#uk knife ban

[fingertipsmp3]

Those like $90 ✨self defence bundle✨ scoops are so depressing and baffling to me. If I had $90 to spend on my self defence I’d buy a really good personal alarm and as many krav maga lessons as I could, not some bullshit from aliexpress and shein

[lizardsfromspace]

A underrated moral panic is the UK government's deep and enduring hatred of ninjitsu. From the days of video nastys banning nunchucks and shuriken from the media but not touching depictions of any type of weapon people actually have or use to Keir Starmer promising to ban ninja swords to solve knife crime, famously committed primarily with replica Japanese swords, forever. There are still presumably people with ASBOs for pretending to be Naruto in 2004, when Tony Blair executed a raid on the servers hosting Real Ultimate Power and declared once and for all that Britain will not stand for dishonorable stealth combat no matter how many shadow warriors are sent by Brussels

[as-is-above-so-below]

The Captain - Simon Riley x Sniper!Reader, Wife!Reader

Part 3: Let's Have a Baby

summary: Ghost’s sniper wife (reader) joins Task Force 141 on an op, against his wishes call sign: Freyja warning: MDNI, mentions of canon typical violence and death (ofc), implied child loss Note: The much-awaited part 3 of The Captain! Thank you so much for all of your support! And don't y'all, Part 4 is brewing ;) Enjoy and blessed be! << Previous | Next >>

“Mohawk’s gettin’ particularly long, Johnny boy. When’s the last time you took any off the top?” Freyja asked, tugging at the end of a long strand at the back of his head.

“Dinnae dae that!” Soap whipped his head around and gave her a look of playful irritation. “If it weren’t for that wee barra in your belly I’d knock ya one, lass.”

“You wish, tough guy.”

“Just you wait, soon as y’return to full duty, we���ll have a square go, ye fuckin’ weapon.”

“I’ll block off my calendar.”

She and Soap had grown rather close since they all returned to England following the mission. As promised, Ghost spoke with Price, who convinced Kate to transfer her to the 141 permanently. While she was on desk duty for now, being on the same team would be tremendously helpful in keeping their schedules in sync. The couple could carpool to and from the base together, and John would do his best to keep them from being deployed at the same time.

Plus, she got to spend all her day with her friends and husband, which was a phenomenal change of pace from their previous setup. It was far less lonely being surrounded by the bustle of the busy base and having other friends to talk to besides Price.

They had a standing ‘play date’, as Price called it, every Friday night, where they watched movies, played board games, and ordered takeout. Board games usually ended in a heated exchange between her and whichever unlucky soul had crossed her (usually during Catan), her normally fiery temper heightened with each month of pregnancy that passed. There had been several instances of Ghost scooping her up in his arms and hauling her away to cool off before (any other) objects were lobbed at someone’s head.

One time, Freyja was in rare form when Gaz refused to trade for a material she desperately needed, and whipped a pointed dinner knife in his direction.

“What is with you guys and throwing bloody knives at me?!” he cried, throwing his hands in the air as Ghost dragged her off, screaming obscenities in various angry-sounding languages.

Soap jerked the blade out of the wall. “Dunno if I should be turned on or terrified,” he had said thoughtfully, turning it over in his hand. 

“BOTH, YOU SLIMY, CHEATING MOTHERFUCKERS!”

Catan was banned for a few weeks after that incident, and Freyja gave Kyle the following day off as an apology, though he insisted it wasn’t necessary.

Freyja lowered herself into a chair on the other side of Soap’s desk and leaned her head on her fist, watching him do his paperwork. She’d already finished for the day but was waiting for her husband to fetch her and bring her home to prepare for another Friday with the boys.

“So, Captain, any big plans for this weekend?” Soap asked, still scribbling away at the stack of forms in front of him.

She pursed her lips and shrugged. “Nah. It’s our anniversary on Sunday. Have a routine visit tomorrow to see how the baby’s growing. Nothing crazy.”

“Anniversary?! You didn’t tell me that was comin’ up!”

Her eyes rolled with a chuckle. “Soap, we aren’t showy people. Never have been,” she started, adjusting to sit straighter after having slid down in the chair a bit. Her round belly had started to weigh down her body a few weeks back, and she was starting to feel the effects of back and neck pain. “We weren’t together for very long when we got engaged, if you’d even call it that. We got married a few days later, as soon as we got back to the UK. Didn’t want to waste time, given our line of work.”

Johnny laughed at this, tossing his pen into a mug he fashioned as a stationary holder. “Oh, I’d bet he just loved slappin’ his name after ‘Captain’, too,” he joked with a raised brow.

The image of a spinning circle on a computer came to mind because that was exactly what she was doing. Buffering, her mouth open slightly while she processed his comment. Her mind screamed at her to say something, anything, but nothing came out as she stared at the Sergeant.

He clearly picked up on her inner turmoil, because he asked, “What? What’d I say?”

Goddamn pregnancy brain. “Ah…Nothing. He didn’t like me taking his name, actually,” she mostly muttered, unable to find a way out of the conversation at this point. “He asked me not to change my name and I did it anyway.”

“I don’t get it, why wouldn’t Ghost want ya to change yer name?”

Freyja sighed as she rubbed a hand over the top of her bump, a recent habit for comfort. The baby hadn’t been particularly active that day, only offering a bit of shifting. “You’d have to ask him, John.”

She rarely called him John, so he knew the conversation was over on her part. “How’s your back?” Best to change the subject and move on. 

She was grateful for it. “Terrible. Even sitting here is bothering me.”

Soap lit up and he practically jumped to his feet. “I can do that thing I saw Ghost doin’ last week!” He was already in front of her before she could even answer.

He had been relentless ever since he caught their cute little private moment in the kitchen when she was supposed to be getting herself some fruit to snack on. Simon followed shortly after, offering to get her fruit bowl together for her so she could sit down again. Craving some semblance of independence, she instead offered to cut up her snack while her husband took some of the weight off her back.

“Walked myself right into that one. You just want an excuse to grope my belly.”

“Me? Never! M’offended that y’would say such a thing, Bonnie,” he feigned hurt feelings, pouting with his best puppy dog eyes.

“Alright, fine! Come’ere, I’ll show you,” she laughed, high up in her chest. Freyja pulled herself up with his hands and moved them to the more open space in his office. “Alright, so I’m gonna stand here—“ She turned to press her back against his chest and took his wrist in her hands. “—then you just wanna put your hands flat like this—“ She flattened his palms just under the swell of her stomach, by each point of her pelvis. “—and now you carefully pull up. Emphasis on carefully.”

She groaned at the sudden relief, her head falling back against Soap’s shoulder as he just barely lifted her stomach. 

“There w’are. Steamin’ Jesus, how’s such a wee thing so bloody heavy?”

“Yeah, now imagine carrying that around with your back twenty-four-seven.”

They stood silently for a minute, soaking in the relief from the lack of pressure on her disks. A small hand dragged across the underside of her stomach, pressing against Soap’s hand. His chest rumbled against her back, but he held steady.

“Will anyone be coming for a visit? When she’s born?” It was bold of him to bring up such a sensitive subject, but his curiosity got the better of him.

“No.”

“And you’re alright with that?”

“I have everyone I need right here, Johnny. Who else outside my husband would give my back a break and hold my giant belly?” She reached back to jokingly slap his cheek a few times.

“Where’s that husband o’ yours at? It’s gettin’ late.”

A soft knock on the open door had her turning her head. “I’m comin’, Jesus,” Ghost said, approaching with his hands in his pockets, t-shirt tight as ever. He took in her smiling form, intrigued by the scene in front of him. He smiled beneath his mask, eyes crinkling slightly. “How are my girls?”

Freyja flinched, a hand flying to her belly at the sharp kick. She sported an angry pout. “Ow! That hurt, you little–”

“Be nice. She can’t help that I’m her favorite.”

She pulled out of Soap’s hold, sad to lose the help on one hand, but thrilled to see Simon on the other. “You’re so obnoxious. I’m literally creating her organs and limbs, making sure she has ten fingers and toes, and I don’t get so much as a single hand or kick. But the second she hears your stupid voice, she’s suddenly an MMA fighter,” she complained, shoving at his shoulder. “Un-fucking-believable. I hate you.”

