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writersdrug · 4 months ago

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Bartender!Simon accidentally running into Waitress!Reader while she’s carrying a bunch of drinks for a table, causing them to spill all over herself 👉🏻👈🏻

Even more bonus points if she’s dressed in a white shirt, iykyk 👀

You're onto something here

Also, combining this with the ask about reader snooping through Simon's flat on the 3rd floor

Warnings: NSFW, slight humiliation, Simon goes from gentleman to having nasty nasty thoughts

It's a busy night - when mid-September rolls in, the nights get colder, and people gravitate towards the warm lighting of the bar through the street-front window. You still have a couple of hours left on your shift, which means Ghost still has a while, too.

He can't remember how many beers he's poured tonight. The noise of the shaker is drowned out by the buzz in his head. Mack wants another PBR. Table eleven still needs their shots and two Martinis. He's in the zone, pouring liquor and juices and bitters with practiced skill. He catches every word from the patrons at the bar - at least, every order. He mumbles out a quick "step back, please" when a gaggle of girls tries to stand near the end of the bar, waiting for their drinks. The bar is completely seated, people stuffing themselves between chairs to place their orders. Somon's got half a mind to tell them to clear out and get the fuck back, but he has to be civil. It won't be this hellish for too much longer - Price texted Simon that he'd be there in a bit to help.

Simon's more concerned about you: you're running around, delivering food and drink, bringing condiments and refilling waters - you're weaving between tables, maneuvering around bodies with a quick "sorry" or "scuse me"... you're at one table, and in the blink of an eye, you're at another. Simon sometimes doesn't realize you went into the kitchen until you're busting the door open with plates of food. You're covered in a light sheen of sweat, your usual chipper attitude dampened by the Friday night rush. Simon doesn't miss the way you scowl when you hear a table calling for you, when both of your hands are full.

You push yourself through the crowd of girls hovering by the end of the bar. You huff, grabbing a tray and some glasses. "Is it national 'Go to a Bar' day?" You mumble, squeezing behind Simon and heading to the free soda gun.

He barely makes an effort to reply. "Must be." He grunts, pulling several bottles from the shelves and setting them on the counter. He's snatching this and that - you fill your glasses with water, sliding behind him and grabbing the various drinks on the end of the back and stacking them on your tray.

A man elbowed his way between the patrons at the bar. "Can I get another DogFish IPA?" He says, sticking his glass across the bar.

Simon groans internally, but he keeps a stoic face. He quickly leans to his left and reaches for the glass - right as you were picking up your tray, now stacked with drinks. You stumble back, not expecting Simon to be so close to you, and bump into one of the girls that crowds by the bar's entrance.

Simon feels his stomach drop when he sees each of the glasses topple over. You're instantly drenched, alcohol splashing across your eyes, which you have squeezed shut from the onslaught of fluids. Your shirt is absolutely soaked; a few of the glasses fall to the ground and shatter upon impact, alerting the entire bar and making their heads turn to you - the man who handed Simon the glass is ogling at you shamelessly, and the girl you'd bumped into turns around with a simple oh…

You're frozen, eyes wide and your entire front soaking. Your white shirt is practically see-through, clinging to your skin and providing little coverage for your pink, lacy bra. You look mortified and on the verge of tears. Your panicked stare drifts to Simon - you think he's going to yell at you, or worse: give you the silent treatment for the rest of the night because he's too frustrated to speak.

Simon is trying to keep his own staring under wraps – your tits look absolutely tantalizing, hugged so tightly by your wet shirt �� but he snaps out of his daze when he sees your teary eyes. He drops everything - you're the most important person in the room right now. He quickly takes the tray from you and sets it aside.

"Here-" he shoves a fresh rag into your hands. "Cover up with that." He says, taking you by your shoulders and leaning down to your level. "Third floor, there's a dresser on th' left side, second drawer has shirts. Go dry off 'n get a new shirt, I'll clean this up."

You're too stunned to cry. You're angry, embarrassed, frustrated... there's so much happening around you, so many eyes staring at your fuck-up, but Simon's eyes keep you from losing control of your emotions. He doesn’t seem angry or irate – he’s worried about you. Shouldn't you help him clean up? It's your mess after all. "But-"

"Hush. Go on, luv - you're practically see-through." He quickly turns you around and gently shoves you into the crowd, and you hurry away to the stairwell without protest, holding the rag close to your chest.

Simon sighs. The pub slowly starts to return to normal, though people aren't trying as hard to get their drinks. A sense of shame seems to hang around everyone’s heads, though there was only one party at fault, here. He stares daggers at the girls who are still hovering by the bar. The one you ran into is gawking back in fear - she knows she messed up.

"Get the fuck back." Simon seethes, storming over to the POS. They all scramble away and press against the wall, afraid he might start swinging at them. "Finish ya drinks and leave. 'M closin' your tab. You're done."

They dissipate back into the crowd, right as Soap pops his head out of the kitchen. "Heard a crash, ye alright?"

"Fuckin' wankers can't understand simple orders." Simon grumbles, grabbing a broom from the corner and sweeping up the glass. "Slag couldn't get her ass out th' fuckin walkway and made bird spill a tray."

"Christ, she ok?"

"Upstairs. Changin'. Shirt nearly disappeared when it got wet."

"Need me tae check up on-"

"Got a fuckin' kitchen t' run, don't ya?"

Johnny scoffs and disappears back into the kitchen. Simon continues sweeping - he spots Price jogging up to the building throught he street front window, and he sighs in relief.

Upstairs, you do just as Simon instructed. You're topless, your bra still a bit damp after you tried to towel-dry it with he rag Simon gave you. You're sifting through his drawer, face scrunched as you shuffle through and inspect each shirt. You're a bit miffed at how many plain, black t shirts he has - has he ever stepped foot into an Old Navy? - but, eventually, you hit the jackpot.

