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thatrandomsarahchick · 4 months

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DC x DP short

I'm picturing Danny moving to Gotham once he's an adult. He came out to his parents, and it went fine. More than fine. They listened to how he was struggling at school because he kept having to chase down the ghosts they let out by leaving the portal open. Jack was super proud of his son for being a ghost hunter even as a ghost, but Maddie understood his concern and set up some new protocols for the portal.

It now automatically closes after two minutes unless a specific command is put in by Danny to keep it open while he is in the Zone, and the shielding around it actually works to stop ghosts coming trig without hurting them now.

The shine of the mortal world has worn off for most of his regulars now, and those that come through have figured out compromises so they can still fulfil their obsessions without hurting others. The meta-protection act officially disbands the GIW, and Red Huntress is given a very thorough speaking to about personal bias and vendettas. She's not allowed back in the field until she comes to the realisation that ghosts are people too, and that she been the bad guy by hunting them the way she did. Phantom is officially recognised as a Hero, but he turns down working for any teams or joining the Big Leagues. He agrees to act as a back up though, in case of any world ending event.

By the time senior year rolls around, Danny has gotten his grades up enough that he can go to a pretty decent university if he wants to. He chooses Gotham University for his engineering degree because they're a feeder school for Wayne Enterprises, who in turn are a feeder company for working for the Justice League as a civilian engineer. Tucker also chooses GU for their tech program, while Sam elects not to go to university straight away.

Tucker and Danny move into an apartment right on the borders of Crime Alley and The Narrows. Tucker manages an impressive 4 months as a local hacker before Oracle notices him, but Danny only manages 3 weeks before he's spotted by a Bat.

He's lying down a foot above his building's roof, looking at the stars. It's a very rare cloudless night, and the power is out in his area. Poison Ivy had launched an attack earlier in the day that had taken cut the power lines, with her mutant plants feeding on the smog and pollution to get stronger.

Duke was up late, finishing the day shift by a quick loop of The Narrows, when he noticed a slightly glowing teenager(?) floating on one of the roofs. He takes note that the man isn't causing any harm and is just peacefully stargazing, before calling it in to Jason. He was technically supposed to be off the clock an hour ago, and besides, the building was on the Crime Alley side of this street. It's Jason's problem now.

Jason, on the other hand, is exhausted and just wants to have a quiet patrol before collapsing in bed. He hadn't been hit by Ivy's plants, but had taken a couple of tumbles while dodging them. He heads over to the address Duke gave him, to find the guy still floating there staring at the sky. He gets it, he does, he would float above the grime that coats Gotham rooftops if he could, but it's dangerous for a meta to be so unawares of his surroundings like this while obviously displaying his powers.

Danny, meanwhile, had clocked both of the vigilantes coming near him, but was really hoping that they would leave him alone. It had been a very long day for him. He'd finally managed to get to campus for his class, only to find that the place was covered in overgrown plants. He'd had to freeze a few to get into the building, and had then spent most of the afternoon in the library due to his class being cancelled. Unfortunately for him, his nearly finished assignment that he'd spent the day working on was eaten by one of the giant flowers on his way home. He'd been 'saved' by the stabby Robin, which had caused him to then also lose his laptop as they crashed to the rooftop a few streets over.

Thankfully, he had an amazing best friend in Tucker, who was doing his best to recover as much data as possible. On the downside, though, Tucker was mad at him for now having saved a backup of his files since they left Amity. He'd fled to the roof to escape his wrath, plans of bribes in the form of food running through his mind, when he'd caught sight of the Stars. Holy shit. It was so clear tonight!

He didn't even realise he'd begun to glow and float, too caught up in naming all of the stars and constellations he could see. His Obsession was feeling very satisfied tonight. Usually he had to invisibly fly above the cloud cover to see such a sight. Sure, the light pollution was still bad, but his mind was able to fill in the blanks across the sky.

The moment Jason landed on his roof, Danny heaved a great sigh. Damnit. The fun police were here. He wrenched his eyes from the sky, only to notice that - oh, shit - he was floating again. He fell to the roof with a light thump.

"Heeeyyy stranger, come here often?" Danny asked, as he rolled over to his side, propping his head up on his hand.

#now it's your turn #how does Jason respond to this?#danny just casually in a 'paint me like one of your french girls' pose without even realising #jason coming to the realisation that oh shit. he's hot.#danny and tucker move to gotham for university #in my mind Sam becomes a chef #so that she can promote healthy tasty eating that's meat free #dcxdp #dpxdc #dc x dp #dp x dc #dp x dc fanfic #dc x dp fanfic #someone please find this and add to it

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afeelgoodblog · 1 month

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The Best News of Last Week - March 18

1. FDA to Finally Outlaw Soda Ingredient Prohibited Around The World

An ingredient once commonly used in citrus-flavored sodas to keep the tangy taste mixed thoroughly through the beverage could finally be banned for good across the US. BVO, or brominated vegetable oil, is already banned in many countries, including India, Japan, and nations of the European Union, and was outlawed in the state of California in October 2022.

2. AI makes breakthrough discovery in battle to cure prostate cancer

Scientists have used AI to reveal a new form of aggressive prostate cancer which could revolutionise how the disease is diagnosed and treated.

A Cancer Research UK-funded study found prostate cancer, which affects one in eight men in their lifetime, includes two subtypes. It is hoped the findings could save thousands of lives in future and revolutionise how the cancer is diagnosed and treated.

3. “Inverse vaccine” shows potential to treat multiple sclerosis and other autoimmune diseases

A new type of vaccine developed by researchers at the University of Chicago’s Pritzker School of Molecular Engineering (PME) has shown in the lab setting that it can completely reverse autoimmune diseases like multiple sclerosis and type 1 diabetes — all without shutting down the rest of the immune system.

4. Paris 2024 Olympics makes history with unprecedented full gender parity

In a historic move, the International Olympic Committee (IOC) has distributed equal quotas for female and male athletes for the upcoming Olympic Games in Paris 2024. It is the first time The Olympics will have full gender parity and is a significant milestone in the pursuit of equal representation and opportunities for women in sports.

Biased media coverage lead girls and boys to abandon sports.

