#Rocket interception

[newsepick]

The Future of Warfare Technology: The Iron Dome

In an era where civilian safety is paramount, the Iron Dome is a beacon of hope. This advanced air defense system is a game-changer designed to intercept short-range threats like rockets, ensuring that families and communities can confidently go about their daily lives.

With its cutting-edge radar and interceptor missiles, the Iron Dome can detect and neutralize incoming projectiles in real time, boasting an impressive 90% success rate! This technology minimizes casualties and protects critical infrastructure, allowing nations to focus on peace and progress rather than fear.

Inspired by Israel, the first to harness this incredible technology, countries around the globe, including the U.S., are now enhancing their air defense systems. The Iron Dome is paving the way for a more secure future, demonstrating how innovation can transform warfare into a shield for civilians rather than a threat.

As we look ahead, let’s celebrate this remarkable advancement in military technology that prioritizes human life and community safety. Together, we can work towards a brighter tomorrow where security and peace are the norms.

[angrybell]

This is why you always heed air raid sirens.

Two young Israelis in Tel Aviv continued their stroll down the street during today's Hamas rocket attack, when suddenly shrapnel from an intercepted rocket only narrowly missed them as it fell to the ground.

[mexashepot]

War 'routine' is something so wild.

I had shared a really cringe, also a bit historically/culturally inaccurate fic idea with a friend (she took it like the champ she is) and right afterwards I wanted to make a funny post about how grateful I am she is still willing to talk to me afterwards

and then. several loud explosion sounds in a row for several minutes. no sirens.

obviously I check the news a huge rocket barrage towards the mid south and the southern parts of the centre, my brother and his family in the south are under fire.

any desire to make jokes/consume fandom content is dead again

[willowchild]

Wait I think this one was from gaza. Hamas girlie now is not the time smh... It's getting old 🙄

[historyofguns]

The article by Peter Suciu on "The Armory Life" discusses the McDonnell XF-85 Goblin, a prototype "parasite" fighter jet developed during the Cold War by the U.S. Air Force. Intended to provide protection for bombers beyond the range of conventional escorts, it was designed to deploy from bombers mid-flight, such as the Convair B-36 Peacemaker and initially tested with a Boeing B-29 Superfortress. The Goblin's design included innovative features like foldable wings and a trapeze deployment system, but the project faced critical challenges, including difficulty in recovery due to turbulent air and limited flight endurance. Only two prototypes were built before the program was canceled, and the article explores the project's historical context, its technological ambitions, and subsequent efforts in developing parasite fighters, emphasizing the rapid advancement of Soviet fighter technologies and the transition to more promising aerial refueling techniques. The article also reflects on the legacy of the XF-85 Goblin and the potential future of unmanned collaborative combat aircraft concepts.

[ibswarriors2nd]

So a synagogue was hit with molotovs in Berlin and I’m sure all of the people that blamed the news for their reporting are going to say something about what happened yesterday contributing to this. Right?

[ew-selfish-art]

Dpxdc AU: Damian decides that it’s time to go collect his brother from his assignment. Danny is starting to sniff out some non-ghostly bullshit for once.

Damian knew his twin had been exiled from the age of seven, banished to travel and observe how scientists around the world engaged with Lazarus water. The only word that Damian received that his spare was still alive were the letters of lab reports and findings that were sent back to base. As the Heir, he’s pushed to be better lest he himself be exiled or simply executed. Danny becomes a fleeting thought and then once Damian arrived in Gotham, a none existent thought.

They weren’t raised to be friends or even friendly. The were not taught codependency or allotted time to bond. The could have been perfect strangers if not for their appearance and the stories of Danny’s shortcomings becoming Damian’s praise.

It’s only once Tim informs him of an intercepted letter, one sent and saved from years prior, that Damian recalls Danny enough to care. Tim prompts him to share more, especially given the coup recently committed by Deathstroke (Slade) and Talia gone into hiding with her zealots.

At family dinner that night Damian supplies: “I suppose I should be the one to bereave my twin of his assignment. His reports will certainly go unread.”

Chaos in the Batfam ensues- meanwhile across the country- Danny sneezes and finishes writing his yearly report: “No major discoveries aside from public record patents (attached), No assistance required. -Spare”. He doesn’t know why he bothers, he hasn’t received any contact from his mother or grandfather since he was 10ish and certainly hasnt thought about his twin. But, if there’s a chance (even an itty bitty one) that his reports are being read and are holding off his reassignment, he’d rather keep assassins out of Amity Park.

Little does he know that this letter is about to be intercepted by Pru, former assassin and friend of Tim Drake. He hadn’t expected his twin to suddenly arrive and tell him that his job was done. And certainly, seeing a plane filled with an uncomfortable looking ‘family’ that requested he join them and get to know Gotham and his birth father, was not on his bingo list.

