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bluegiragi · 2 years ago

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hello! i'm gira, i go by she/her, and i've been making fanart for the cod fandom for about four months now :) the majority of that time's been spent on the soapbox saga, which is sort of just what i call the very plot-ridden porn comic featuring ghost, soap and konig. and recently i've been working on the monster 141 au!

i'm here to address the reasoning behind how i assigned certain monsters to certain characters, particularly the POC characters as well as accusations of racism regarding me neglecting gaz in all my art :) whoever you are, if you're reading this in good faith, i thank you! i earnestly never intended to make anyone feel uncomfortable from my work.

The Monster AU

i won't post the blog who brought this issue up mainly because, (realistically speaking) i think people might go after them and spam them with hate so I'm paraphrasing here. but basically..."how come all the POC in the Monster AU are assigned animal-associated monsters? Comparisons to animals can be incredibly demeaning when it comes to minorities".

I completely agree! But earnestly, I think my desire to assign every character a 'monster' that was relevant to their culture overshadowed the part of my brain that would've raised red flags about this sort of thing. There's the argument here that I could've assigned these characters cooler monsters such as Price who is a dragon, and Ghost who is a wraith, but I wanted to be respectful of all the minorities in the COD cast by giving them creatures that reflected their culture and personality.

ALEJANDRO - NAGUAL

In the Monster AU, Alejandro is a nagual, which is considered a guardian spirit in Mesoamerican culture. Typically, it's said that the nagual is the shapeshifted form that powerful men can transform into in order to do evil (although that doesn't apply in this case, Ale's a heroic lad), and can come in the forms of a jaguar, deer, dog or bird. I chose a jaguar, since it seemed to be the most common form of nagual depiction in the resources I was looking at. The 'panther mode' isn't pre-established as part of nagual mythology, but since most panthers are just black jaguars, i thought the association wouldn't be unreasonable.

I chose Alejandro to be a nagual because it's so in character for him to be protective of his home. The idea of him being a literal guardian spirit for all he considers his just made sense to me :)

RODOLFO (RUDY) - CADEJOS

In this AU, Rudy is the vessel for two cadejos, which are legendary dog spirits popular in the mythology of Central America, parts of South America and Mexico. Historically, they've been known as psychopomps (guides to help humans into the afterlife following their death) but modern interpretation has shifted to depict them as the good guardian dog and the evil attacking dog respectively.

A lot of the minute information about the cadejos tends to differ depending on the source. Like whether they're actually two separate dogs, or they're the same dog just in different 'modes', or how big they are. My personal depiction of them has them sized as normal dogs (although their spirit nature means they can move into small spaces pretty easily by just becoming immaterial temporarily) and as separate spirits that have been passed down through Rudy's family generationally.

I chose the cadejo for Rudy because although I wanted to include him in the Monster AU, i still liked keeping him as a character who was a bit more 'human' than Alejandro. I think Ale needs Rudy to hold him back sometimes, and having the two cadejo definitely helps with that. Sort of like how cheetahs in zoos have therapy dogs growing up because they're so anxious all the time! I think it also does a good job of showing Rudy's two sides as well, like he's a softie who just wants to protect those he loves, but he's capable of a lot of violence too.

VALERIA - GORGON

Valeria is a gorgon which, admittedly, is not part of Mexican mythology. However, I was put in a bit of a bind here, since my research didn't really reveal to me a monster in Mexican culture that I thought would suit Valeria's vibe (manipulative, elulsive) and I just felt like a gorgon would be perfect for her. Medusa's myth has her being continuously demeaned by the men in her life and is a symbol of female empowerment, which I thought was a great reflection of the implied reason that Valeria left the army was due to internal sexism. There's also the perfect parallel of how anyone who sees El Sin Nombre's face dies, and Medusa's whole 'turn you to stone' thing.

I thought i could compromise by making Valeria a gorgon but her hair would be Mexican black kingsnakes but...turns out they're actually not that dangerous. Some people even keep them as pets! So I decided to keep the visual, but make her a pit viper, a subfamily of vipers found in the Americas as well as Eurasia.

HORANGI - HAETAE

Horangi is a haetae (해태) which is a beast in Korean mythology that typically comes in the form of a horned lion or dog. It's prevalent in a lot of cultures in East Asia actually, although it goes under different names depending on the region - kaichi for Japan, xiezhi for China. I made Horangi a tiger variant on the creature because...well...'horangi' means 'tiger' in korean. It just made sense to me to put that little twist on it.

Typically, haetae are seen as spirits of judgement, that decide on innocent and guilty parties in disputes and punish the latter. It's also considered a guardian against fire (hence the fire immunity and cloud manipulation powers I gave him).

GAZ - HARPY

Gaz is a harpy which, I won't lie, was purely inspired by the fact that he seems to keep falling out of helicopters. But it's also because...yeah, I did neglect Gaz in the soapbox saga. But I think I neglected...everyone in the soapbox saga who weren't directly involved in the main ship. I sort of just tunnel visioned on the main three, so my exclusion of characters isn't just limited to Gaz, it was included Price, Laswell, Alejandro, Rudy, Graves etc.

I just want to make clear that my treatment of Gaz in particular isn't reflective of any inner preference against him. And to make good on that, me assigning Gaz wings of all things was to help me spend more time on him in the Monster AU! I think the contrast between Gaz being an upstart harpy, and Price being a one-winged dragon has a lot of potential as a mentor/protege relationship (and perhaps even something more) and it's why I assigned this monster to him. I really wanted to establish a connection upfront, but just making Gaz another dragon felt cheap - the harpy thing felt a little more in turn with his character :)

I really hope this cleared up any remaining frustrations with my designs for the Monster AU. I hope you can see that I never meant anything demeaning by assigning these monsters to their respective characters - in fact, I earnestly tried to go out of my way and be respectful to their backgrounds.

In any case, if you have any more questions I'd be happy to answer them - I'd just ask you to please ask politely :)

#gira speaks #monster 141 au

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cassiebones · 30 days ago

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Rio Theory

I, like many of you, have been acting under the assumption that Rio is a primordial being, who has been alive since the dawn of humanity with the sole purpose of ferrying souls across the veil.

But what if that's not it at all?

What if, instead, Rio Vidal is being punished. After all, why give Death a name. Yes, it could just be a name she gave herself when she interacts with mortals, like Agatha, to conceal her true identity, and I know the name is akin to "River of Life" but it feels more...formal. Like she was actually born to somebody who gave her this name.