“Mmm, sure you do. How will I ever get back in your good graces?”

“I want Chinese tonight.”

“I think I can manage that.” Ghost bent down to gently, but briefly, touch his forehead to hers, one of their familiar gestures to refrain from more overt displays of affection on base. She would occasionally give him a peck over his skull mask, and they often shared passing touches, but neither partner was a huge fan of PDA. In the comfort of their own home, they were much more obvious, even around the other members of the team. Just not on base (save for a quick romp. Or two. Or– y’know what, never mind).

“Aw, lookit ya wee sook,” Soap cooed, nudging Ghost with his elbow as he walked past, gathering his things to head home.

She giggled and patted Simon’s pec. “He really is!”

Simon grumbled but guided Freyja to the door with a hand on her lower back. “If you lot keep talkin’ nonsense around me, I’ll pop a gasket.”

“It’s not nonsense, Simon. It’s a beautiful language. One that your people just so happened to smother into near extinction,” she sang, pursing her lips in a challenge as she looked up at him walking next to her.

“OOO, sick burn, lass!” Soap smacked their hands together, laughing heartily.

“Fuckin’ hell…”

~*~

Simon checked the time on his phone again with a deep sigh, shaking his head. He detested getting to work anything past ten minutes early, and it was currently five past six. Freyja had told him to go ahead and toss their baby bag in the car, which he had done ten minutes ago. He insisted they keep their ‘go-bag’ (her word, not his) with them, either in the car on errands or on base during the work week.

The area around their front door was littered with broken-down cardboard boxes from various toys and furniture from the nursery. The Task Force had turned out to be extremely generous uncles, to the point where the Rileys hardly had to buy anything. Johnny and Gaz were by far the worst listeners, continuing to purchase mountains of clothes long after Freyja and Ghost begged them to stop. Enough clothes that she would never have to wear the same outfit twice for the first year of her life.

Not even born yet and already spoiled rotten.

Her boots weren’t in the tray by the door, so she must have gotten to that part of her routine, at least. He pushed off the door frame in their entryway, making his way toward the living room. “Frey, what are you doin’? We’re already five minutes late–”

He cut himself off when he laid eyes on the sight in front of him – his wife, now 39 weeks pregnant, attempting to contort her body around her bump to lace up her boots. Simon allowed himself a moment to watch in amusement before clearing his throat and grabbing her attention. “Do you need help?” he asked, about to kneel in front of her.

She grunted and shook her head, then tried to smooth the mussed-up fly-aways that had started to poke up at the edges of her tied-back hair. “No, I can do this. I just did it on Friday.”

“Darling, that was three days ago. There’s no shame in askin’ for help–” He stopped again at the icy glare thrown his way, crossed his arms over his chest, and sat in the armchair across from her. “A’right, if you insist.” He had long noticed that she sometimes struggled to accept help with tasks she could normally complete on her own, if not for a protruding bump being in the way. He knew if she really needed help, she would ask.

This time, she propped the heel of her boot on the coffee table and attempted to stretch over her belly. She was proud of the strength and flexibility she had been able to maintain throughout her entire pregnancy, up until now. Not many people could say they could even see their feet this far into their pregnancy, let alone tie their shoes. After another minute of huffing and puffing, fingers just barely unable to graze the laces, she held her foot out to her watchful husband and sighed. “Fine,” she mumbled, crossed arms mimicking his.

He smiled softly under his mask, blue eyes twinkling with silent laughter as he slid to his knees at her feet, pressing the sole into his chest. “Thank you,” he praised, taking his time to focus on doing her shoes up at the tightness she liked to support her ankles, but allow breathing room at her calves. As he finished up the second foot, he heard a quiet sniffle and jerked his head up to meet her eyes.

Bloody hell, not the waterworks again…

He gently pushed her legs apart and settled between them, his gloved hands covering and rubbing her knees. “What’s wrong, love?”

Freyja wiped her nose with the back of her hand, then used the neckline of her t-shirt to swipe at her wet cheeks. “Nothing, I’m just annoyed. Feels like I can barely function on my own.”

“If I recall, you’re the one who insisted on working until she’s born.”

“Fuck you.”

“Promise?”

She playfully shoved his shoulder, rolling her eyes as she scoffed. 

Ghost pulled his mask up to his nose, just enough to steal a long, soft kiss from her, fingers still gripping her thighs. When they broke apart, he swooped down to press wet kisses on her belly. Freyja put the fabric back in place with deft fingers. “A’right, we sorted?” He smacked her thigh twice when she nodded and offered her hands to help her stand. “Good, you know how I am about bein’ late.”

“Maybe I’ll get lucky and she’ll be an early bird like her daddy.”

“Better than always being late like her mum.”

“Low blow, baby. Low blow.”

They made jabs at each other back and forth the entire ride to base (lovingly, of course) and during their walk to their offices, only pausing for the occasional passerby.

~*~

Kyle handed off a steaming mug of tea to Ghost, taking a small sip of his own as they watched the recruits spar with Soap. Most days, the three of them worked with the privates for a few hours, varying from marksmanship, hand-to-hand combat, etcetera. Ghost tugged his mask up enough to enjoy his caffeine, the steam dampening the wrinkled fabric.

“How was your weekend, Ghost?”

He hid his subtle smirk behind the cup, the memory of their anniversary evening at the forefront of his mind. Ghost met Gaz’s gaze with a side eye, to which the Sergeant snorted with a throaty chuckle. Gaz fixed the brim of his hat lower to shade his eyes from the sun better. “Shouldn’t have asked,” he said, a bright, cheeky grin on his face. “Change the subject.”

Ghost thought back to that morning, snickering himself and cradling the mug with both hands. “Frey couldn’t tie her boots this morning.” He tried to hide his amusement, he really did. But both men burst into deep laughter, Gaz shamefully covering his eyes with his free hand as he imagined the Captain working around her stomach.

“Bloody hell, poor thing.” When they finally composed themselves, Kyle took a deep breath and wiped a stray tear from his eye. He sighed and placed his now empty mug on the ground, his hands now hanging onto the lip of his tactical vest. The Brit observed the training session, occasionally glancing over at Ghost to gauge his mood. Maybe he should mind his business, but Gaz also wanted to be a good friend to the Rileys. In the end, he decided to take the plunge. “I see it, y’know,” he said, choosing a careful tone.

Simon turned his head fully to shoot him a probing look, urging him to continue.

Gaz sighed to himself. In too deep, now. “Just something I’ve noticed. Seems like she’s done this before, s’all.”

Damn Kyle Garrick and his perceptiveness. How long had the Sergeant been sitting on that thought, watching and observing her mannerisms? Simon stood staring blankly at his companion, unblinking for too long. His heart clenched painfully, twisting and beating violently against his ribs. When his eyes did finally come back into focus, he covered his face again. “As you were, Sergeant,” he commanded, his tone stern and unyielding. Neither of them noticed the Scot break away from the recruits, reading a text from his phone.

“I don’t mean to pry, sir–”

“Lt?” Soap held the device up, brows knotted together. He didn’t make much of an effort to hide his emotions and was concerned. “Price needs ya, sir. Said he’s pretty sure yer wife’s been in labor for the last hour.”

The trio quickly appeared in her office, where she sat behind her desk, beads of sweat on her forehead as she typed away at her computer. John shrugged helplessly and then scratched at the stubble under his chin. About an hour into their daily morning meeting, where he brought her peppermint tea while they worked over files and potential recruits. They were mid-discussing her scheduled c-section when he noticed her breaths sporadically shake, or the muscles in her arms tightening for seemingly no reason. Price asked her if she was okay and was brushed off every time he prodded at her; when he finally had enough, he decided to call for reinforcements.

Freyja glared at the men, mainly aiming it at Price. “Traitor,” she growled, continuing to work through another contraction.