Danny does his best to let them down gently- and they seem to be accepting that he’s acclimated to this weird little town and will leave him be- when Danny suddenly has to transform into Phantom in front of them to handle a rocket sent by Skulker.

They are less willing to accept his appeal to be left alone after that… Damian is trying to “bond” with him and all the others are trying to “help” in their own way.

Sam and Tucker howl with laughter at Danny’s suddenly very large family- all while secretly working with the Wayne’s to get Danny the fuck away from the Fentons before the scientists do something they can’t undo.

[colouredbyd]

Midnight Zoomies

remus lupin x cat!animagi!reader

summary: in which you, a chaotic orange cat animagus known as snickers, unleash midnight zoomies on the gryffindor dorm, dragging padfoot into absolute mayhem and wrecking everything in sight.

warnings: chaos, mild blood (cat scratch), property destruction, biting, mild language, human-cat playfighting, emotionally dramatic sirius, extremely feral orange cat energy, remus chronic suffering.

w/c: 1.8k

a/n: this tiktok is literally snickers and padfoot wth?? masterlist

Remus was particularly accustomed to the chaos that punctuated his life at Hogwarts—the unruly Marauders, the unpredictable phases of the moon, and the relentless demands of both magic and mortality.

Yet, nothing in his experience – no amount of weariness or forewarning – had prepared him for the spectacle that awaited behind the worn door of the Gryffindor dormitory after a long, grueling night of study.

The moment the door1 creaked open, an uproarious cacophony assaulted his senses.

Books and parchment littered the floor like casualties of a minor explosion. A startled owl screeched and flapped against the far wall, desperate to escape the pandemonium.

Amid the wreckage, two figures blazed with frenetic energy: Snickers, the fiery orange blur of a cat animagus possessed by the most intense zoomies anyone had ever witnessed, and Padfoot, a dark shadow of equal parts menace and mirth, darting and bounding with predatory zeal.

James sat perched atop the dresser, arms folded, laughter bubbling from his lips as if he were witnessing the most entertaining spectacle in years.

“Remus! You missed the highlight reel—Snickers just launched herself off the bed and knocked over the whole lampstand. Padfoot’s been chasing her tail for the past five minutes.”

Snickers skidded across the floor, knocking a stack of books into the air. One fluttered down to land on James’s head, eliciting a dramatic groan.

Without pause, you streaked between Remus’s legs and shot upward like a comet, claws scrabbling at the ceiling tapestry.

Padfoot was instantly on your tail, teeth bared in a playful snarl.

“James, why aren’t you breaking this up?” Remus demanded, trying to keep his voice steady over the uproar.

James shrugged, grinning unabashedly. “And ruin the fun? No way.”

A low growl sounded from the corner, and you responded with a triumphant yowl as you vaulted toward a precarious stack of quills.

Padfoot intercepted you mid-air, sending both of you crashing into a pile of scattered robes. The ensuing tumble sent Remus staggering backward, narrowly avoiding a flying textbook.

He closed his eyes for a fraction of a second, breath hitching. “I just—after today’s exam, I was hoping for some peace.

“Peace died the moment Snickers remembered she’s a cat with a rocket strapped to her back,” James said with a wink. “Seriously, moony, I think she’s been holding all this energy in since the last full moon.”

Snickers (you) exploded into another frenzy, darting from wall to wall, a streak of orange lightning barely visible in the dim light.

Padfoot yipped and leapt after you, knocking into the dresser and sending a cascade of socks raining down like confetti.

Remus didn’t even make it fully to the chair.

He’d aimed for it—honestly, he had—but between the pile of exploded parchment, the mangled remains of what he hoped was just a textbook, and the streak of orange that rocketed under his feet, he never stood a chance.

One foot slipped, the other tangled in a sock, and suddenly he was flat on his back, blinking up at the canopy.

You zipped past his head, your claws skidding dramatically against the wood floor, tail puffed up like a bottlebrush, pupils blown wide with ecstasy.

“I will hex both of you!” Remus snapped, pointing furiously at you as you vaulted off James’s trunk, ricocheted onto Padfoot’s back mid-run, and used him like a trampoline, vanishing under the bed in a blaze of orange rage.

Padfoot howled and spun in three tight circles, eyes wild.

“Don’t you dare—” Remus warned, finger still raised.

Too late. Padfoot launched after you with the reckless momentuml, disappearing under the bed with a guttural growl and a flurry of socks.

“Padfoot, get out from under there! And you—” he pointed to the bed frame, where the tip of your tail flicked defiantly out from beneath.

“Come out before I charm your paws to the floor!”

Another crash answered him from beneath the bed.

“WHAT are you doing?” Remus shouted from the floor, voice cracked and betrayed.

James was doubled over on his bed, face purple with laughter, tears streaming down his cheeks. “You just got demolished, Moony—by a ten-pound feline!”

Padfoot reemerged with your tail in his mouth. You were yowling furiously, limbs flailing like a spaghetti demon, fur puffed in seven directions.

