#govt revenge

[enchantingepics]

Story Prompt 52

In the corridors of a secretive academy, the director, a woman of charm and cunning, oversaw the training of a new generation of femme fatales. Among the fresh faces was a captivating newcomer, her long brown locks cascading around her shoulders in waves, her eyes a captivating blend of honey and amber, framed by delicate spectacles. Dressed in a striking red gown, she exuded an air of innocence tinged with subtle allure.

Approaching the director with a shy smile, the girl inquired about the location of the dance class, her voice soft and melodic. With a graceful gesture, the director guided her down the dimly lit hallway to the dance room, where the faint sound of music drifted through the air.

Leaning against the wall, the director's gaze drifted to a photograph on her desk, triggering memories of her past. She remembered her early days, the thrill of her first mission, and the challenges she had faced along the way.

Lost in thought, she pored over a file containing information on the new student, her eyes drawn to a particular detail – the girl's date of birth. A sense of unease washed over her as she realized its significance, the date mirroring a painful chapter from her own past.

Summoning the girl to her side, the director revealed the truth of their connection, a bond forged by fate and circumstance. Tears welled in their eyes as they shared their stories, united in their quest for justice.

With determination in their hearts, they rallied their allies – students and teachers alike – ready to confront the forces that had wronged them. Armed with courage and conviction, they marched forward, a force to be reckoned with.

[spookyteeth]

based off of that one picture that i can't find rn

i'm weirdly proud of this

FUCK BOTH OF THESE GUYS BTW. this was just a drawing for me and my friends gc pfp

[aryomengrande]

📓 | fuyunie for @fuyuluvr

behind the scenes of nie’s self-ship commission ( ˃̶͈◡ ˂̶͈ ) thank u for this opportunity, nie ! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

commission me ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧

[lary-the-lizard]

Which is more important? Rehabilitating those who have caused pain or taking our hurt out on them?

I have learned the hard way that some people just aren’t going to fucking change no matter how often they are shown that their actions and beliefs are wrong and those actions and beliefs cause them pain. The only way to really make their actions harmless is to rid them of the ability to cause harm to others.

But these people aren’t all people. Many who cause harm either have no harmless alternatives, are being harmed and can’t break out of the cycle, or don’t understand that their actions are harmful. With support and practice in a controlled environment these people can and often do change.

But in all of this, there are the victims and the victim’s loved ones who now have to figure out how to recover and not become one of the harm doers. Should they be allowed to take out some if not all of their hurt out on their abuser? It’s been found that this often doesn’t help anyone. At the same time, actions have consequences. You hurt someone, you get hurt back, often times worse. And you learn to not fucking do that. But abusers are often serial abusers. They didn’t learn after the first, second, etc time causing harm. And hurting them in such a way that makes it impossible to continue causing harm does technically help society overall.

Punishing the rich doesn’t stop the rich from causing harm because while they are thoughtless assholes, they aren’t the original inventors of the system that gives them this power. Killing them won’t change anything because someone else will just take their place and we’ll then blame that person for all the harm the system allows them to get away with while they sit in the authority chair. Being rich is a way of existing. Being a serial killer is an action takes. Punishing someone for killing multiple people makes more sense. But that won’t change anything. Taking away this person’s opportunities to cause harm while offering them the opportunity to change and do good or live the rest of their days out without hurting anyone or being hurt causes less harm overall than “punishing” them would. But the victims would also be deprived of the revenge they may feel they deserve. And that hurts.

What are your thoughts?

[urdreamgirls-dreamgirl]

ok and like one of the main things i would like to say is that if they felt the need to have an old man who is critical of the american government, they literally could remove the violent zionist brett gelman and replace him with wayne munson. a wayne munson who’s seeking revenge for his surrogate son who was used as a scapegoat by the fbi to cover up THEIR failures. a wayne munson who, like hopper, is a vietnam vet who returned from his time overseas completely disillusioned with the whole system that allowed all his friends to die for a lie and who’s forced to watch this happen yet again to eddie, a young poor boy who the system abandoned. a wayne munson who readily and fully believes in the supernatural and who provides a working class perspective to the struggle against the us govt’s lies and manipulations that doesn’t really exist in the show, despite class playing a major role in the development of characters like the byers and the wheelers.

the duffers are abt to obliterate the critical acclaim they received for the first season the same way d&d did with game of thrones because they don’t understand their own characters or their fan base and they don’t understand how to develop compelling and complex storylines while remaining realistic and believable in terms of character development and relationships.

[i-yap]

I found ur blog like a week ago and I went through all ur Dick Grayson fics and I'm lowkey obsessed help

May I ask for childhood best friends to lovers w Grayson? Maybe he and R were besties at the circus but after the incident and he gets taken in by Bruce, they get taken into the Court of Owls and works as their best informant/spy when they meet Dick again as Nightwing? Or just normal childhood friends to lovers lol

Im not too familiar with the court of owls..so im just doing a govt spy y/n if thats okay. And also i need more people like you giving love to babyboy grayson tbh

Dick Grayson x spy!reader - Childhood besties ->lovers

The girl who could fit through, mold through any surface, any ring or hole and the boy who could jump, twist and turn like no other. The boy of the spotlight and the girl of the shawdows..the only kids in a big circus they called family. But what good is a family when he's gone. Some billionaire, from gotham they said. Was it the billionaire who held him when he cried that night. No , she was.