Simon tossed the keys to their car to Price, who swiftly snagged them out of the air and slipped behind them. In the meantime, he tucked his mask into the back pocket of his jeans, his slightly overgrown blonde hair and the top of his head sticking up. He sat on the edge of the desk, looking down at her as she attempted to ignore his presence. His foot slipped a little on the floor, and he found a small puddle trickling across the floor from the space under her chair. “Anything you want to tell me?” he asked, impossibly soft and gentle for a usually deep, gruff military man.

“No.” She was an accomplished sniper and a skilled linguist and had been deployed on hundreds of special missions, interrogations, and rescues during her military tenure. She, however, wasn’t very convincing when it came to lying to her husband, especially when another sharp pain rippled through her body, forcing her to flinch.

“Wanna try that again?”

Her eyes watered uncontrollably, her lip trembling as she tried to keep herself together. The notion didn’t last long, and her head shook from side to side.

“How long?”

“Long enough.”

“Hm.” Simon turned her chair with his shin until she faced him. As he suspected, dark wetness was creeping up the fabric of her jeans. “We should get going then, yeah?” He tilted his head to the side, watching as she grabbed his hand in a fierce grip.

“Simon–” The woman choked on her tears, panic starting to claw its way up her stomach and wrenching her tight throat. “The OB’s out of the country,” she whimpered, barely a whisper.

“I know. Seems that she’s taken after her old man, like y’said,” he offered in an attempt to give her some comedic relief in her state. Simon could see the panic attack set in, and while he knew he couldn’t stop it, he could at least lessen its effects some.

“I was kidding.”

He smiled softly at her and squeezed her palm, drawing soothing circles with his thumb. “Don’t think she’s quite old enough for sarcasm, there, sweetheart.” He got down to his knees in front of her, sitting back on his heels, just under eye level now instead of towering over her. A familiar position for them as of late. “Looks like we’re doin’ this the old-fashioned way.”

She started crying hysterically now, nearly crushing his hand and cradling her belly. “Simon…I–”

“I know.”

It was as if their audience had completely disappeared, leaving just the two of them for what should be a private moment. But Soap and Gaz were still pressed to the wall by the door. In the months they had become close friends with Simon’s wife, she was almost always composed, her moments of hormonal rage the only outlier they witnessed. They’d never seen her such a panicked, blubbering mess, but Gaz had an idea he knew what it was about, even without specifics. For that reason, he chose to keep his distance and advised Soap to do the same with a tap to the shoulder.

“This–This isn’t the plan. I wanted…they��re supposed to take her out. I don’t want to push again.”

“I know,” he repeated. “I’m sorry, love, but you’ll have to.”

“Can’t we just–” A gasp cut her off, her features pinching together in pain while she rode out yet another contraction.

“No. We can’t.”

“I can’t do this again, Simon! I can’t!” Her chest heaved and she sobbed, struggling to catch her breath. Panic attacks had become more frequent during her pregnancy. There had been about five or six instances where an odd feeling or uncomfortable pain had anxiety washing over her, sending her into a spiral until they could get to an emergency room or OB, snapping at them to ‘just fucking check, for fuck’s sake’. This was definitely one of the worst. All of her meticulous planning, down to every nitty-gritty detail to ensure she didn’t have an episode went right out the window because a certain impatient Riley was eager to make her exit and simultaneous entrance to the world.

The world was collapsing around her, dark and suffocating. The cold pit dragged her back to what seemed like another life, where she lay curled up in a hospital bed, sick and hot and in the worst agony she would ever experience. Her bones burned and ached, struggling to sit still yet unable to move at the same time. Price’s phantom touch ghosted up and down her bare back in that place, brushed her sticky hair off her forehead, pressed a cold towel to her neck as violent sobs and forced, unnatural contractions tore through her—

She blinked when different, gloved hands slipped under her hair, the warmth of her skin bleeding through the material as he cradled her face. Her fingers slipped down to dig into his tattooed wrist. “You can, and you will. Take a breath,” he took a deep breath, guiding her through the exercise. He held the air in his chest before letting it out in a slow exhale, which she mimicked. Ghost summoned Gaz over and rose, pulling her up with him. “Good girl. Can you walk?”

When she nodded, Kyle slipped into the space beside her, offering his forearm for support. She knew Simon could have handled her himself, but it warmed her heart to see him leaning on their friends. John had been a great support system when Simon deployed on his own, but having so many hands to hold made her feel loved and understood.

“A’right then, let’s have a baby, yeah?”

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[cripple-woe]

PLEASE READ THIS IF YOU CAN SO YOU CAN KNOW WHAT IS HAPPENING TO TRANSGENDER PEOPLE, POOR PEOPLE AND LEFTISTS IN THE UK RIGHT NOW!

Don’t let Rishi Sunaks current agenda fool you. While he is blaming transgender people for things that aren’t even problems (fun fact: more MP’s have been reported assaulting people in the bathroom than transgender people) you need to be aware of what he is doing.

The price of oil has surged 30% since June,

They are trying to ban protest and free speech,

4.2 Million children (29% of children in the uk) are living in poverty,

The inflation rate is 6.7+.

While people are starving, while kids are going to school with broken shoes and empty bellies, this man is ignoring it and complaining about how he doesn’t like transgender people. He will continue to ignore real issues and harass transgender people so that you don’t notice all of the things going wrong.

He’s banned people from hospital wards that match their gender identity, meaning many trans people may avoid being hospitalised when they need to because they will be put on the wrong ward, which may mean people don’t get the healthcare they need and may even DIE.

In the past five years, hate crimes against transgender people have gone up 186%.

Over 300 transgender people have been murdered in the last year.

Trans people are 770% more likely to commit suicide, mostly because of this cruel persecution from the government and society.

Taking away the rights and ruthlessly persecuting and attacking a group of people who only make up 0.5% of the population is fucking ridiculous. Trans people have done nothing wrong.

Rishon Sunak is a fucking fascist, the whole Tory party are fucking fascists, and if you vote for them you’re also a fascist.

Oh, and by the way, because I’m a very intense leftist, this could be sent to my college and they can send me to a radicalisation/terrorism course for expressing my political views about you know… not wanting to be killed by the governments cruel policies. Yes, you heard that right. If you are communist, anarchist or even just too intensely left for their liking, they can shove you into a radicalisation programme and forcefully influence your views. This country is going to hell and we can’t keep ignoring it.

They are also freezing income and National insurance tax meaning most people will be getting pushed up into a higher tax bracket that they just cannot afford, the rise in tax will be unpredictable and most likely more than the current tax, on this monetary note, our knife crime has risen 80% no doubt because of inflation and cost of living creating a higher general crime rate and therefore increasing this crime alongside it.

This section is directed to the Americans: please help spread this word. Many of us in the UK are reblogging and raising the alarm for you. Please, do the same for us. We are quickly falling into parallel situations, and people seem to have no clue what’s happening in the UK despite the fact it’s no secret.

~ Thank you.

[rjzimmerman]

Excerpt from this story from Mother Jones:

Oil and chemical companies who created a high-profile alliance to end plastic pollution have produced 1,000 times more new plastic in five years than the waste they diverted from the environment, according to new data obtained by Greenpeace.

The Alliance to End Plastic Waste (AEPW) was set up in 2019 by a group of companies which include ExxonMobil, Dow, Shell, TotalEnergies, and ChevronPhillips, some of the world’s biggest producers of plastic. They promised to divert 15 million metric tons of plastic waste from the environment in five years to the end of 2023, by improving collection and recycling, and creating a circular economy.

Documents from a PR company that were obtained by Greenpeace’s Unearthed team and shared with the Guardian, suggest a key aim of the AEPW was to “change the conversation” away from “simplistic bans of plastic” that were being proposed in 2019 amid an outcry over the scale of plastic pollution leaching into rivers and harming public health.

Advertise with Mother Jones

River Buriganga, in Dhaka, Bangladesh.Suvra Kanti Das/Zuma Press

This story was originally published by the Guardian and is reproduced here as part of the Climate Desk collaboration.

Oil and chemical companies who created a high-profile alliance to end plastic pollution have produced 1,000 times more new plastic in five years than the waste they diverted from the environment, according to new data obtained by Greenpeace.