You pull a shirt from the very bottom of the drawer. It's army green, a bit worn over the years, with a bit of a natural, masculine musk clinging to it. The right front chest has a skull, a sword, and wings, along with the table "Task Force 141". On the back, in large letters: "LT. RILEY".

A smile creeps its way onto your face. He never said which shirt... he said any shirt. And this is the one you want.

Your bra comes off quicky, the fabric still wet and uncomfortable. You toss it somewhere on the bed behind you – you’re sure Simon wouldn’t mind if you hung it over the back of his chair, right? Can’t be wearing a wet bra while you’re running around the restaurant; you’d have a bra-shaped water stain on your shirt. Or, worse – you’d get sick. And you know for a fact (though he’s never said it to you) that Simon would kick himself if you got sick on the job.

You quickly pull the shirt on - it swallows you, both in size and scent. It smells just like him - the bodywash you catch a whiff of when you pass him, the slight muskiness that surrounds you when he reaches above you to grab something - it's all there, just tenfold. You stand up and pull it down; it covers your thighs down to your shorts, almost making it look like you weren’t wearing any to an unassuming person.

You take a peek around the room: it’s quite cozy, even with a lack of real décor. The bed sits against the middle of the wall, with Carolina blue sheets and a grey comforter. The pillows look rather worn, but there’s at least three of them. There’s a television on the dresser that faces the bed, and a small bookshelf in the corner next to an antique-looking chair, except the shelf is filled with mostly keepsakes and memorabilia. Any books in the room are stacked on the edges of the two bay windows, embedded in the brick wall that faces the street. The only lighting comes from three lamps: one on the nightstand by his bed, a taller one next to the clothes rack near the bathroom, and a lantern-looking lamp that he’s somehow attached next to the door.

Curiosity gets the better of you – discovering anything about Simon that he hasn’t already told you is like striking oil. You pad over to the shelf, leaning down to inspect the various objects. A balaclava, rolled up and tucked behind a box. In said box is a medal, bronze and dull, with a fist tightly holding a blazing torch. A worn-down pair of sunglasses lay next to a ring. A green stone sits on a silver band, nestled between two ivy vines. There’s a picture of the four of them: Simon, Johnny, Price, and even Kyle – you had assumed they had met Kyle through the restaurant industry, but there they all were. Dressed in military uniforms, holding guns and posing with stern faces in front of a helicopter. Simon was wearing a rather terrifying skull mask, the rest of him completely covered by his uniform. You were only able to recognize Simon from his brown eyes, but the man in the photo looked entirely different from the bartender downstairs.

Fuck! You completely forgot that you were a waitress, sniffing around your manager’s office when you should be tending to your tables. You turned on your heel and left Simon’s room, running down the stairs two at a time.

Simon was still in the eye of the storm – barely a word had been passed between him and Price, other than a simple hello when he had first hopped behind the bar. Simon was keeping an eye on your tables, which were currently satisfied for the time being – but damn, what was taking you so long? Were you showcasing all of his shirts? The thought of that would’ve had him biting his cheek to prevent a boner, but he was too busy to be anything but concerned for you.

On cue, you come bounding down the stairs, throwing yourself back into the busy crowd as you tie your server apron around your waist. Simon pours a tap, barely able to make out your form flitting through the crowd, making sure your tables are well-off and happy. Price calls your name over the din of the crowd, and you squeeze yourself through the mass of people to collect the drinks sitting on the end of the bar.

“Sorry!” you exclaim, setting your drinks on a tray. “Had to mop myself up a bit with the rag. Did anyone order anything from my tables?” you ask, looking at Simon.

He’s… occupied. His eyes are trained on your shirt. His shirt. That army green that brought up so many old memories, ones he hadn’t thought of in a long time,..

His shirt. Covering your body – and, fucking Christ, you’re not wearing a bra. You’re completely naked under that shirt.

You’re confused. He’s staring at you with such a shocked, glassy pair of eyes that you wonder if you’ve shot him in the leg. You look down at what he’s staring at – oh, right. The shirt. A part of you heats up in embarrassment, and a part in… something else. Yes, I took your shirt. I’ve got your name on my back. If he’s thoroughly upset by this, he’s not expressing it. And if you’re mistaken in the thought that he looks aroused (you wouldn’t be surprised to find him drooling behind the mask – you know how delicious you look right now), you’ll give him the shirt back eventually and pretend this never happened.

“Thanks for earlier.” You spoke over the noisy chatter around you. “This, uh- I hope it’s ok, it was the first shirt I saw.”

Bullshit. He knows he buried that thing deep in his drawer. He did it on purpose. “’S fine.” He mumbles, still dazed.

You glance at him as you carefully balance the tray on your hand. The printer is dealing ticket after ticket of drinks as Price enters them – the man looks at Simon with a frustrated, tight-lipped glare, working double-time to push orders through.

“I’ll be back to grab the rest.” You say quickly. You scurry off, careful to avoid slamming into anyone this time. Simon nearly has a heart attack when he sees his last name across your back. You might as well have his bite mark branded onto the side of your neck.

This opens up a nasty can of worms for him. He’s a goner – he’s thinking about chasing you around the bar, after hours, while all you’re wearing is his shirt; snatching you up and slamming you down on the bar, shoving his face in between your thighs; what you sound like when he pumps you with his fingers; pounding you against the wall in the office, hips crashing into yours as he growls and grunts in your ear, “wanna wear my fuckin’ name, baby? hmm? wanna make sure everyone in this fuckin’ pub knows you’re mine? I’ll gladly fuckin’ help you, fuckin’ tease-“; god, he needs you, he needs to know what you feel like wrapped around his dick, what you sound like when he’s reaching those spots, he needs your nails in his back and your palm smacking him across his face and your teeth on his neck-

“Simon!”

John’s- no, Captain Price’s voice shuts off the movie playing in his mind. He looks at him, barely recognizing the growing frustration in his eyes – Simon’s fighting his own demons right now, and he isn’t even sure if his Captain’s wrath can save him.