5. Restored coral reefs can grow as fast as healthy reefs in just 4 years, new research shows

Planting new coral in degraded reefs can lead to rapid recovery – with restored reefs growing as fast as healthy reefs after just four years. Researchers studied these reefs to assess whether coral restoration can bring back the important ecosystem functions of a healthy reef.

“The speed of recovery we saw is incredible,” said lead author Dr Ines Lange, from the University of Exeter.

6. EU regulators pass the planet's first sweeping AI regulations

The EU is banning practices that it believes will threaten citizens' rights. "Biometric categorization systems based on sensitive characteristics" will be outlawed, as will the "untargeted scraping" of images of faces from CCTV footage and the web to create facial recognition databases.

Other applications that will be banned include social scoring; emotion recognition in schools and workplaces; and "AI that manipulates human behavior or exploits people’s vulnerabilities."

7. Global child deaths reach historic low in 2022 – UN report

The number of children who died before their fifth birthday has reached a historic low, dropping to 4.9 million in 2022.

The report reveals that more children are surviving today than ever before, with the global under-5 mortality rate declining by 51 per cent since 2000.

---

That's it for this week :)

This newsletter will always be free. If you liked this post you can support me with a small kofi donation here:

Buy me a coffee ❤️

Also don’t forget to reblog this post with your friends.

#best news of last week

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mediumgayitalian · 30 days

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———

By all accounts, Will knows what he’s doing.

He still drives like a godsdamn maniac.

“Do you want us to die?” Nico hollers, cheeks aching from the force of his grin, belly flipping at the peal of Will’s laughter.

The bike is exhilarating, as Will weaves it around cars at unbelievable speeds, working with the bike like it’s a part of him, like it’s not a separate thing he has to move. He steers it with a natural ease Nico’s only really seen in some of the best pegasus riders in camp — he knows the machine intimately enough to anticipate how it moves, how it reacts. It really is an extension of his body.

He left any panic about gripping onto Will somewhere in Long Island — to let go would be suicide. He has to hold on to stay onto the bike, to know to lean when Will leans, to tense when he tenses. Besides that, he’s having fun. He’s not the one driving, so he’s free to rest his helmet on Will’s back and watch as the world whips by — dizzying, really, as the speed of the bike making the green-budding trees melt into the bright blue skies, mix with the tar black asphalt, glow under the sparkling sun. The whole world looks like sidewalk chalk after it rains, a swirling mass of colour and streaks as artistic or more than what it was before it was washed away. The only indication that they’re actually going anywhere rather than standing straight in the middle of a kaleidoscope is the spots of roadside green that pop up every now and again, or a heavy lean to the side and Will switches lanes.

As they pull out of New York, Will starts to slow down. The dizzying mass of colours calms until everything’s at a slow spin, as Will mellows out to a speed that can be registered on a mortal odometer. With less wind whipping all over, Nico can actually hear him.

“Better than a flying chariot?”

Nico grins. “Definitely.”

“Another great thing about this is that it has a CD player. Two-nothing for the sad hunk of wood.”

By great thing Will of course means the same four songs I’ve been obsessed with for a month playing over and over and over until you are ready to launch yourself off the bike and join the dead raccoon at the side of the road, but that still doesn’t manage to ruin it. Something about driving top speeds in the early spring air makes it hard to be annoyed about annoying.

(Or maybe it’s the way Nico can feel Will’s muscles shift every time he moves, or how he winks every time he catches Nico’s eye in the mirrors, or the lowkey kind of sinful the way he straddles the seat. But Nico is quite happy sharing a name with a river in Egypt, so he ignores these fun facts and continues to delude himself, an art in which he is become quite wondrously skilled.)

Somewhere between Jersey and Delaware, the traffic picks up again, so Will shouts for him to hold on and cranks up the speed. Nico clenches tightly around his waist, squeezing his eyes shut, this time, and listens to the roar of air as they shove through it fast enough to rival sound. When they’re drifting, again, Nico can feel an incline, and looks up just in time to watch Will exit off the highway.

“Are we here already?” he shouts, incredulous. He knows his ADHD makes him bad with time, but jeez — it can’t have been more than an hour, an hour and a half.

“Not yet,” Will says, barely having to raise his voice as they come to a stop, heel of his boot clicking on the pavement. He checks both ways and then, once nothing comes around the bend, pushes off and guides them down a winding back road, tipping around curves and speeding down hills. Nico’s stomach bottoms out every drop, and he can’t clamp down the giggle that pushes out his throat, as ridiculous as it is. Luckily, Will’s giggling, too.

In a few minutes, they pull up to an old, rusted gas station, with signs so old they’re hand-painted. Will kills the engine and flicks out the kickstand, pulling off his helmet and shaking out his hair. It’s such a tangled mess that Nico can’t help but reach out and tug on a lopsided curl.

“I didn’t think this thing needed gas.”

“It doesn’t!” He pats a dark piece of glass in between the handlebars. “It’s solar-powered. But I figured you could use a minute to stretch your legs, and frankly, if I don’t eat something soon I genuinely might cook you.”

“You forgot to eat today, didn’t you.”

“…No.”

As soon as he speaks, his eyes start to water. His throat swells. He holds his breath for a noble four seconds, and then starts wheezing.

Nico sighs heavily. “Dumbass.”

Hauling him upright by the collar, Nico drags him towards the little corner store. This, at least, is familiar. Will gets caught up in his work easily, and forgets to do things like eat or move or, on one particularly amusing occasion, breathe. (Just tipped right over, one day, onto the floor, mid-poultice. There is a chip on the side of the stone mortar to this day. Nico, Will’s other friends, and his siblings take shifts bringing it up to dunk on him properly. Last he checked, Lou Ellen commissioned Jake Mason to make a plaque to hang on the infirmary wall, memorializing the incident forever.)

“C’mon, stupid. Let’s get you a sandwich. And Benadryl.”

“I’m honestly fine,” Will wheezes, cheeks swelling slightly.

“Stop talking,” Nico orders. “You’re making it worse.”

Wisely, Will clamps up. That, or his throat is starting to close. Either is likely.