The Alliance to End Plastic Waste (AEPW) was set up in 2019 by a group of companies which include ExxonMobil, Dow, Shell, TotalEnergies, and ChevronPhillips, some of the world’s biggest producers of plastic. They promised to divert 15 million metric tons of plastic waste from the environment in five years to the end of 2023, by improving collection and recycling, and creating a circular economy.

Early last year the alliance target of clearing 15 million metric tons of waste plastic was quietly scrapped as “just too ambitious”.

The new analysis by energy consultants Wood Mackenzie looked at the plastics output of the five alliance companies; chemical company Dow, which holds the AEPW’s chairmanship; the oil companies ExxonMobil, Shell, and TotalEnergies; and ChevronPhillips, a joint venture of the US oil giants Chevron and Phillips 66.

The data reveals the five companies alone produced 132 million metric tons of two types of plastic, polyethylene (PE) and polypropylene (PP), in five years—more than 1,000 times the weight of the waste plastic the alliance has removed from the environment in the same period. The waste plastic was diverted mostly by mechanical or chemical recycling, the use of landfill, or waste to fuel, AEPW documents state.

The amount of plastic produced is likely to be an underestimate as it only covers two of the most widely used polymers: polyethylene, which is used for plastic bottles and bags; and polypropylene, used for food packaging. It does not include other major plastics such as polystyrene.

The new data was revealed as delegates prepared to meet in Busan, South Korea, to hammer out the world’s first treaty to cut plastic pollution. The treaty has a mandate to agree on a legally binding global agreement to tackle plastic pollution across the entire plastics life cycle.

But the talks, which have been subject to heavy lobbying by the alliance and fossil fuel companies, are on a knife-edge in a row over whether caps to global plastic production will be included in the final treaty.

Will McCallum, a co-executive director at Greenpeace UK, said the revelations had stripped off the thin layer of greenwash hiding the growing mountain of plastic waste oil companies were producing.

“The recycling schemes they’re promoting can barely make a dent in all the plastic these companies are pumping out,” he said. “They’re letting the running tap flood the house while trying to scoop up the water with a teaspoon. The only solution is to cut the amount of plastic produced in the first place.”

[saintmeghanmarkle]

For your consideration... by u/SecondhandCoke

For your consideration... I made a couple of comments about this and decided just to post. I'm interested in what you all think about whether or not there could be some veracity to the rumors and conjecture below:Harry's made this big statement about why Meghan can't go back to the UK. Even claiming that she'd be at risk for having acid thrown on her, or a knife pulled on her. Notice that he doesn't specify his own danger or potential danger to their kids. In fact, as we know Harry just went to the UK while Meghan waited at Heathrow to fly to Nigeria... a country that is much less stable as far as safety is concerned. And we know Meghan didn't fear acid being thrown on her in Nigeria what with her walking around practically naked the whole time. This is to say nothing about the fact that they LIVE IN LA. IN THE US WHERE GUNS PROBABLY OUTNUMBER AIRPODS. (I'm American. It's a joke. Don't shoot me.)So I have heard rumors and speculation, and have speculated myself that there is a reason why Meghan will never been in the UK again, and it does have to do with security, but not hers and Harry's security. It has to do with the Royal Family's security. We personally have observed aggressive behavior at the funeral and in footage from the Harry and Meghan documentary. This behavior included having Netflix drone cameras filming the family in mourning, coming down a back staircaise while Meghan looked evilly out the window directly into the camera, the nasty look and lecture she gave the aid who was insisting that she turn over flowers at the walk-about, whatever she said that earned her the evil eye from Catherine, her grabbing Catherine's hand as they were seated in the cathedral, and the notably close eye that Camilla, Catherine, and Sophie kept on the three Wales children, ensuring that they were surrounded and away from Meghan at all times. That's just what we saw. There are rumors that even more egregious and aggressive behavior happened behind closed doors that really concerned RPOs about the King's, the Princess of Wales, and the Wales children's safety in Meghan's presence. The ultimate result was that the powers that be convened, and not long after the funeral, Harry and Meghan were told to vacate Frogmore and that from that point on, Meghan was considered a "fixated person" and that she was no longer allowed within a large perimeter (many miles) of the King and Queen and the Wales Family.Basically, they put a restraining order against her. I'm not sure if RPOs and MI5 can say she's not allowed back on the country, and given that she was at Heathrow, I'm not sure if airports count as "in the country," but I think the reality is she'll never be seen within miles of the working Royals again. And the reason why she won't be seen in the UK is because the Royals have banned her being there, or being within a large proximity of them. Could it be that Harry is having to go so hard on this "Meghan's not safe angle" as a classic narcissistic DARVO to explain away why Meghan will never be seen there again rather than have the truth about why she's REALLY not there come out? We can see in the press how obsessed she is with Catherine. Her taking pictures in private areas of Royal residences is confirmed, not only by what we saw in the schlockumentary, but also in the story about her photographing Princess Charlotte sleeping. If she shamelessly done all this creepy stuff for the world to see what MORE has she done in private? Your thoughts? post link: https://ift.tt/tH05jSE author: SecondhandCoke submitted: July 27, 2024 at 07:24AM via SaintMeghanMarkle on Reddit disclaimer: all views + opinions expressed by the author of this post, as well as any comments and reblogs, are solely the author's own; they do not necessarily reflect the views of the administrator of this Tumblr blog. For entertainment only.

[siryouarebeingmocked]

> I mean there was the >spike in homicides< committed with guns after the handgun ban.

> The UK has excluded from its homicide counts< any case that does not result in a conviction,

Gee, I wonder why secretswiftymarvelfan blocked everyone who responded to her nonsense and then replied to someone she  blocked.

Also, two little UK girls died when a random lady drove a car through a tea party. Recently, as of the time SSMF made this post.

OP has no actual evidence that gun control is why the killer used a knife. SSMF is just assuming that is the case.

[reasoningdaily]

A ceremonial cap worn by courtiers at coronations is among the items now on display in Kumasi

African countries have repeatedly called for the return of looted items with some regaining ownership over precious historical artefacts in recent years.

Looted artefacts from the Asante kingdom are finally on display in Ghana, 150 years after British colonisers took them.

Ghanaians flocked to the Manhyia Palace Museum in Kumasi, the capital of Asante region, to welcome the 32 items home.

"This is a day for Asante. A day for the Black African continent. The spirit we share is back," said Asante King Otumfuo Osei Tutu II.

At this stage the items have only been loaned to Ghana for three years.

This loan can be extended, but only with the approval of the British culture secretary.

The agreement is between two British museums - the Victoria & Albert Museum (V&A) and British Museum - and the Asante king, not the Ghanaian government.

The Asante king, or Asantehene, is seen as a symbol of traditional authority, and is believed to be invested with the spirits of his predecessors. But his kingdom is now part of Ghana's modern democracy.

"Our dignity is restored," Henry Amankwaatia, a retired police commissioner and proud Asante, told the BBC, over the hum of jubilant drumming.

The neck ring or 'kanta' (R) was worn by the king at important funerals

The V&A is lending 17 pieces while 15 are from the British Museum.

The return of the artefacts coincides with the silver jubilee celebration of the Asantehene.

A guide to Africa's 'looted treasures'

UK to loan back Ghana's looted 'crown jewels'

Some of the items, described by some as "Ghana's crown jewels" were looted during the Anglo-Ashanti wars of the 19th Century, including the famous Sargrenti War of 1874.

Other items like the gold harp (Sankuo) were given to a British diplomat in 1817.

"We acknowledge the very painful history surrounding the acquisition of these objects. A history tainted by the scars of imperial conflict and colonialism," said Dr Tristam Hunt, director of the Victoria and Albert Museum, who has travelled to Kumasi for the ceremony.

The display is part of the silver jubilee celebrations of Asante King Otumfo Osei Tutu II

Among the returned artefacts are the sword of state, gold peace pipe and gold badges worn by officials charged with cleansing the soul of the king.