“Let her go, you maniac—!” Remus scrambled up, just in time for Padfoot to tear through the room in a victory lap, dragging you along the floor like some kind of orange war banner.

James was now on the floor, laughing so hard he wheezed, slapping the stone tiles.

Remus sighed, ducking as a pillow launched itself from the bed and exploded into a storm of feathers.

You broke free with an acrobatic twist, rebounded off the wall, and scaled James’s curtains.

From the top of the bedpost, you looked down with imperial menace, panting, fur standing on end.

Padfoot barked again and lunged up after you, but missed and headbutted the wardrobe.

There was a long silence.

Then a crash.

Then the wardrobe tipped sideways and slammed into the floor.

Padfoot didn’t pause to assess the wreckage. The wardrobe had barely finished slamming to the floor when he snarled—low and guttural—and launched himself at you.

You barely had time to adjust your footing on the bedpost before he collided with the frame below, sending the whole canopy rattling.

He jumped again, this time with intent, claws scrabbling, teeth flashing.

His weight rocked the structure, and before you could leap away, he caught your leg in his mouth.

“PADFOOT—!” Remus’s voice cracked like a whip, sharp with panic. He was already on his feet, wand half-raised, eyes wide. “Let go! What are you doing?!”

You twisted in his grip, yowling in protest, your ears flattened, body writhing like liquid fury. He didn’t release and so you raked your claws across his snout with a hiss.

Padfoot reeled back with a yelp, fur bristling, blood blooming where your claws had connected.

And then—shift—he was Sirius again, all limbs and wild black hair.

“You psychopath!” he barked, staggering backward and rubbing at the scratch on his nose. “You clawed me across the face!”

“You tackled her!” Remus shot back, storming forward now, eyes flicking between the two of you, trying to determine if he needed to physically intervene. “She’s half your size, Sirius—what the hell was that?!”

“She bit me first!” Sirius shouted. “And look at her!”

You were still vibrating at the top of the bedpost, fur puffed, eyes blazing, tail whipping side to side like a live fuse.

“She’s got demon energy! That’s not a cat!.”

And then you moved.

You leapt off the post in a blinding flash of orange and took off across the room like your tail was on fire, skidding across a pile of quills, then rebounding off a chair.

“Oh, hell no—” Sirius dove after you, crawling under the bed, swearing violently. “Come back here, you absolute gremlin—”

Remus reached out a hand to stop him but missed. James was back to wheezing on the floor.

“This is better than the Gryffindor vs Slytherin match,” he gasped.

You darted out from beneath the bed just as Sirius lunged again, sending both of you toppling into the curtains. The fabric ripped, Sirius cursed as yoy tore out of the mess and leapt onto his back.

“OW—bloody hell—she’s on me again—Remus! Help!”

But Remus didn’t move.

Yiu shifted mid-pounce, landing on Sirius’s back in human form, knocking the wind out of him as he crashed forward with a grunt.

“What the—?!” He tried to turn over, arms flailing, but you hooked an arm around his neck and pulled him down again.

“Not so fast, mutt,” you growled, grinning into his ear.

“Oh, now you’ve done it—” Sirius flipped under you, wrestling playfully, his hands grabbing at your waist as he tried to flip you back. “You think you can scratch me and tackle me?”

“Yes, I can!” you shot back, elbowing his ribs.

“Gods, you’re feral,” he wheezed.

“You attacked me!”

“You attacked me first!”

“You bit my tail!”

Remus groaned, rubbing both hands over his face. “Can we please go one night without bloodshed?”

You rolled off him, flopping back on the floor, hair a mess, breath heaving. Sirius followed, lying beside you, shoulder brushing yours.

Then, suddenly, Sirius scrambled to his feet with dramatic flair and sprinted across the room.

“Moony!” he wailed, arms outstretched like a tragic widow. “Your girlfriend is so mean to me!”

Remus barely had time to react before Sirius flung himself forward and latched onto him like a lifeline. “She scratched me! She bit me!”

“You dragged me across the floor by my tail!” you barked from the other side of the room, indignant, hair wild, one sock still stuck to your elbow.

“What was I supposed to do? Purr?!”

Remus, to his credit, didn’t flinch. He stood there with Sirius clinging to him like a particularly dramatic scarf and let out a long, exhausted sigh.

“She’s literally still vibrating,” Sirius whispered, clinging harder. “I think she’s rabid.”

You gaped. “I’m rabid?! You’re the one who went full wolf-on-steroids—Remus, tell him he’s wrong! Tell him I’m not rabid.”

Remus looked between the two of you, the absolute carnage of the dorm, his slashed-up bag in the corner, and said, “I think I’d like to transfer schools.”

James snorted into the pillow he was using to hide his laughter.

Sirius groaned dramatically. “Just hold me while she reloads.”

“Oh my god—” You stomped across the room, snatched Sirius by the collar, and yanked him off Remus with zero effort. “That’s my boyfriend, thank you.”

