#type. excerpt

[heritageposts]

[...] During the early stages of the war, the army gave sweeping approval for officers to adopt Lavender’s kill lists, with no requirement to thoroughly check why the machine made those choices or to examine the raw intelligence data on which they were based. One source stated that human personnel often served only as a “rubber stamp” for the machine’s decisions, adding that, normally, they would personally devote only about “20 seconds” to each target before authorizing a bombing — just to make sure the Lavender-marked target is male. This was despite knowing that the system makes what are regarded as “errors” in approximately 10 percent of cases, and is known to occasionally mark individuals who have merely a loose connection to militant groups, or no connection at all. Moreover, the Israeli army systematically attacked the targeted individuals while they were in their homes — usually at night while their whole families were present — rather than during the course of military activity. According to the sources, this was because, from what they regarded as an intelligence standpoint, it was easier to locate the individuals in their private houses. Additional automated systems, including one called “Where’s Daddy?” also revealed here for the first time, were used specifically to track the targeted individuals and carry out bombings when they had entered their family’s residences.

In case you didn't catch that: the IOF made an automated system that intentionally marks entire families as targets for bombings, and then they called it "Where's Daddy."

Like what is there even to say anymore? It's so depraved you almost think you have to be misreading it...

“We were not interested in killing [Hamas] operatives only when they were in a military building or engaged in a military activity,” A., an intelligence officer, told +972 and Local Call. “On the contrary, the IDF bombed them in homes without hesitation, as a first option. It’s much easier to bomb a family’s home. The system is built to look for them in these situations.” The Lavender machine joins another AI system, “The Gospel,” about which information was revealed in a previous investigation by +972 and Local Call in November 2023, as well as in the Israeli military’s own publications. A fundamental difference between the two systems is in the definition of the target: whereas The Gospel marks buildings and structures that the army claims militants operate from, Lavender marks people — and puts them on a kill list.  In addition, according to the sources, when it came to targeting alleged junior militants marked by Lavender, the army preferred to only use unguided missiles, commonly known as “dumb” bombs (in contrast to “smart” precision bombs), which can destroy entire buildings on top of their occupants and cause significant casualties. “You don’t want to waste expensive bombs on unimportant people — it’s very expensive for the country and there’s a shortage [of those bombs],” said C., one of the intelligence officers. Another source said that they had personally authorized the bombing of “hundreds” of private homes of alleged junior operatives marked by Lavender, with many of these attacks killing civilians and entire families as “collateral damage.” In an unprecedented move, according to two of the sources, the army also decided during the first weeks of the war that, for every junior Hamas operative that Lavender marked, it was permissible to kill up to 15 or 20 civilians; in the past, the military did not authorize any “collateral damage” during assassinations of low-ranking militants. The sources added that, in the event that the target was a senior Hamas official with the rank of battalion or brigade commander, the army on several occasions authorized the killing of more than 100 civilians in the assassination of a single commander.

. . . continues on +972 Magazine (3 Apr 2024)

[heretoobsessstuff]

“we’re all gonna miss major Cleven, sir”.

Major Cleven John thought bitterly. Gale. Sweet beautiful Gale. Gale who was there. In the cockpit. Fighting for his life while John was sleeping next to a random woman. Gale who was falling from the sky. Living his last moments. Losing blood. In pain. Scared and cold and alone. While John was here in London. Drinking and coaxing a random woman to spend more time in his bed. Where was Gale now? His Gale. Laying on the dirt and mud somewhere? Lost in some distant German field with no one to look for him? His ocean blue eyes forever closed? What had become of him? Of his Gale? Was anything even left of him?

John felt sick with anger. His thoughts ran wild with no one to tame them. I should’ve never left him alone. I should’ve been up there with him. Protecting him. Looking out for him. It was supposed to be me and him left up in the sky. Not me in London and him lost somewhere I can never reach. It’s all my fault. I failed him. I failed him. Grief clawing at his throat. Suffocating him. His eyes stinging with unshed tears and the lump he had swollen down a hundred times with the alcohol. He needed to go. Avenge Buck. Or find him. Or join him. Wherever he was.

“Don’t worry Kenny” he said. Jumping into the Jeep. Hands shaking. “I don’t even feel it”.

[lalune9x]

'S-Classes That I Raised' chapter 814

And now... “I don’t need your approval anymore, Sung Hyunje-ssi.” His hair, clinging to his face in damp strands, and his golden eyes, still sparkled. Not just his appearance, but his very existence was beautiful. He was still the one I could call my ideal type, but it was different from before. “Sure, even now, I'd feel good if you think well of me. But that’s not the result of me trying to impress you. It’s just that I tried to live well for my own sake, and that appealed to you too.” It was his taste that matched me, not that I had changed myself to suit him. “Han Yoojin… lived well,” I said. [...] “I’m not going to be pushed around one-sidedly by you anymore.” “I see,” Sung Hyunje replied, smiling radiantly. My expression probably mirrored his. Then he let out a short sigh, pretending to be sad. “So Han Yoojin-gun doesn’t need me anymore.” “What are you talking about?” “It seems it’s now my turn to be cast aside.” “Oh, please. Don’t pretend you don’t understand what I’m saying perfectly well!”