"These treasures have borne witness to triumph and trials of the great kingdom and their return to Kumasi is testament to the power of cultural exchange and reconciliation" said Dr Hunt.

One of the returned items, the sword of state, also called the "mpompomsuo sword" holds great significance for the Asante people.

It serves as a sword of office that is used in swearing the oath of office to the kingdom by paramount chiefs and the king himself.

Royal historian Osei-Bonsu Safo-Kantanka told the BBC that when the items were taken from the Asante it took away "a portion of our heart, our feeling, our whole being".

This gold headpiece known as "krononkye" was used when royalty was grieving

The midnight knife (L) was used for covert operations. The gold badges (R) were worn by the king's soul washers

The return of the artefacts is as controversial as it is significant.

Under UK law, national museums like the V&A and British Museum are banned from permanently giving back contested items in their collections, and loan deals such as this are seen as a way to allow objects to return to their countries of origin.

Some countries laying claim to disputed artefacts fear that loans may be used to imply they accept the UK's ownership.

Many Ghanaians feel the ornaments should remain permanently. However, this new arrangement is a way to overcome British legal restrictions.

African countries have repeatedly called for the return of looted items with some regaining ownership over precious historical artefacts in recent years.

You may also be interested in:

Top Belgian museum rethinks its Africa relationship

'My great-grandfather sculpted the Benin Bronzes'

France gives back sword of anti-colonial fighter

[dorbu]

i was gonna make a post about the uk's dumbass knife laws but i just came across this list of specific melee weapons they've apparently banned and i just.k

[scamuel-likely]

Week 1 of @bettsfic @books writing workshop:

Show & Tell:

The jacket hung loose on its hook like a slab of pork, ribs and all, in the back of a butcher’s shop freezer. It’s leather had breathed but now only became animate when a slender arm slipped inside it. A dormant marionette. Scars of life crisscrossed it’s sleeves, where it had cracked on a countertop or stopped singing steel from slicing its occupant. But that was all in its illustrious and sordid past.

Now, and forever, it is a simple leather jacket on a bronze china-topped hook, strung up amongst a horde of fellow coats. The antique coatrack it hangs on dates back to the Victorian era and it whispers to the various coats about the smoke and stench of the city then. The others listen with rapt attention but the leather jacket pays it no mind, not wishing to dwell in the past. It gleams with a ruddy glow, leather well used and bleached by wind and sun. In its two pockets, ringed by rusted teeth, it holds naught but mothballs and stagnant air. Once they held finer things, like hands; the beat of life and blood would echo through the jacket as it cradled its cargo. Usually they held a battered red wallet and a heavy ring of keys. Once or twice they held a knife. The back of the jacket was emblazoned with block white lettering, roughly painted onto it’s peeling skin. BANNED FROM CBGB. A useless statement, of course, cause this jacket had never even been to CBGB’s. It had never even left the UK. Underneath this modified Crass lyric was a symbol, three horizontal white lines with one red vertical one slicing through them. A long-forgotten symbol to some punk band that never got big.

Maybe the jacket’s owner was a member. A guitarist who could barely play but had great ideas and so much rage he could explode any minute. A bassist who was actually pretty good, till heroin nipped his talent in the bud. A drummer with a chill and distant disposition. A singer who screamed every word with an insane fanatical passion. Or maybe the jacket’s owner was the band’s only fan. Scuffing their thick, rubber-soled boots on a concrete venue dance floor. A lone solider, a fanatic to a cult of four who screamed into the mic and shredded their instruments and the skin of their hands. Blood on guitar and bass strings. Blood on drumsticks. Blood on the microphone.

The interior lining of the jacket was one to behold. A crisscross of shredded fabric with one inside pocket. Bits of exposed leather, the soft underbelly exposed. A patch here and there, a vain attempt to fix the shattered inner chamber. The inside pocket was zipped, guarded against the elements. It cradled precious cargo. Gold dust. Rarer then that. A tiny rectangle of folded paper, soaked when rain somehow made its way into this scared sanctum. Barely holding itself together, fraying at the edges. A curled, curdled outline of yellow paper mush around a barely legible bit of printed pink text:

THE SEX PISTOLS - MANCHESTER’S LESSER FREE TRADE HALL - 4TH JUNE - SOLSTICE SUPPORTING

The famed Manchester Trade Hall gig, that everyone in rock has claimed to be present at. The Smiths, The Buzzcocks, Joy Division. And probably every single spotty faced punk fan since 1976. And this jacket held a ticket from that famed gig, locked away till one day a hand would dip into the pocket, take it out and say aloud “who the fuck are Solstice?”

———————————————————————————————————————————

“What was that?” came a voice from the front of the shop.

“Nothing!” I quickly spurted out, red blossoming onto my face.

I was thirteen years old, my hair was cut short and fell choppily in front of my eyes. It was russet brown, same as my eyes, two large globes set into my face. People always complimented my eyes, they still do. But back then I couldn’t walk down the street without someone my dad knew from church or someone my mum chatted to at the school gates stooping down and saying what nice eyes I had. The rest of my face was petite in comparison to those big doe eyes, a tiny button nose smattered with freckles and a unassuming mouth that contained a shy but sweet smile. I dressed how my parents wanted me to, so there was an element of formality to the whole attire. Floral skirts and block colour tops. I steered them towards a more dull colour palette but that was the extend of my clothing rebellion.

Until today.

I’d found myself gazing at this leather jacket on a coatrack, tucked away at the back of this little vintage shop in Brighton. We had come on a weekend holiday, a little getaway, just me and my dad. The stress of my sister’s condition had been building on him and so my mum suggested the two of us go to the coast. Sea air would be good for us and she’d hold down the fort. Putting all the work on herself, again. She was a lot like my sister in that regard. If Ann had her way there’d be no family visits and flower deliveries. She’d just battle the cancer alone, and not stress the rest of us out.

My dad had been distracted by a bookshop. While I was an avid reader, this was the sort of shop that, while lovely to be in, was full of nothing but dreadfully boring tomes about Ancient Egyptian housing construction and the forest laws. A wonderful cavern of dull encyclopaedias and histories. The smell of old musty books was the only reason why I wandered into the shop and the boredom was why I wandered out and into the vintage shop next door.

The shop was a crowded maze of antique stuff, ranging from a large metal Shell Oil sign propped up in one corner to a tiny collection of a dozen glass ballerina figurines, perched upon a mahogany ivory-handled chest of drawers. A bobsled tied to the celling, five or six chairs of varying styles crowded round a poker table, a poster for The Witness, a collection of old Elmore Leonard dime novels, a battered red umbrella, a unicycle, eight identical bowling balls and a coat rack, at the back, stuffed to the brim with different outfits. Waiting, amongst the moth-eaten and threadbare overcoats and varsity jackets, was a leather jacket that breathed through cracked skin and held within it a fragile paper piece of music history.

I found the jacket and instantly fell in love with it. For a few years now I’d been infatuated by rock legends and I’d loved the more alternative side of music and life. My sister had gotten me into it all, starting with The Stones and then The Beatles, and through to Blur, Oasis, the Stone Roses, The Arctics, Amy Winehouse, Alanis Morissette, Nirvana, The Yeah Yeah Yeahs and The Strokes. It wasn’t just the music I was fond of though. I spent a lot of my early preteens staring at pictures of girls in leather jackets and doc martens, faded band tees and ripped jeans. And so this jacket not only looked like it came from the wardrobe of my musical heroes, but also from the closets of my countless (then unrealised) crushes.

Glancing around the shop to see if my dad or the old guy at the counter could see me, I slipped my skinny little arms through the sleeves. It dwarfed me. When I moved, it’s cuffs whipped around like one of those inflatable tube guys at car dealerships and fairs. The pockets were almost at my knees. Self-consciousness almost forced me to shrug it off but in trying to get one arm out of its cavernous folds my elbow brushed against something sharp and metal. A zip. An inside pocket. I quickly grasped at it but my fingers just slipped off. It was tough, held fast by years of rust and neglect. But I was a determined thirteen year old.