Remuss finally let the corner of his mouth lift, soft and a little stunned, like he couldn’t believe the storm had finally passed. “Do I get a say in any of this, or…?”

“No!” you and Sirius said in unison.

Then you laughed. Loud and unfiltered and stupidly happy. And Sirius was laughing too, leaning against your shoulder now, his bruised ribs forgotten.

And somehow, even surrounded by feathers, overturned furniture, and two emotionally unstable friends arguing over rights, everything felt exactly right.

[sayruq]

TWO MONTHS BEFORE Hamas attacked Israel, the Pentagon awarded a multimillion-dollar contract to build U.S. troop facilities for a secret base it maintains deep within Israel’s Negev desert, just 20 miles from Gaza. Code-named “Site 512,” the longstanding U.S. base is a radar facility that monitors the skies for missile attacks on Israel. On October 7, however, when thousands of Hamas rockets were launched, Site 512 saw nothing — because it is focused on Iran, more than 700 miles away. The U.S. Army is quietly moving ahead with construction at Site 512, a classified base perched atop Mt. Har Qeren in the Negev, to include what government records describe as a “life support facility”: military speak for barracks-like structures for personnel. Though President Joe Biden and the White House insist that there are no plans to send U.S. troops to Israel amid its war on Hamas, a secret U.S. military presence in Israel already exists. And the government contracts and budget documents show it is evidently growing. The $35.8 million U.S. troop facility, not publicly announced or previously reported, was obliquely referenced in an August 2 contract announcement by the Pentagon. Though the Defense Department has taken pains to obscure the site’s true nature — describing it in other records merely as a “classified worldwide” project — budget documents reviewed by The Intercept reveal that it is part of Site 512. (The Pentagon did not immediately respond to a request for comment.)

[favroitecrime]

Palestinian freedom fighters breaking out of Gaza and reclaiming their occupied territories. They’ve taken over israeli tanks and have chased out the settlers that were on that land. They’ve launched rockets everywhere and the iron dome has failed to intercept. This is about to mark a momentous event in history.

From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free.

[feminariden]

Nothing even happens folks win again

Iran preparing an aura and hype moment

[vague-humanoid]

U.S. and allied forces have been attacked more than 170 times during the Gaza war: 102 times in Syria, 70 in Iraq, and once in Jordan. The latter assault, in January, ignited a round of escalatory U.S. counterattacks against Iranian-allied targets that led Iran to rein in its proxies. As Israel has widened the Gaza war in recent weeks, with more provocative attacks in Lebanon, Iran, and Yemen, Iran’s partners have resumed attacks on U.S. outposts across the region.

While America’s enemies have demonstrated, to lethal effect, their knowledge of the locations of U.S. bases in the region, the Pentagon’s public affairs office claims to have no list of such outposts. “I don’t have any inherent information,” Defense Department spokesperson Pete Nguyen told The Intercept earlier this year. CENTCOM refused to comment on the locations of its bases, citing several reasons, including partners’ reluctance to admit to the presence of U.S. troops in their countries. “[O]ur relationship with the host nations is one of the reasons why this information is not made public,” CENTCOM spokesperson Vail A. Forbeck told The Intercept.

Undeterred, The Intercept launched its own investigation and developed a list of more than 60 U.S. bases, garrisons, or shared foreign facilities in the Middle East. These sites range from small combat outposts to massive air bases in 13 countries: Bahrain, Egypt, Iraq, Israel, Jordan, Kuwait, Lebanon, Oman, Qatar, Saudi Arabia, Syria, the United Arab Emirates, and Yemen. 

At least 14 of these bases have been attacked in recent years. Since October 17, 2023, alone, a mix of one-way attack drones, rockets, mortars, and close-range ballistic missiles have led to at least 145 U.S. casualties — troops and contractors — at regional outposts including three service members killed in a January drone attack on Tower 22, a facility in Jordan.

“The indefinite U.S. military presences in Iraq, Syria, and around the region have near-zero genuine strategic value for the American people, but D.C. national security elites still think the risk is well worth it. Those concerned with the well-being of our service members — such as their families — are likely less comfortable with these soldiers being sitting ducks for local militias,” said Erik Sperling of Just Foreign Policy, an advocacy group critical of mainstream Washington foreign policy. “Americans who are tired of Mideast war should be worried about how these unauthorized hostilities effectively empower regional militias to draw the U.S. into an escalation any time they desire.”

[girlactionfigure]

melissaschapman

Breaking: @unitednations Sinks to New Low in Report on Children in Conflict Zones An upcoming UN report on children in conflict zones claims that the Bibas boys—who aren't even directly named—“died in captivity,” and makes no mention whatsoever of the 12 Druze children murdered by Hezbollah while playing soccer. The report also faults Israel for injuries to children caused by falling rocket interception debris during Iran’s missile attacks—without once acknowledging that Iran launched the assault in the first place

[redwolfxx]

twin dragons

CHAPTER ONE

lin lie x reader x danny rand

iron fists x reader (strategist)

context: marvel rivals

a/n:

idk where this is going to go yet so here we are

tagss: none

series

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝

You materialize in a shimmer of light. Your shoes land on the once pristine and polished floors of the Baxter building.