His stubborn determination to continue lying despite being literally allergic to it would be impressive, if it wasn’t so irritating.

A little bell rings by the door when Nico pushes it open, making the person sitting behind the counter look up.

“Ah,” they say sagely, folding up their newspaper. “Demigods.”

Immediately, Nico’s on alert. Before he can draw his sword, though, Will lifts a hive-spotted hand in a wave.

“Hey, Berchio,” he croaks.

The person at the counter — Berchio — smiles ruefully.

“Benadryl?”

Nico nods hesitantly, still a little wary at the stranger, but Will is starting to keen over, now, and Nico didn’t think to bring an Epi-Pen (since the allergy is totally avoidable, William, you are your own worst enemy), so he’s running out of options. “Please.”

Chuckling to themself, Berchio ruffles around a shelf by the checkout counter, locating the familiar bottle after a minute — Will gets himself into these situations a lot, he has a serious twizzler problem and should consider getting his own stash instead of lifting it from the Hermes cabin and then lying about where it went — and rolling towards them. The spokes of their wheelchair have little skull charms on them that make a pleasant tinkling noise as they spin, making Nico trust them instantly. He should get Chiron wheel beads. That’s sick as hell.

“Here, kid. Drink water, too, you’re going to dry yourself out.”

Will garbles out a thank you, choking down the medicine. As all meds do with Apollo’s children, lucky bastards that they are, it works quickly, and in minutes he’s breathing right again.

“Gods, I love oxygen.”

“You are a human disaster,” Nico informs him. “Like, hugely.”

Will takes a sip of his water, pondering that. “Is that more embarrassing for you, or for me?”

“Why the hell would it be embarrassing for me?”

“Well, since you like me so much.” Nico chokes. “I might be a disaster, but at least I don’t have a crush on one.”

“All this wheezing,” Berchio sighs. “This must be Nico?”

“The one and only,” Will says cheerfully. He reaches out and touches a warm hand to Nico’s throat, immediately clearing his airways. Now no longer struggling for breath, Nico darts out and punches him, hard, on the arm.

“Ow! Meanie!”

“You are such a derp-faced dweeb,” Nico hisses, fully aware he’s red in the face. “Why are you — why are you this way.”

“I’m gonna tell Chiron you were bullying me!”

“Tell him! I’ll tell him you were the one to sprinkle instant mashed potatoes all over the grass before it rained, not Cecil!”

Will snaps his mouth shut. “I told you that in confidence.”

Nico smiles smugly. “Well, that’s on you. My loyalties are about as secure as my parent’s relationship.”

“If you two are finished flirting,” interrupts an amused voice, making both of them jump. Berchio watches them with their arms crossed, eyebrow raised in a similar chiding way to Chiron last time he caught Nico attempting to sneak an entire tray of brownies from the kitchen (mark his words — as soon as he can shadow travel again, no other camper will be seeing a brownie as long as they shall live). They shake their head, tutting exaggeratedly. “My, my, Will, I’m beginning to understand why you mentioned him every time you opened your mouth. I figured you liked him, but this is ridiculous.”

For once, Will is the one to flush crimson. He stutters something entirely incomprehensible, gesturing vaguely towards Berchio, and then frantically towards Nico, and finally squawks something about trust and the breaching of it. He goes red to the very roots of his hair, clamping his own mouth shut mid-sentence and scowling something awful.

Suddenly, Nico gets it. This is why no one ever leaves him alone. Oh, he is loathe to give the assholes he’s friends with credit, but…

When does he ever get to see Will — confident, easy Will — go scarlet?

“So you like me,” he says, shit eating grin stretching across his face. “Oh ho ho ho.”

“Oh, shut up,” Will snaps, without any heat. “Last time we played volleyball you got a concussion ‘cause you couldn’t stop staring at my chest and took a ball to the face.”

“That — it was — that hit was malicious,” he sputters. “And how is it my fault you’re always ditching your shirt at the first available opportunity like some kind of whore? I couldn’t not look!”

“Avert your eyes, then, scoundrel!”

“I — don’t call me a scoundrel! You’re a scoundrel!”

“You’re both late, is what you are,” Berchio interrupts again. “Will, I assume you’re running an errand?”

Still a little flushed, Will nods. “Yes. Thanks, Berchio. We’re picking up parts in Roanoke, I just stopped for some food.”

“He forgot to eat this morning,” Nico pipes up. He figures that Berchio seems comfortable enough with Will that they can act as a disappointed authority figure, which will make Mr. Daddy Issues Solace crumple like a castle built on a pillar of sand — he needs the humbling. (Also, Nico will get him on a healthier track or die trying. It’s not fair that he gets to be a big hypocrite about good diet and eating and sleeping habits and then turn around and act a fool. Someone needs to watch out for the idiot, or he’s going to get himself killed, and then Nico is going to have to spend the rest of his life in the Underworld, yelling at him.)

“William.”

Nico’s theory is proven correct. Berchio stares at Will with the perfect mix of disappointment and concern, immediately triggering the scramble-to-please expression on Will’s face. He practically stumbles over himself trying to follow after him and get fed.

“Are you happy with a sandwich, Nico? I know Will’ll eat anything that even remotely looks like food, but most of us have standards,” they tease.

Nico snorts at Will’s offended pout. “Yeah, a sandwich is more than fine. Thanks, Berchio.”

After handing them both a sandwich they pull from one of the many fridges in the little convenience store, they guide them outside, parking their wheelchair next to the curb they sit on and joining them in a little picnic.

“So how do you know each other?” Nico asks, gesturing between the two of them.

Will answers first, because Berchio, who is a polite person with manners, takes the time to swallow their food.

“I stop here all the time,” he says, garbled, making both Nico and Berchio wince. Nico takes the initiative to kick him.

“Stop being disgusting and explain yourself without showing off the contents of your mouth,” Nico threatens, “or I’m going to stab you again.”

Will swallows, sticks out his tongue, and continues.

“First time I used the bike, I got it into my head that I should go visit my mom. Would’ve been fine, except I was thirteen and hadn’t been outside of camp in six years and got chased by a pack of empousai the second I left the city, basically.”