So what if she was?

What if Rio was born a mortal and was given this job after her own death as a punishment for some kind of evil she did. Maybe the "evil" wasn't even evil at all, but something she did out of desperation to try and save herself. Maybe she, too, killed her own Coven. Or maybe she was a necromancer and took her powers too far, blurring the divide between life and death, causing chaos everywhere she want until her own fatal mistake placed her in front of the old gods, who decided her penance would be to ferry a certain number of souls so that she understands just how important that divide between life and death is, that it's not something to be trifled with.

I'm imagining, since she speaks Spanish and Aubrey is Puerto Rican, that she was born in South/Central America, after it was colonized, and her family moved to The New World when she was a child (which is how she ended up in Salem to meet Agatha) and shared their way of doing magic with the locals.

And, while Aubrey is Puerto Rican, in Mexican culture death is a pretty big deal for a lot of us. Día de los Muertos is a huge thing. It's the time when you get to see your deceased loved ones. Maybe somebody important to Rio died. Maybe her parents or a sibling or the woman that she first loved. And she was obsessed with this day where she got to see this person through the veil. Maybe she tried to find a way to make her come back, to raise her from the dead.

But it went wrong and she lost her forever.

So she moved on. She met someone new. They died. She brought them back to life, but it was wrong. They were wrong. They were just a puppet, not their true self. So she becomes obsessed with learning how to do necromancy just right, so that anybody she loves can never just die. She can't lose anybody ever.

So she kind of becomes a serial killer. Just a little bit.

But she can never quite get it right. Nobody is ever the way they used to be. Either they're in constant pain/anguish or they are just not them. And Rio ends up killing her own creations, devastated that she just couldn't bring them back to themselves.

And it weighs on her, but it's still an obsession.

Until she makes a fatal mistake and is killed in response to trying to killing somebody else. And she goes in front of the old Gods, who sentence her to reap, like, a hundred times as many souls as she's tortured in her lifetime, however unintentionally, by forcing them to take part in her experiments. As a witch, since most of her victims were of the magic ilk, she must ferry other witches and magical folk across the veil until she has fulfilled her punishment.

And since witches can live for centuries, she will not fulfill this anytime soon. And she can't kill anybody. If she manages to kill somebody, it resets her punishment back to zero. She also cannot make exceptions for those she loves, no matter what. She cannot bring somebody back to life like she'd spent her life trying to do. There are no loopholes.

And it does teach Rio the importance of Life and Death and why that should never be taken as a joke.

Still, after like two to three hundred years and she's not even halfway there? Rio is getting anxious. She wants to cross over finally. She wants to be done with this punishment. She needs more bodies but she can't make them herself.

That's where Agatha comes in.

Rio can feel the death of magical beings. She feels it when seven witches die all at once, then another witch in the same general area dies just seconds later.

It's like she hit the Jackpot of bodies. So many magical deaths in the space of a couple minutes? She needs more of these!

So she goes to where they died and is practically giddy at the bodies littering the forest floor. Skipping around the circle, freeing the souls from their bodies, practically forming a conga line to the afterlife.

Then she sees Agatha, curled up and crying nearby. At first, she thinks that this is an escaped witch, one who just watched her entire coven die before her very own eyes. She has empathy. She knows what it's like to watch the ones you love die in a violent fashion. And these bodies...they were definitely killed violently. They died painful deaths.

So she approaches Agatha, who is sobbing into her knees. She crouches in front of her and asks if she's okay, if she has anybody she can stay with, anybody else who survived.

And then Agatha looks up and she's smiling, which takes Rio aback. And then Rio notices her black fingers and it clicks.

Agatha isn't a victim; she's the murderer.

And Rio is just in awe of this witch's power. She sits down in front of Agatha and asks, "how?" Because how did she kill all of these witches all at once?

"I wasn't trying to," Agatha explains. Even though she's smiling, there are tears in her eyes. "They were trying to kill me! But something...happened. I've never experienced anything like it. They all attacked me and I just...took their magic. I took their life forces. I killed them." She laughs, somewhat manically. "Isn't that funny?"

Rio cannot help but smile at it. "Hilarious," she says. "Thank you, by the way. I appreciate the work." She motions to the line of spirits behind her, all impatiently waiting to be ferried. Agatha cannot see them, which Rio realizes too late. "It's....I'm not crazy, I swear. But, uh, who's that person?"

She points toward the husk just in front of the stake, where an angry, vengeful witch is refusing to move from above her body.

Agatha laughs, rolling her eyes. "That," she says, "is my mother. She orchestrated all of this."

"Your mother tried to have you killed?" Rio huffs. "What a bitch."

Agatha lets out a cackle at that. "You have no idea," she says, her chin quivering a bit, betraying the hurt she tries not to let show. "I have no idea what I'm going to do now."

"You don't have anybody?" Rio asks, something in her chest aching. It's something she hasn't felt in a long time, since her heart went black.

Agatha motions toward the circle of bodies. "Who would take me now?" she asks. "After what I've done?! I'll be lucky if there aren't already mobs of people waiting for me with torches and pitchforks. I have nobody, nothing." Now is when she lets her facade fall. "I am alone."

"No," Rio says, reaching out to take her hand, "you're not. You never will be again." She intertwines their fingers and feels a spark in her she thought was long dead. She knows that Agatha feels it, too, because she squeezes Rio's fingers.

"Who are you?" Agatha asks.

"My formal title," Rio says, standing up and pulling Agatha with her, hands still clasped, "is Lady Death. I ferry the souls from the mortal realm to the afterlife." She looks back at the spirits that Agatha cannot see. "I actually have a lot of work that I have to do. Thank you so much for that, by the way." She grins at Agatha. "Genuinely," she adds, when Agatha looks a little sad. "This is a huge help. You have no idea."

"You're welcome?" Agatha replies, chuckling awkwardly. They're still holding hands. "But surely you must have a different name I could call you."

"Rio," Rio says. "Rio Vidal."

"A little on the nose," Agatha retorts. "Don't you think?"

"My mother had a sense of humor," Rio says. "And you?"

"My mother was not a funny person," Agatha sighs, "at all."

Rio snorts at that, looking over to where Agatha's mother was practically spitting mad: "And she took my brooch! That was my mother's brooch!"