Around you, several others spawn.

Groot, Storm, Hawkeye, Rocket, and Iron Fist - Lin, that is.

Then a voice cuts through the quiet um of pre-battle tension, Galacta.

"Thirty seconds before you attack. Get ready!"

The team begins strategizing, tension palpable. Groot’s barked limbs flex, Storm rolls her shoulders, static building around her. Lin says nothing, just flexes his fingers. His chi glows like a smoldering ember.

"We push together. Groot takes point, I'll look for high ground, Lin flank behind, Storm fly up, rain chaos. And the two of you-" Hawkeye nods to you and Rocket, "support where needed."

"I'll never understand what Quill sees in this lousy planet..." Rocket mutters to your left, already flipping through his gear with a disgruntled growl.

Then Galacta speaks again.

"Help get that vehicle to its destination!"

The heavy doors slide open with a hiss of pressure and steam.

Your shoes hit the fractured pavement of Midtown—cracked concrete, scorched cars, storefronts turned to ruin. Above, the sky bleeds red, pulsing as if it breathes. The payload looms ahead, waiting for movement.

You fall behind Groot, light on your feet, eyes to the sky, waiting for attack. Your role is clear: heal, buff, reposition.

The first attack hits hard.

Psylocke drops from a broken fire escape, blades glowing with psionic force. Groot intercepts her with a thundering shield of branches. You respond instantly—support pulse fired, your HUD lighting up with movement indicators.

Lin streaks forward like a thrown knife, clashing with Hela at the front. Her blades slice clean, catching him across the side. He drops back a few feet and you’re there, healing energy threading through the chaos to knit his wounds.

He nods, expression unreadable, before launching forward again—his fists blaze gold, and with a clean strike, Hela drops.

Metal creaks violently. Magneto tears a billboard from its place and slams it down. Groot groans, bearing the brunt of it.

Rocket skates beneath the debris, gun blazing.

Storm arcs high above, throwing bolts with pinpoint precision. Hawkeye darts past fallen scaffolding, angling toward the enemy’s backline.

Lin splits off to the left flank.

And then—Danny.

He lands light-footed in the nearby crosswalk. His hair is tousled, his fists glow gold. Not the controlled stillness of Lin's chi, no, his is hotter, more volatile. He grins, as if the chaos around him is just another day at the office.

His eyes find yours instantly.

"Strategist," he drawls.

You grin as you raise a brow. "Didn’t expect the multiverse’s golden boy to be playing in the shadows."

He laughs—bright and smug. "Cute. Let’s see if you’re still smiling in sixty seconds."

Lin hits him from behind mid-sentence.

Golden chi meets golden chi—blow for blow, fluid and brutal. Danny blocks, counters. Lin twists around the strike and retaliates with the precision of a blade.

You can’t look away.

They move fast—too fast. You lose them for a breath, then see Lin stagger, caught in the ribs.

Danny doesn't gloat. He just exhales through his nose. "You're good. Not me, but good."

"We'll see who's standing by the next checkpoint," Lin replies coolly.

You sprint forward to provide support, but Magneto yanks a rusted sedan into your path. You duck under it, firing a burst heal that skims Lin’s shoulder as he rolls upright.

Storm streaks overhead, lightning scorching down. Emma Frost glides through it unfazed, turning crystalline to absorb the hit.

Hawkeye's arrows whiz past, meeting Hela's blades mid-air.

The payload is stuck.

"Get that vehicle moving again!" Galacta quips from her perch above, lounging, safe from the danger.

"Down to thirty seconds" comes her voice once more.

"We're running out of time!" Rocket shouts, appearing beside you.

Smoke still lingers, the acrid scent of burnt metal and ozone thick in the air. The payload groans beneath a fresh barrage of attacks, inching forward with agonizing slowness.

When Danny drops between you and it.

His punch hits your side hard, knocking you off your feet. The air tears from your lungs.

The second blow slams into Lin, sending him crashing into a burnt-out car.

Your pulse races, hands steady as you send out healing pulses. Lin is back up and moving with a relentless precision—darting in, striking fast, then pulling back to avoid counterattacks. You catch the slight grimace as a glancing blow grazes his side and immediately flood him with your healing.

The two teams continue in battle, meeting each other blow for blow, but with no progress on the payload, your team begins to get pushed back.

Rocket’s snarky commentary echoes beside you, “Earth’s worst security system.” His machine gun sings, pinning foes momentarily, buying precious seconds.

