“When you think about government surveillance in the United States, you likely think of the National Security Agency or the FBI. You might even think of a powerful police agency, such as the New York Police Department. But unless you or someone you love has been targeted for deportation, you probably don’t immediately think of Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE).
This report argues that you should. Our two-year investigation, including hundreds of Freedom of Information Act requests and a comprehensive review of ICE’s contracting and procurement records, reveals that ICE now operates as a domestic surveillance agency. Since its founding in 2003, ICE has not only been building its own capacity to use surveillance to carry out deportations but has also played a key role in the federal government’s larger push to amass as much information as possible about all of our lives. By reaching into the digital records of state and local governments and buying databases with billions of data points from private companies, ICE has created a surveillance infrastructure that enables it to pull detailed dossiers on nearly anyone, seemingly at any time. ”
Ereinion’s big brother is telling him a story to try and distract him from a lot of things. It works a little.
Six AUs in which Gil-galad was a grandson of Feanor and one where he wasn’t (now on Ao3).
Yesterday, I gave you peredhel angst. Today, Tiny, bby!Gil. Tomorrow? Who knows. In other new, I am addicted to writing Curufin interacting with small children.
Tucked under the covers with the lights dimmed, Ereinion giggled into Celebrimbor’s shirt while his older brother shushed him. It was far past his bedtime, Tyelpe was supposed to take him to his room hours ago. But here they laid, snuggled together, Celebrimbor making shadow puppets on the wall for Ereinion’s amusement.
It was very fun, and very worthwhile mischief, by Ereinon’s estimation, they just had to make sure Atya didn’t hear them.
Cate Blanchett as Richard II in Sydney Theatre Company’s 2009 marathon eight-hour performance of The War of the Roses, directed by Benedict Andrews. Photograph: Tania Kelley/Sydney Theatre Company
slowly she approached him holding a letter containing all her thoughts and feelings she couldn’t bare his gaze not daring to look up, afraid of the ice in his eyes. ice mirroring the celeste and lavender of her dress, like the blizzard silently raging inside her heart when their hands briefly brushed.
“your hands are cold”, he noticed and the warm orange blossom scent had her remember the longing almost forgotten. he took her hand, heating it gently, setting her ablaze, melting away the cold in her core, drawing her in. she could not leave.