“I was collecting herbs and sensed him coming,” Berchio explains. “He crossed the borders I have set up; I hid him here. Now he stops by whenever he’s travelling to chat.” Berchio smiles warmly. “I appreciate the company.”

Will grins back. “Me too! Plus, I very much appreciate the herb exchange. Speaking of which, I have your goldenrod.”

He digs into his jeans pocket, pulling out a bundle. He hands it over to Berchio, who accepts it gratefully, handing over their own bundle to Will.

“And your witch hazel.”

“Berchio’s an Ipotane,” Will explains, catching sight of Nico’s furrowed brow. “They’ve been doing this healing stuff for centuries. They’re real good with salves.”

Nico shakes his head fondly. “Even when you’re being cool, you’re a nerd.” He gestures to the bike. “Taking your secret motorcycle to visit your secret mentor to learn more about healing. Gods, it’s like Apollo made you in a lab.”

“You take that back! I contain multitudes!”

“And now you’re quoting famous poems, dear gods, try to prove my point better, why don’t you —”

“Blah blah blah!”

Nico grins at him, rolling his eyes, and Will is just as playfully dramatic with his bit lip and hidden smile and the hair he tucks behind his ear like he does when he wants to touch somebody but isn’t sure if it’s invited. Nico answers the question for him, reaching out and flicking his knuckles as an excuse to touch his hands. Will takes it, beaming.

“Thank you for the food, Berchio,” Will says when they finish, leaning down to hug them. “We gotta get going, but I’ll be back in a couple weeks. I had a dream about an outbreak, so no doubt the infirmary will need restocked soon.”

“Bring your boyfriend next time,” Berchio suggests, grinning when Nico goes red at the term. “Watching the two of you was not unlike one of Sterne’s famous productions.”

“I take offence to that,” Will says haughtily.

“Good. You needed humbling.”

“Nobody appreciates me around here!”

Nico bites back the I do that threatens to escape his throat. Gods, he’s so embarrassing. Whoever taught him how to speak should have to pay for their crimes.

They head back to the bike, waving goodbye to the Ipotane and speeding off. The drive the rest of the way down south is much calmer, bellies full and energy somewhat spent, and it helps that there’s no traffic. Will cruises, keeping time with the sun that’s inching across the sky, ignoring Nico’s suggestion to attempt to race his dad. They arrive in Roanoke in good time, following Nyssa’s scrawled directions to the parts shop.

The shop is old, visibly, paint peeling and smelling strongly of car grease. As Nysa predicted, the person they speak to — a mechanic, by the look of her jumpsuit — doesn’t ask so much as a single question at the two teenagers rolling up to her doorstep, heading to the greasy shelves of car parts and grabbing what they need with a shrug.

“Well,” says Will slowly as she piles them on the counter, “that’s…more than I anticipated.”

Nico looks at the stack of twisted metal. He looks at the bike. Finally, he looks at his dumbass friend.

“Solace.”

Will scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah?”

“Solace, tell me you have space to put this stuff.”

“Well, we can try the seat compartment?”

Nico buries his head in his hands. “Solace.”

“What!”

“You know what, lughead! We cannot do the one thing we came here to do! Gods!”

“I usually go on supply runs for the infirmary, okay!” Will cries. “That stuff is way less bulky! I forgot to compensate!”

Nico groans. At this point, they’re going to have to bus back, or something equally as stupid. And what are they gonna do with the bike? Gods, if Nico was here by himself and also maybe possibly with Reyna, who could share her strength, he’d just —

He stills.

“Oh, no,” Will says, pointing a stern finger, “oh, no, di Angelo, I know that look, you have been expressly banned —”

“Relax,” Nico grumbles. “Don’t you trust me?”

“With everything,” Will says automatically, then flushes for the second time that day. “But that is not the point —”

Deciding he will return to that later — and he most certainly will — Nico darts forward. Before Will can stop him, he puts both hands on the pile of parts, lunges towards the nearest shadow, and shoved them in, withdrawing as quickly as he can manage.

“Nico!”

He waits.

“Oh, you fuckin’ — you goddamn son of a mother!”

He checks his hands — still solid.

“I am going to smash you flat an’ feed you through a goddamn juicer! You fuckin’ heart-stopper!”

He grins. “I told you I could do some Underworld magic.”

“Underworld deez fuckin’ nuts!” Will stomps forward, grabbing Nico’s hands to do his own inspection. “What part of doctor’s orders are you missin’, huh? You think I wanna watch you fade again? You think I wanna —” His voice cracks, hands tightening around Nico’s wrists. Nico softens immediately, smug look melting into something gentler.

“Will.”

“You coulda died, Nico, you coulda faded to — to nothin’.”

“Will.” He flips his hands so his palms meet Will’s, and squeezes, smiling gently. “Feel my vitals, dork. Am I fading?”

Will exhales. “No.”

“Am I close?”

“…No.”

He squeezes again. “I’m fine, Will.”

“You scared me.” The anger in his voice has faded into something soft — something afraid. Suddenly the hands on his wrists feel more clingy than anything, and a twinge of guilt goes off in Nico’s stomach.

“I’m sorry.” He squeezes Will’s hands one last time, and when that doesn’t do much, lets go to wrap around his cheeks, instead, forcing him to meet his eyes. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I don’t mean to restrict you,” Will says softly. “It’s just — I worry, is all.”

Nico taps their foreheads together, smile pulling at his face. This, he can — this he can deal with. This version of Will, soft and nervous and caring, makes it a lot easier to slide his fingers into the mess of Will’s curls, to run his thumbs over his cheekbones and feel him shiver.

“Would that have anything to do with the alleged crush you have on me?”

Will grins. “It might.” One of his hands comes up to rest on top of Nico’s, brushing over his knuckles. “All your moonin’ after me had me looking twice, I guess.”

“You’re such a dick,” Nico scoffs, and yanks him down to meet him in the middle, laughing, swallowing his smile and relishing in the warm press of their bodies. It’s — gods, it’s everything, it’s a thousand times better than he imagined, and at the same time everything he expected. Will smells like wind and sunshine and his lavender shampoo, and his hands are roughened from all the antiseptic he has to use, and his lips are surprisingly chapped, but the press of his cheeks is soft, and the feel of him is overwhelming. It feels, as cliche as it is, like the final burst of a firework after watching the smokey trail of the rocket with bated breath, watching it crest the night sky before exploding, finally, amongst the stars, it’s like —

A cleared throat startled them apart.