“Stop thinkin’ with your Pork Sword and get your arse back on bar.” Price barks – a few of the regulars laugh at that, and Simon realizes he’d had an audience.

He clears his throat and grabs a ticket, quickly reading it and grabbing a glass. He forces himself to let go of the fantasy – he’ll have all night to think about it once he closes. That, or he’ll be hating himself for even thinking of you in that way, especially when the situation wasn’t in your favor. For now, though, he’s got a job to do. He continues to pour and stir and shake drinks left and right, occasionally stealing glances at you, prancing around with his title.

He knows one thing’s for certain – your bra is still somewhere in his room.

#bartender ghost #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost #ghost x reader #ghost x you #ghost cod #call of duty #cod x reader

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probablyasocialecologist · 9 months ago

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The New York Times instructed journalists covering Israel’s war on the Gaza Strip to restrict the use of the terms “genocide” and “ethnic cleansing” and to “avoid” using the phrase “occupied territory” when describing Palestinian land, according to a copy of an internal memo obtained by The Intercept. The memo also instructs reporters not to use the word Palestine “except in very rare cases” and to steer clear of the term “refugee camps” to describe areas of Gaza historically settled by displaced Palestinians expelled from other parts of Palestine during previous Israeli–Arab wars. The areas are recognized by the United Nations as refugee camps and house hundreds of thousands of registered refugees. The memo — written by Times standards editor Susan Wessling, international editor Philip Pan, and their deputies — “offers guidance about some terms and other issues we have grappled with since the start of the conflict in October.” While the document is presented as an outline for maintaining objective journalistic principles in reporting on the Gaza war, several Times staffers told The Intercept that some of its contents show evidence of the paper’s deference to Israeli narratives.

[...]

Despite the memo’s framing as an effort to not employ incendiary language to describe killings “on all sides,” in the Times reporting on the Gaza war, such language has been used repeatedly to describe attacks against Israelis by Palestinians and almost never in the case of Israel’s large-scale killing of Palestinians. In January, The Intercept published an analysis of New York Times, Washington Post, and Los Angeles Times coverage of the war from October 7 through November 24 — a period mostly before the new Times guidance was issued. The Intercept analysis showed that the major newspapers reserved terms like “slaughter,” “massacre,” and “horrific” almost exclusively for Israeli civilians killed by Palestinians, rather than for Palestinian civilians killed in Israeli attacks. The analysis found that, as of November 24, the New York Times had described Israeli deaths as a “massacre” on 53 occasions and those of Palestinians just once. The ratio for the use of “slaughter” was 22 to 1, even as the documented number of Palestinians killed climbed to around 15,000.

#new york times #israel #palestine #journalism #propaganda

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fatliberation · 8 months ago

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hi, i'm a fat person who is just starting to learn to love and appreciate my body and i'm very new to the fat community and all that.

i was wondering if you could maybe explain the term ob*se and how it is a slur. i've never heard anything about it being a slur before(like i said, i'm very new here) and was wondering if you could tell me the origin and history of the word or mayy provide links to resources about it? i want to know more about fat history and how to support my community but i'm unsure of how to start

Welcome!

Obesity is recognized as a slur by fat communities because it's a stigmatizing term that medicalizes fat bodies, typically in the absence of disease. Aside from the word literally translating to "having eaten oneself fat" in latin, obesity (as a medical diagnosis) straight up doesn't actually exist. The only measure that we have to diagnose people with obesity is the BMI, which has been widely proven to be an ineffective measure of health.

The BMI was created in the 1800s by a statistician named Adolphe Quetelet, who did NOT sudy medicine, to gather statistics of the average height and weight of ONLY white, european, upper-middle class men to assist the government in allocating resources. It was never intended as a measure of individual body fat, build, or health.

Quetelet is also credited with founding the field of anthropometry, including the racist pseudoscience of phrenology. Quetelet’s l’homme moyen would be used as a measurement of fitness to parent, and as a scientific justification for eugenics.

Studies have observed that about 30% of so-called "normal weight" people are "unhealthy" whereas about 50% of so-called "overweight" people are “healthy”. Thus, using the BMI as an indicator of health results in the misclassification of some 75 million people in the United States alone. "Healthy" lifestyle habits are associated with a significant decrease in mortality regardless of baseline body mass index.

While epidemiologists use BMI to calculate national "obesity" rates, the distinctions can be arbitrary. In 1998, the National Institutes of Health lowered the overweight threshold from 27.8 to 25—branding roughly 29 million Americans as "overweight" overnight—to match international guidelines. Articles about the "obesity epidemic" often use this pseudo-statistic to create a false fear mongering rate at which the United States is becoming fatter. Critics have also noted that those guidelines were drafted in part by the International Obesity Task Force, whose two principal funders were companies making weight loss drugs. Interesting!!!

So... how can you diagnose a person with a disease (and sell them medications) solely based upon an outdated measure that was never meant to indicate health in the first place? Especially when "obesity” has no proven causative role in the onset of any chronic condition?

There is a reason as to why fatness was declared a disease by the NIH in 1998, and some of it had to do with acknowledging fatness as something that is NOT just about a lack of willpower - but that's a very complicated post for another time. You can learn more about it in the two part series of Maintenance Phase titled The Body Mass Index and The Obesity Epidemic.

Aside from being overtly incorrect as a medical tool, the BMI is used to deny certain medical treatments and gender-affirming care, as well insurance coverage. Employers still often offer bonuses to workers who lower their BMI. Although science recognizes the BMI as deeply flawed, it's going to be tough to get rid of. It has been a long standing and effective tool for the oppression of fat people and the profit of the weight loss industry.

More sources and extra reading material:

How the Use of BMI Fetishizes White Embodiment and Racializes Fat Phobia by Sabrina Strings

The Bizarre and Racist History of the BMI by Aubrey Gordon

The Racist and Problematic History of the Body Mass Index by Adele Jackson-Gibson

What's Wrong With The War on Obesity? by Lily O'Hara, et al.