That night, the girl had no parents so his parents were hers too. But she is calmer, always has been. Calm, bidding her time before she makes enough to escape. A house is not a home without her wonder boy.

Wonder boy? in the choas of it all, in the pain, for the sake of revenge he left her. But he himself doesnt see - he really had no choice. " New family" the press called it. A family is not born out of pain, its not born from bloodthirst. She was his family, but when he came to get her she was long gone.

Now here he stands, looking at her. He should have known she'd turn into a govt spy, she had a talent of getting in where she shouldnt. The way she got into his heart and never left.

The vigilante and the soldier, the hero and the spy, the fighter and the runner.

Would she believe him if he said he thought about her everyday? would she love what he has become? Would she forgive him for all he has done?

What all he had done. the women he has been with, they never meant anything. He thought she was dead! if he had known. They promised under the circus lights...but here he was. He wonders if she broke the promise too.

She didnt care, of course not. This was her sweetheart, her lover. He had the same smile, the same love for the spotlight, the same passion and the same kind eyes. Maybe she is breaking the oath of being a government official, but promises are made to be broken and for him, there's not much she wouldnt break.

The same applies to him, after all these years, reunited again. Maybe they never left at all. It's written in the curtains of the big red-yellow tent.

Changing the system from inside and out, y/n really has always been what's missing from Dick grayson. How can boy wonder be without his girl mystery after all.

[bromcommie]

the beloved name, exiled free verse poem (?) for @catws-anniversary, day 8 | april 2nd theme: bucky barnes | prompts: ghost story, memories, revenge | on ao3 here

Listen: this is a ghost story. Are you listening?

Good. Let me set the scene: here we are at the beginning of our path, here we are at the mouth of the river, still cool and smelling of salt and rotten fish and not gasoline. And here we have our protagonist who is like all other protagonists, which is to say he is handsome, maybe, or he used to be and he is young, maybe, or he used to be  and he is unimportant and mundane and utterly  human, maybe, or he used to be.

What about a name? This can get confusing, so let's call him Yuri or Yevgeny or Yakub, let's call him Joe or Jack or Jimmy— overplayed, overused, there's too many of those just running around all over the place, trust me. Let's just call him the universal name of all history, meaning let's not call him anything at all. Most of the real protagonists are nameless, and all history ever does is pile them atop each other, dead faceless weight on neat numbered lists, pour them out into shallow unmarked graves, send them home as bits of hammered metal and pairs of over-mended socks, meaning: 31 GOVT=WUX WASHINGTON DC 845PM 3-8-45

THE SECRETARY OF WAR WISHES ME TO EXPRESS— Hello? Everybody home? Are you sitting  down? Sorry for your loss, ma'am. Sorry about the caked blood on his boots, about all the ugly, festering parts that nestled in the chest and grew outwards, stretching towards the sun. You should probably make it a closed-casket funeral, you should probably make it a nice picture on the mantle, a gilded frame for grief, because you won't like the thing the search party digs up from the snow.  Sorry for your loss, ma'am, truly, but know this: никто не забыт и ничто не забыто, meaning vechnaya pamyat, memory eternal, meaning we will forever honor your unnamed hero of a son on neat numbered lists and in the worn, earmarked pages of history. And don't that just beat all. Except for the ones that make it. Except for the rare ones deserving of a title, the ones left to carry history's weight, left to tell the story; left to be immortalized as the writing on the wall. They get to keep their names. You saw it, too. Not really, not the fleshy, messy parts between the syllables, not in a way that counts, and we're not here to talk about him, anyway. I'm the one calling the shots, I'm the one telling this story, so listen. If you say so. So we have our protagonist— tell me about the monster, then. Every good story needs a monster. Except I didn't say monster, did I, I said ghost: something caught in the  doorway but never fully in either room,  something that has a body which is never whole but always wants to be. The body which knows without knowing, which occupies the space between awareness and understanding; the nuclear shadow of longing.

But you don't want that, do you. You want something with clean-cut lines, something with teeth and a mean streak that adds up to more than just the disjointed sum of its parts. I don't blame you for that. So here: have your handsome young unnamed hero while he was still handsome and young and without the weight of a title for a name breaking over his back, sweating in summer heat. Have a scene drawn by a boy on a fire escape with a red-bellied bird over blue water that hasn't caught on fire yet; have a scene in which all the lights add up, in which there are no creeping shadows and the scenery makes sense.

