Deregulation Strikes Again.

Traditional Georgian dancing.

“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.” 

puck it chapter 6

by @bipercabeth and @jasonsmclean

This is the team Jason recognizes— the relentless, communicative, cooperative team that rightfully sits in first place in their league. This is the team he and Percy have led for the past several months. Although Beckendorf hasn’t come to any of their games, Jason likes to think this is the team their old captain would be proud of. As great as a captain Beckendorf had been, there’s no doubt that this season is better than their last. Jason knows this is a championship team.

There’s no reason for Chiron to worry about the team’s willingness to work together; the rule almost seems silly now. No romantic relationship has interfered with the team’s abilities before.

Everything goes smoothly until it doesn’t.

i cannot emphasize this enough but you really need to kill the cop in your brain for a variety of reasons but especially in regards to the way that you view unhoused people. the EXTREME vast majority of the people that you see on the street are not going to cause you any harm and you need to start viewing them as human beings. i already know there are people who are going to come at me in the notes about protecting yourself in the streets and like sure being vigilant irt being aware of your surroundings is like. common sense. but the average unhoused person is not going to cause you any real harm and the fact that you view people on the street as imminent threats before recognizing their humanity and the ways in which the system has failed many people out there says a lot about the way you think about class and politics

PULLING YOU IN FOR A KISS WITH A SCARF

The night is warm. Annabeth’s cheeks heat with the flush of wine—by now they likely match the red of her Christmas sweater, a thick turtleneck that tickles her jaw. Charles stokes the flames at the fireplace for the first time in the new house, filling the room with the smell of oak and cedar and replacing the smell of dinner lingering in the air. An earnest Rachel chirps over Charles’ shoulder about how to interpret and “read” the flame, which he indulges with the silent amusement only he possesses. Katie and Travis are in a playful argument that will culminate in a kiss any minute, Grover is passing out hot cocoa (with extra marshmallows for Annabeth), and the others are screeching an off-key rendition of “All I Want For Christmas Is You”, which is particularly remarkable when you consider Clarisse singing along with her spiked cider raised high.

Most importantly, warmth emanates from under her where Percy sits with his arm around her waist and a soft smile on his face. He looks so serene, taken out of the moment the way one does in a flash of sudden clarity that they are currently creating a memory they will long to come back to, looking through the lens of nostalgia for a moment they are still in. Somehow Annabeth is in that moment with him, watching their friends through grainy film and hearing them as though the audio plays in the next room over. Everything is muted, glossy, and so so warm.

Percy comes back to himself and presses his lips to Annabeth’s cheek, smiling against the heat of her skin. His hand lifts from her hip to point at the reckless carolers supporting each other with firm embraces and shaky harmonies. “They’re idiots,” he says, but he says it with that smile and it sounds an awful lot like I love them.

“Yeah,” she sighs. “They really are.”

Later in the night once the idiots have been rounded up and herded out the door, Annabeth pauses in the foyer to watch them stumble gleefully, fighting over who gets shotgun in Juniper’s car (Grover) and who gets stuck in the middle seat (Connor). Snow falls softly and settles on Rachel’s curls as she tugs Clarisse’s beanie over her buzz cut and past her eyes, cackling alongside Castor and Pollux and the rest of the gang. Laughter and clinking glass echo from the kitchen where Silena and Beckendorf stayed behind.

The city is cold but the world is warm and full of people Annabeth loves, and therefore it is full of meaning. She turns to Percy, her coat rustling with the movement, and tries to hang on to this warmth, to the man who brought so much of it into her life.

She says, “Thank you,” and it sounds like I love you. It sounds like I love you and it means I love you but there is wine in her system and she’s two seconds away from crying after drinking on an ordinary day with less emotions. If he asks her, she’ll blame the wine and the holidays.

But Percy doesn’t ask her. He finishes pulling on his scarf and coat and looks at her, just looks at her, patient and understanding and in love, the way he has looked at her for the past ten years of their life. Annabeth marvels at her ability to bask in the familiarity of this love. She knows the details of him better than anything; he is the one portrait she can sketch from memory, a monument to permanence in her heart, and still her gaze catches on his freckles even in the winter months when there is no sun to change them. Just in case she misses one.

So she knows he will respond, “Of course,” in that soft tone of his, and she’s ready when his arms wrap around her bundled body. This man, her life partner who drives her crazy in the most maddening and romantic of ways, has given her more than she could ever hope to repay, and he loves her anyway. When her mind plays tricks and plants seeds of doubt, he reassures her. He shows up. Every single time, he shows up.

Their friends are long since corralled by their designated drivers, leaving Percy and Annabeth in the headlights. She pulls him in by the scarf, and they don’t say anything, but it sounds like I love you. Thank you for bringing me in from the cold. Thank you for bringing me home.

the annabeth project

rated t | 12k | canonverse time travel au | for @bipercabeth

Summary: Annabeth is lost in time. Percy finds his way to her, but not without a few familiar faces helping him along the way.

