Luckily, being a New Yorker, the sounds of two people bickering is one that really does make Percy feel like he’s home.
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mob au: the visit
It’s a perfect Sunday morning by the pool, and Annabeth can’t help but be mesmerized by the shine of her engagement ring. It twinkles with a shade of blue she’s only seen before in Caribbean waters and she thinks the pool should be ashamed for even trying to keep up.
She sits at a table covered in a gorgeous breakfast spread with the local paper in hand as her fiancé swims his usual laps in the background, her ring distracting her from the article on changes to downtown parking meters.
Percy pops out of the pool, his trunks hanging low on his hips, as he begins to dry himself off with his favorite shark towel and Annabeth catches herself biting her bottom lip while watching him. Charles clears his throat as he holds up a cell phone and Annabeth shakes her head to clear it of her impure thoughts.
“It’s the warden,” Charles says, handing her the phone.
Her mood changes and her eyes narrow as she takes the phone and brings it up to her ear.
“Warden Kampe, to what do I owe this pleasure?”
Percy pops a few blueberries in his mouth as he raises his eyebrows at Annabeth and mouths “you ok?” Annabeth forces a smile and winks at him, making him relax a bit as he takes a sip of orange juice and sits across from his love.
“I can be there in twenty minutes, warden.”
Annabeth stands, guilt washing over her face. “I’m sorry, baby, I have to-’”
“Work,” Percy finishes for her. “I have some photos to edit anyway.” He stands to meet her and wraps an arm around her waist, placing a playful kiss to her lips. “I’ll be here waiting for you when you’re done.”
Annabeth smiles against Percy’s mouth and kisses him back, her fingers curling into the hair at the back of his head. “I won’t be too long, I promise.”
She walks into the house and changes into her standard grey blouse and black pencil skirt, accompanied by her favorite pair of black heels. Gathering her curls up into a high ponytail, she watches as a couple of stray curls fall to frame her face. Lastly, she applies a dark shade of red lipstick, which her mother had always said was a woman’s greatest ally in their line of business. Lipstick sends a message, she had told Annabeth one night while braiding her hair. It draws men’s eyes and keeps them distracted, leaving you all the time in the world to do what needs to be done.
As she steps outside with all of her armor on, she finds Charles waiting with the car door open, his face serious as if he’s anticipating some big show down. Annabeth pats him on the arm as she passes him.
“Don’t look so glum, Charles. This is gonna be fun.”
Charles shakes his head as he closes the door after her. “Poor son of a bitch,” he laughs to himself.
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fucked up how cooking and baking from scratch is viewed as a luxury…..like baking a loaf of bread or whatever is seen as something that only people with money/time can do. I’m not sure why capitalism decided to sell us the idea that we can’t make our own damn food bc it’s a special expensive thing that’s exclusive to wealthy retirees but it’s stupid as hell and it makes me angry
Riptide Chapter 3
The street outside the bookstore is quieter than usual. It’s just about closing time and Percy is shelving all the books who were moved from their nooks through the course of the day. Sally is cleaning the coffee counter, snacking on the last cookie in the display case and humming a song that Percy can’t quite place.
“Where have I heard that before?” he asks, rounding the corner of the nearest bookcase.
Sally smiles without looking up from what she’s doing. “It was one of your dad’s favorites. Every time it was on the radio, he’d turn it all the way up and sing along. Badly.”
Percy laughs. “So I got my singing voice from him?”
Sally looks up then. “Of course. I mean, I sing like an angel so it couldn’t be me.”
They continue their customary movements around the store, making sure all the tables are clean, the books are put away, and the oven is off, before heading to the back office.
It’s a small, unimpressive space with just enough room for two people, three if necessary. There is a small wooden desk that Percy remembers helping his dad build, still being able to note the by P+P carved into one of its legs. He runs his hand over it as he sits down, feeling comforted by its graininess against his skin.
Sally puts on her reading glasses and opens up her ledger, making notes of the days profits. “How we lookin?” Percy asks.
Sally sighs contentedly and leans back in her chair. “To be honest, we’re killing it.”
Percy smiles and lifts his hand for a high-five which Sally returns gleefully. “I knew it. Big book chains eat your heart out.”
As she sits back, she begins to simply watch Percy, who squirms under her gaze.
“Don’t do that thing,” he says.
“What thing?” she asks, playing dumb.
“That thing where you watch me and use your mom witchcraft to just like, get everything out of me.”
She smiles and shrugs. “Can’t help it, just comes naturally.”
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Hi, just want to let you know Indonesia is currently fighting against bills that are overwhemingly anti-abortion, pro-corruption leeway, pro-deforestation for palm oil industry, papua-colonializing etc. And just like Hong Kong, the police are abusing the college-age protesters.
Not to mention, there is huge forest fire in Sumatra which is most likely similar to Amazon case, where it is deliberately lit for corporate's interest.
Please show your support by reblogging and sharing the news.
Thank you.
and they were roommates (chapter six)
When Annabeth wakes up, she’s in someone’s arms. The events of last night remain buried deep in her subconscious, and the only thing she processes is the warmth radiating from the chest she’s tucked against.
It’s Percy that’s holding her—he’s the only person who could be—and he’s fumbling with the knob of her bedroom door while trying to balance her. Her stomach lurches as she dips, the uneasiness in her gut unleashing a wave of memories and shame.
Annabeth half wishes she could play dead long enough for him to put her in bed and leave for work, but she owes him better than that. Her grand plan to catch him last night failed miserably, which she should’ve seen coming, but she was too upset to think critically. So, yeah, she owes it to him to be honest before he leaves, which could be any second.
Annabeth puts a heavy hand on his chest. “I’m up,” she mumbles.
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riptide: chapter one
Annabeth rolls her eyes, as per usual. “Here we go with the Mr. New York vibes. I get it, I’m from Virginia and don’t understand the city or whatever.”
“Get over yourself, Chase. All I’m saying is since that bank robbery last month, things have felt weird. Like something big is coming.”
“Could this big thing happen next Tuesday so I have more time to prepare for this job interview? Cause that would be great.”
“Oh, please! You’re gonna do so good in that interview they’re gonna beg you to start architecting on the spot. Trust me.”
“Can you even spell architecting?” Annabeth asks.
“Can you?”
“Fair enough.”
Percabeth! It’s done, finally! :D I’m honestly really happy with how this turned out! Anyone who has followed me for any length of time knows how much I love these two. It’s been a long journey to improve my art to get to a point where I’m able to paint something like this, but I’m super happy to be able to! This definitely won’t be the last time either. Thank you to everyone who has engaged with my writing or art!
If you’re interested in supporting me and helping me create more art, please consider either checking out my commissions HERE or even just buying me a Ko-Fi HERE
The Horse and the Gun
“Men come West for one of two reasons, they’re looking for something, or something is looking for them. Which are you?”…
…“Looking for something,” he says.
The Sheriff tilts her head back, looking down her nose at him. “What’s your name.”
“Percy Jackson.”
“Well Mister Jackson, you’re full of shit…”
A percabeth western au