new york times hacked

anonymous asked:

What are your HCs if someone were to find Victor and Yuuri's very raunchy homemade sex tape? Would they be able to look at Yuuri Katsuki the same way again

It takes Yuuri a moment to reconcile the number of alert bubbles on his lock screen with a reason to panic, but when he unlocks his phone and spies the little red bubble with "529″ above the messages icon, a cold hand has gripped him by the diaphragm and begun squeezing a frigid reality into his chest.

With shaking hands, he opens his missed calls—658, what the hell—and skips right to the voice mails that have stuffed his inbox completely full. Beside him, Victor mumbles something about grass into his pillow.

Everybody he’s seemingly ever met has tried to reach him at some point during the night, and their messages are all variations of the same theme.

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more adventures of hamilton in the mcu
  • He wakes up and the first word he hears is  wait! and his lips start to form the word burr? but then he sees the speaker: a woman with red hair wearing something obscenely, splendidly tight and he wonders if this is heaven and God is more of a tomcat that he suspected – but then he tries to move and pain flares down his spine, one greedy white jag, and he amends his original assessment: this is Hell, surely. “Pray tell,” he says, “where am I?” and the woman is joined by a sandy-haired man with some strange flesh-coloured apparatus curling around his ears. “New York,” says the man, “who’re you?” The man has a bow. The arrow is notched and aimed at Hamilton’s face. It is frightfully, laughably primitive – but then again the Indian braves have done much damage to westbound farmers with less and so Hamilton bites his tongue on some of his more hysterical questions and says, “My name is Alexander Hamilton. I’m at your service, sir.”
  • They tell him where he is. He does not believe them. They tell him when he is and he does not believe them – just a moment ago, just a moment ago, there was Burr, the gunshot, the smoke and the blood and I died I died I heard my heart lurch to a stop I saw God, the great beyond and –
  • They say a lot of words. There is a man in a slim black suit with obnoxious facial hair and he talks far too much and Hamilton is too quivery and out-of-place to understand the absurdity of such a condemnation (Hamilton says Tony Stark talks too much; in other news, a garden pond accuses the Atlantic of being overly wet.) He understands. He weeps. His children are dead, his grandchildren are dead. His legacy is –
    • there’s a musical, says Stark in a hush to Captain America (tall and blonde and how ridiculous, how perfectly absurd, this nation should not have saints or idols or – )
    • “A musical?” 
  • There is a musical. There are books and television and the internet – God help the modern world, Hamilton learns about the internet and the first thing he does is write a twenty five thousand word blog on why the memory of Jefferson is overrated and false. He gets Jarvis to proofread it. He gets Jarvis to stick it on the New York Times and there’s a mass panic about someone hacking into the website for the sole purpose of slagging off a long-dead Founding Father. Nick Fury explains about firewalls and internet security. Hamilton rants at him – the Avengers listen through the door, hear things like Sally Hemings and how would you feel if the worst person you knew was remembered a hero and the article is taken down but somehow, somehow Hamilton learns what a blog is. 
  • Things Hamilton loves about the modern world: twitter, blogging, Lin Manuel Miranda, swearing, loose sexual morality, Starbucks, minimal slavery (it still counts, he says hotly, in Africa and Asian it’s still there it isn’t gone yet – )
  • Yes he meets Lin Manuel Miranda. He rebukes him at length about inaccuracies. He thanks him. He sees his own play fifteen times and starts thinking about a sequel. 
  • Oh yes. There’s a sequel. 
  • Because the fact of the matter is this: Clinton’s corrupt and Sanders is well-meaning but doesn’t have the support and Trump is just…well. Hamilton breaks his nose and writes op-eds for every paper in the country declaring why he was right to do so. 
  • Look: American politics is a mess. And in comes the Founding Father Without A Father, the Bastard Son of a Whore and he says: so what did I miss?
  • And he claps his hands and grins and says I’m not throwing away my shot and the internet goes mad and the public goes mad and no one is saying he’ll win this election but the next one, oh the next one. Four years is an eternity in politics and Senator Hamilton has the one thing he needed most: more time. 
Though Mr. Assange did not say so, WikiLeaks’ best defense may be the conduct of the mainstream American media. Every major publication, including The Times, published multiple stories citing the D.N.C. and Podesta emails posted by WikiLeaks, becoming a de facto instrument of Russian intelligence.
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The New York Times Outs Itself

The News: The Times’ national security correspondents report on the hacked Democratic National Committee emails, their release by Wikileaks and alleged Russian involvement.

As Daniel Dale, Washington Correspondent for the Toronto Star, writes, “The New York Times, in a news story, says the New York Times became ‘a de facto instrument of Russian intelligence.’”

So there’s that…

Remember the security breach at Target where more than 40 million credit card numbers were hacked? It was Brian Krebs who broke the story. He’s a cybercrime and security reporter. 

In order to do his work, Krebs has learned computer code, the Russian language and how to get onto black market websites and cybercrime networks. And cyber criminals who don’t appreciate his work have found creative and frightening ways to harass him, including calling in a fake hostage situation:

“In March of last year, a heavily armed police force showed up at my home à propos of nothing. They call it "swatting.” Somebody had called in a fake hostage situation at my home. They said Russians had broken into my home and shot my wife and that I was hiding in the closet, send guns and forces to get these guys out of my house.

They showed up… [The swat team] had me put my hands up… walk down my front stoop backwards. [They] handcuffed me and put me in the squad car and this is happening at about five, quarter-to-six in the evening on a week day so all the people trying to come home from work, the police had barricaded the entrance to our neighborhood. People are staring out their windows. It was quite a scene.“

Photo - Daniel Rosenbaum for The New York Times

New York Times columnist David Brooks was once an enthusiastic backer of George W. Bush’s disastrous invasion of Iraq. He’d write columns for the Weekly Standard – the official journal of bankrupt neoconservative thought – glorifying Bush for his steely-eyed determination and tartly mocking the pansy liberals and other anti-war types who opposed Bush’s righteous exercise in nation-building and freedom-spreading. “History will allow clear judgments about which leaders and which institutions were up to the challenge posed by Saddam,” Brooks prophesied in the March 2003 column, “and which were not.”


That prediction didn’t quite pan out. Yes, the Iraq war ended up being a disaster, but contrary to Brooks’ assurance, the “clear judgments” about who was right and who was wrong about Iraq are still pending, as evidenced by the fact that so many people who got it so terribly wrong haven’t faced any real consequences.

—  David Brooks’ sickening Iraq apologia: How the New York Times hack just rewrote history.