#nahome

[hellgifs]

goldennahome via instagram

[feloire]

[followmysmoke]

[icons-ornot]

Se pegar de like ou reblog xoxo

Fotos:  ¬Nahome

Efeito: coloring Autoral #Abacaxi_ornot

-Anne

[bclletragedie]

                            @wrvtchedhearts

LOCATION: lower east side choppers motorcycle shop FOR: zakir sethupathi.

𝐍𝐀𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐒𝐍'𝐓 𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐄 what it was -- but there was something in the air. despite taking check after check with ease, the aftermath held all the more weight. while she knew that she attracted danger, considering who's bloodline she happened to come from, she could feel herself sinking deeper and deeper underneath the surface of the dead hand's ocean. even when akira wasn't present -- she found herself standing just a bit straighter, as if weights were attached to her ankles, and keeping her eyes peeled as she glanced around every corner. and yet, she found herself trudging forward, hands thrust within her pockets as she found herself heading to the same place she always did when being alone gave way to paranoia and fear. the motorcycle shop. it was funny, that being a part of the dead hand had allowed her both such solace and such anguish. she had a group of people at her back, but, as she had come to realize, it came with a price. that price, it seemed, was the contents of your soul.

" does something feel off to you? " nahome questioned her fellow associate, fingers clasping around the end of her cigarette as she exhaled, smoke furling towards the sky. in all honesty, she hoped she wasn't just being paranoid, and it was something small. and yet, her fears told her that there was something even bigger. " maybe it's just the cold.. and the slush everywhere. " even if she was promised discretion, some amount of disconnect from it all, nahome was never completely sure whom she could trust. she wondered if maybe, just maybe, she had just signed a deal with the devil. and there would be no help.

[onikasbarbie]

[levantevnsn]

[cielsosinfel]

5/17/24

Poor quality camera photos of very beautiful paintings by Nahom Ghirmay, on display at the King Street Station art gallery currently. This was my first exposure to this artist's work and it's breathtaking in person- I really hope his art is hosted at another gallery here sometime.

[foxeia]

Nahome

[egosdeaths]

NAHOME ( goldennahome ) via instagram

[azspot]

From the Ethiopian point of view, a modern dam is what will make their country a modern state. According to the World Bank, as of 2021, Ethiopia had “the third largest energy access deficit in Sub-Saharan Africa with more than half the population still without access to reliable electricity especially in deep-rural areas.” A vast majority of Ethiopians survive as subsistence farmers, and famine has been a recurring feature of Ethiopian life for centuries. Electricity, it is hoped, will make their work more efficient and their lives more livable. As well, the dam is expected to attract vital new investment to Ethiopia. It is impossible to look at Nahom and Tesfahun and not wonder how their lives would be different had a renaissance taken place in their countries: electricity, education, jobs with purpose and meaning, security, and a political structure that could tackle the challenges of a changing globe.

Hydropower

[hellgifs]

goldennahome via instagram

[4xiris]

Old art of my OCs Nahome and Sinan that I’ll forever have a soft spot for…

[skaphander]

"Eritrean Jazz, Soul & Traditional Grooves with Nahom from Eritrean Anthology"

[auroratalenthq]

REOPENED     :     the  following  faces  and  roles  have  been  reopened  due  to  inactivity  !

aslihan  malbora  +  guitarist  for  ultraviolet

nahome  k  +  behind  the  scenes  open  spot  for  both  bands

ryan  destiny  +  behind  the  scenes  open  spot  for  ultraviolet

[bclletragedie]

                               @burninqhill

LOCATION: outside yami ink, midday FOR: tamsin kassa

𝐈𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐎𝐍𝐄 sentence that the younger kassa intended to eradicate from her mind in full, it was a simple one: you are your mother's daughter. simple in structure, it becomes even more complicated beneath the surface. filled with such distain, such guttural hatred for a woman who most certainly carried more towards herself than any one individual ever could. despite being well aware of her mother's shortcomings, more so than her elder sister seemed to believe ( not that nahome believed, quite frankly, that tamsin ever truly cared about anything but herself ), nahome had long since let go of her hatred for the woman. some may call it naive, but nahome had called it freeing. removing this burden, this weight off her back had allowed her some form of closure for all that they had endured. instead of feeling tethered to the city, she had now stayed in new york by choice.

forgiveness had allowed her to have some kind of connection with her mother, no matter how faint -- all the more valuable in the months leading up to her death. nahome had always been the more emotional of her mother's daughters -- giving others her heart with the hope that maybe this time, it will be different. in the aftermath her heart is often returned to her in pieces, but the routine is always the same. she sits, adhesive in hand, quietly putting the pieces back together to try again. all that's left are worn-down fragments, held together by faith and superglue.

she had first made contact with the dead hand through the one love that had kept her heart together: tattoos. littered all across her slender frame, they told the story of her -- for the first time, authentically. it had been an avalanche from there, one she knew better than to flaunt openly. while she was no fbi agent, something it seemed that she was constantly reminded of as a lowly bartender -- she believed she had done a pretty damn good job.

those who say they can never be bought? they're fucking filthy liars. there is always a right price. it just so happened that the boss had found nahome's.

another tattoo has come and with that, another meeting. nahome's sole purpose within the gang is to be a source of intel -- to listen and report the things patrons believed they were saying in confidence. to be a fly clinging to the wall. of course she had done her job to the best of her ability, her value for the week proven.

shit. fuck. she can hear every single profanity she knows of vibrating within the confines of her scalp -- but she somehow manages to keep them from spilling over her lips. the downside of having a sister, well, half-sister within the bureau? there was always a chance she was listening. seeing her here, of all places, was certainly far from an eerie coincidence. if it was, the universe's fuck you to her was more morbid than she could possibly imagine.

" the princess emerges from her tower.. how shocking. " the bartender mutters, only speaking because she is confident she has been seen. it seems with the glossy promotion has come an upward-turned nose from tamsin when it comes to nahome.. or perhaps, it has always been there. on second thought, it definitely has. nothing about nahome was capable enough in her own sister's eyes. all tamsin saw was another mess, another wrong she had committed. and while nahome had shook the thought off more than once -- she wondered if tamsin got some kind of sick glee out of pointing out her sister's mistakes. another notch in her own pedestal, another step closer to immortality. " the hell are you doing out here? gotta be a damn good reason for miss detective chief to leave the comfort of hq. "

while she appears cool and collected due to the freshly-applied plastic wrap around yami ink's latest masterpiece, she wasn't trying to hide the individuals that she surrounded herself with now. after all, tamsin only came home to clean up another mess, didn't she?