“Anytime y’all feel like paying for those parts, it would be great.”

Will grins sheepishly. “Sorry,” he says, pulling out the money Chiron gave him. His grin turns sly, and Nico’s knees turn to jelly. “My boyfriend’s just super distracting.”

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sizzlingsandwichperfection-blog · 1 year

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You may wonder what this whole Awesome Coffee Club thing is all about. Today I was reminded what it’s all about:

In 2019, the unpaid intern who runs this tumblr account visited Sierra Leone’s Kono District. Kono is the among the most impoverished communities in the world due to a long history of enslavement, colonialism, and civil war. A decade ago, Kono’s healthcare system was in a state of collapse--clinics had no running water or electricity or paid staff, and inconsistent supplies of medications and other necessities.

As a result, Kono was the epicenter of the global maternal mortality crisis: One out of every seventeen women could expect to die in childbirth. Over 10% of children died before the age of five.

Beginning in 2014, Partners in Health began working with Sierra Leone’s Ministry of Health to bring change. This started with the basics at the region’s hospital, Koidu Government Hospital: running water, 24-hour electricity, and hiring nurses, community healthworkers, cooks, facilities management staff, and so much more.

At the time, KGH’s maternity ward had a dirt floor. Many people were dying for want of an emergency C-section or a blood transfusion. By 2019, this was getting better--two functioning operating rooms were able to perform C-sections, and a blood bank could address postpartum hemorrhaging. But it was still inadequate, and maternal and child mortality were horrifyingly routine.

To address the crisis, PIH Sierra Leone directors Jon Lascher and Dr. Baillor Barrie wanted to build a world-class maternal and child health center that could save thousands of lives yearly while also serving as a teaching hospital to train the next generation of Sierra Leonean healthcare workers. They told us they needed $25,000,000 to break ground, and would probably eventually need another $25,000,000 to support the hospital’s operation over its first few years.

I am, as unpaid interns go, doing quite well, but not THAT well. So our family committed what we could and asked others to join us, and within two years, we passed that $25,000,000 goal. Together, we’ve now raised close to $40,000,000.

Today, I visited the site of the Maternal Center of Excellence, the first wards of which will hopefully open next year. Nearly all of the construction team are from Kono, and 65% of them are women--they work as welders, engineers, planners, laborers, and so much more. You see three of them above. I had the privilege of talking with them about this project. The young woman to the right, Success, told me that her dream is to work for the hospital her whole life, helping to maintain and support it. One of the other women told me, “We are passionate about this work because it is the future of our country. And we know that we and our friends will someday give birth here.” I am so proud that our projects support their training and livelihood, and so grateful to have them as colleagues in this work.

The hospital--which will include over 100 maternal beds, a NICU, and enough operating suites to perform over 10 emergency C-sections per day, will also require ongoing funding for staff, stuff, systems, maintenance, and more. Our hope is that open-ended projects like the Awesome Coffee Club and Awesome Socks Club can help provide that funding, although the most efficient way to support this project is to donate directly!

So that’s why this tumblr, and the awesome coffee club, exists. World-class maternal and infant healthcare is coming to Kono, a wonderful and too long impoverished by colonialism and extractive capitalism. It is only a first step. There is so long to go. But what a first step.

#also i guess for memes #awesome coffee club #partners in health #sierra leone #drink good coffee #coffee #pih

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titanic-angel · 10 months

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мιgυel o'нara х ғ!reader

⁎︎✴︎ adronιтιѕ 1 ✴︎⁎︎

ѕynopѕιѕ ➪︎ мιgυel o'нara нaѕ a ѕтrange, claѕѕιғιed reqυeѕт oғ yoυ. нιм, and нιѕ dιgιтal aѕѕιѕтanт, lyla.

warnιngѕ ➪︎ swearing

noтeѕ ➪︎ enιмιeѕ тo coworĸerѕ тo ғrιendѕ тo loverѕ ѕlowвυrn ! ongoιng, υpdaтeѕ вeтween every ғew day

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She chose you because of your name.

Lyla was a program, a buzzing core of digits and code, analytics her only language. It was unlike her to go by her heart, because she didn’t have one.

But she wanted one.

The heat of skin, eyes that could look, really look, at someone. The softened hair under her finger tips- printed with a map of grooves and lines that separated her from every other. She wanted the individuality that a human body could give, and that her pixels would never achieve.

Miguel made the mistake of giving Lyla a mind of her own, because now she wanted a body to match.

After pulling a difficult, relentless, and borderline maddening attitude for years, he finally gave into her wishes, under a condition.

Only one engineer.

The creation she asked for, the mockery of humanity, could take forever, even with her limitless knowledge and Miguel’s high tech and steady hands. But despite this, Miguel refused her a team of engineers to conjure a body that would make history. In order to prevent an overlap of his secrets and the real world, Lyla was to choose only one individual who could make her a body, and keep a secret.

An individual, who, had a lovely name.

You’re transcripts were impressive enough, but not recognized; so that when you were to be snuffed, stolen under fluorescent yellow lights, the only memory left would be that of a keycard scanner.

Its ironic, that a senseless A.I made her decision off feeling. But she saw youth in your eyes, a harsh comparison the age and wisdom that spoke in purples under your lashes. It was overwhelming, the amount of life you had ahead of you, a mortality characterized by the dismal way it said goodbye. But Lyla craved it, a madwoman of science and self.

A collection of illusions that was foolish enough to believe it could be anything, something, else.

Hope is a drug.

So, addicted, she said, “her.”

Miguel would pause, eyes roaming the expanse of your face, the smile in your eyes, the taint on your teeth, your tongue, the crevices of you jaw. His clicked, eyes doubtful.

But Lyla’s were resolute.

“I want her.”

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Vague.

It was a font that thrived in obfuscated shadows. It was limitless in its unknown, clouded by things that should’ve been said, or instructions never specified.