"Yeah, I can tell," Rio says. "But what I meant was," she looks back at Agatha, "what is your name?"

"Agatha Harkness," Agatha says.

"Ooh, a Harkness," Rio says. "Powerful magic. And based on that purple between your fingers, you must be following in the same tradition of powerful witches. Spirit witch?"

Agatha nods. "I was born under the Blood Moon, which endowed me with certain...powers, apparently." She laughs, bitterly. "Just don't try to blast me with your magic and I won't hurt you."

"You couldn't hurt me," Rio says, "even if you tried. If you took my magic, you'd die. And you are far too valuable to kill. Not that I could, anyway." She shrugs at Agatha's raised eyebrow. "Rules of the trade."

"Well, then," Agatha says, flushing a beautiful pink, "it's a deal: I won't kill you and you won't kill me."

"Fair trade-off."

"I would think so."

They're silent for a long moment, energy crackling between them. Two powerful beings who finally found their match.

It's the start of a beautiful, murderous love story.

By the time they separate, Agatha has made a sizable dent in Rio's debt. Rio pays her back by showing her spells that otherwise probably wouldn't have been available to her. Agatha is so brilliant and studious and passionate, Rio would do anything for her.

Except the one thing she absolutely cannot do when their son dies.

And she finally understands what the Gods meant when they said that life and death are not to be played with, that there is always a cost.

Nicky was that cost for her. Agatha was that cost.

Agatha continued to give her bodies, but Rio never knew about them until Agatha had left the scene of the crime. She never had a chance to meet her again after Agatha started hiding behind the Darkhold. There was no way of getting around it.

Which is why she immediately rushed to her side when Agatha lost it, along with her power. There was no way she was letting her get away again.

#Rio Vidal #aaa theories #agatha harkness #agatha all along #I am WEAK for these two

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trudemaethien · 9 days ago

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Kyrimorut

I’ve just done another reread/skim of the repcomm books for details of Kyrimorut for @ossidae-passeridae, who encouraged me to do a write up for reference. Some of these facts are explicitly stated, scattered throughout the series, and some are my own surmises. (My main conclusion is that KT considered architecture just about as carefully as the TCW creators did the GAR ranking system. lolsob)

So. In this essay I will

Kyrimorut, Kal Skirata’s refuge for his clone sons, was called a bastion, and frequently described in siege terms. It was also referred to as a homestead and a farmhouse.

“It was yaim—part barracks, part hotel, part married quarters, part farmhouse, the archetypal Mandalorian clan home.”

This stronghold was located in the heavily forested northern hemisphere of the planet Mandalore, a few hours flight north of Keldabe City, within 100 kilometers of a small town called Enceri, and just south of a lake. It boasted a main house and numerous outbuildings, including at least one medical laboratory, animal pens, and a hangar large enough for multiple craft.

Rav Bralor, another of the Cuy’val Dar, rebuilt it at Kal’s request during the war, and it was finished enough by a year in, to house some members of their group temporarily, but was still undergoing renovations up to the last moment before they moved in. She used droids to aid in the construction. The building was composed of brick, wood, stone, and rammed earth, and the (probably local, veshok) planks were joined with interlocking joints. The interior walls were plastered and painted, likely with naturally derived mineral paints; one room was mentioned to be “honey-colored.” The windows were narrow, described as arrow-slits, and the doors were unpowered hinged wooden slabs. The whole thing was large, and the rooms were characterized as airy and roomy at various points.

The layout seems to have been vaguely circular, or a circle of chained hubs, with a central karyai. The lobby was another hub, and there were both surface and underground passages connecting the hubs, radiating out like “the spokes of an eccentric wheel.” For this reason I think there were two floors in the main house with one above, the other underground. There was also a sheltered circular atrium off the main hub, with a roof that slid back, where they roasted meat.

The house had gutters and down-pipes to deal with snowmelt and rain, and given the nearby lake, they would have to have a good vapor barrier for the underground portion. Since the place was rural rather than urban, it was largely quiet, and the homestead's acoustics were such that sound carried well. This indicates to me that likely only the exterior walls were fortified of heavy stone and rammed earth; interior walls were more likely built of wood and plaster and easier to modify if they had some need. Power was unreliable in such a remote setting, so they used wood fires for heating and cooking; everything smelled of wood-smoke. The entire structure was designed to be unnoticeable from the air, and the clearing was not visible until the last moment upon aerial approach.

The karyai was the main living room. In one scene, Kad played on the floor with toy animals (nerf, bantha, shatual, nuna, jackrab, vhe’viin) Atin had carved from veshok wood, Wade Tay’haai played a purple-painted bes’bev (sharp flute), and Rav Bralor brought throat-searing tihaar for everyone. She lived on her own clan’s farm a few kilometers away, and had brought Yayax squad, who mostly stayed there, to visit Kyrimorut. They were learning carpentry from manuals, as one does.

People had their own rooms for sleeping, with couples sharing, along the corridors. Arla and Uthan’s rooms both had exterior windows. Quarters were pleasant, plain but comfortable, with generous mattresses on the beds and a table for personal use.

Then there was a room Etain thought of as the interrogation room, so that’s uhhh lovely.

It’s unclear whether the large table where they gathered for communal meals was in the karyai, the kitchen (which was separated from other areas by a door), or some other room. Wherever it was located, it was possible for someone seated at the table to lean back without getting up and fetch a bottle of tihaar from where it was stored. The table was made of a single large slab of veshok wood, and was big and sturdy enough to use for surgical operation, dismantling engines, or seating a whole clan of armored Mandalorians. They sat in chairs around this table, and Kad sat in a highchair. They used porceplast plates, and mugs for ne’tra gal, a sweet black beer. The head of the household summoned everyone to the table for meals.

The kitchen contained a fireplace and hearth, a chair (where Kal slept), ovens and stovetops, a conservator, enough workspace for at least four people at once, and an adjoining storage area. The kitchen could be a busy, noisy, bustling place, but it was separate from other living areas; people sometimes went there to avoid others.

The 20-30 occupants ate constantly and prodigiously, and never seemed to be lacking. The food was described as filling but not elegant, and was heavy on the protein. They consumed a lot of game; Lord Mirdalan the strill was an animal native to Mandalore and a hunter. Roast shatual, nerf, and roba were mentioned, and they would leave a joint of meat on the table to be eaten all day down to the bone (I shuddered in food hygiene). Fish from the lake were fried in a pan, and they made broth from gihaal, dried smoked fish with a pungent aroma stored in metal containers, one of the staples of Mandalorian ration packs because it kept for years without refrigeration. Also what Kal called Kaminoans, but that’s another story!

