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“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.” 

This... yes

if golf and football switched commentators 😂

things she has to deal with I swear😭😂

If you voted for tr*mp or support him unfollow me now

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. 

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

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

noo dont turn red you’re so sexy aha

Breonna Taylor’s petition has still not hit its goal. It takes next to no time at all to sign it. So if you haven’t, please do it and signal boost.

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