Fearing The Black Body: The Racial Origins of Fat Phobia by Sabrina Strings

#inbox #resources #the bmi is bullshit #fat liberation #fat acceptance #fat activism #bmi #medical fatphobia

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evermoredeluxe · 1 month ago

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Taylor Swift’s Eras Tour Grand Total: A Record $2 Billion

By Ben Sisario

For the last 21 months, Taylor Swift’s Eras Tour has been the biggest thing in music — a phenomenon that has engulfed pop culture, dominated news coverage and boosted local economies around the world.

Now we know exactly how big.

Through its 149th and final show, which took place in Vancouver, British Columbia, on Sunday, Swift’s tour sold a total of $2,077,618,725 in tickets. That’s two billion and change — double the gross ticket sales of any other concert tour in history and an extraordinary new benchmark for a white-hot international concert business.

Those figures were confirmed to The New York Times for the first time by Taylor Swift Touring, the singer’s production company. While the financial details of the Eras Tour have been a subject of constant industry speculation since tickets were first offered more than two years ago — through a presale so in-demand it crashed Ticketmaster’s system — Swift has never authorized disclosure of the tour’s numbers until now.

The official results are not far from the estimates that trade journalists and industry analysts have been crunching for months. But they solidify the enormous scale of Swift’s accomplishment. Just a few months ago, Billboard magazine reported that Coldplay had set an industry record with $1 billion in ticket sales for its 156-date Music of the Spheres World Tour — a figure that is just half of Swift’s total for a similar stretch of shows in stadiums and arenas.

Every date on the Eras Tour was sold out, and spare tickets were scalped at eye-popping prices — or traded within the protective Swiftie fan community, often at face value.

According to Swift’s touring company, a total of 10,168,008 people attended the concerts, which means that, on average, each seat went for about $204. That is well above the industry average of $131 for the top 100 tours around the world in 2023, according to Pollstar, a trade publication.

The biggest single night’s attendance was in Melbourne, Australia, on Feb. 16, 2024, with 96,006. And Swift’s eight nights at Wembley Stadium in London, which she played more than any other venue, drew 753,112 people — about as many as live in Seattle.

As gigantic as they are, the figures revealed by Swift’s company are only part of the overall business that has surrounded the tour. They exclude her extraordinary merchandise sales, for example, a product line so in demand that Swift opened stadium sales booths a day early in some markets to sell T-shirts, hoodies and Christmas ornaments to fans, ticketed or not.

And they do not count the secondary market of online ticket resellers. According to StubHub, the Eras Tour was the biggest-selling tour in the platform’s two-decade history, and last year it outsold Beyoncé’s shows by a factor of five. Another ticketing company, Victory Live, said the average price for resold tickets to the Eras Tour’s three Vancouver dates was $2,952. (Swift earned nothing from resold tickets.)

Beyond its numbers, the Eras Tour has been a mega-event that elevated the already-super-famous Swift to a new level, making her an epochal symbol of cultural saturation on the level of the Beatles in the 1960s or Michael Jackson in his ’80s prime. Swift’s every onstage utterance, outfit swap or offstage sighting was thoroughly documented, on social media and in the mainstream press, with news outlets big and small rushing to capture Swifties’ clicks. Online, fans tracked every tweak to the three-hour-plus set lists.

As the story of Swift’s tour took shape, it seemed to contain its own eras within it. First, in November 2022, came the ticket fiasco, when Ticketmaster was overwhelmed by what it said were 3.5 billion online requests for tickets, many from scalpers’ bots. The furor over those problems led to a Senate Judiciary hearing in January 2023, at which lawmakers from both parties openly called Ticketmaster’s corporate parent, Live Nation, a monopoly. (This year, the Justice Department filed an antitrust suit against Live Nation, calling for a breakup of the company.)

Then came the tour and the folkways that developed around it, like fans trading hand-assembled friendship bracelets. After the tour’s stop in Kansas City, Mo., a public flirtation between Swift and Travis Kelce, the star tight end of the Kansas City Chiefs, developed into a full-on romance, with the pop star and the football hunk sharing a field-level smooch after the Chiefs defeated the San Francisco 49ers at Super Bowl LVIII in February. The photographers definitely did not miss it.

In October 2023, she released “Taylor Swift: The Eras Tour,” a nearly three-hour concert film, released through a direct distribution deal with AMC Entertainment, the world’s largest theater operator. It sold about $93 million in tickets during its opening weekend, and ended up with $261 million in worldwide grosses, according to Box Office Mojo. The next step was a streaming deal with Disney+. A 256-page hardcover tour book, released last month through Target stores, sold 814,000 print copies in its first two days on sale.

As the tour moved to Europe in 2024, it narrowly avoided what could have been a major catastrophe when a terrorist bomb plot was uncovered before three planned shows in Vienna. Those events were canceled and never rescheduled.

Although Swift has largely avoided the news media during the tour, over time she has pulled back the curtain a bit to reveal some of how it came together. To prepare herself for the physical demands of the show, she trained for six months, with a cardio regimen that included singing the entire set list while running on a treadmill, she told Time magazine.

“I knew this tour was harder than anything I’d ever done before by a long shot,” the magazine quoted her as saying. “I finally, for the very first time, physically prepared correctly.”

The music video for “I Can Do It With a Broken Heart,” from her latest album, “The Tortured Poets Department” — her third release over the course of the tour, including two rerecorded versions of older albums — has behind-the-scenes clips confirming some of the stagecraft mechanics that fans have carefully cataloged on social media, like how she “dives” each night through a “hole” in the stage (onto a soft cushion held by crew members) and how she is ferried backstage in a dummy janitor’s cart.

The tour concludes just as Swift celebrates yet another win: “Tortured Poets” has returned to No. 1 on the Billboard 200 chart for a 16th week, with help from vinyl and CD sales of the 35-track “Anthology” edition of the album, which Swift released on Black Friday, also through Target. “Tortured Poets” is by far the biggest-selling album of the year so far.