Your pathetic heart clung to every word that stuck itself to an stark white screen, palpitations thrumming against your tonsils.

Staring back at you, an email from Miguel O’Hara, that read simply, vaguely, Meet at my office at 4:00 PM.

Your distaste for the font had now only grown.

It was impossible to work at Alchemax and not to hear his name praised at least once. Interns, employees from every felid, article after article were relentless in their awe of the man’s work.

But you weren’t stupid.

You were an observer. You knew at least fifty people who would claw him apart, sell their soul to the underworld, sacrifice an eye and ear to sit where he does, most of whom are just as qualified for the position.

That doesn’t exclude you.

It was something you despised about the company, it’s big gestures of gratitude to those with a name- only to turn with a gloved hand to feed the hogs, the greasy and bloodied heart of the operation, messily scraps.

But much like a farm animal, you were trapped in by a pen of promise and chance.

You were a pig with her farmer, believing even under the cleaver that she would see the bigger field on the other side of the fence. That gamble for praise, a trophy and a house to put it in.

But Miguel wasn’t just a pig.

He was the show hog. Big blue bows, pretty golden plaques and a pillow to sleep on.

But at the end of the day, he was fed the same slop, just in a different trough.

Even so, he had it all. He had everything you didn’t.

Well, everything but email etiquette.

So you, frantic in the newness, clung to your bag, heavy with uncertainty. You brought everything you needed- or didn’t. Papers from 2 weeks ago, two years ago, updates and criticisms, research and theories. It all felt so, infuriatingly, unsteady.

You despised your leniency, your willingness to play along. But you blamed Miguel even more. It was embarrassing for you, to run down flights of stairs on a whim. Foolishly you ask yourself who does he think he is, despite knowing the answer.

Given, you had never met the man. He was similar to the newness of the space, a gap, a tear in the pages of Alchemax’s directory, the hazy profile in your inbox a mere pixel of his program. But you could already smell his dismissiveness, his arrogance.

You of course, could’ve made the executive decision, having a mind of your own, to ignore the email (if not out of spite, out of fear).

But maybe the whispers of his name intrigued you. Maybe, you had read the articles written about him offhandedly, jealous, but impressed. Maybe, shamefully, your curiosity was strong than your own resolve, willing to bend and mold into the shape of those 6 words and a time because you wanted to know the why.

His demand, written with so little grace or gratitude, had been met, when your labored breath fanned across the white doors.

You knocked, because you had manners.

When the white door opened, you came to the realization that nothing, not even a high resolution photo, could do his presence justice.

His head nearly touched the door, soft tufts of brown hair falling wildly, exhaustedly, over his ears. High cheekbones at a sharp angle, hollowing out his cheeks in a faint shadowed line. A mouth that looked gentle, despite its creased frown. The valley of his skin was rough and uneven, granular creases of age digging into the space under his nose, his mouth, his eyes.

They were a deep brown; almost red under the overhead lights, wandering above your head, before looking at you with an intensity that made your swallow hard.

The lab coat and dress shirt were flattering around his shoulders, the cotton molding to his massive gate like elastic. They stiffened at the sight of you, breath heavy and pink cheeked, before he released a sharp sigh when his gaze moved to the clock above your head.

4:02

“You’re late.” That wasn’t a lie.

“You we’re vague.” But that wasn’t either.

“I said my office” he said, stepping to the side, gesturing you to walk in (or, to his office to prove his point, either one made your teeth grit).

You followed his arm in. On his wrist, a patch of discoloration- the bruise yellow in contrast to warm brown.

Strange.

You’re eyes began to make sense of your surroundings. White walls, sparse pictures, a desk, two chairs, two computers, stray wires and scraps.

It was similar to a doctors office- suffocating, boring, unsettling.

“You didn’t say why,” you glanced at one of the only framed papers on the wall, a certificate declaring him as the head of research regarding anti-matter.

You hated to admit it, but his name looked good on paper.

“Miguel.”

You heard his tongue click before he sat down at his desk behind you. “Mr. O’Hara is fine.”

You laughed, turning to him with a sneer. “You’re clinically insane if you think I’m going to refer to you by Mr.”

He motioned for the seat in front of him. You stayed where you were. He narrowed his eyes, “it’s proper etiquette.”

You laughed again. For his arrogance, he was funny. “Don’t talk to me about etiquette. You still haven’t debriefed why I walked a marathon to get to your office.”

We’re you being a little harsh? Absolutely. But people like him, demanding, flippant, who liked to play boss; they used employees (who were just as if not more talented than they were) as their pawns. Employees like you.

You has no issue with the label bitter. It accurately describes your attitude towards most of the head-of’s at Alchemax.

Truthfully, the rise and fall of his shoulders and his rugged edges made you nervous.

But you weren’t a piece of meat in his teeth.

You refused to be the shaking fawn. But you knew you’d never be the wolf sitting across from you.

So you became the hunter willing to shoot both.

He sighed, a harsh sound that vibrated your ribs. “Please just…sit down.”

“I’m fine standing, thanks.”

He rubbed his temples, muttering incoherent Spanish under his breath. “Why must you be so difficult?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but then you felt the air spark.

The hairs on the back of your neck prickled, fingernails digging into your palms, threatening blood. It was paralyzing, the sudden scent of bleach being replaced by, if it counted, the smell of yellow.

“You’re no fun Miguel, that’s why. She is, though.”

In your paralysis, you found the strength (or bravery) to move you head to your left, eyes fuzzy but alert, in an attempt to place a face to the yellow.

When you did, she was grinning.

You stifled a scream, lodged in your throat, scraping at your tongue, heavy. She giggled, turning upside down.

“Hello there.”

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“This is my digital assistant, Lyla,” he sighed, “she likes to make an entrance.”

She blinked.

“Holy fuck.” You whispered.

You had finally (reluctantly) took a seat per earlier request, thighs pressed together and, by anxious habit, picking your stray thumb skin. It was loose off your nail, flimsy under your subconscious fidget.

Currently, it was one of the only forms of control you had over the situation. You couldn’t really process if it should feel comforting, or unsettling.