We were worried they only ate meat for a while until we came across some vegetables. Kad had pureed kaneta at one point, and for breakfast boiled grain porridge and shirred eggs were on offer. Jilka diced amber root for some dish. Mealbread rolls were also plentiful, and there was a vat of stew at one point. Listed imports via Ny Vollen included flour, grassgrain, pickles, powdered milk, sacks of denta beans, soap, dried fruit, and a bantha bone which was hard to get on Mandalore. The roba they raised themselves.

The roba pen had multiple animals witht at least one boar and one sow with a litter, and despite having veshok posts and walls, the gate was left open. I’m extrapolating that these animals were semi-domesticated and allowed to forage for food but came home to their pen for safety at night. There were rail fences, crop fields, and plans for raising nerf on the property as well. Outbuildings were mentioned frequently, but this was one of the few actually described.

Notable native species mentioned were the large, ancient veshok trees, which were evergreen, hardwood, and straight enough that the table slab was cut out of one large piece. They were ice-glazed and dripping in the spring thaw, so presumably had some defenses against freezing and exploding, or breaking under the weight of the ice, and they populated all the way up to the the polar cap. There was underbrush and bushes, and groundthorn weed, which was very stubborn and difficult to remove entirely. The roba would have helped with uprooting this as they foraged. Vhe’viine were small rodents with white winter coats that lived in burrows in the fields.

The medical laboratory behind the main house (it was necessary to walk around the bastion after exiting to approach it) was a mobile genetics lab/agricultural trailer of the sort usually used for breeding livestock and at racetracks. It was occupied first by Ko Sai and later by Ovolot Qail Uthan. Mereel acquired it, and Mij Gilamar stocked it with stolen/black market medical equipment. When Uthan took over, they built her more lab space. There were rural veterinarians in the community as well; Etain mentioned getting a cryocontainer for a sample from a neighboring farm.

The hangar was situated in a shallow slope to the north of the main house, half-buried in the soil and disguised with netting. It was large enough to house several craft at a time, including Ny Vollen’s ship, Mereel’s speeder, and the Aay’han, among others. Swabbing down the compartments of the Aay’han, replenishing stores, and prepping the ship for the next flight managed to occupy most of an afternoon for four men.

The lake was also to the north, and I believe it was a very large lake, functioning as a heat-sink. It had not fully frozen despite the bitter winter, described as minus eight and thirty degrees colder than tropical (although the temperature scale is not mentioned, it’s likely celsius because of the author’s background). There was ice extending from the shore like a pier, but also mist rising above it in the early morning and frost on the shore, even though layers of snow deep enough for feet to crunch through the surface were mentioned elsewhere at various times. This led my friend to speculate that there could be geothermal activity in/under that lake. Kal and Walon Vau were planning to build a memorial on the near lake shore featuring the armor tallies of fallen clone soldiers.

There was granite in the area, which also gave support to the concept of historical volcanic activity. Their yard sported four chunks, each large enough for at least two people to climb up and perch upon, which had erupted from the surface long ago and been worn down to a weathered polish. Winds came in off a nearby plain. A clear (muddy) area large enough to play mesh’geroya was also near the house.

Enceri had at least one cantina, there was a landmark grain silo at the edge of town, and it was big enough to host a bustling market square, despite being described as more of a trading post than a town. There they could buy, among other things, preserved vegetables, engine parts, and local triple-distilled tihaar, which could double as degreaser for said engine parts.

If they needed more than Enceri had to offer, they could go south to Keldabe. Landmarks of note there included the River Kelita and the Oyu’baat tavern. The Imperial garrison was located near Keldabe.

“But then Mandalore itself was one big contradiction, with heavy industry and shipbuilding sitting cheek-by-jowl with farms that hadn't changed in centuries, sophisticated electronics and ancient metalworking skills side-by-side in the same suit of armor.”

Established clan homes seem to be the usual way of things despite Mandalorians supposedly being nomadic. Their “temporary” structures being wattle and daub also indicates the nomad thing to be a bit of a fallacy. Even so, they had planned a possible relocation for Kyrimorut in the worst case, a bolt-hole on Cheravh. Jaing had taken to calling it offsite hot standby.

So that’s Kyrimorut, which means Final Haven, where Kal Skirata and his chosen family hunkered down in the aftermath of Order 66. My friend says it’s basically Aberdeen, down to the detail of players getting plastered mid footie limmie game. I gathered these details from four books (Hard Contact does not mention Kyrimorut) and compiled them for anyone who’d like to make use of the rundown. Oya!

#kyrimorut #repcomm #reference #kal skirata #worldbuilding #in this essay i will

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mariacallous · 5 months ago

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Climate denial may be on the decline, but a phenomenon at least as injurious to the cause of climate protection has blossomed beside it: doomism, or the belief that there’s no way to halt the Earth’s ascendant temperatures. Burgeoning ranks of doomers throw up their hands, crying that it’s too late, too hard, too costly to save humanity from near-future extinction.

There are numerous strands of doomism. The followers of ecologist Guy McPherson, for example, gravitate to wild conspiracy theories that claim humanity won’t last another decade. Many young people, understandably overwhelmed by negative climate headlines and TikTok videos, are convinced that all engagement is for naught. Even the Guardian, which boasts superlative climate coverage, sometimes publishes alarmist articles and headlines that exaggerate grim climate projections.

This gloom-and-doomism robs people of the agency and incentive to participate in a solution to the climate crisis. As a writer on climate and energy, I am convinced that we have everything we require to go carbon neutral by 2050: the science, the technology, the policy proposals, and the money, as well as an international agreement in which nearly 200 countries have pledged to contain the crisis. We don’t need a miracle or exorbitantly expensive nuclear energy to stave off the worst. The Gordian knot before us is figuring out how to use the resources we already have in order to make that happen.

One particularly insidious form of doomism is exhibited in Kohei Saito’s Slow Down: The Degrowth Manifesto, originally published in 2020 and translated from Japanese into English this year. In his unlikely international bestseller, Saito, a Marxist philosopher, puts forth the familiar thesis that economic growth and decarbonization are inherently at odds. He goes further, though, and speculates that the climate crisis can only be curbed in a classless, commons-based society. Capitalism, he writes, seeks to “use all the world’s resources and labor power, opening new markets and never passing up even the slightest chance to make more money.”