[lupinescribbler]

Was going to write just a quick chatty scene for the start of the next chapter for one of my Macgyver fics, but the bantering is starting to get away from me lol

//

“That’s not how… any of that works.” Mac couldn’t help but let out a disbelieving chuckle halfway through his sentence. His arm thrown over his eyes blocked out Jack’s pouty expression across the jet, but he could imagine it clearly.

��Any of what?” Jack protested immediately.

“The conservation of matter, for one. The coffin wouldn’t have imploded from you ‘breathing up’ all the air, you would just convert enough of the oxygen into carbon dioxide that you’d eventually die from oxygen deprivation.”

“I know that, you need to tell my dream that.” Jack bemoaned. “Don’t tell me all your dreams follow the rules, you break far too many of them when you’re awake for me to believe your dream-self is any less of a headache.”

Mac shrugged, which was harder than he thought it’d be from flat on his back. “Alright, alright, what happened next?”

“No wait, let me guess.” Riley’s wry, I’m-so-tired-of-this-conversation voice cut in with sardonic enthusiasm. “Jack died.”

“He would have passed out first. The brain shuts down when it doesn’t get enough oxygen.” Mac resettled, the edge of a seat-buckle digging into the center of his back. Initially he’d been trying to block out the bright light and catch up on some sleep before the mission, but he’d long since given up on that. “In Jack’s dream I guess that would be sleep-ception.”

“Passing out isn’t sleep.” Jack disagreed. “Speaking of which, it looks like you’ve checked some extra luggage, hoss.”

“What?” Riley cut in, a mix of bewildered and amused.

“He’s referring to my eye bags.” Mac filled her in begrudgingly. He hated the fact that he’d spent enough time with Jack to follow that particular train of thought. “I’m fine, Jack, just didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“Nightmares?” Jack prompted, tone sympathetic.

Mac rolled his eyes from behind the protection of his arm. “Just once could you assume that I’d gotten laid?”

[howifeltabouthim]

When you're a writer you're never quite like other people, she said. You're in a secret world.

Susan Minot, from Don't Be a Stranger

[star--anon]

I wrote another quick brainwashed!Minho piece

"A7."

He wouldn't give them another response. Jorge frowned. It had been weeks of work, but he still refused to give them another response. 

"Hermano," he tried gently, "we went over this."

He kept his words as light and mellow as he could, and still Minho flinched violently backwards. 

"Minho," the boy whispered, working his jaw like he had to spit the name out, like it wasn't something he was used to saying. Like it wasn't his.

Jorge nodded encouragingly. "Good. 'My name is Minho.' Just like that."

"My name is Minho." It was very quiet, so quiet that Jorge almost missed it. 

"Good. Can you say it again?"

"...my name is Minho."

"Again?"

"My name is Minho."

"Excellent." Then came the dreaded question: "What's your name, hermano?"

An agonizing silence followed those words. 

"A7," he whispered. And then he began to cry. 

[vanalex]

Last time you flew into a jealous rage?

"Probably when I tried to k!ll myself, which was October 15, 1989. I was really fucking out of my mind back then, but I've learnt that no one is worth hurting yourself for. And you can't base your happiness around someone else, because when he or she leaves, there goes your little world. So now I'm trying to be happy with myself, and when I meet someone, I don't expect them to make me happy. I try to share my happiness with them."

Last time you did something you regretted?

"There are times during touring because the four of us are constantly trapped together, when I do say things that I don't really mean. I'm mad at myself, I'm mad at the world, and as a human being I take it out on people that I care about. Things that I'm not proud of."

Last time you drank so much red wine onstage that the show suffered?

"You know, it's not so much when I drink too much red wine. It's when I run out of red wine and start drinking beer. The two really don't mix. Years ago, during a gig in Brooklyn, I remember waking up on the floor of the stage entangled somehow in the strings of my bass. It was like a fucking medieval torture device. Everyone thought it was a great show, but I have no recollection of it. It's everything in moderation now."

~Peter Steele~ excerpts from Kerrang Magazine 1996

[immunetoneurotoxin]

“Not a soul assigned to their case at the Bureau could make sense of their existence. There wasn’t a single scientist, parapsychologist, doctor, or specialist with over a dozen PHD’s under the sun that could figure them out. Pyrokinesis in a human? They defy every law of nature, yet they exist amongst humanity regardless. How do you explain that?” “The truth is that there are a lot of unknown things out there in the world that mankind hasn't even begun to scratch the surface of. Everyone flocked to this case trying to find rational answers, but there aren’t any. Look at the files in your hands. By the eyes of science, Pyro should not exist. Don’t you know what happens to things mankind doesn’t understand? The Bureau has done sickening things to them in the name of research.” “That’s why I helped them escape, Conagher.”