Miguel’s stale gaze made that decision for you.

You cleared your throat.

“Did you make…her?” Now you just felt stupid. The look they both gave you didn’t help.

“Short answer…yes. I made her. But she-“

“I eventually just started updating myself until I became the gorgeous, stunning lady before you!” She said, grinning at you brightly, expectantly. You nodded, cautious.

“I see. So,” you turned to Miguel, “i think if you’re experiencing issues with…” you paused, looking at the hologram. She glitched, and smiled, “Lyla.”

You nodded, again. “Right, Lyla. I won’t be of much help. I’m an engineer, not an A.I expert, so if you need assistance-“

“But you can help!” Lyla flashed in front of you and, startled, your ripped the skin tag clean off.

Ow.

She stood (floated) on the table in front of you. Suddenly, yellow and orange squares appeared around you, and once the glaze of obscurity was blinked away, you realized they were your files.

Your photo, the research in your bag, and the ones you left at your desk. Hell, as you looked closer you noticed school records, family photos and their records.

It all stared back at you, a clarity that made you feel nauseous.

“Listen, kid,” she paused, her glitching body coming to your nose, finally making your vision break from the screens, “I don’t like being in this form anymore than you do. My beautiful mind deserves more than,” she motioned to herself, “this.”

Your mouth felt dry. If you knew where this was going-

“Two years ago,” a small square came to the center, “you worked on a robot. But not just some science fair, miniature, boring robot.”

Her eyes shimmered, brighter than the rest of her body.

“A robot that looked human.”

She scrolled through the article, the one that on release had made you cringe, “given, it was unsuccessful, but it’s detailing, it’s functions, they felt-”

She turned to you, and suddenly all your life disappeared from around your chair, leaving you in the dim light with Lyla’s silhouette.

She glitched, and for a moment you saw the humanity in her yellow. Somewhere, deep within the pixels, she was-.

“Real. I want to be real. And you’re going to help me.”

You paused. “I am?”

She laughed. “Well I hope so!” She threw her arms out, gesturing at the, now gone, files, “you could redeem yourself!”

You’re nose wrinkled. “I don’t need to redeem anything. My work-“

“Was a failure,” you winced, “that article still stains your reputation here at Alchemax, and I’m positive it’s the reason a mind as bright as yours is not higher up here.”

Even if it hurt to hear aloud, the truth always hurts. She was right. That experiment years ago lived and breathed down your neck. Now, you play a desperate game of catch up with the mistake that got a mile ahead of you before you took one step.

You sighed. “Fine. I’ll bite. What do you need me to do.”

“Make me a body.”

You laughed, startled at how simply she put it. “Sorry Lyla- that’s just…well it’s near impossible.”

“You’ve done it before.”

“And I failed, as you so gently pointed out.” You hated how hopeless you sounded when you said it, how you belittled yourself. But once again, the truth hurts.

“But you won’t this time.”

She hovered over your finger tips, smiling gently up at you. “We can help each other. I want a body, and you want a good reputation. If you build this for me…”

“We both win.” You finished.

She grinned. “Exactly.”

You groaned, your head falling to look at your lap. Your thumb still throbbed at the place you picked at your skin, the pinkish flesh stinging in the stale air. You wondered why Lyla wanted this- the fragility and the vulnerability that came with being…alive.

It was fleeting and it was calloused, a worn down tapestry that kept the face of agony and regret painfully clear, even as the rest of its body faded with time and age.

But you supposed, that there was a beauty in it. An untouched phenomenon- life wasn’t permanent, but it was special.

The grass is greener on the other side.

“Alright.”

Lyla laughed, leaping up to your nose.

“So you’ll help?”

“Yes. But what’s the catch.”

Her head tilted.

Your gaze moved to Miguel.

Despite his silence throughout this whole discussion, his analytic stare did not move from your face. It dug into your skin, his silence louder than any roar he could conjure. It’s animosity overwhelmed your skull, making the words that left your clenched throat hoarse and weak.

“What’s the catch.”

His chest rumbled in what you (hoped) believed to be a sigh, shouldered slumping. “You can’t…tell anyone during the process. You’ll be paid, but it’s classified information. No one can know what your doing.”

You almost stood up and left.

There wasn’t any pride, any joy in your work unless there was credit. Of course, scientific and engineering discoveries weren’t fueled by the promise of history, but you were a fool if you believed it wasn’t part of the process.

Michelangelo didn’t paint the Sistine Chapel to have people simply walk under his ceiling.

He wanted them to break their own necks to admire it.

But, a part of you hesitated.

Maybe the slow game was smarter. To become Miguel O’Hara’s colleague, to mold and shape and sculpt under shadows. Until your own masterpiece, much too alive to dust in an old museum, was revealed to an open skies and wonderstruck audience.

You felt guilty, doing this for your own gain rather than the goodness of your heart. But they knew who they hired. They knew it was a consensual abuse of power from both sides.

They knew that status would always taste sweeter than empathy.

You stuck out your hand.

“Deal.”

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parт 2 ⇁︎

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dailyadventureprompts · 6 months

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Dungeon: The Nightmare Foundry

Having trekked across the wilderness following the smell of acrid smoke and the distant screams of phantoms, you've managed to find the origin of the undead rising at last, standing like a blasphemous monument against the night sky.

Pulled from the depths of the shadowfell this grotesque tangle of iron and chimneys was made to siphon up wayward souls and smelt them down into a horrid new purpose. When transposed onto the material plane it has an even stranger effect, pulling errant spirits through the darkened places of the world and forcing them to manifest in the places of the living. Invariably these spirits take refuge in whatever vessels are at hand leading to a rash of possessions, hauntings, and spontaneous animations across the region.

After dealing with the symptoms and seeking out their source, the party is faced with the challenge of infiltrating the factory, shutting off whatever machinery has bent the mortal coil, and dealing with the foundry's soul devouring demon watchdog: Grodmaw

Challenges & Complications:

In order for the nightmare foundry to cross the planes it must first take root in an established forge or workshop, the seed of its malignant growth planted by some accidental tragedy or sinister ritual. This endless, burning, sorrow is then stoked to kindle the first of the foundry's engines, imparting each manifestation with a pervasive emotional palette and recurring iconography, which like any haunting may prove the key to banishing the manifestation for good. Consider for your own game what ghost or ghosts might burn at the heart of the founry's engine, which your party will have to unravel as they travel into its depths.