The zip finally came loose after I’d wrapped my hand in a nearby handkerchief and pulled with all my might, the strength bulging my muscles to a strain. My skull constricted around my brain in a tense and uncomfortable moment of sheer exertion. And then, with a wrenching pop, it was free. The zip slid all the way and I dug my hand in there, ignoring the bite of metal against wrist. My fingers searched and searched until I found a tiny little bit of sodden paper. The first words from my mouth after discovering such a find:

“Who the fuck are Solstice?”

I wasn’t a sweary person, my mouth was soap and water and pleases and thank yous. The occasional ‘damn’ or, to my parents utter dismay, ‘Jesus’. It was something about the moment that made me drop an f-bomb, and so I was naturally mortified when it was heard from across the shop.

A moment after my blush had subsided I heard a creaking and before I could take the jacket all the way off, there he stood. The shop owner. A skinny but short man, in his late 50s, with a bald head and startling blue eyes. He had a little scratch of white stubble and a black, blotchy neck tattoo of a cross. His ears were pierced and mismatched gold jewellery hung from their cauliflower-like lobes. His nose was broken twice over and he had the kindest smile I’d ever seen.

“They were a punk band that spiralled into obscurity after that gig. The Pistols hogged all the fame. Good music but god they could be cunts.”

I was utterly shocked. One, he was a grown-up and yet wasn’t reprimanding me for swearing. And two, he’d said ‘cunt’.

“You know something about that gig, lass?”

I shook my head, in awe.

“It was a transcendent experience. I was there and all. Loved every minute.”

I was utterly speechless. He brought over two stools and motioned for me to sit. I clambered up onto it like the fires of hell were at my heels.

“What’s your name?” He asked, softly and kindly.

“Jane.” I managed to stutter.

“Jonny. It’s a pleasure.” He shook my hand, his grip strong but warm, like a bear hug.

I pointed at the billing on the concert ticket, to the name ‘Johnny Rotten’.

“No, that ain’t me, lass, my name doesn’t have a H. Besides, if I was Johnny Rotten I wouldn’t be here,” he chuckled to himself, “I’m glad I’m not him, to be fair to you Jane, cause he’s a bit of an alt right asshole.”

I blurted out a laugh at that and he smiled. “What, was it something I said? Hey, you wanna know the story of that jacket you’re pulling off so dashingly well?”

I let loose an energetic and frantic nod.

He lent back on his stool. “Well it was the late seventies. I was living in London, migrated there from Edinburgh cause my parents hated me. Wasn’t okay to be gay then, you see. I was working in an abattoir, mopping up blood. Not the best gig in world, but it got me a roof and it got me pork scratchings for dinner every night. Anyway so there was this shop, called,” he lowered his voice to a whisper, “Sex.”

I suppressed a shocked giggle.

“Yeah, it was scandalous then too. And they sold all these weird clothes, spikes and see-through shirts and pictures of the queen with pins in her. And there was a new music genre on the screen, spearheaded by The Sex Pistols, that wore all their stuff. It was all designed by Vivian Westwood, maybe your mum knows her?”

I shook my head, my mum’s fashion consisted of knitted cardigans and plaid skirts.

“Anyway, I fell head over heels with the clothes. And that led me to the music. Before you know it I was a punk. And there was a guy at the abattoir, a beefy guy with a big bushy beard who was an ex-con and used to be a biker. He wore this big leather jacket, that leather jacket, and he sold it to me. Bear in mind, although neither of us would of admitted it then, we were like father and son. He bloody raised me, that man. I consider him more a dad then I do my flesh and blood pa. And he still charged me for it. Fifteen quid. Which wasn’t cheap either, not when you get paid nothing a week and spend it all on keeping the lights on. That and drugs. I was into drugs. Don’t do drugs, please. Never leads to a good life.”

I nodded, sort of already knowing that from my Dad’s sermons and such.

“Oh weed is alright though. A joint doesn’t kill ya like other things do.” He added, with a pointed look.

Now that was new information that exploded my tiny brain, let me tell you.

“If you really want that jacket it’s yours. But, and you have to promise me this, go home and listen to some punk music. Here, I’ll write you a list.”

And so he did, scratching out a list of bands and albums of the back of a receipt. His handwriting was abysmal, but that added to the mythology.

I took the list and thanked him profusely, then shook the jacket off and lovingly laid it on the countertop before running out and into the bookstore to beg my dad for fifty quid. He relented, probably due to my sister’s life hanging in the balance back at St Peter’s hospital, and so I dragged him by his shirtsleeve into the vintage shop.

“I’ve just been talking to your daughter here. She’s a lovely person.” Jonny said, smiling at my dad.

“I’d like to think she is, yes,” was my dad’s curt reply, as he placed a bill on the counter.

Jonny looked at it quizzically and slid it back over to my dad, gesturing at the price tag with a smile.

£50 was crossed out, and in scratchy handwriting was written “15 quid”.

My dad forked up the cash and I ran behind the counter and hugged Jonny, much to my father’s chagrin.

I left the shop shrouded in an oversized leather jacket, my head heavy with dusty bar rooms, the static of amp feedback, safety pins, crazy outfits and punk music.

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Alejandro Sanchez

Published: May 22, 2024

Following the Worldwide Day of Genital Autonomy earlier this month, Dr Alejandro Sanchez notes that while child rights continue to progress, boys at risk of non-therapeutic circumcision are being left behind.

Tuesday, May 7, marked the 12th annual Worldwide Day of Genital Autonomy (WWDOGA). WWDOGA commemorates the anniversary of a landmark ruling of Cologne's Landgericht (Court of Appeal), which on May 7 2012 held that religious circumcision of boys amounted to criminal battery.

The ruling was, unfortunately, not to last. Unwilling to be the only jurisdiction in the world to outlaw non-therapeutic circumcision (NTMC), the Bundestag, Germany's parliament, passed a resolution to explicitly legalise the practice. This was despite "the constitutionally protected legal positions of the well-being of the child, the right to bodily integrity, [and] the right to religious freedom".

Nevertheless, the ruling makes Cologne in some sense the spiritual vanguard of the genital autonomy movement.

Each year in the city, WWDOGA brings together doctors, lawyers and child rights advocates from across the globe to process through the streets in opposition to all forms of non-therapeutic childhood genital cutting: female genital mutilation (FGM), circumcision and intersex cutting. The day culminates in speeches in the old town square.

This year, Rubine Singh, of Cologne's intersex support group baraka, shared a moving story of being born intersex in India and being spared unnecessary genital surgery.

"I stand here today as a happy and lucky intersex person", Rubine said, adding: "I want to live in a world where it is not a matter of luck whether you face the knife."

Lilith Raza, of Germany's Lesbian and Gay Federation+, powerfully recounted being subjected to NTMC at the age of five without anaesthesia and pinned down by four people

For me, WWODGA serves as an opportunity to take stock on our work to end non-consensual religious and cultural circumcision. As I mentioned in my speech, it's been a busy year for the NSS on this front: We've lobbied MPs, met with medical organisations, made the case against circumcision before the UN Human Rights Committee in Geneva, and recruited prominent voices in cutting communities to support our campaign.

It also represents a chance to think about opportunities that lie ahead.

The Royal College of Paediatrics and Children's Health takes a permissive stance on NTMC. It defers to General Medical Council guidance which not only greenlights circumcision, but permits parents to "invite their religious adviser to be present during the procedure to give advice on how it should be performed to meet the requirements of their faith." (The mind boggles.)

However, the College's recent call for a legislative ban on "smacking, hitting, and slapping" a child will put its stance on NTMC to the test. Readers will reach their own conclusions on the wisdom of such a ban, but it would seem absurd to support criminalising a smack on the bottom while defending the 'right' to cut off part of a child's penis.

Meanwhile, Scotland has become the first nation in the UK to incorporate the UN Convention on the Rights of the Child (CRC) into domestic law. The UNCRC Act, due to come into force in July, will impose a duty on public bodies to act compatibly with the Convention.

Statutory guidance on the Act recognises "childhood is a special time which must have additional protections" and sets out a vision to make Scotland "the best place in the world to grow up". This vision is to be underpinned by the four 'General Principles' of the UNCRC: non-discrimination, the best interests of the child, the child's right to life and the child's right to be heard.