══════════════════

Time kneels to no one, but Percy will take his chances.

Annabeth disappeared five months, two weeks, six days, and seventeen hours ago. Percy scoured the earth for her, even biting back the sharp tang of grief in his throat when he asked Nico if she was in the Underworld. Relief mixed with dread when Nico told him no.

She wasn’t anywhere.

Turns out Percy’s been asking the wrong question all this time. Anywhere is a bit of a misnomer. Anywhen is more accurate. And more of a pain in his ass.

MAILING ADDRESS 

Town of Tusayan 

P.O. Box 709 | 845 Mustang Drive

Tusayan, AZ 86023 PHONE +1 (928) 638-9909 

EMAIL

Mayor Craig Sanderson 

mayorsanderson@gmail.com 

Vice-Mayor Becky Wirth 

tusayan.rwirth@gmail.com

Councilor | Brady Harris 

Tusayancouncilharris@gmail.com

 Councilor  |  Al Montoya 

almtusayan@hotmail.com 

Councilor  |  Robb Baldosky 

robb@tusayanaz.com 

if you don’t have time to write an email, here’s a pre-written letter: https://pastebin.com/Cc3YBWYA 

just copy, add your name, and send the email to a town member!

Please do!

Markiehh Callout Masterpost

For the past few days, concerns have been raised against an artist who goes by the alias markiehh on both Tumblr and Instagram, who has drawn some fanart for the PJO fandom and others. The artworks mainly depict male teenagers from PJO and HoO shirtless with muscles and low-cut trousers or shorts, and have been accused of being sexually suggestive. In many of his artworks, the characters display an outward-facing navel, more commonly known as an outie, to the point of being “iconic,” as his fans put it, and thus has been a cause of suspicion that he has an ‘outie fetish.’ He has also been accused of attraction to minors at least five years younger than him, being 24 in real life, due to the suggestive artworks.

Following several confrontations through both direct messaging the artist in question on Tumblr and Instagram, he refused to delete his suggestive artwork, then proceeded to expose several minors’ social media accounts, falsely accuse one of the minors (@arrowsanonymous, age 13) of writing child pornography and encouraging his 28k+ following to harass her, gaslight several people, including minors, in private messages, and even threatened to sue the teenagers who confronted him, most of whom do not even live in the same country as him.

After attempting to negotiate peace between him and the callout group, Mark proceeded to make an insincere apology by attempting to justify his actions against the callout group who “harassed him,” because they were/are, in his words, “terrible to [him];” when the most harm the teenagers had been doing towards him were, for the most part, making memes which joke that he is a ‘clown’ and nicknaming him “Marky Moo.”

markinope was established as the primary source of opposition against Mark, aiming to gather all posts which condemn Mark’s problematic actions. Over the course of three days, we have gathered over 150 screenshots to prove the accusations against this man, sexualization of minors and gaslighting being the most prominent.

A post made by a member of the callout group sums up the discourse and part of the reason why we are calling him out. Arrows herself has too made posts which explain the situation, you can go check out her Tumblr yourself. This post is made to list out markiehh’s transgressions in depth. For further insight on the situation, please read all the links included in this post.

CONTENT WARNINGS FOR THE POST: Discussions of pedophilia, unhealthy body shapes and depictions, eating disorders, mentions of child abuse, sexual comments towards minors, discussions of trauma, guilt-tripping, harassment, entitlement, gaslighting, mentions of homophobia, mentions of death threats, and one (1) mention of COVID-19.

A TL;DR is included at the bottom of the post for those who do not wish to look into all of the details (the total word count of the post numbers at about 4000 words).

Keep reading

May 18, 2020. João Pedro Mattos Pinto was murdered by the police IN HIS HOME in São Gonçalo, Rio de Janeiro. he was only 14. when the police murdered him, he was PLAYING in his own backyard. his house now has at least 72 bullet holes in it’s walls. and his mom’s heart has one giant hole, that one type that is impossible to be ever filled again.

this happened exactly a week before George Floyd’s murder. João Pedro was black too.

it doesn’t matter where you from. all cops are bastards. all of them. brazillian ones. us cops. even the ones from your country. all of them serve the same racist purposes. 

João Pedro should be remembered. his life and Floyd’s matter so much.

so much respect for the protesters in Minneapolis. 

Please pray for us here in Greece.

Three different places near Athens were destroyed by massive forest fires.

• 180+ people are severely injured and burnt.

• 50 people and counting were found dead on the streets, in their cars or houses, including families that were found hugging each other.

• 100+ are missing.

This is a national tragedy. So many were lost because of ARROGANT PEOPLE.

Spreading awareness. There’s no need for such things to happen, so many lives were destroyed for no reason.