Swift is up for six awards at the Grammys in February, including album of the year for “Tortured Poets” and both record and song of the year for one of its singles, “Fortnight.”

At a recent tour stop in Toronto, as the tour neared its end, Swift teared up as she delivered valedictory remarks to fans.

“My band, my crew, all my fellow performers,” she said, “we have put so much of our lives into this, and you put so much of your lives into being with us tonight and to giving us that moment that we will never forget.”

#eras tour #taylor swift

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afeelgoodblog · 10 months ago

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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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mistlekissy · 1 year ago

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as a lot of attention and media coverage is focusing on the critical situation in palestine atm, i wanna make this post to bring some awareness to the devastating earthquakes that have hit western afghanistan (herat) recently. this past weekend (october 7, 2023) over 2000 ppl died due to the 6.3-magnitude and another earthquake with the same magnitude hit the area again today (october 11, 2023).

the ppl are in dire need of financial aid since a lot of those had been cut in recent years due to the taliban taking over again. the wfp regional director for asia and the pacific said this drastic drop in funding (wfp had 80% less money for afghanistan than last year!!!) is going to lead to a famine and the situation is looking hopeless; especially children and women are suffering these consequences.

here are some organizations that are working on the ground rn and are reliable! please share and consider donating, even if it's just the money u would've spent on takeout or an iced coffee today.

islamic relief and doctors without borders are 2 very well established nonprofits that always help out financially and medically in emergency situations in developing countries

visions for children - german nonprofit founded by two afghan sisters which sets up educational programs and emergency funds!

asiyah international - another german nonprofit that's running national and international aid projects!

srowzar children - australian nonprofit that's on the ground in afghanistan and always posting updates on how ur donations are making a difference!

#afghanistan #palestine #signal boost

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murderousink23 · 1 year ago

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12/12/2023 is National Ambrosia Day 🇺🇲, National Ding-a-Ling (seriously?) Day 🔔🇺🇲, Poinsettia (cuetlaxochitl) Day 🇺🇲, International Day of Neutrality 🇺🇳, International Universal Health Coverage Day 🇺🇳

#national ambrosia day #national ding-a-ling day #poinsettia day #international day of neutrality #international universal health care coverage day

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morbidology · 5 months ago

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Born on September 1, 1966, in Nizhny Novgorod, Russia, Anatoly Moskvin was a respected historian and linguist, fluent in 13 languages and author of several scholarly works. However, beneath his scholarly exterior lay a dark obsession that would horrify a nation and earn him the moniker "the Dollmaker."

Moskvin's fascination with death and cemeteries began at a young age. He recounted a childhood experience where he was forced to kiss the face of a deceased girl during a funeral. This incident, coupled with his lifelong interest in the occult and local burial rituals, laid the groundwork for his later activities. For years, he roamed cemeteries, documenting the graves and gathering extensive knowledge about the deceased.

This seemingly harmless hobby took a grim turn in 2011, when police searched his apartment. In what was initially a routine investigation into the desecration of local graves, police uncovered a scene straight out of a horror film. Moskvin had exhumed the bodies of at least 26 girls, aged between 3 and 15, and brought them home.

Moskvin meticulously mummified the bodies using a combination of salt and baking soda, and then dressed them up to resemble life-sized dolls. He dressed them in elaborate outfits, including stockings and gloves, and applied makeup to their faces. In some instances, he inserted music boxes into their rib cages and fashioned buttons over their eyes to give them a doll-like appearance. The bodies were positioned throughout his home, seated on shelves and sofas, creating a grotesque parody of domestic life.

When questioned by police, Moskvin revealed that his actions were driven by a twisted desire to create a "family" of his own. He claimed that he felt a spiritual connection to the dead girls and believed that he could bring them back to life through his efforts. His parents, who lived with him, were unaware of the true nature of his "doll" collection, believing them to be large, handmade dolls and nothing more.

Moskvin's arrest and the subsequent media coverage sent shockwaves through Russia and the international community. His trial was a complex affair, complicated by assessments of his mental health. In 2012, he was declared unfit to stand trial due to paranoid schizophrenia and was committed to a psychiatric hospital. As of 2024 , he remains under psychiatric care, with periodic evaluations to determine if he is fit to be released.

#Anatoly Moskvin #true crime #morbid #creepy #disturbing

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gayf1hoe · 5 months ago

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Personality Breakthrough

Scenario - Y/N is cold towards the media and often lying mistaken for rude. But there is one person who makes him light up and become more open towards the media, and that's Oscar Piastri.

Y/N is undeniably one of the greatest F1 drivers of his generation, he has skills and a driving style that are unparalleled. He has been in Formula 1 just for 2 years, last year he was with Kick Suaber where his talent was showcased, he managed to bring a team that was at the bottom of the constructors into the mid field, this ultimately led him to be promoted up to Ferrari.

Before joining F1 he was the protégé of Red Bull, in F2 he raced for Carlin which had strong links to Red Bull so when he announced that he would be joining Sauber it was certainly a surprise to many.

Since his arrival on track apart from his astonishing abilities one other thing has stuck out about him and that's his pure lament, disinterest and hate for anything media related. It has been an all too common thing for him since he got into motorsports, even as a kid in karting when there was a national or international competition he still didn't engage with the media, as he's grown older his hate for the media has also grown. He's naturally a closed off person, despite all the media opportunities he's never taken any of them.

Netflix revealed they had even offered him money to appear on Drive to Survive but he didn't even answer their request. From his rookie year to now he has been through 4 media managers who have all failed to get him to appear in interviews or any media thing. Despite having a large social media following he is no way proactive, he will only post about major events such as contract changes but other than that nothing.

He is regularly accused of being rude but if he is asked a question he will provide a response but it's normally incredibly vague and doesn't actually answer the question. Many have compared him to Kimi Räikkönen but much worse.