Capitalism’s record is indeed damning. The United States and Europe are responsible for the lion’s share of the world’s emissions since the onset of the Industrial Revolution, yet the global south suffers most egregiously from climate breakdown. Today, the richest tenth of the world’s population—living overwhelmingly in the global north and China—is responsible for half of global emissions. If the super-rich alone cut their footprints down to the size of the average European, global emissions would fall by a third, Saito writes.

Saito’s self-stated goals aren’t that distinct from mine: a more egalitarian, sustainable, and just society. One doesn’t have to be an orthodox Marxist to find the gaping disparities in global income grotesque or to see the restructuring of the economy as a way to address both climate breakdown and social injustice. But his central argument—that climate justice can’t happen within a market economy of any kind—is flawed. In fact, it serves next to no purpose because more-radical-than-thou theories remove it from the nuts-and-bolts debate about the way forward.

We already possess a host of mechanisms and policies that can redistribute the burdens of climate breakdown and forge a path to climate neutrality. They include carbon pricing, wealth and global transaction taxes, debt cancellation, climate reparations, and disaster risk reduction, among others. Economies regulated by these policies are a distant cry from neoliberal capitalism—and some, particularly in Europe, have already chalked up marked accomplishments in reducing emissions.

Saito himself acknowledges that between 2000 and 2013, Britain’s GDP increased by 27 percent while emissions fell by 9 percent and that Germany and Denmark also logged decoupling. He writes off this trend as exclusively the upshot of economic stagnation following the Lehman Brothers bankruptcy in 2008. However, U.K. emissions have continued to fall, plummeting from 959 million to 582 million metric tons of carbon dioxide equivalent between 2007 and 2020. The secret to Britain’s success, which Saito doesn’t mention, was the creation of a booming wind power sector and trailblazing carbon pricing system that forced coal-fired plants out of the market practically overnight. Nor does Saito consider that from 1990 to 2022, the European Union reduced its emissions by 31 percent while its economy grew by 66 percent.

Climate protection has to make strides where it can, when it can, and experts acknowledge that it’s hard to change consumption patterns—let alone entire economic systems—rapidly. Progress means scaling back the most harmful types of consumption and energy production. It is possible to do this in stages, but it needs to be implemented much faster than the current plodding pace.

This is why Not the End of the World: How We Can Be the First Generation to Build a Sustainable Planet by Hannah Ritchie, a data scientist at the University of Oxford, is infinitely more pertinent to the public discourse on climate than Saito’s esoteric work. Ritchie’s book is a noble attempt to illustrate that environmental protection to date boasts impressive feats that can be built on, even as the world faces what she concedes is an epic battle to contain greenhouse gases.

Ritchie underscores two environmental afflictions that humankind solved through a mixture of science, smart policy, and international cooperation: acid rain and ozone depletion. I’m old enough to remember the mid-1980s, when factories and power plants spewed out sulfurous and nitric emissions and acid rain blighted forests from the northeastern United States to Eastern Europe. Acidic precipitation in the Adirondacks, my stomping grounds at the time, decimated pine forests and mountain lakes, leaving ghostly swaths of dead timber. Then, scientists pinpointed the industries responsible, and policymakers designed a cap-and-trade system that put a price on their emissions, which forced industry into action; for example, power plants had to fit scrubbers on their flue stacks. The harmful pollutants dropped by 80 percent by the end of the decade, and forests grew back.

The campaign to reverse the thinning of the ozone layer also bore fruit. An international team of scientists deduced that man-made chlorofluorocarbons (CFC) in fridges, freezers, air conditioners, and aerosol cans were to blame. Despite fierce industry pushback, more than 40 countries came together in Montreal in 1987 to introduce a staggered ban on CFCs. Since then, more countries joined the Montreal Protocol, and CFCs are now largely a relic of the past. As Ritchie points out, this was the first international pact of any kind to win the participation of every nation in the world.

While these cases instill inspiration, Ritchie’s assessment of our current crisis is a little too pat and can veer into the Panglossian. The climate crisis is many sizes larger in scope than the scourges of the 1980s, and its antidote—to Saito’s credit—entails revamping society and economy on a global scale, though not with the absolutist end goal of degrowth communism.

Ritchie doesn’t quite acknowledge that a thoroughgoing restructuring is necessary. Although she does not invoke the term, she is an acolyte of “green growth.” She maintains that tweaks to the world’s current economic system can improve the living standards of the world’s poorest, maintain the global north’s level of comfort, and achieve global net zero by 2050. “Economic growth is not incompatible with reducing our environmental impact,” she writes. For her, the big question is whether the world can decouple growth and emissions in time to stave off the darkest scenarios.

Ritchie approaches today’s environmental disasters—air pollution, deforestation, carbon-intensive food production, biodiversity loss, ocean plastics, and overfishing—as problems solvable in ways similar to the crises of the 1980s. Like CFCs and acid rain, so too can major pollutants such as black carbon and carbon monoxide be reined in. Ritchie writes that the “solution to air pollution … follows just one basic principle: stop burning stuff.” As she points out, smart policy has already enhanced air quality in cities such as Beijing (Warsaw, too, as a recent visit convinced me), and renewable energy is now the cheapest form of power globally. What we have to do, she argues, is roll renewables out en masse.

The devil is in making it happen. Ritchie admits that environmental reforms must be accelerated many times over, but she doesn’t address how to achieve this or how to counter growing pushback against green policies. Just consider the mass demonstrations across Europe in recent months as farmers have revolted against the very measures for which Ritchie (correctly) advocates, such as cutting subsidies to diesel gas, requiring crop rotation, eliminating toxic pesticides, and phasing down meat production. Already, the farmers’ vehemence has led the EU to dilute important legislation on agriculture, deforestation, and biodiversity.

Ritchie’s admonishes us to walk more, take public transit, and eat less beef. Undertaken individually, this won’t change anything. But she acknowledges that sound policy is key—chiefly, economic incentives to steer markets and consumer behavior. Getting the right parties into office, she writes, should be voters’ priority.