Danny moves with fiery grace—each strike a brilliant flare, each dodge a blur of golden light. His eyes lock on you briefly, and the unmistakable spark of challenge gleams in them.

His gaze goes back to Lin with a cocky grin gracing his features,

“Still standing I see, let's change that”

Lin doesn’t answer. He’s laser-focused, weaving through enemy fire, the heat of his chi barely contained. But when Danny launches a surprise attack, Lin reels back, the air whooshing as Danny’s fist grazes his ribs.

You rush forward, throwing a burst of protective energy just in time to soften the impact.

The battlefield fractures around you—the ground cracks, flaming wreckage smolders, and the team fights like every inch is their last.

Seconds stretch into an eternity. Every heartbeat is a gamble. With a coordinated push, Lin and Danny continue their clash, fists sparking as their golden energy floods the street.

Behind them, you cover Groot as he shields Storm from a sudden ambush by Psylocke. You throw beams of healing energy, reinforcing your allies just as Emma Frost storms through in an attempt to snare you with psychic binds.

"That was close," You mutter to nearby Rocket, focusing your ability to break free of the binds, just before Hela’s blade shoots towards you.

“Too close,” Lin’s voice cuts through the noise, knocking it away before it reaches you, and he flanks left, drawing attention away from you.

Your eyes flick to the payload—it shudders, then slowly inches forward, pushed by your team’s desperate efforts.

Galacta’s voice crackles again, “The final ten seconds!”

Your breath catches as the timer ticks down.

Just as Magneto’s steel barricade slams down between you and the payload, the battlefield seems to hold its breath.

With a powerful surge, Groot's limbs flare with raw energy—branches thickening, thorns sharp and gleaming.

Storm calls out from above, her voice steady and commanding, “On my mark—give it all you got!”

Hawkeye’s arrows whisper through the smoke, each one tipped with a pulse charge Rocket rigged on the fly.

Lin’s golden chi flares wildly as he readies a flank.

You feel it, too—a surge of energy in your hands, warm and steady, ready to pour out.

“Now!” Storm’s cry shatters the air.

A blinding storm of electricity cascades down, accompanied by Groot’s spiraling roots. The charged arrows streak through the air, explosive pulses detonating among the enemy ranks.

Lin darts in, fists blazing, carving a path through stunned foes.

You unleash a wave of healing and buffing energy, knitting wounds, heightening reflexes.

Magneto grunts in frustration, his control faltering as his metal begins to fall from the sky.

The enemy team stumbles, pushed back into disarray.

Emma Frost’s crystalline form cracks under the relentless assault, and Psylocke falls back, clutching a wounded shoulder.

The payload jolts forward, crossing the glowing arc of checkpoint one, Grand Central Terminal.

Galacta’s voice rings through your comms “The vehicle reached a checkpoint. Keep up the momentum!"

The team regroups briefly, breaths heavy, eyes blazing with renewed fire.

“Keep it moving,” someone shouts. “We’re not done yet.”

Storm launches into the sky, thunder booming.

Groot steadies the payload with a steady grip.

Hawkeye takes aim for cover fire, while Rocket revs his gear.

Lin and Danny exchange a tense glance, then push forward in tandem—two flames lighting the path.

The city around you trembles under the assault, but the payload moves closer to the subway station, checkpoint two.

Then—

A sudden, brutal counterstrike.

Magneto, rallying with terrifying focus, rips a twisted wrecking ball from a nearby crane.

Hela and Psylocke flank from either side, their attacks synchronized and deadly. Loki not far behind, providing critical support to their team.

A massive explosion sends debris flying.

Lin is slammed into a wall, gasping as his golden glow flickers.

You’re thrown off your feet by a surge of psychic energy, vision blurring.

Groot’s massive form is crushed beneath a barrage of metal shards, his roar echoing in pain.

Hawkeye is caught by Hela's unrelenting blades and falls behind a wall.

Storm falters in midair, lightning sputtering as she is caught in a telepathic trap.

The payload shudders, grinding to a halt just feet from checkpoint two.

You hear a faint "You got them all!" come from the comms of the other team as light envelops you and your teammates, sending you all back to the spawn.

Materializing in the spawn once more, you and your teammates make a mad rush for the payload, adrenaline coursing through your veins.

"Down to thirty seconds! Get that vehicle moving again!"

The payload sits between Grand Central and the subway station, the second checkpoint only meters away.

The enemy forces have already regrouped and are continuing their assault on your team.

Hawkeye signals sharply. “They’re pushing back hard. Watch your backs!”

The air fills with the clanging of metal debris, humming of psionic blades, and crackling lightning.

You throw out healing pulses as Lin darts forward, golden fists igniting.

Storm’s lightning pierces the darkening sky.

Rocket zips through debris, firing at anyone who gets too close.

Still, the enemy pressure doesn’t relent.

“The final ten seconds!” Galacta warns sharply.

The payload shudders, inching forward as your team fights tooth and nail.