At the conclusion of the final race of the season in Abu Dhabi there was the regular press conference for the guys who finished on the podium. Max who had finished P1 and Y/N who had finished P2 were already there waiting for it to start. The only one missing was Oscar who was still caught up in interviews so the conference commenced and it was decided Oscar can join half way through.

As the questions kept coming and coming, Y/N was giving less and less in response and Max was having to do double the work to make up for it.

Y/N looked like he was about to fall asleep until the Papaya driver entered the room with his golden retriever smile. Y/N automatically sat up in his seat and let up a small smile which is the most anyone has ever managed to get out of him. Max had noticed the shift in Y/N's demeanour and found himself caught up in the young driver's confusing change of emotions.

Between questions Oscar would turn to Y/N and make small talk with him and he would get the occasional light laugh from him.

At the end of the interview the three left the room and went their separate ways and that would normally be the end of it, but when Y/N returned to his room and started scrolling through social media to see what media coverage there was over Max winning the championship and him coming third in the standings all he could see was comments under the press conference that said:

“The way Y/N smiled when Oscar entered the room”

“Max definitely knows what's going on between Y/N and Oscar”

“There's something about the way Y/N acts around Oscar that tells me they aren't just friends”

These comments and theories are the exact reason Y/N actively avoids social media.

Going into the new season there were obviously developments in the relationship between Y/N and Oscar. The two never initially said anything about their relationship status but fans had started making their own conclusions.

Their evidence was the fact that Y/N over the winter break had become more open to the media, he still was nowhere near happy to do media engagements but he looked less forced. He also would only do interviews if Oscar was by his side.

One notable occurrence that almost confirmed it for fans was when during Martin Brundle’s regular grid walk at Monaco he attempted to get a quick interview with Y/N but he pretended not to hear Martin, but he later returned with Oscar next to him and was open for an interview.

The announcers even picked up Y/N's shift in demeanour between when he's with Oscar and when he's not, constantly hinting at it during races when the two would face each other. Ferrari had apparently been begging Oscar to be around Y/N so they were able to get him to do media events and advertising.

It wasn't until the summer break that Oscar would confirm him and Y/N are more than just friends on an Australian daytime TV show. He openly admitted that it's been hard to get Y/N to be himself around the media and act nice to them. He said that Y/N is completely different away from the cameras and is a really fun person to be around.

Upon the return to the season Y/N would make a greater effort to work with the media, he still wasn't perfect at it but that didn't matter because Oscar believed he was perfect.

#Oscar Piastri #F1 #McLaren #Male Reader #Oscar Piastri x Male Reader #Racing #Ferrari

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deliciousangelfestival · 5 months ago

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I Hate It When You're Drunk - 7

Character: bodyguard!Bucky Barnes x Princess!Reader

Summary: A forbidden love between a princess and her bodyguard. They love each other deeply, but their relationship is threatened by the tyrant king's oppressive rule and their differing social statuses.

I Hate It When You're Drunk Series Masterlist

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In the other room, laughter and excitement filled the air as you and your bridesmaids gathered for the wedding preparations. Your friends, all hopeless romantics, were thrilled for you, knowing how much this day meant.

They huddled around, admiring your wedding dress—an elegant, simple gown adorned with delicate flower embroidery. The white fabric shimmered softly in the light, making you look like a vision of grace.

You wore a crown that once belonged to your mother, a cherished heirloom that your father had handed to you himself. After receiving his permission for this momentous occasion, the bitterness you once held toward him had softened, if only slightly.

As you stood before the mirror, gazing at your reflection, the crown glinted softly in the light, a symbol of the legacy you carried. You couldn’t help but wish that your mother were here with you, guiding you through this pivotal day.

With the international media coverage, a small part of you hoped that wherever she was, she would see the news and know that her daughter was getting married.

“You look stunning,” one of your bridesmaids said, her voice filled with genuine admiration.

“Bucky’s going to lose his breath when he sees you,” another chimed in, a playful grin on her face.

“You two are perfect for each other,” someone added, placing a hand on your shoulder. “We’ve all seen the way he looks at you. There’s no doubt in my mind this is exactly how it’s supposed to be.”

Their words were heartfelt, and as they each gave their blessings, you couldn’t help but feel a surge of warmth. Their support made the day even more special, reminding you that you weren’t just marrying Bucky—you were also surrounded by people who truly cared for you and wanted to see you happy.

The wedding became a national holiday, a day of grand celebration and international coverage. Streets were lined with eager spectators as the festivities unfolded in a magnificent parade. Soldiers in gleaming uniforms rode atop powerful horses, their disciplined ranks adding a military grandeur to the occasion.

King Leonard seized the opportunity to showcase the might of Veridian, reminding the world of the nation's strength under his iron rule. As Bucky watched the display, he realized with a sinking feeling that he had truly entered the lion's den.

“We have to go to the church,” said Archer, the Defense Minister of Veridian. With no family of his own, Bucky found himself accompanied by Archer, his father’s old friend and now the closest thing he had to family. The ministry of defense, a symbol of the power Bucky was stepping into, stood by his side.

They climbed into a classic Rolls-Royce, the car gliding through the streets toward the church. The clear windows made Bucky an object of attention, with every pair of eyes in the crowd focused on him. People cheered and waved the flag of the country, their excitement palpable as they awaited the groom’s arrival.

“Wave, Bucky,” Archer prompted.

Bucky waved, but it felt hollow. He was like a goldfish in a glass bowl, exposed and on display for all to see.

“Your father would be proud of you,” Archer remarked.

Bucky could only wish his father were there to see this day.

“Except your mom. She’d be furious that you’re marrying the king’s daughter,” Archer added with a wry smile.

“If she’s still alive, I hope this is enough to bring her back, wherever she is,” Bucky replied, his voice tinged with a longing he couldn’t suppress.

“She’s still alive,” Archer said, his tone suddenly serious.

Bucky’s eyes snapped to Archer’s, disbelief and hope warring within him. “Don’t joke with me,” he said, his voice tight with emotion.