Here is your kindhearted hero who walks tall and straight and shares his chocolate with the children sheltering in the basement of the shattered house, the thousands of children on whose bony backs the mythos of Leningrad was built— which is a thing our protagonist doesn't know then but will learn in time, with  practice and repetition beaten raw into the skin: pain, the mother and father and  inheritor of all earthly knowledge. And here is the monster which is, of course, a house with one too many locked doors, one too many broken windows and not enough light getting in to see his face clearly, to map into memory the places  where the glittering armor's cracked, where the boy's expression bleeds into the  bird on the page. The edges all crooked. The spine tilting to the side. The bird's not flying.

How can it, the boy who is not a boy but a man says, when its wing's broken? And our protagonist says: you're the artist here. Can't you make up a better story,  for a change?

I'm sorry. I tried to keep it simple. Let me start over.

There's something about the house you're keeping out of the picture. How did they get in if all the doors are locked? Where did they come from? Where did the overlap come from? The other side of the river Lethe, maybe, except that's just another myth our protagonist doesn't remember learning but knows anyway. Head stuffed full of stories, passed on in hope and bread and blood head stuffed full of cotton, gasoline-soaked waiting decades for something to  spark, except someone's cut the connecting strings, you see. Someone's hacked off the fuse. A lighter's useless if you can't even light a candle with it. A tool loses its value when it stops doing its job well, when it becomes nothing but the disjointed, disloyal sum of its parts and bites the hand wielding it, which is usually when the hand tends to get pissed. You know. I don't need to tell you this. The voltage wasn't high enough to burn out the fear of failure. If someone's cut the fuse, where's the flame coming from, then? Shut up, I'm getting there. We were talking about the scenery, about the roses next to the blown out window, pink on red on tablecloth white; we were talking about the dark-eyed girl in the basement with the one-sided dimple, the one-sided shyness, the handful of picked wildflowers when he walked back through the door, wanting to go back to a time when his body was a gentler sum of its parts.

What color were the wildflowers? Now you're getting somewhere. Pink, white, yellow; blue, maybe, the color of kindness. That is what they were fighting for, you understand, one and all: a kinder world, a world where little girls never end up hungry in basements again. That's what they were told over and over again by the same men in different suits.

I know what you're about to ask. No, the children never got out of the basement, and yes, the girl's eyes were blue back then, not brown a mirror of belonging, and in another version of events her hair was red, but that's a story for a different time. And the world? Well. Depends on who you ask. Anyway, we were talking about the boy on the fire escape and the boy in the shattered house drawing the same bird. Mythology carries weight even without proof of it ever happening, but this is different. Is it? What makes you say that? Well the birds looked alike, and the two boys didn't look alike at all except for all the ways in which they did, the lip caught between teeth and the line cutting between brows and the soft scritch-scritch-scritch of stubby pencil on cheap paper, a faint looping sound that should've driven our protagonist mad but didn't. Echo of a life repeated, of a sound as familiar as his own heart, which is the closest thing to proof of existence you can get.  I beat, therefore I exist. I am  beaten, therefore: there's still something permanent about this body that can't be taken away.

The boy's body wasn't permanent, or at least it turned out malleable despite its innate unbreakability, despite the hard-earned slouch of the shoulders and the same old broken nose and the twist to the mouth; not smiling, but close.  The eyes; not looking at, but not looking away.

Maybe it's not the boy that changed, but the looking. Maybe that's the part the protagonist made up after: the looking back. Explain the flame then, explain the devil in the details, explain the hunger cutting through the ribs, spilling the contents out into the world to be pecked at. If none of it was real, explain how all this light is getting in. Oy vey iz mir, I'll never get to the end if you keep this up. You sure ask a lot of questions, don't you? I don't like when you do that, just repeat words you heard once or twice— or a thousand times. Isn't that all storytelling is? Do you even know what they mean? Do you? They mean, enough already They mean, didn't I tell you to buzz off? They mean you've been at the wheel too long but I've been here longer, so let me talk for once, let me set some roots down in this shifting landscape you're running from and be more than just a collection of wild old hungers. I thought you said this is a ghost story. That's all ghosts ever are.

I'm not talking about me, I'm talking about our hero and I'm just trying to prove a point here, anyway. I'm trying to say maybe the birds weren't the same bird, maybe the bird wasn't even a bird and maybe the boy was something he made up, too, clinging onto hope like a thing with too many feathers, like a rope that could very well hang him. Maybe it's still enough on its own, anyway, the feeling that flutters through at the not-story, a robin's broken wing against the windowsill, the aftermath of a struggle; tender and violent and utterly unkillable. Sounds like a nice story. So why are you so angry?

Am I? Well, fear can sometimes cause an irrational reaction. Fear can make people dangerous, make them behave unpredictably. This is all empty rhetoric, of course, but you should understand. You're not people, either. Your lethality is not irrational. It's been hammered into a precise shape, like all things born out of a binary are— I know this story, too. It goes: Yes or no. Success or failure. Dot or dash. You finger's on the trigger: you pull it or you don't. What's your choice? Report. Never mind, I don't want to talk about this. 