Excerpt from the novel INCENDIARY; A TF2 Pyro origin story Read the latest chapter of 'Incendiary' on AO3 here! Artwork created by the incredible @narklos ♡ 

[crypticdesire]

thinking about fucking a priest while they wear this…

thoughts of dom amab reader and sub priest ahead !

thinking about tightening their collar and caressing the figure of jesus, reminding them how easily they disrespected the sacrifice for their sins because they’re so desperate to be touched.

it’s truly pathetic that someone of their status would give into the lure of physical pleasure rather than remain obedient to the one they vowed to dedicate their life to.

they’re practically begging for god’s wrath, so they at least deserve your sadistic punishments. you touch their skin with your lips and stimulate their carnal desires but they should be constantly reminded of their sacrilege, unable to be fully satisfied.

the chasity device they wear reminds them of their sin that is corrupting them, the feeling of the attached urethra rod emphasizing what a whore they are for submitting to another human when they have a higher purpose of pleasing god.

a lighted candle represents god’s presence, every drop of wax on the priest’s neck and chest feeling like jesus weeps over them, shedding scorching tears for the suffering and divine justice the priest has so readily subjected themselves to.

if they ever hope to redeem themselves, you’ll have to train them to be obedient again. they can start by taking the whole length of your cock into their mouth, cockwarming you as you pray for god to have mercy on them.

their cries of god’s holy name should drown out the creaking of the wooden pew you roughly fuck them against, and their eyes should remain open and fixed upon the alter.

they should beg god to allow them to withstand these trials lest members of their congregation find them fucked dumb and shrouded in the colorful lights of judgement that the stained glass windows cast on the sacred floor of the house of god.

[imaginetoomuch]

Lana receives the file on her desk early that morning, casually opening it unbeknownst to the horrors in its pages. 

She reads the information at least three times, until the words merge into waves of black ink, until she can’t see that face looking at her so clearly. Her phone on the table taunts her, flashing with a new message notification just above the voicemails she’d pointedly ignored. 

Mia Fey was brutally attacked and murdered last night.

The reports are saying it was her own sister.

Lana feels - well, she doesn’t feel much of anything anymore - that the past few years she’s morphed from a human being to just a vessel, a puppet. It’s not like she can even think for herself anymore. She’s never quite known herself to have rage like this - at the world, at the system she works in, and most significantly her own self.

She can’t stomach the thought that she'll play a hand in the wrongful conviction of the girl her own sister once considered a best friend, the girl that meant everything to the love of her life.

God, maybe she’ll actually stand up to Gant for once, tell him this is the one case she refuses to take. He gave it to her on purpose, she knows that, Lana and Mia were still together when she started at the police department. But who is she kidding - she’s a coward, that’s why Mia’s fucking dead, that’s why Lana’s been in Hell for the past two years - she won’t do anything. She’ll try and argue this case is too big for her to handle, hope it gets passed off to another prosecutor, pray that she doesn’t have to see the images of Mia’s dead body bruised and bleeding, a reminder of what Lana’s become.

[secretsiwhispertothemoon]

If You Want Me

If you want me, speak up don't give me subtext cloaked in silence. Say it with your chest, kiss me in the middle of the street, bold as the moon pulling tides.

If you want me, press me to the brick, reach for me, as the moon pulls in the tide thumbprint sinking into my lips, a tender concave, an undeniable cresent.

If you want me, follow the thread— strip off the sweaters of our skin, let the windows and doors yawn wide as the world watches the rise.

If you want me, ask me out, simple as that. write me into all of your needful hungry poems with permanent ink If you want me, know I’ve always been loud,

[sisyphusshrugged]

oh wait now that it's May i should post my favorite poem again

[lockandkeyblade]

“Plus you’ve got, y’know–” Sora taps the side of his nose. “Dark sniffer.”

“Sora, no one calls it a Dark sniffer.”

“Says you, Dark sniffer.” Riku raises his brow at Roxas, who stares back unrepentantly.

[aluneposting]

except from a fic i might not finish

Gortash’s grip is tight around your wrist. Even as you try to escape, he pulls you back to into chest, back into his overwhelming embrace. The champagne in your glass spills onto the grass of the orangery. People are staring, and you flush with anger. ‘Let me go,��� you say, tugging on your arm. Gortash smiles at you with a knowing, fond grin. ‘Come now, we have so much history,’ he murmurs, leaning forward until you’re almost nose to nose. ‘It’s been so long since I’ve seen you.’ But then someone is sliding an arm around your waist as if they heard your silent prayers. They pull you away from Gortash and he only releases your arm to not cause more trouble. You look up, startled, and see the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen before. An angel of vengeance. Pale hair, sharp eyes  —  and a dangerous grin. He tucks you against his side, and you stumble behind him slightly, your cheek pressing to his shoulder. You hold your drink to your chest defensively. ‘There you are, my dear,’ Astarion says smoothly. ‘I’ve been looking for you everywhere.’

[howifeltabouthim]

. . . some speaking rather more than others, those speaking less usually more interesting.

Susan Minot, from Don't Be a Stranger

[cringearenachamp]

god this is parody level shit lol this should be in a movie