“I know where she is,” Archer responded calmly.

Relief washed over Bucky like a tidal wave, the best news he had heard in years. “Where is she?” he demanded, but then hesitated, glancing around. “Wait, is it safe to talk about this here?”

“There are no bugs in the car, and the driver is one of my people,” Archer reassured him.

Thank God, Bucky thought, grateful that Archer had thought everything through. “So where is she?”

“In an enemy state,” Archer said, pausing before revealing the name. “Thalassa.”

Bucky’s world tilted on its axis. Thalassa—the very mention of the place sent a chill down his spine. King Leonard’s decree was clear: anyone who visited Thalassa would be branded a traitor. His mother had chosen to live in a country that refused to acknowledge Leonard as the rightful ruler.

“I hope you can make a change around here,” Archer said, his words heavy with meaning.

Bucky could only hope, his mind spinning with the revelation and the burden it now placed on his shoulders.

👑👑👑👑👑

Bucky arrived at the church first, stepping into the grand hall that had been meticulously decorated for the royal wedding. The aisles were lined with white roses, and soft golden drapes hung from the high arches, casting a warm, regal glow throughout the space. The scent of fresh flowers mixed with the incense, creating an atmosphere that was both sacred and celebratory.

Diplomatic guests from across the world filled the pews, their attire as varied and ornate as their countries of origin. Bucky, however, recognized none of them. They were not his guests but those of King Leonard, each one a powerful figure in their own right, all there to witness the union under the king's command.

Bucky's attention was momentarily diverted to the seats behind King seat. Cassian and his uncle, Duke Griffin, were seated there, their presence adding another layer of complexity to the scene.

Cassian, who had earlier expressed his disillusionment with the arranged marriage, now sat with a mask of indifference. His eyes occasionally flicked toward Bucky, a mixture of pity and curiosity in his gaze. Beside him, Duke Griffin, an imposing figure with a sharp gaze, remained impassive.

As Bucky stood at the front, feeling the weight of their gazes on him, the doors opened to reveal King Leonard. The entire congregation stood and bowed deeply as the king entered, a silent acknowledgment of his absolute authority. Leonard’s presence commanded the room, his every step echoing through the grand hall.

Before taking his seat, Leonard approached Bucky, his expression unreadable. He placed a firm hand on Bucky’s shoulder, a gesture that felt more like a warning than reassurance.

“Your duty is just to make my daughter happy,” Leonard said, his voice low and cold. “I don’t expect anything else from you.”

Bucky didn’t trust himself to speak. He simply nodded, his throat tight, as Leonard withdrew and moved to his place of honor.

A hush fell over the crowd as the master of ceremonies stepped forward. “Ladies and gentlemen,” the voice echoed through the church, “the bride, Her Royal Highness, the Princess, will now arrive.”

As the church doors opened, the anticipation in the air became palpable. The choir's voices rose in harmony with the music, and the orchestra began playing Canon in D, the notes echoing through the grand hall.

Bucky stood at the altar, his back to the entrance. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat a drum of nervous energy that reverberated through his entire being. He knew the moment had come, but he couldn’t bring himself to turn around just yet. His breath caught in his throat as he tried to steady himself, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

As you entered the church, the soft rustle of your gown mixed with the melodious strains of Canon in D, creating a symphony that enveloped you. Each step felt like you were walking through a dream, your heart pounding with a mix of excitement and nerves.

The grandeur of the church overwhelmed you—the lavish decorations, the rows of esteemed diplomatic guests, and the sea of faces turned in anticipation. But amidst the opulence, your focus was solely on Bucky. He was the reason for every flutter in your chest, every tremor in your hands.

Your bouquet of fresh flowers felt like a lifeline, grounding you amidst the storm of emotions. The crown your father had gifted you, a delicate piece of history, seemed to weigh heavier now. It was a reminder of your lineage and the monumental step you were about to take.

The aisle stretched before you, a path leading to your future. With every step, you could feel the weight of the moment pressing down on you. Despite the nerves and the overwhelming feeling that this was all too surreal, a smile found its way to your lips. You couldn’t believe it—after everything you’d been through, you were finally here, marrying the man you loved.

King Leonard, standing beside you, took a firm but reassuring grip on your arm. His presence was both a comfort and a reminder of the responsibility and expectation that came with this union. As he guided you down the aisle, the weight of the moment was palpable. His role was to lead you to Bucky, ensuring that you were united in front of everyone who mattered.

As you reached the midpoint of the aisle, you looked up at him with a grateful smile. "Thank you, Father."

Leonard's gaze softened slightly, though his voice remained steady. "If he ever makes you cry or hurts you, just tell me."

You met his eyes with unwavering confidence. "That will never happen."

As you walked closer, Bucky finally found the courage to turn around. The sight of you took his breath away. You looked like a vision, an ethereal presence that made his heart skip a beat. His chest tightened with a mix of love and fear, knowing that this was it—the moment that would change both your lives forever.

The ceremony began, and the priest’s voice filled the air with solemnity and grace. He spoke of love, commitment, and the vows you were about to take. The words washed over you both, their weight sinking deep into your hearts. Bucky glanced at you, his heart pounding, as the priest asked him the most important question of his life.

"Do you, James Buchanan Barnes, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for better or worse, till death do you part?"

Bucky’s voice was steady, though he felt anything but. "I do."

The priest then turned to you, and you felt a wave of emotions—love, fear, excitement—crash over you.

"And do you, Princess, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for better or worse, till death do you part?"

With a voice filled with certainty and love, you answered, "I do."

The priest smiled warmly and announced, "By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife."

Bucky reached up to lift your veil, his hands trembling slightly. As he finally revealed your face, your smile met his, a beacon of pure joy that made his heart race.

Without waiting for the priest to instruct you, Bucky leaned in and kissed you. The spontaneous, heartfelt gesture drew laughter and applause from the guests, filling the church with a warmth that melted away any lingering tension.