Report status. Dot or dash? The choice of a small, bloody animal backed into a corner, which is to say no choice at all. The choice of go fuck yourself with the constant  interruptions, I was telling a story here.

That's not one of the options. Your finger is still on the trigger. The house is still on fire. What do you save?  What are you trying to pull? You know how this story goes so why rehash it why poke at  infected tissue, why— Because you won't talk to me plainly, you won't look at the thing head on, because I'm trying to be helpful, like I've always tried to be helpful, because the story goes:  We want to help you, you have to let us help you, you have to let us, so:  report.  I was getting there, why did you have to— Report. Answer the question.  You know, sometimes I think you liked it when they— Sometimes I think you like getting— Answer. Sometimes I think you— .-. . .--. --- .-. - two GSWs one to the stomach one to the thigh critical condition - .... -.-- / .-- .. .-.. .-.. / -... . / -.. --- -. . broken ribs shattered cheekbone pneumo thorax 32557038 you’ve known me your whole life exfil at 38° 46' 57.50" -77° 00' 54.22" you hear that assholes home by christmas and lying dead asleep on the couch lying dead sinking in the water lying strapped to a table when война закончена, слава героям Красной армии subject uncooperative try it again 32557038 sergeant 191 pts in most recent drill recommendation for additional training 3255 --- -. / . .- .-. - .... / I said .- ... / .. - / .. ... try it again / .. -. / .... . .- ...- . -.  he’s still talking  7038 initial report stated the body pulled from the Potomac was nonresponsive stated subject’s cardiac arrest lasted 176.83 seconds so try it again stated edelweiss, ein kleines edelweiss stated I give thanks before you for you have mercifully returned my soul within me stated 32557—

.-. . .--. --- .-. - Record skip. There's fuzz on the damn needle again. Where's it keep coming from? What was I talking about, again? You were about to tell me where the light keeps coming from. The light is irrelevant, the light casts shadows that don't make any sense, I told you, the light's just there for dramatic effect. Our protagonist is not an artist, he's not thinking about the light.

You're lying. You're leaving the important parts out again. You're ignoring what's happening in the house, you're ignoring the red string that's supposed to be leading the way, time-adherent. Of course. That's because all strings can be cut, all strings can wind up dead ends, all things can be taken away, including time. The string's not red because of the poetry of it all, bub. It's red because someone's bled all over it. We both know this, so  what's the point in reopening old wounds? That's how people hemorrhage. That's how the needle starts to skip. That's not how stories work. Why won't you tell me what he's thinking about? Fine. Fine then: he's thinking about the damn light, how it makes him look all translucent and tired and too human this man that used to be a boy that used to be a David long before they turned him into a Samson, and he tries not to think about how that story ends. He thinks about the light and he wants to say, keep your temples standing—the world's had more than its fair share of heroes and legends, and look  where that got us. Nothing good ever came from making a fallible man a myth. He wants to say: if there's someone who could knock them down blind it'd be this boy, but he'd rather look at him in this ghost light until the day he bites it than read his name in history books and over the tombstone of a hero's grave.

He wants, but that's not something fit to send back with the socks and the hammered metal, that's about as useless as crying over spilt milk, about as useless as the thoughts that lead nowhere but deeper into the pit our hero keeps crawling out of. And so he goes back to the numbers and the angles, to the sounds right outside the door, to the piece of metal in his hands because he was always so much better at that kind of thing, anyway. Things that can be taken apart and put back together, new from the old; things that can be forced into a form or a binary are so much easier to control. You know this, too. You're living, breathing proof of it.

Anyway, that's what he's thinking about at that time: speed, math, probability. Gravity, maybe. He drifted— wandered— walked purposefully so close to the edges of this man that he ended up wanting inside him, close enough to know him like his blood knows him, close enough to get warm and to shield from the draft through the broken windows snuffing the light out of them both. He'd ended up afraid of pushing too hard and ending up on the other side of him, afraid of falling off one hell of a cliff. And the boy who hasn't been  a boy in a while looked at him and said, Are you— and our man with no face said: Let's not do this again.  And they both carried on dealing with  things easier to handle, like smart numbers and smart maps and smart hands that did things they were good at but tried not to think about too hard at night.

He still ended up falling, of course. And then, well— a shot bird can't fly if its wings've been broken, a shot bird can't fly if its been fucking shot.

Someone lied to our protagonist, you see. It was a long time ago, but it still stuck.

But what about the light? 

Why the rush? Look, whichever end I tell the story from, we'll end up at the foot of the same cliff, the same river. I just don't know what more you want from me.