But then—a devastating counterattack.

Magneto’s iron grip bends steel like paper, sending debris flying with deadly precision.

Emma Frost and Psylocke coordinate from the shadows, striking from unexpected angles.

Your team is pushed back, step by agonizing step.

The payload halts just outside Grand Central, stalled.

“Keep that payload moving, you're nearly there!” Galacta’s voice shouts above the chaos.

You grit your teeth, readying your arms.

Groot plants his massive limbs firmly, shielding the team.

Storm’s eyes flash electric fury as she unleashes a storm surge.

Lin meets Danny in continued battle, fists glowing in green flames.

But the enemy doesn’t yield.

A final surge of coordinated attack forces your team back once more, the payload still motionless.

With every ounce of strength, you throw your energy into healing and buffing your teammates, but the enemy’s relentless onslaught proves too much.

The timer on your watches all flash red, the round is over.

"Final score: one to zero! Time to switch things up! Including which side you're on." Comes Galacta's voice over the tension of the battle.

Smoke hangs in the air. Danny stands alone in the rubble, blood on his lip, fists still glowing.

He looks down at you, victorious. Smirking.

You rise to one knee, meeting his gaze without flinching.

This isn’t over.

Not even close.

[vyorei]

Copied from the OG Tweet as it's too long to screenshot. Source is @Jonathan_K_Cook on Twitter:

The missing context for what's happening in Gaza is that Israel has been working night and day to ethnically cleanse the Palestinian people from their homeland since even before Israel become a state – when it was known as the Zionist movement.

Israel didn't just cleanse Palestinians in 1948, when it was founded as a Western colonial project, and again under cover of a regional war in 1967.

It also worked to ethnically cleanse Palestinians every day between those dates and afterwards. The aim was to move them off their historic lands, and either expel them beyond Israel’s new, expanded borders or concentrate them into small ghettoes inside those borders – as a holding measure until they could be expelled outside the borders.

The 'settler' project, as we call it, is a misnomer. It's really Israel's ethnic cleansing programme. Israel even has a special word for it in Hebrew: 'Judaisation', or making the land Jewish. It is official government policy.

Gaza was the largest of the Palestinian reservations created by Israel's ethnic cleansing programme, and the most overcrowded. To stop the inhabitants spilling out, Israel built a fence-barrier in the early 1990s to pen them in. Then when policing became too hard from within the prison, Israel pulled back in 2005 to the outer perimeter barrier.

New technology allowed Israel to besiege Gaza remotely by land, sea and air in 2007, limiting the entry of food and vital items like medicine and cement for construction. Automated gun towers shot anyone who came near the fence. The navy patrolled the sea, stopping boats straying more than a kilometre or two off shore. And drones watched 24 hours a day from the sky.

The people of Gaza were sealed in and largely forgotten, except when they lobbed a few rockets over the fence – to international indignation. If they fired too many rockets, Israel bombed them mercilessly and occasionally launched a ground invasion. The rocket threat was increasingly neutralised by a rocket interception system, paid for by the US, called Iron Dome.

Palestinians tried to be more inventive in finding ways to break out of their prison. They built tunnels. But Israel found ways to identify those that ran close to the fence and destroyed them.

Palestinians tried to get attention by protesting en masse at the fence. Israeli snipers were ordered to shoot them in the legs, leading to thousands of amputees. The 'deterrence' seemed to work.

Israel could once again sit back and let the Palestinians rot in Gaza. 'Quiet' had been restored.

Until, that is, last weekend when Hamas broke out briefly and ran amok, killing civilians and soldiers alike.

So Israel now needs a new policy.

It looks like the ethnic cleansing programme is being applied to Gaza anew. The half of the population in the enclave's north is being herded south, where there are not the resources to cope with them. And even if there were, Israel has cut off food, water and power to everyone in Gaza.

The enclave is quickly becoming a pressure cooker. The pressure is meant to build on Egypt to allow the Palestinians entry into Sinai on 'humanitarian' grounds.

Whatever the media are telling you, the 'conflict' – that is, Israel's cleansing programme – started long before Hamas appeared on the scene. In fact, Hamas emerged very late, as the predictable response to Israel's violent colonisation project.

Israel could once again sit back and let the Palestinians rot in Gaza. 'Quiet' had been restored.

Ignore the fake news. Israel isn't defending itself. It's enforcing its right to continue ethnically cleansing Palestinians.

[rainbowsuitcase]

My favorite bits from the Top Gun Novel - Part 2: Goose & GooseMav

Parts: Mav; Ice & IceMav; Flyboys and Others; Plot and Other Things

Disclaimer and a reminder that the novelization is based on an earlier version of the script so in my opinion, none of it can be actually considered canon. But it's still an interesting read!

Emphasis mine.

Helping Cougar land. Also, "Lordy, boys."

(Transcription: “If I land this thing upside down... and I live—I’ll have your butt, Maverick!”