Any direct approach to the foundry is likely to be fought with peril as its great smokestakcs pollute the surrounding land with with varying degrees of smog, necrotic rain, and occasional bits of cursed industrial shrapnel launched like cinders from a volcano. This makes a ground-level approach preferable to any of the rifts or sluiceways it carves in the earth, which are filled with toxic runoff and fumes that can corrode the soul.

Many entities haunt the Foundry's cramped gangways and sprawling processing floors, from faceless undead drudges consigned to endless toil to nightmarish constructs burning souls to power their steam engines. Grodmaw eclipses all of these in threat, an unthinking beast with the temperance of a prison warden, blindly patrolling the structure's lower levels unless summoned by a triggered alarm.

Should such an alarm be triggered the party would do best to hide, though they may learn too late that the demon hunts not by sight but by sensing the presence of souls the way a reptile senses scents with its tongue. This ironically makes the best place to hide in the foundry's most haunted vaults, such where the raw materials of unprocessed souls are held in cages of haunted iron or the blasphemous blast furnaces.

Art 1

Art 2

#halloween #undead #shadowfell #shadowfell dungeon #fiend #necromancer #haunting #mid level

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darkesttiimelines · 1 year

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Throughout history, women have left an undeniable impact on society with their hard work, creativity, and dedication to progress. Unfortunately, their accomplishments have often gone unnoticed, been undervalued, or even stolen. Despite these challenges, brave women of today continue to push boundaries, break barriers, and pave the way for a more fair and equal world. It's our duty to keep going, so that future generations of women can inherit a kinder, more just, and supportive world. By following in the footsteps of the incredible women who came before us, we can create a world where every woman can flourish and succeed, and where their contributions are recognized and celebrated.

Joan of Arc is a patron saint of France, honored as a defender of the French nation for her role in the siege of Orléans and her insistence on the coronation of Charles VII of France during the Hundred Years' War. Claiming to be acting under divine guidance, she became a military leader who transcended gender roles and gained recognition as a savior of France. She was put on trial by Bishop Pierre Cauchon on accusations of heresy, which included blaspheming by wearing men's clothes, acting upon visions that were demonic, and refusing to submit her words and deeds to the judgment of the church. She was declared guilty and burned at the stake on 30 May 1431, aged about nineteen.

Rani Lakshmibai was the Maharani consort of the princely state of Jhansi from 1843 to 1853. She was one of the leading figures in the Indian Rebellion of 1857 became a symbol of resistance to the British rule in India for Indian nationalists. When the Maharaja died in 1853, the British East India Company under Governor-General Lord Dalhousie refused to recognize the claim of his adpoted heir and annexed Jhansi under the Doctrine of Lapse. She rode into battle with her infant son strapped to her back, and died in June 1858 after being mortally wounded during the British counterattack at Gwalior.

Rosalind Franklin was a British chemist and X-ray crystallographer whose work was instrumental in the discovery of the structure of DNA. Her contributions were largely overlooked by her male colleagues, James Watson and Francis Crick, who used her data without her permission or acknowledgement. This theft of her intellectual property and erasure of her contributions is a prime example of the systemic sexism that has historically plagued the scientific community.

Hedy Lamarr was an Austrian-American actress and inventor who co-invented a frequency-hopping spread spectrum technology during World War II that was used to guide torpedoes. However, her contributions were largely ignored and dismissed by male engineers and the military at the time. It was only later in life that she received recognition for her scientific achievements.

Emma Weyant is an American competitive swimmer. She was the US national champion at the individual medley. She qualified for the 2020 Olympic Games in the 400m individual medley and won the silver medal in this event. Weyant finished second in the 500-yard freestyle at the 2022 NCAA Division I Women's Swimming and Diving Championships. She was beaten by William (Lia) Thomas, a fetishist, who when competing as a member of the Penn men's team, which was 2018-19, ranked 554th in the 200 freestyle, 65th in the 500 freestyle and 32nd in the 1650 freestyle. Weyant is the fastest swimmer in the 500-yard freestyle and had her position stolen by a man.

Maryna Viazovska is a Ukrainian mathematician who made a breakthrough in sphere packing, solving the centuries-old mathematical problem known as the densest packing of spheres in dimensions 8 and 24. She was awarded the Fields Medal in July 2022, making her the second woman (after Maryam Mirzakhani), the second person born in the Ukrainian SSR and the first with a degree from a Ukrainian university to ever receive it.

Hannie Schaft was a Dutch resistance fighter during World War II who played a crucial role in the resistance movement against Nazi occupation. Schaft was a former university student who dropped out because she refused to sign a pledge of loyalty to Germany. Nazis arrested and killed her in 1945, just three weeks before the war ended in Europe. According to lore, Schaft’s last words were, “I’m a better shot,” after initially only being wounded by her executioner.

Shakuntala Devi was an Indian mathematician and mental calculator who was known as the "Human Computer" for her exceptional ability to perform complex mathematical calculations in her head. Her extraordinary abilities earned her a place in the 1982 Guinness Book of Records. Her lesser known achievement is that in 1977 she wrote what is considered to be the first book in India on homosexuality titled “The World of Homosexuals.”

J. K. Rowling is a British author and philanthropist. She wrote Harry Potter, a seven-volume children's fantasy series published from 1997 to 2007. Known for her philanthropy, she was doxxed and harassed after coming out with support for women's and gay rights in 2020. Rowling secretly donated hundreds of thousands of pounds to save 100 female lawyers and their families facing murder in Afghanistan. In 2022, she funded a women's only rape shelter in Edinburgh.

#this post was inspired by me being absolutely sick of trans activists claiming that joan of arc/rani lakshmibai/insert literally any other #strong woman #is actually a trans man #they were no man at all #women have been brave and strong and amazing throughout history #and they still are #if only you'd get your head out of your ass to take a look #radical feminism #radblr #terf #trans #misogny #i am no man

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