I want you to stop dropping the thread, I want you to stop playing dead already— that shattered house is on fire, and you keep trying to put it out with buckets full of bullet holes while I'm not looking and the water's all gone before you can even see it evaporate. The house is still on fire, the house is caught in a thunderstorm too many charged particles too close to the eye socket and the smell of crackling ozone and burning flesh and you need to get out— That's enough. Change the topic, I'm not doing this again. Please. Look, I'm  being nice about it. Fine. Do you remember who first told our unnamed hero that old Lie? No, but it starts like this: dulce et decorum est, except there's nothing decorous about flies on too-thin bodies, about the taste of fear like iron at the scraped roof of the mouth, about the things you saw your hands do; there's nothing about our hero that makes him a hero. Blood under the fingernails. White little petals high up in the pale mountains, white little petals on lapels, crushed to bits. You still remember how brown his eyes were, how young how quick the light behind them was snuffed out when all your muscles locked up, animal instinct. Mind you, it wasn't unwarranted— the motherfucker's knife was in your stomach. The pretty pale mountains were a screen for a world set on raging fire. Mind you, this was before the invention of a gun out of living flesh, before they gave you a title instead of a name. You were bleeding then, too.

I thought we were talking about the story.

We are, pay attention: Do you remember when you first realized the awful Truth? I know you don't, but it goes like this: you don't remember giving your life and you don't remember believing in something bigger than yourself, but your trigger finger does. Picturebook blue and gold over the river's surface, stretching yourself too thin towards the sun. Dulce et decorum est, pro patria mori. (Only one part of this sentence is a lie.)

You still haven’t told me where the light is coming from. And you still haven't told me why you want the answer so bad. I don't know. Is that what you've been wanting to hear? I don't know. You don't want to know. There's a difference. You're scared shitless is what you are, you sorry old thing. Falling back on old habits. I want to know how our protagonist ends up.

I’m working on it, alright. The road is long and potholed and roundabout and the story’s not much better, you see: the pictures are all there but the colors are too bright, the linework's all off, I still can't get the shadows to make any goddamn sense. Too many different mythologies, I think; too much static on the channel to pick the thread of the drama up clearly, and someone keeps cutting the transmission lines, anyway. It's downright sabotage, is what it is. Friendly fire. But our protagonist is getting weary, he needs a moment to lay his head down, so let me wrap up, will you, let me get a word in edgewise and put it in a way you will understand. Stop asking questions and let yourself sit in the house with one too many doors that you didn't notice before, one too many rooms and not enough hallways to connect them all. Make a place for yourself by the warmth of the fire in the burning house, and pay attention:

The doors are there for a reason. Did you hear what I said? Have you been listening? Someone's cut all the strings. Someone's left them to smolder in the ash, someone's bitten the hand that used to hold them raw, and now the monster's asking questions. Now the monster's off its leash, and it wants what all angry, abused abandoned things want, which is someone to be afraid of it for once, which is a way out of the maze, a clear path into the sunlight. It wants its due. I thought you said it was a ghost. Gimme a break— there's no place for semantics in this discussion, there's no place for a discussion at all. I'm telling you now: ghost, monster they're all just different words to say— something that's other, something on the outside looking in, something with no belonging. All different words to say: something that used to be something else once.

That's why our hero is no hero, you see: no Samson, no Oisín, no Theseus; at best, he's the minotaur. At worst, he's the ship. Something new from something old, over and over until it's unrecognizable. A gilded frame for grief masquerading as an honor. That's where the light is coming from, you understand. That's where all the strange old hunger is coming from: the blue of the wildflowers carved into bone; the beloved name exiled to the other side of the river Lethe. That's what the monster wants. A way back home. Monsters don't get to make demands. Only heroes do. You think? You still haven't figured it out yet, have you? You're still thinking in binaries. Who do you think I've been flapping my gums at all this time, who do you think our tired nameless protagonist with all that blood on his boots is? And who's the one out of the two of us here asking all the goddamned questions? Open your eyes. Put your ear to the ground. Listen: I lied. This isn't a story. This is a warning. Someone's cut all your red strings and that someone was you, pushed out of a century of quiet by the wrong dead body in the wrong burning river and a feeling you didn't understand in the shape of a name cutting your ribcage open to the sun; which is why you're so angry, which is why you're  scared shitless, which is why you've got more questions than answers. The needle's still skipping, so we’re flipping the whole thing over to B-side. Can you hear it? Can you mouth along to the crackling words? It seems to me you've heard that song before, so: wipe the record and start over. Maybe this time the melody'll actually stick.

And then? And then, you get your due. No gods, no mythologies, no more fucking stories, just this: you, blowing up the burning house and clawing your way out into the sunlight.

[girlactionfigure]

🟠 SUN morning - ISRAEL REALTIME - Connecting to Israel in Realtime

( 1 of 2 )

▪️A HERO SOLIDER HAS FALLEN.. in battle in Gaza: Yakir Shmuel Tatelbaum, 21, from Ma’ale Adumim.  May his family be comforted among the mourners of Zion and Jerusalem, and may G-d avenge his blood!

.. A MESSAGE FROM THE MOTHER OF YAIR AVITAN - who was reported fallen last night:

I received the messengers of Iyov (Job) at my door last night around 5:00 PM.  I received the difficult news in silence just like Aharon HaCohen, who learned about his 2 sons who died. "Vidom Aharon".