This is to be commended. There is, however, one snag: Scotland is also the only UK nation to provide ritual circumcision on its NHS. How will Bute House reconcile its lofty language on child rights with a state-sanctioned programme of infant genital cutting that nakedly violates all four General Principles?

For a solution, they need look no further than the 2016 recommendation of the Committee that oversees the CRC: "Ensure that no one is subjected to unnecessary medical or surgical treatment during infancy or childhood" and "guarantee bodily integrity, autonomy and self-determination to children concerned".

It is telling that in response the Scottish government laid out strategies to end FGM and intersex cutting, but remained silent on NTMC. The head in the sand approach is a tried-and-true one, and it's easy to feel that nothing will ever change.

As I said at WWDOGA, when it comes to circumcision: "the task is daunting and progress is slow, but we won't give up."

==

[snalsupremacy]

2023 events

2022 events list

Again, these are not all of the events, just the ones i happen to come across with

- All of Sherlock Holmes is now officially public domain - Lil Nas X back at it again with... THE WIGGLES?! - Noah Schnapp, who plays Will Byers in Stranger Things, comes out as gay - US gov can't vote for a speaker of the house - McCarthy wins speaker of the house after 15 votes - Bolsonaro supporters storm the Congress and vandalize the whole place, are arrested on location -golden globes n stuff -JOJO LEAK JOJO LEAK ITS A BOY ITS A BOY -Lisa Marie Presley, daughter of Elvis Presley, dies at 54 -M3gan is a gay icon pass it on -AO3 down, 40 injured 15 dead -New FOB album - Velma show unsurprisingly sucks - Pink Sause on wallmart -Paramore back & new album coming soon - UK blocks scottish law that helped trans people and this might lead to their independence (pls) -TUMBRL ADDED POLLS! TUMBRL ADDED POLLS!! - #team snail worm deserved to lose the centopéia or however you say in english winning was RIGGED AND I CAN PROVE IT - Pete Wentz leaked Brendon Urie’s oncoming baby which leads him to breaking up Panic! At The Disco. Finally. - Holy fucking bingle! Trans Bi Lesbian It/She pronouns swiss hacker just leacked the US no-fly list, and plot twist, its very racist, what?! :3 - Justin Roiland is fired from Rick and Morty for being a bad person - Cecil from welcome to nightvale defeats Reigen in the Tumbrl Sexyman rematch pools! Idk who he is i just voted him bc i dont want reigen to win. -CECILSWEEP IS EVERYWHERE THE FINALS ARE SANS VS CECIL WHO WILL WIN - CECIL PALMER WITH THE STEEL CHAIR BEATS SANS TO PULP AT THE BACK OF PAPA JOHN'S!!! -The last of Us everywhere, seems to be a good game adaptation! glad to see more of those!

-Toby Fox scores the very first interview with creator of Yume Nikki, kikiyama with 9 yes or no questions and 1 "free response" question asking what they would get at a Denny's -FNAF movie officially starts filming - Marceline wins tumbrl woman - Just vote for vanilla extract and waive boys, just vote for vanila extract and wave - 7.8 earthquake hits Turkey and Syria, thausands of casualities - Spotted chinese (?) spy baloons (?) in America - Now theres a Tumbrl vanilla extract bottle, awesome - Hogwarts Legacy release discourse follows - Tear of the kingdom trailer out this is the most emotion link has shown in canon in 36 years - Youtube channel schaffrillas productions gets involved in car accident, Christopher Schaffer and Patrick Phyrillas pronounced dead on site while James Phyrillas in critical condition - Italian manwhore summer (Sanremo) - Netflix creating something thats gonna ruin password sharing people and everyone is mad - Brianna Ghey, 16 yo trans teenager, is stabbed to the death at a park -THE JOJOLANDS! AMAZING! MINDBLOWING! LIFE CHANGING! NEVER THE SAME! 10/10! -Succession will end in S4 -NEW MAGNAPINNA SQUID FOOTAGE HUNTING??

-New gen of TMNT (Mutant Mayhem)!! -Minesota lagislature makes trans health care (wait for it) LEGAL! - New mario movie trialer the babygirlification of Luigi continues -Willow project approved ‘_’ - More anti trans legislation. whats the news - Esc songs dropped the guy w the green top is already tumbrl’s top 1 jenn should have won etc etc -Gerard Way presenting in full office lady style. Tbh im just more impressed he did a show in tights. - Jojolands #2 out! Hot dog guy has a name now and Rohan canonically transcend the multiverse! - Taylor Swift eras tour congrats swifties - ICC issues arrest warrant to Vladmir Putin for war crimes -Trump to be arrested -Arab Cartoon Network hacked (Update: hacking was fake) - Tik Tok banned on government phones after spying accusations -New FOB album - The ladies from RWBY just kissed! mazal tov! - Justin Roiland case dropped - Kid in brazil attacks school teacher with knife - School shooting in US - Resident Evil 4 remake - Dobi dies in a glue trap -Trump got indicated, idk what that means but seems bad for trump which is good

-10 year anniversary of the Mishapocalypse - Ofc all your fave properties do an April fool’s special,, most notably Toby Fox’s “accidental foam pic” and Sonic The Hedgehog free murder mystery game that looks gorgeous?? they take the trophy this year -Kasane Teto gets her official voicebank for her 15th anniversary -wait... the DSMP is over..? it ended..? for real..?? WOOOOOHOOOOOOOOOOOLLLLLL!!1!!11!!!!!11 - Dalai Lama [redacted] [redacted] [redacted] - Harry Potter HBO series... just what we needed ‘_’ - Misha Collins reveals Warner Brothers wanted him to stay out as bisexual after that one off joke last year - Out of touch thursday on 4/20 we did it boys - We DOUBLE DID IT BOYS! Elon Musk’s rocket explodes because he forgot to build a flame diverter?? Or did he not build one on purpose? Anyway no one was inside THANKFULLY - Movie markplier is working on is revealed to be..IRON LUNG?! - Elon Musk takes out all the unpaid blue check marks expecting the celebrity accounts to pay for them, instead #blocktheblue movements started in which you block all users with blue check mark, Musk then responds to this by awarding random popular users with check marks -Tucker Carlson fired, ill b real, I have no idea who he is -Don Lemon also fired, again, idk who he is - Ray Toro and Gerard Way on fnaf movie soundtrack?!? -Disney sues Florida governor Ron Desantis, woag.. I cant believe im saying this but it’ll be easier to make the governor leave than the rat theme park

-JASON DERULO JUST FELL OFF THE STARS AT THE MET GALA! 😱😱😱 - WGA on strike! -And may Eurovision posting begin! Im rooting for finland what ab y’all - Tony Hawk and chocolate guy collab?!?!?!?! -ABSOLUTELY BULLSHIT EUROVISION RESULTS KAARIJA IS THE REAL WINNER SWEDEN BE DAMNED -FNAF trailer drop -Barbie Movie trailer drop -IDubz apologises for content cop, better late than never ig -Succession finale - I saw that execution clip from generation loss cuz it cant be thaaat fucked up right? haha.... im traumatized -Seth Everman announces he will leave the internet in 200ish days -Ted lasso ends, and so, pride month begins.... -Hank Green got cancer

-Happy pride month guys! - Jojo musical adaption of Phantom Blood confirmed - Russian occupiers in Ukraine blew up the Kakhovka Hydroelectric Power Station -Across the spiderverse takes the internet by storm AS IT SHOULD - Fires in canada kinda spreads the smoke like all around and its all a gray haze over there -Kaarija and Bojan concert together doing a shit job at beating ther allegations happy pride month kings -Hank Green is bisexual, likes Brennan Lee Muligan, and found that out because of wreck it ralph cosplays i can’t believe this is real -Redit blackout? 196? im very confused, but the redditors are here and tumbrl are welcoming them WAY better than we did twitter users which i find fitting lol -Adrien and Marinette from miraculous lb finally kissed omg its been like 8 years?? insane -The Idol sucks - Shit submarine w 5 people goes missing and the more we find out the more inevitable it felt       • Oceangate...gate brings awareness to migrant ships who drown and kill hundrents of migrants       • Iron Lung game sell suddenly spikes       •Submarine found, it imploded, all passengers dead - Joes Biden (US president)'s son committed tax fraud -Mark Zuch and Elon Musk are going to fight?? -Military coup in Russia (failed) -Miranda sings revolutionizing the YouTuber apology genre by apologizing for groomer allegations via ukulele - wtf is a grimace shake - Happy pride month! US overruled law prohibiting homophobic discrimination based on religion!

