Here It Is: Best Stuff First

Kanaka Maoli (Native Hawaiians) have spent generations battling environmental injustices in their islands. Currently, there’s a fight to protect the sacred Mauna Kea volcano from the destructive Thirty Meter Telescope.

For nearly a decade, Native Hawaiians have fought the TMT - a $1.4 billion international science project - because its construction threatens to damage sacred land and fragile habitats on a summit that already houses other observatories.

Protestors have kept up grassroots resistance with legal challenges, physical road blockades, and social media campaigns. Although the latest legal decisions have voted in favor of the TMT, Native Hawaiians and allies aren’t giving up.

Learn more from Hawaiian environmental advocacy organization, KAHEA. 

Wow

The mashup you never thought would work

CHAPTER FIVE OF WHAT IF IS OUT!

 and it’s a happy one this time!

I wish that ao3 had an option to filter warnings (and tbh certain authors) out like I will never ever want to read it and just seeing it puts me off so much that often I end up closing my browser because that content upsets me so much lmao

I couldn’t find any gritty Valentine’s so I made my own

personally I think we should combine the states of texas and florida just as a social experiment

“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.” 

I have no faith in a proper investigation.

#SayHerName  #SadieRobertsJoseph

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. 

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.