On this occasion, I want to hug and strengthen first and foremost the commanders and fighters, your beloved children, who today are also mine.   Raise your head! Don't cry! Don't lose heart! This is the last war. Fight the enemy without mercy, for the sake of all the people of Israel!

We will win and in a big way only in one way - if we love each other, embrace and hold each other. We will not hate, we will not take revenge and we will not review one another.

My son died a martyr's death. He is now sitting under the kisay hakavod, under the holy throne of the creator of the world, watching over us from the best place a soul can reach and asking you one thing - don't be sad.

I personally do not intend to leave the battle, on the contrary, I AM ENLISTING IN PLACE OF MY SON.

I will continue to assist the boys in everything and anything until victory. 

All hope that my son will be the last sacrifice.

The enemy made a grave mistake, he didn't know what kind of mother he was dealing with.  I have very strong ties with the Creator of the world and I assure you that the revenge on the part of the Almighty will be so severe from now on that even the enemy will not understand from where it fell on him. 

Am Yisroel Chai - The nation of Israel lives. 🇮🇱

▪️PROTEST LAST NIGHT - ANTI-GOVT.. Kaplan area, Tel Aviv, which became violent as police tried to arrest someone who set a fire by the Histadrut building and a Member of Knesset (conflicting stories) either interfered with the arrest or was assaulted by police as she tried to observe.

▪️(SOME) HOSTAGE FAMILIES SAY.. Statement by representatives of some of the families of the abductees outside Kirya in Tel Aviv:  "We have been informed that the Biden administration is working to renew negotiations for a deal. What stands between us and our loved ones is Netanyahu's insistence on not ending the war as part of a deal. The continuation of the war means the murder of the hostages.”  (( The moral situation becomes clear - Israel failed in keeping its citizens safe. But it cannot allow Hamas to survive after what Hamas did - or Israel will not survive. The families are doing what they should be - advocating for their loved ones at all cost.  But Israel can’t pay all costs without putting millions of people at risk. ))

♦️IDF EXTRACTING BODIES.. from the a-Tawansi cemetery in Shejaiya, east Gaza City.  Why?  Checking for dead hostages.

♦️RAFAH DEMOLITION.. Rafah central square demolished by IDF.

♦️US/UK ATTACK HOUTHIS.. attacking the airport of the city of Hodeidah.  And the Saudi’s attacked a Houthi site near the Saudi-Yemen border.

🔺RED ON RED - GAZA.. armed clashes between the residents of the Bureij camp in the center of the Gaza Strip and the security forces of Hamas.

🔺RED ON RED - TULKARM.. Palestinian Authority's security forces surrounded a building where 3 armed men wanted by Israel were staying.  Firefight, wanted men injured.  Later, Tulkarm terrorists opened fire at the PA headquarters in the city.

⭕ HEZBOLLAH FIRES ANTI-AIR.. over Lebanon, surface-to-air missiles were launched toward IAF aircraft.  IDF struck back at Jabal Safi area.

⭕ HOUTHIS ATTACK.. another cargo ship in the Gulf of Aden.

🟠 SUN morning - ISRAEL REALTIME - Connecting to Israel in Realtime

( 2 of 2 )

▪️JEWISH DRIVER ACCIDENTALLY ENTERED KALANDIA.. Arab town north of Jerusalem, attacked, attempted murder, car destroyed, car lit on fire - escaped to the checkpoint.

▪️US ASKS IRAQ TO BLOCK IRAN OVERFLIGHTS TO SYRIA.. which are bringing weapons to Hezbollah.  (( Why only now??? ))

▪️DEFENSE MINISTER SAYS.. "We are not looking for war but we are ready for it. And we will reach a junction, it will be a T junction both for the enemy and for us. If [Hezbollah] chooses to go to war, we will know what to do. If it chooses to go to an agreement, we will respond in this matter.”  (( Terrifying!  That the DM is hearing threats of complete destruction from Iran, mass destruction, murder and rape from Hezbollah, and is giving out statements like this. ))

▪️FOREIGN MINISTER SAYS.. “If Hezbollah does not stop firing and does not withdraw from southern Lebanon, we will act against it with all our might until security is restored and the residents return to their homes.”  (( This is what we expect to hear and our enemies to hear, given the cultural environment. ))

▪️TURKISH ARMY MOVING TOWARDS SYRIAN BORDER by eastern Aleppo.

▪️UK: LABOR THREAT TO STOP ALL ARMS TO ISRAEL AND SAUDI ARABIA?   Fabian Hamilton, a senior member of the Labor Party, said during a political event at a mosque in Leeds that "Britain will immediately stop all arms sales to Israel as soon as we come to power." He also added that the Labor government would stop all arms sales to Saudi Arabia.