[bold] “Lordy, boys,” Goose put in with his jocular drawl, [end bold] “this is no time to talk butts!” End Transcription.)

2.

(Transcription: As they flamed out—VVOOOOMMMM!—and rolled up, cut the engines and sat there, immobile, waiting for a tow, Goose figured he might as well add a word or two of windup to the evening’s fun.

“On behalf of your captain and your crew, I want to thank you for flying VF one-fourteen. [bold] And next time your plans include the middle of the goddamn ocean in the dead of the frigging night, I hope you'll think... of Naval Aviation.” [end bold] End Transcription.)

3. This novel is making me love Goosey so much.

(Transcription: “Pinch me, Maverick,’ Goose muttered. “Is this possible?”

Maverick considered it solemnly, then nodded. “It is,” he pronounced. Then he drained his glass of wine and attacked the last remains of his steak.

Goose shook his head. "Me? [bold] Nick Bradshaw from Buck Holler, Tennessee? [end bold] I’m going to Top Gun?” He really was a country boy, but he had gotten himself to Annapolis and his “aw-shucks,” down-home drawl fronted for a brilliant intelligence that made him the best radar intercept officer Maverick had ever known or heard of. Still, every now and then Goose opened his big, friendly mouth and lifted his shaggy eyebrows and scratched his every-which-way head, and there was the Buck Holler boy all bustin’ with wonder at what this “danged old world” had to show. End Transcription.)

4. I am seeing it and it looks very funny.

(Transcription: It was a pretty big bike, and it rocketed across the desert as if wanting to let go of gravity, altogether. Leaning low across the handlebars, his face half-hidden by aviator shades, Maverick felt the power of the thing revving up and up and up while the road turned into a jetstream behind them. [bold] Goose hung on in back, [end bold] helmet and goggles not anywhere near hiding the huge, happy grin that lit up his gaunt farmer’s face like a gleeful jack-o’-lantern. End Transcription.)

5. Before the first class.

(Transcription: [bold] “Hey, not much time to get into trouble,” [end bold] Maverick commented.

[bold] “Oh, you’ll find a way,” [end bold] Goose reassured him. End Transcription.)

6. Hop no. 1.

(Transcription: “We did it!’ Maverick shouted.

“Look, Ma, top of the world!” Goose hollered as the earth careened zanily under and over and around them for a wild, celebratory moment. Then Maverick broke hard and high and started the descent on a distinctly perpendicular slant. Goose watched the world go by sideways for a moment. They were coming in on the landing pattern, but definitely crooked.

“Ahh... a little high on the left, don’t you think?” he said politely, [bold] as if breaking the news that Maverick had forgotten to lift his little finger over his teacup. [end bold] Nothing serious, just that they were coming in on a wing tip instead of on landing gear. End Transcription.)

7. And the flyby!

(Transcription: “Hi... hi there,” Goose greeted the tower as they flew by. “How y’all doin’ in there?” He switched off UHF and back onto the inter-cockpit system. Maverick got a big sigh in his ear. [bold] “You know, Mav, at one point I did used to want a Navy career.” [end bold]

“Come on, relax,” Maverick told him as he completed the roll and banked again. “Now they know who we are.”

“You see all those guys with gold on their shoulders?” Goose said. “The one with smoke shooting out of his ears was Johnson, air boss of the Kitty Hawk. That’s all.”

“Come on,” Maverick said with a laugh, “we beat an instructor. How many times in your life do you get to do a victory roll?”

“Just once, if they take your plane away,” Goose answered philosophically, as they turned into a roll and yaw opposite, five degrees-right wing down and five degrees-left sideslip, heading for touchdown. End Transcription.)

8. On wingman-leaving.

(Transcription: Out of the fight. Maverick had been tricked, humiliated. He was stunned. Viper poured a little salt in the wound: “Walked right into it. Not only that, but Zorro got your wingman while your back was turned. Nice going, Maverick.”

Goose found his voice. [bold] “The Defense Department regrets to inform you that your sons are dead because they were stupid. Great balls of fire!” [end bold]

“Both dead, only one stupid. Sorry, Goose.” End Transcription.)

9. GooseCarole and childhood friends AND highschool sweethearts!

(Transcription: In the four years that Goose and Carole had been married, they’d only had a few months together, broken down into days, mostly, except for the time he was stationed in Pensacola and they were almost like normal people—that had lasted nearly four months. But oh, they loved each other a lot. Goose couldn’t think of a time when he hadn’t known Carole and loved her. They had chased chickens together as barefoot kids and [bold] gone all through high school holding hands. [end bold] Carole was his lifeline and his reality. Riding to the airport to meet her that evening, Goose found the taxi unbearably slow and had to keep himself from urging the driver to step on it. There was plenty of time; he was just that eager to see them. One-and-a-half-year-olds could change a lot in two weeks; what if Bradley didn’t even recognize him? End Transcription.)