Yet the parties fully behind Ritchie’s agenda tend to be the Green parties, which are largely in Northern Europe and usually garner little more than 10 percent of the vote. Throughout Europe, environmentalism is badmouthed by center-right and far-right politicos, many of whom lead or participate in governments, as in Finland, Hungary, Italy, the Netherlands, Serbia, Slovakia, and Sweden. And while she argues that all major economies must adopt carbon pricing like the EU’s cap-and-trade system, she doesn’t address how to get the United States, the world’s second-largest emitter, to introduce this nationwide or even expand its two carbon markets currently operating regionally—one encompassing 12 states on the East Coast, the other in California.

History shows that the best way to make progress in the battle to rescue our planet is to work with what we have and build on it. The EU has a record of exceeding and revising its emissions reduction targets. In the 1990s, the bloc had the modest goal of sinking greenhouse gases to 8 percent below 1990 levels by 2008-12; by 2012, it had slashed them by an estimated 18 percent. More recently, the 2021 European Climate Law adjusted the bloc’s target for reducing net greenhouse gas emissions from 40 percent to at least 55 percent by 2030, and the European Commission is considering setting the 2040 target to 90 percent below 1990 levels.

This process can’t be exclusively top down. By far the best way for everyday citizens to counter climate doomism is to become active beyond individual lifestyle choices—whether that’s by bettering neighborhood recycling programs, investing in clean tech equities, or becoming involved in innovative clean energy projects.

Take, for example, “community energy,” which Saito considers briefly and Ritchie misses entirely. In the 1980s, Northern Europeans started to cobble together do-it-yourself cooperatives, in which citizens pooled money to set up renewable energy generation facilities. Many of the now more than 9,000 collectives across the EU are relatively small—the idea is to stay local and decentralized—but larger co-ops illustrate that this kind of enterprise can function at scale. For example, Belgium’s Ecopower, which forgoes profit and reinvests in new energy efficiency and renewables projects, provides 65,000 members with zero-carbon energy at a reduced price.

Grassroots groups and municipalities are now investing in nonprofit clean energy generation in the United States, particularly in California and Minnesota. This takes many forms, including solar fields; small wind parks; electricity grids; and rooftop photovoltaic arrays bolted to schools, parking lots, and other public buildings. Just as important as co-ownership—in contrast to mega-companies’ domination of the fossil fuel market—is democratic decision-making. These start-ups, usually undertaken by ordinary citizens, pry the means of generation out of the hands of the big utilities, which only grudgingly alter their business models.

Around the world, the transition is in progress—and ideally, could involve all of us. The armchair prophets of doom should either join in or, at the least, sit on the sidelines quietly. The last thing we need is more people sowing desperation and angst. They play straight into the court of the fossil fuel industry.

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afghanbarbie · 8 months ago

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The sex-based apartheid against women in Afghanistan cannot be reduced to, "Afghan men saw Afghan women enjoying freedom and got mad, so they established extremist religious governments to stop it." I am really tired of seeing this misconception and oversimplification spread around by leftists, liberals and feminists – it's racist, and simply not fucking true.

The majority of Afghans want a secular government and for the oppression of women to end. The Taliban represent a minority of Afghanistan's people. The deterioration of Afghan society – in particular, women's rights and freedoms – directly results from decades of foreign intervention, imperialism and occupation. Afghans did not destroy Afghanistan, the United States did, and the USSR paved the way for them to do so.

Had Afghanistan never been treated like a pawn in the games played by imperialistic powers, had we not been reduced to resources, strategic importance and a tool for weakening the enemy, extremism would have never come to power.

An overview of Afghanistan's recent history:

The USSR wanted to incorporate Afghanistan into Soviet Central Asia and did so by sabotaging indigenous Afghan communist movements and replacing our leaders with those loyal to the USSR. The United States began funding and training Islamic extremists – the Mujahideen – to fight against the Soviet influence and subsequent invasion, and to help the CIA suppress any indigenous Afghan leftist movements. Those Mujahideen won the war, and then spent the next decade fighting for absolute control over Afghanistan.

During that time period, known as the Afghan Civil War, the Mujahideen became warlords, each enforcing their own laws on the regions they controlled. Kabul was nearly destroyed, and the chaos, destruction and death was largely ignored by the United States despite being the ones who caused and empowered it. This civil war era created the perfect, unstable environment needed to give a fringe but strong group like the Taliban a chance to rise to power. And after two decades of war, a singular entity taking control and bringing 'peace' was enticing to all Afghans, even if their views were objectively more extreme than what we had been enduring up to that point.

When the United States invaded Afghanistan in 2001, they allied with the same warlords that had been destroying our country the decade prior and whom they had rallied against the Soviets – these are the people that made up the Northern Alliance. The 'good guys' that America gave us were rapists, pillagers, and violent extremists, no better than the Taliban. And that's not even mentioning the horrible atrocities and war crimes committed by American forces themselves.

So, no, Afghan men did not collectively wake up one day and decide that women had too much freedom and rush to establish an extremist government overnight. No, this is not to excuse the misogyny of men in our society – the extremists had to already exist for Americans to fund and arm them against the Soviets – but rather to redirect the bulk of this racist blame to the actual culprits. The religious extremism and sex-based apartheid would not be oppressing and murdering us today if they hadn't been funded and supported by the United States of America thirty years ago. And despite all the abuses and restrictions, many Afghan women prefer the Taliban's current government to another American occupation. I felt safer walking in Taliban-controlled Kabul than I did being 'randomly searched' (sexually assaulted) by American military police in my village as a child.

Imperialism is inextricably linked with patriarchal violence and women's oppression. You cannot talk about the deterioration of Afghanistan without talking about the true cause of said decline: The United States of America. Americans of all political views, including leftists and feminists, are guilty of reducing or outright ignoring Western responsibility for female oppression in the Global South, finding it much easier to place all blame on the foreign brown man or our supposedly backwards, savage cultures, when the most responsibility belongs with Western governments and their meddling games that forced the most violent misogynists among us into power.

(Most of this information comes from my own experience living as an Afghan Hazara woman in Afghanistan, but Bleeding Afghanistan: Washington, Warlords and the Propaganda of Silence covers this in much more detail. If you want more on the Soviet-Afghan war and Afghanistan's socialist history, Revolutionary Afghanistan is an English-language source from a more leftist perspective)

#afghanistan #taliban #anti imperialism #feminism #radfem safe #america is a terrorist state #america is a failed state #global south #western imperialism #hazara genocide

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leo-muscle · 9 months ago

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I’ve heard a little bit about this King Leon guy. Who does he think he is to call himself a king? Seems far to pretentious if you ask me. I wouldn’t be caught dead bowing to someone like that. Not in a million years.