▪️SOCIETY.. Director General of the National Civil Service: the ultra-Orthodox are gifted with special tools due to their study of the Gemara, in Lahav 433 (Israel police serious crime investigation unit) they are enthusiastic and want them for crime solving.

▪️ECONOMY.. Senior Israeli at Salesforce returns to “prepare company for AI”.  Conversely, Google biotech company Verily is closing its Israeli office “not related to the war”.

▪️ISIS???  ISIS attacks in Syria this year have increased by 250% compared to last year.  ISIS terrorists are active in at least 28 countries across the African continent as well as Syria.

♦️IDF forces returned this morning to the al-Barazil neighborhood of Rafah while firing heavy artillery.  There is heavy equipment in the area, and the IDF is conducting excavation operations throughout the neighborhood.

♦️IDF ATTACKS LEBANON.. Hermes, north east Lebanon.

♦️COUNTER-TERROR OPERATIONS - SHECHEM.. overnight.

⭕ HAMAS ROCKETS overnight, short range, at Holit & Sufa, near the Egyptian border.

[menalez]

schoolgirls were intentionally poisoned in iran :(

this is unbelievably insane. im at least glad that theres no mention of deaths but seeing that most girls arent going to school out of fear bc of this poisoning and the potential usage of extremists by the iranian govt to quell the protests is horrific in itself.

[thelostdreamsthings]

Victoria Nuland is retiring.

▶️ Nuland had a key role in overthrowing President Yanukovich in 2014 and installing a US-friendly government in Kiev

▶️ Nuland is also a key actor in manipulating the war narrative as her family is in control of the Institute for the Study of War (ISW) that most Western media cite when reporting on the war

▶️ Nuland is the third-highest ranking US official and commonly considered the most hawkish towards Russia

[The rat is leaving the sinking ship.

Victoria Nuland’s Ukraine project has utterly failed and the shadow President of Ukraine resigns from the US Govt in disgrace. She will be remembered as the coup manager, proxy war aficionado, NordStream plotter and “Fuck the EU” lunatic who has killed hundreds of thousands and wrecked Ukraine.

This is a clear sign that the US proxy war in Ukraine is coming to an end.

Russia has won.

The West has lost.

Europe has wrecked its economic engine with self-harming sanctions.

NATO will be busy selling US arms to scared EU nations who will forever fear Russias revenge and leaders across the West will be kicked out of power at the next election. Relations between the EU and the US will sour substantially.

Anthony Blinken will have to explain to his son, who likes to dress up as Zelenskyy on Halloween, how his daddy betrayed his son’s Hero and all Ukrainians. He will grow up to find out that his daddy is a serial liar and that he has the blood of hundreds of thousands of Ukrainians on his hands.

Victoria Nuland doesn’t have children who will be burdened with the shame of her despicable crimes. Vicky and her warmongering husband made millions from the US proxy war in Ukraine and other warmongering activities. Imagine getting rich with mass murder. You must be totally deranged to find any happiness or good sleep in your life.

To understand her deranged mind watch this video by Gonzalo Lira who had to die in custody in Ukraine for telling you the truth about vengeance driven Victoria ‘Nudelmann’ Nuland:]

Kim Dotcom, is a German-Finnish Internet entrepreneur and political activist who lives in Glenorchy, New Zealand.

"At 50, everyone has the face he (or she) deserves" George Orwell

[eternal-echoes]

There's a African proverb that goes:

"The child who is not embraced by his village will burn it down to feel its warmth."

Since all these people have been outcast by society they want to destroy society (the Meiji government) as revenge for treating them like crap.

If society/Meiji govt had took care of them and given them unconditional love and support maybe they wouldn't have turned out to be bad guys.

[faithfromanewperspective]

aussies, heads up. imagine our entire indigenous population is trapped on minjerrbah (stradbroke island) and seriously I’m sorry to be doing this to you guys after the shitshow of the other month and mainlanders (Tassie included for once) were like ‘be your own country we ain’t giving you shit we just stealing your land bc it’s Ours Now’ and switch povs you’re one of the people from many peoples all mashed together on quandamooka land and not even all of it, taking care of our healthiest koala population while you’re there, and you’re gonna elect your own govt you have to and it’s gonna be the people who give you hope for freedom you elect!! obviously!!!!

then fast forward to 2023 and oh no! your govt got pissed off or frustrated idk you don’t know what goes on in their heads and oh no! They bombed Sydney!!! you were sure they were joking and you weren’t keen on them killing people but they actually did it now, sad but who cares really after what those people did to you. maybe this is justice jeez man you’re tired. you’ll risk anything just to be able to exist on an actual landmass that isn’t overcrowded sand again. and then THE WHOLE FUCKING PLANET TURNS ON YOU AND YOUR EVIL EVIL GOVERNMENT HOW COULD THEY BOMB SYDNEY AND KILL PEOPLE NOW YOU GET TO BE BOMBED AND STARVED AND NO WIFI TO CALL FOR HELP AND NO HEALTHCARE BC THEY BOMBED THE HOSPITAL and kiddos are running around getting gangrene or BURIED UNDER RUBBLE when they were MEANT TO GRADUATE SCHOOL and dying of fucking cholera like it’s 1720 and Very Much Not Australia then (you miss 1720 in Actual Australia) and you can’t even. get antibiotics