Hand in hand, you and Bucky turned to face the guests, but first, you both bowed deeply to the king.

King Leonard, with a measured smile, stepped forward. "Welcome to the family, James."

Bucky met the king's gaze, doing his best to suppress the unease bubbling beneath the surface. "It's an honor, Your Majesty."

With the formalities complete, you both began the procession down the aisle, greeting guests as you went. Outside the church, the crowds had gathered, their cheers erupting as you stepped out. The sight of you in your beautiful white dress and Bucky in his military uniform was like something out of a fairy tale. The people waved flags and called out well-wishes, celebrating what seemed to be the happiest day of your life.

But Bucky couldn’t shake the gnawing fear that clung to him. The memory of the blood-red message burned in his mind, making him feel vulnerable in the open space. As much as he tried to keep up appearances, the urge to get inside, away from prying eyes, was overwhelming.

Thankfully, the ornate carriage that awaited you both was fitted with bulletproof glass, offering a sense of security that Bucky desperately needed. Once inside, you beamed with happiness, the joy of the day radiating from you.

"Can you believe it, Bucky? We’re finally married!" you said, your voice bubbling with excitement as you squeezed his hand.

Bucky forced a smile, trying to match your enthusiasm. "Yeah… finally."

You leaned closer to him, your eyes sparkling. "I knew this day would be perfect, but I never imagined it would feel this incredible."

Bucky nodded, his mind racing. "It’s everything you deserved."

You noticed a hint of something in his voice—a flicker of doubt, perhaps—but dismissed it, too wrapped up in the joy of the moment to let it linger.

As the carriage began its journey back to the castle, you continued talking about the day, the guests, and the future that lay ahead. Bucky listened, his hand still holding yours, but his thoughts were elsewhere, his eyes flicking nervously toward the bulletproof windows. The carriage offered safety, but the dread in his heart remained.

Unaware of the storm brewing inside him, you smiled, resting your head on his shoulder, content in the belief that this was the start of your happily ever after.

👑👑👑👑👑👑

Bucky had just finished changing into a suit when he stepped out of the room, adjusting his tie. The weight of the day was pressing down on him, but he was determined to keep it together for your sake. As he walked into the hallway, he was suddenly shoved back, his shoulder slamming into the wall. The shock of the impact made him blink, and when his eyes focused, he felt as if he were seeing a ghost.

"Lucas?" Bucky's voice wavered in disbelief.

The man before him was a wreck—a shadow of the comrade he once knew. Lucas’s face was gaunt, his eyes bloodshot and wild, his clothes disheveled like he had crawled out from the depths of hell. His hands trembled, and in one of them, a gun was pointed directly at Bucky's chest.

"You… you fucking traitor!" Lucas spat the words with venom, his voice cracking under the weight of betrayal. "We trusted you! Our comrades… our friends… and you sold us out to that monster!"

Bucky raised his hands slowly, trying to calm his friend. "Lucas, listen to me—"

"Shut up!" Lucas’s voice was a shriek, desperate and unhinged. He shook his head, his grip on the gun tightening. "You don’t get to talk! Do you know what they did to us? What they did to me?"

"I know, and I’m going to make things right," Bucky said, his voice low, trying to keep it steady even as his heart raced. "But killing me won’t change what happened."

"You don’t get it, do you? It’s too late! It’s all too fucking late!" Lucas’s eyes were filled with rage and sorrow, a man broken by unimaginable horrors. He took a step closer, the barrel of the gun trembling but still aimed squarely at Bucky.

Bucky could see Lucas was beyond reason, his mind fractured by the torment he had endured. Every second felt like an eternity as the gun wavered, Lucas’s finger twitching on the trigger. The fear was real, but Bucky couldn’t let it control him.

"Lucas, please," Bucky’s voice was almost a whisper. "I swear, I didn’t betray you. We can fix this together—"

A gunshot rang out, the sound echoing through the hall like a death knell. Bucky squeezed his eyes shut, expecting the searing pain of a bullet tearing into him. But nothing came. No pain, no darkness. He opened his eyes, and the sight before him made his breath catch in his throat.

Lucas stood there, his eyes wide with shock, blood seeping through his shirt from a wound in his chest. He staggered, his grip on the gun loosening. Bucky instinctively reached out, catching Lucas before he could collapse to the floor.

"It… it wasn’t you. I’m… Avenge us," Lucas choked out, blood bubbling up in his mouth as he spoke.

"Don’t speak, Lucas. I’ll get help," Bucky said, his voice breaking as he tried to hold back the tears. He could feel the life draining out of his friend, the warmth leaving his body.

"It’s… too late," Lucas whispered, his voice barely audible now.

Bucky looked up, desperation and anger swirling in his chest, and that’s when he saw him—Isaac. The man he thought was dead, standing there as if nothing had happened. Isaac was clean, composed, his hair neatly combed, and his suit pristine. He looked every bit the part of someone who had just stepped out of a palace, not a prison.

"You," Bucky growled, his voice filled with fury as he held Lucas’s lifeless body. "It was you."

Isaac’s lips curled into a cold smile. He bowed his head slightly, a mockery of respect. "From now on, I serve you, Your Highness."

"You fucking traitor!" Bucky’s voice was a roar of pain and anger. He wanted nothing more than to rip Isaac apart, to make him pay for everything he had done.

"Oh, what a good job youdid on your first day." A cold, authoritative voice cut through the tension.

Bucky looked up to see King Leonard, his presence commanding the room. The king walked in, seemingly oblivious to the blood-stained scene before him, as if Lucas's dying body was nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

Isaac straightened up and greeted the king with a formal nod. "It’s my duty, sir."

King Leonard smiled, his gaze shifting to Bucky, who was still cradling Lucas’s lifeless form. "Let me introduce you to the new head of the castle guard, Isaac."

Bucky’s anger simmered just below the surface, his hands clenched into fists. Isaac, the man who had betrayed them all, was now standing here with the king’s blessing. This was no longer just a political game—this was personal.

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