Sure I’m the most basic looking white dude on the planet. My face gets lost in the crowd and my body is light enough to be blown by a breeze. But a king can’t change that, and I would like to see him or any of his subjects try to.

"Are you sure about that?" The bartender told you. You had just arrived on your vacation in Haiti, and the resort's bartender had decided to strike up a conversation with you over drinks. He was enormous, seven feet of pure surfer boy muscle, with a thick gut that was the very picture of strength. He would have been the most beautiful man you had ever seen, if you weren't in the middle of a massive rant.

"Oh, absolutely." You continued. "Whoever these 'kings' are, I don't want anything to do with 'em. Who are they to declare rule over the entire world, and who are we to listen to them?"

It was true, of course. Much of Africa, the British Isles, Central America, and even the islands you were now in had been united under the rule of these Kings. While many praised them for their novel social reforms and exponential increase to quality of life in their domains, many others, yourself included, remained attached to the old ways. Even this vacation was a scouting trip, to see if whatever propaganda these Kings were putting out was true.

"On the contrary, my friend, I am perfectly happy to listen to the rule of my King. You should have seen this island before King Kai came here. Homelessness, poverty... it's all been amended since he arrived."

"Really?" You asked, taking a big swig of your drink, savoring its tingle on your lips. "And NO one's uncomfortable being ruled by just one person?"

"People love King Kai. He is kind and just, like any good king should be. You'll see that soon enough." The bartender said.

"What do you mean by that?" You asked, your heart racing.

"Oh, nothing much. Just give it a few seconds."

"What are you-- UGH!" You doubled over, your skin on fire with a sensation entirely alien to you.

The bartender walked out from behind the bar, and soon, his magical hands went to work. With his kingly essence in your system, you could be molded into a respectable citizen of the world.

He started with your pecs, cupping them from behind as they burst through your tropical shirt with new strength. They were enormous, voluptuous pillows, jiggling with muscle and a thin layer of fat.

He then moved his hands along your shoulders, pumping them into cannonballs of strength. The moment his hands reached your arms, they pulled and pushed, leaving your twiggy biceps and forearms as but a fleeting memory, replacing them with pulsing, powerful cannons of strength. In awe, you flexed your right arm, forming a mound easily as big as a baseball if not more.

You moaned softly as King Kai's beautiful hands lightly traced a six-pack onto your stomach, each ab popping into existence, forming an impenetrable wall of strength.

Soon, his hands navigated south, one massive hand palming your flat ass, while the other grabbed your tiny three-inch cock. You moaned, long, low, and hard as both of his hands began to move out from your body, pulling your cock and ass with them. Your cheeks rounded out into a big, bouncy bubble butt, bigger than most women's. It shook with strength and sexuality with every slight movement you made, much like your cock, which had grown so big with the King's touch that no pair of pants could conceal your enormous bulge. His touch was electric on your shaft, causing you to pre almost endlessly.

Your mind was in heaven as he continued to your legs. Your cock was at full mast at its enormous eleven inches as he took his hands to your legs, and blew them up into corded steel pillars as big as any christmas ham. You moaned, your cock firing blanks as he looked you deep into your eyes, placing one hand to completely cover your currently-unchanged face.

"As much as I love my people, we cannot be a global community if all my citizens are homogenous." King Kai said. "Hmm, where should I send you..."

Your skin flickered through thousands of shades in a single moment, before settling on a tone a few shades darker than your original. Your hair darkened to black, and you instantly sprouted a thick dark mustache, and a chinstrap beard to match. Your eyes became narrower and monolid, your stare intensifying into a sexy smolder. As King Kai leaned in and kissed you, your bulk increased, and your muscle became padded with a thin sexy layer of fat.

"Cum." King Kai commanded you, his voice sexy enough to send you over the edge.

You had been reborn, a Vietnamese stud in the Carribean. Your brain was aflame with new neurons, making connections faster and better than ever before. You knew you had been improved, in every conceivable way. You were stronger, smarter, wiser, and you had no one but your new king to thank.

#male tf #male transformation #race change #muscle bear #bear tf #jock tf #pec growth #butt growth #asian tf #mental change #kings of the world

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fightforthesoulofthecities · 1 year ago

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VOTE YES ON THE STRATEGY CENTER ON YOUR FUNDRAISING BALLOT 2023 VOTE NO ON TRUMP AND BIDEN

[vc_row css=”.vc_custom_1701230330704{background-color: #ffffff !important;}”][vc_column][vc_single_image image=”7283″ img_size=”full” alignment=”center”][vc_column_text css=”.vc_custom_1701228154161{margin-bottom: 0px !important;}”] Vote Yes on the Strategy Center on Your Fundraising Ballot 2023 Vote No on Trump and Biden The Strategy Center is a multi-racial, Black-led “change the world…

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#Akunna Uka #Barbara Lott Holland #bus riders union #Channing Martinez #Eric Mann #Fight for the Soul of the Cities #Free Public Transit #Free Public Transportation #Labor Community Strategy Center #LACI #South Central Power Up #Strategy and Soul #Strategy and Soul Bookstore #The Strategy Center

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draconesmundi · 3 months ago

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What species of dragons are found in Africa? What clades do they belong to?

ooo so I was wanting to do a Smaugust Post about this but I was unsure how, so I'll just reply to this question with 12 very rushed dragon doodles...

(edit; to be clear this is in my creative project Dracones Mundi, not 'real dragons' or a comprehensive list of mythology. Dragon designs inspired by mythology)

Click the 'keep reading' to learn more!

West African Rainbow Serpent (Dracovermidae: Afroserpens iris)

This dragon is specifically a 'west African rainbow serpent' to differentiate been this and the Australian rainbow serpent. The West African Rainbow Serpent is based on West African folklore (Vodun tradition among other things, deities such as Ayedo Wedo etc.) and the physical design is based on an art sculpture of Ayedo Wedo a friend sent me a picture of (black head, white neck collar) + some snakes I like (spots with dark rims) + rainbow gradient.

Grootslang (Dracovermidae: Afroserpens magnus)

A gigantic dragon with diamond eyes said to live in caves under South Africa - looking into South African caves to discover there are vast bodies of water in huge caves was an experience - the above design is a loose idea, the final Grootslang for the Dracones Mundi project may look different...

