Uh So I Never Do This But Maui Is Quite Literally On Fire And There Isn't Nearly Enough Care Or Consideration

you’re a symphony (i’m just a sour note) chapter 1

by @jasonsmclean

The room is filled with noise, the sound of string instruments being played consuming all other sounds. There’s the occasional shuffling of sheet music, or the frustrated sigh, and whispers lie just beneath the peaceful hum of music. It’s a comforting loudness, one that would soothe over any stressed soul.

Once the clock hits six, silence takes over the once pleasantly noisy room. It’s almost ominous, the hearing equivalent of watching clouds cover the sun. A hush falls over the musicians, putting their instruments in resting position, their expectant eyes immediately focusing on the black-haired conductor in front of them.

Only Reyna isn’t ordering them to pull out a particular piece yet. Her eyes stare at the clock, almost in disbelief that the time has the audacity to hit six. By the time a minute passes, the orchestra shifts uncomfortably because Reyna never starts practice late. It’s evident nobody knows why she hasn’t started.

Jason knows. He can’t help but to look past Reyna at Annabeth, who has an emotionless look on her face. “He’s late,” he informs her.

Read on AO3

If grandmothers around the world had a rallying cry, it would probably sound something like “You need to eat!”

Photographer Gabriele Galimberti’s grandmother said something similar to him before one of his many globetrotting work trips. To ensure he had at least one good meal, she prepared for him a dish of ravioli before he departed on one of his adventures.  

“In that occasion I said to my grandma ‘You know, Grandma, there are many other grandmas around the world and most of them are really good cooks,” Galimberti wrote via email. “I’m going to meet them and ask them to cook for me so I can show you that you don’t have to be worried for me and the food that I will eat!’ This is the way my project was born!”

The project, “Delicatessen With Love”, took Galimberti to 58 countries where he photographed grandmothers with both the ingredients and finished signature dishes.

He acted as photographer and stylist during each shoot with the grandmothers, taking a portrait of both the women and the food they made for him.

From top to bottom: 

Inara Runtule, 68, Kekava, Latvia. Silke €(herring with potatoes and cottage cheese). Grace Estibero, 82, Mumbai, India. Chicken vindaloo.

Susann Soresen, 81, Homer, Alaska. Moose steak.

Serette Charles, 63, Saint-Jean du Sud, Haiti. Lambi in creole sauce.

The photographer’s grandmother Marisa Batini, 80, Castiglion Fiorentino, Italy. Swiss chard and ricotta Ravioli with meat sauce.

Normita Sambu Arap, 65, Oltepessi (Masaai Mara), Kenya. Mboga and orgali (white corn polenta with vegetables and goat).

Julia Enaigua, 71, La Paz, Bolivia. Queso Humacha (vegetables and fresh cheese soup).

Fifi Makhmer, 62, Cairo, Egypt. Kuoshry (pasta, rice and legumes pie).

Isolina Perez De Vargas, 83, Mendoza, Argentina. Asado criollo (mixed meats barbecue).

Bisrat Melake, 60, Addis Ababa, Ethiopia. Enjera with curry and vegetables.

I have no faith in a proper investigation.

#SayHerName  #SadieRobertsJoseph

Roses are red, that much is true, but violets are purple, not fucking blue.

things she has to deal with I swear😭😂

i am no orpheus

percabeth | angst with a happy ending | 4k | commissioned by @random-hallucinations 

major character death but not really

Ω

Hubris and loyalty. Fatal.

When Percy and Annabeth’s wars are won and the prophecies are about other people, it’s almost easy to forget. Hubris becomes Annabeth refusing to admit she’s wrong. Loyalty becomes Percy’s tendency to put the needs of others before his own. Peace lulls memory into rest, slowing the mind and the heart until they are fickle things. Peace itself is a fickle thing.

They still train—they are still demigods. War is in their blood, running through their veins alongside humanity and divinity. It’s never over.

Cold rain pelts Annabeth’s skin, soaking through her t-shirt and jean shorts. Her boots slip in the mud as she hauls a petrified fourteen-year-old girl toward Half-Blood Hill, brandishing her Drakon-bone sword to ward off the hellhounds in the surrounding woods. Their presence is scarce save a muddy paw print or a pair of gleaming red eyes in the treeline.

It’s not the hellhounds Annabeth is afraid of; she’s killed more of them than she cares to count. It’s the reason the hellhounds won’t move in, the looming figure shaking the slick earth with heavy footfalls.

read on AO3

http://therapyforblackgirls.com 

reblog to save a life

anonymous leaked bolsonaro’s private info including his credit card number and someone on twitter bought a whole ass macbook pro with it. yes. a person bought an macbook pro with the president’s credit card. this country really isn’t for beginners

If you haven’t heard there is a literal massacre going on in Sudan.

People are getting kidnapped, arrested, raped and killed. This has been going on for a few days now but naturally there’s hardly any media coverage.

THE WORLD CARES MORE ABOUT AN EMPTY CHURCH IN FRANCE THAN HUNDREDS OF INNOCENT BLACK MUSLIMS DYING IN SUDAN.

There are a few ways to help:

 - Emergency Medical Aid Donation

- Facebook campaign raising funds for food and other necessities

- International Rescue Committee

- Save The Children

Even if you can’t donate please help spread the news!!

#SudanMassacre