the koalas are dying, the country’s national Cute Animal. they say ‘the innocent women and children’ but tbh all of you are guilty of nothing more than being born in a place that some guys decided to take over FOR CENTURIES AND IT JUST GOT WORSE and like 5 of you finally snapped and got a bit of revenge???? But what they did to you was way worse. you don’t even like those five guys but if you knew what would happen you would’ve told them to nuke the whole place not just drop a few bombs on Sydney. maybe you’re a pacifist still. It’s hard to care though if anyone else suffers when you’re already suffering so much. you try to remind yourself most civilians don’t support this. then why can’t they stop it?

[jayflrt]

rereading fuck christmas and remembered we gaslit my friend into thinking santa was killed by the govt and then they promoted him as a myth bc children asking him to make toys instead of people buying them discouraged capitalism 😹 in my defense he had upset me so i needed revenge

no because why does that sound so logical 💀💀 idk if i ever seriously believed in santa but if i did then it would make SO much sense that the government silenced him bc of capitalism!!!!

[blackinquisitors]

right so this is very rough. some of these numbers are from the end totals on missions, some are from wikis. some numbers have had the changed rounded down or omitted. also the page I looked at originally must have been wrong bc the wiki isnt actually too far off from this final number. BUT ANYWAY. what arthur writes down in his journal is actually about 2/3k off. he doesnt include any of the companion robberies nor homestead robberies he can do on his own. here, ive omitted the debt collecting bc theres reference of that money feeding the camp, so it goes into camp funds. (it doesnt make sense for money from robberies to go into camp funds however)

Arthur can collect something like 18 gold bars + the gold ingot from the german family. if the game made sense he would hand half of that over to the gang ($9150) bringing the total gang savings up to $53,988.50. you can get roughly 10K from all the cigarette cards. gang half -> $58,988. hunting requests -> $59,143. exotics -> $59,518. not including all the stranger missions/loot/encounters that give arthur more money

what was my whole point with this? I dont know. I am eternally angry with how red deads money works and dutchs constant begging for money when the gang is doing pretty phenomenal. that final number from the our best selves mission is worth $1.6 million. the number if arthur shared his collectible cash ($59,518) would be $2.16 million today. and the money they had before the saint denis bank robbery ($19,553.50) is worth $711K today. so they werent hurting for money in the slightest.

I don't think dutch was thinking rationally about any of the money that they earned. I think he wrote off blackwater as a whole but couldn't let go of that money ($150,000 or $5.4million today) so all of red dead 2 was just a scramble to get that specific number back. because realistically they could have left america as soon as dutch got the idea to in shady belle. his robbing of the us govt and blowing up bridges and all of that nonsense was moreso revenge for hosea and for making dutch feel like a fool. he had to get the last laugh, and for him, that meant making off with the same amount, if not more money than the blackwater robbery without even stepping foot in the town again. icarus for sure for sure

[goyastardream]

I finished this animated icon for one of my characters today, I went for something a bit different and struggled a little bit lol so it's more wiggly than usual. I've made a few others but will probably post them later. A bit of a teaser for this guy; despite his looks he's actually from the future (2060's or so), which is sorta an ideal retro-futuristic America. His name is Cody Abernathy and he's a biomechanical engineer working for the govt., on something having to do with galactic energy and dark energy-based life forms. Easily paranoid as shown in this gif and begins to believe his own employers and higher ups are planning on getting rid of him, not to mention his issues with a faulty car, supposedly haunted by an old friend seeking revenge beyond the grave for his covering up her murder during said experiments.

[kael-writ]

Islam Al-Sarsawi. 42 years old. All we are hearing about him is the horrific way he died. And I have to warn people before even mentioning his name because of that. But we have to say his name BECAUSE of what was done to him and not only that - because Israeli zionists are protesting for the right to do what they did to him. Explicitly, knowingly.

So. You are warned. Seriously. This is extremely horrific sexual violence of the worst kind. A war crime.

After almost a year of using the spectre of revenge for rape as part of their justification for genocide, Israelis are now saying they have the right to rape a Palestinian prisoner to death. That's what they did. It's on video. That's available to the world. The act was so heinous that the Israeli govt even questioned the offending guards, the rapists, multiple men involved mind you, briefly but long enough that prominent zionists protested for the right of Israelis to rape Palestinians. On video. It's all documented.

If you have been passive or supportive thus far I just don't know what horrors can radicalize you into being against genocide. If you can read something like this and still be a zionist, there are no words strong enough to condemn you.

And after all that, this man that was taken from the world, who has to be known by this horrific manner of his death - he was a human being, and we still don't even know his story. His future, his past, was all taken from him, just because he was a Palestinian.