-Nimona is out! I haven’t watched it yet but the reception is great! (Edit: watched it, its good) -Superman finally got his long deserved sailor moon style transformation. good for him. -AO3 down, 500 dead 756 injured (Update: AO3 is down due to DDOS attack, which is when a group overwhelms the website with requests. This seems to be made by a group who claims to be doing it for homophobic reasons tho they likely have uterior reasons) -SAG-AFRA joins WGA strike - Universal prunes trees outside their building to try and prevent WAG/SAG-AFRA picket line. However, these trees are city property and "tree law" (heavy fine for destroying gov owned nature) might be called into action - Happy Barbenheimer tho all who celebrate - MITSKI ALBUM ANNOUNCEMENT?! - Fnaf DLC smth smth eclipse - Elon Musk tries to change twitter to X ? - Good Omens season 2 finale so tragically good it re animated OFMD SPN and Hanibal into trending page

- Tik tok parody of every 90's euro disco song goes viral - New James Webb telesc ope picture shows a giant ? in space. poetry. - Forest fires in Hawaii destroying homes -Anti semetic hate crime against USP teacher in Amazonas - Tik tok tried to create their Goncharov (Zepotha) and it turns out to be a plot to promote a musician's new song - Planet of the bass music vide out!! - Trump might actually get arrested, mugshot and all - Who thought it was a good idea to make the actor portraying Bernstein in the new biopic wear a PROSTHETIC NOSE?? - India first country to land on south pole of the moon! - Someone tracked down spanish spn’s rogue translator, who claims he did not add that in, meaning in some version of spn destiel was canon - Riverdale ends with all of them in a polycule. Which honestly is the best possible ending - TRUMP MUGSHOT TRUMP MUGSHOT

-That mole do be interesting -Castiel 15th birthday WAIT 15?? A DECADE AND A HALF?? - Ladybug and Chatnoir are emo now. Like, literally. - WGA strike succesfully ends -The Pokemonx Miku collab is everything actually - WGA stricke officially ends wed 27/9 12:01 AM, the deal is finalized and the writer’s guild got most of what they wanted! yay uniuns!

- Israel-Palestine conflict breaks into full on war with many casualities on both sides -NOOOOOO BAKUGO IS ALIVE PUT HIM BACK IN THE GRAVE!! KILL HIM AGAIN!!

- Spock wins the AO3 polls unsuprisingly - youtuber SSSniperwolf doxxes youtuber JacksFilms -Merlin twitter account is active...why? -Mathew Perry, Friends actor and advocate for alcoholism and drug abuse issues dies at age 54

-Happy 3 anniversary to Nov 5th -THANK G-D ATTACK ON TITAN IS OVER ITS FINALLY OVER FUCKK YES FINALLY -NOOOOO LIVE ACTION ZELDA CONFIMRED WHYYYY - Actor strike is over =D - GTA 5 anounced - SHREK 5???? - Omegle shut downs for ever - Zack and Cody’s restaurant reservation is today - Dream and the voice actor of Gumball beefed and tbh it was hilarious - Russia declares LGBT groups extremists organizations - Henry Kissinger, american politician, dies at 100 - SONIC 3 DATE REVEAL YEAHHH

-Hbomber guy DESTROYS James Somerton and Internet Historian’s career with his new video on plagiarism - TODD IN THE SHADOWS COMES BACK WITH THE STEEL CHAIR IN JAMES SOMERTON!! - BG3 Game Awards Sweep including GOTY

[purplewillowchicken]

Aziraphale's Derringer -Red Herring or Chekhov's Gun?

I feel like these two scenes are related. S2 Ep1 and S2Ep4.

Why would Crowley say that unless someone tried to make him sell a book or perhaps steal a book. Couldn't have been while Aziraphale was in Scotland as that was later. Then again, timey wimey shit is going on.

"Much like Chekhov's Gun, Red Herrings hinge on expectations. Unlike Chekhov's Gun though, Red Herrings don't require a payoff. So, if the Red Herring is a gun and it distracts you from the actual weapon (which is a knife), it never has to be fired for the plot device to be used effectively."

From a very interesting article by Britton Perelman

I feel like Neil has given us an awful lot to distract us in season 2. I mean he literally gave us a barrel of herring.

There's lots of types of Derringer but I want this to be the one Aziraphale has. Then again hand guns were banned in the UK in 1997 so he probably handed his in like the law abiding citizen he is.

[my-chaos-radio]

Release: June 17, 1996

Lyrics:

...three, four

(Ooh-ooh-ooh)

(Take a piece of my heart)

(Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh)

(Take a piece of my soul)

(Ooh-ooh-ooh)

(Let me live)

Oh yeah!

(Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh)

Why don't you take another little piece of my heart?

Why don't you take it and break it and tear it all apart?

All I do is give and all you do is take

Baby, why don't ya gimme a brand new start?

So let me live (so let me live)

Let me live (leave me alone)

Let me live (ooh) oh baby

And make a brand new start

Why don't you take another little piece of my soul?

Why don't you shape it and shake it, 'til you're really in control?

All you do is take and all I do is give

All that I'm askin' is a chance to live

so let me live

(Leave me alone), let me live, let me live

(Why don't you let me make) a brand new start?

Yeah!

And it's a (long hard struggle), yeah-yeah

But you can always depend on me

And if you're (ever in trouble)

Hey, you know where I will be

Why don't you take another little piece of my life?

Why don't you twist it and turn it and cut it like a knife?

All you do is live, all I do is die

Why can't we just be friends, stop livin' a lie?

Go for it, baby!

So let me live (so let me live)

Let me live (leave me alone)

Please, let me live

(Why don't you live a little) oh yeah baby?

(Why don't you give a little love?)

Let me live

Please, let me live

Oh, yeah baby, let me live

And make a brand new start

Let me live (let me live)

(Ooh-ooh-ooh)

Ooh yeah (let me live)

(Ooh-ooh-ooh)

Come on (let me live)

(Ooh-ooh)

In your heart, oh baby (take another piece, take another piece)

(Take another piece, take another piece) please, let me live

(Take another piece, take another piece)

(Take another piece, take another piece) why don't you

(Take another, take another)

(Piece of my, piece of my heart) oh yeah, baby

Songwriter:

Make a brand new start

Oh baby, baby, baby, baby

Baby, baby, baby, baby

All you do is take!

(Let me live)

(Let me live)

Oh, yeah, let me live

Let me live!

Brian May / Freddie Mercury / John Deacon / Roger Taylor

SongFacts:

"Let Me Live" is a 1996 song by Queen, from the album 'Made in Heaven'. Freddie Mercury, Roger Taylor and Brian May share lead vocals, with Mercury singing the first verse, Taylor singing the second verse and bridge, and May singing the last verse. During the choruses, all of the band members sing (except for John Deacon), as well as a background choir, giving it a gospel sound reminiscent of the band's 1976 single "Somebody to Love". The single reached No. 9 in the UK Single Charts, becoming the band's last Top 10 hit in that country.

Freddie Mercury stated in an interview that this song was originally recorded with Rod Stewart in 1983. It is rumoured that this song was intended to be on Queen's 'The Works' album in 1984. Some backing lyrics in the version intended for release on Made in Heaven had to be changed due to copyright problems, because it resembled a line from "Piece of My Heart". The first Mexican and Dutch pressings of the album, however, had the original version. The song peaked at No. 9 on the UK singles chart. According to the Queen website, BBC Radio 1 banned this song from the air waves.