Elephant Eating Serpent (Dracovermidae: Afroserpens aethiopicus)

Based on bestiaries saying 'big serpents in Africa wrap elephants in their coils'.

Chicken Headed Serpent (Afroserpens gallocephallus)

I might merge this design with the existing cockatrice design (see further below), only time will tell...

Nile Serpent? (Dracovermidae: Dracovermis hydra)

Huge serpent found in the Nile, and in the Mediterranean. Inspiration for Apep/Apophis in Egypt, but also for the Hydra in Greece.

Congan Plated Dragon (Testudracidae: Stegosuchus monstrum)

Large dragon that lives in the Congo Basin - inspired by Mokele Mbembe, Emele Ntouka and Mblieu Mblieu Mblieu

Dinodrakes (Drakonidae: Dinodrako...? )

Silly dragon I put on Madagascar - not inspired by folklore, these are just funny dinosaur inspired dragons. Mr Razzledazzle and his beautiful big wife.

Green Wyvern (Megaviperidae: Megavipera virida)

Based on Europeans slapping a little green dragon on maps of Africa for 'Aethiopia', 'here be dragons'. Also this is Saint George's dragon, so in versions of the legend where the saint fights the dragon in Libya I decided to put the green wyvern in Libya. Green wyverns therefore have a wide distribution in Dracones Mundi as Saint George has fought the dragon throughout North Africa, the Middle East and Europe.

Kongomato (Megaviperidae: ?)

A swimming dragon that lives in Zambia - it can grab boats with it's powerful jaws, swim with it's powerful tail and has huge wings. I am not certain on this final design, working on it...

Cockatrice (Medaviperidae: Basilliskos gallimimus)

CHICKEN DRAGON. Very deadly. Found throughout the world, including Africa.

Jaculus (Megaviperidae: Pteraserpens jaculus)

Jaculus, the javeline serpent, can fly at intense speeds, stabbing prey with it's sharp face.

Terrorsaur (Megaviperidae: Pteroserpens...?)

Silly dragon based on "what if janky cartoony green pterodactyls are dragons?" and then I found a lot of cryptozoology places 'pterosaurs' in central Africa. Playing with this concept, nothing solid yet.

...

There are some other African dragons that I'm not sure about including - Ninki Nanka is something I have had on my radar for a while but I could not find enough info on it to write or draw something (recently looked it up again and there is more info wow... Okay next draft will include Ninki Nanka!!!!)

and Akhekhu which I had in a previous draft then abandonned. Might put him back in. Not sure if he's dragony enough?

So in this current roster of African dragons we have 6 inspired by African folklore and mythology (Grootslang, Rainbow Serpent, Nile Serpent, Congan Plated Dragon, Kongomato, Chicken Headed Serpent) 4 inspired by European mythology saying 'this lives in Africa' (Cockatrice, Green wyvern, Jaculus, Elephant Eating Serpent) and 2 I made up just for fun (Dinodrakes and Terrorsaurs)

#Smaugust #Dracones Mundi #Dragons #Asks #Africa

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dreaminginthedeepsouth · 16 days ago

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1939 MSG Nazi rally

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

October 27, 2024

Heather Cox Richardson

Oct 28, 2024

I stand corrected. I thought this year’s October surprise was the reality that Trump’s mental state had slipped so badly he could not campaign in any coherent way.

It turns out that the 2024 October surprise was the Trump campaign’s fascist rally at Madison Square Garden, a rally so extreme that Republicans running for office have been denouncing it all over social media tonight.

There was never any question that this rally was going to be anything but an attempt to inflame Trump’s base. The plan for a rally at Madison Square Garden itself deliberately evoked its predecessor: a Nazi rally at the old Madison Square Garden on February 20, 1939. About 18,000 people showed up for that “true Americanism” event, held on a stage that featured a huge portrait of George Washington in his Continental Army uniform flanked by swastikas.

Like that earlier event, Trump’s rally was supposed to demonstrate power and inspire his base to violence.

Apparently in anticipation of the rally, Trump on Friday night replaced his signature blue suit and red tie with the black and gold of the neofascist Proud Boys. That extremist group was central to the January 6, 2021, attack on the U.S. Capitol and has been rebuilding to support Trump again in 2024.

On Saturday the Trump campaign released a list of 29 people set to be on the stage at the rally. Notably, the list was all MAGA Republicans, including vice presidential nominee Ohio senator J.D. Vance, House speaker Mike Johnson (LA), Representative Elise Stefanik (NY), Representative Byron Donalds (FL), Trump backer Elon Musk, Trump ally Rudy Giuliani, Robert F. Kennedy Jr., right-wing host Tucker Carlson, Trump sons Don Jr. and Eric, and Eric’s wife, Republican National Committee co-chair Lara Trump.

Libbey Dean of NewsNation noted that none of the seven Republicans running in New York’s competitive House races were on the list. When asked why not, according to Dean, Trump senior advisor Jason Miller said: “The demand, the request for people to speak, is quite extensive.” Asked if the campaign had turned down anyone who asked to speak, Miller said no.

Meanwhile, the decision of the owners of the Los Angeles Times and the Washington Post not to endorse Democratic presidential candidate Vice President Kamala Harris seems to have sparked a backlash. As Will Bunch of the Philadelphia Inquirer noted, “in a strange way the papers did perform a public service: showing American voters what life under a dictator would feel like.”

Early on October 26, the Washington Post itself went after Trump backer billionaire Elon Musk with a major story highlighting the information that Musk, an immigrant from South Africa, had worked illegally when he started his career in the U.S. Musk “did not have the legal right to work” in the U.S. when he started his first successful company. As part of the Trump campaign, Musk has emphasized his opposition to undocumented immigrants.

The New York Times has tended to downplay Trump’s outrageous statements, but on Saturday it ran a round-up of Trump’s threats in the center of the front page, above the fold. It noted that Trump has vowed to expand presidential power, prosecute his political opponents, and crack down on immigration with mass deportations and detention camps. It went on to list his determination to undermine the North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO), use the U.S. military against Mexican drug cartels “in potential violation of international law,” and use federal troops against U.S. citizens. It added that he plans to “upend trade” with sweeping new tariffs that will raise consumer prices, and to rein in regulatory agencies.

“To help achieve these and other goals,” the paper concluded, “his advisers are vetting lawyers seen as more likely to embrace aggressive legal theories about the scope of his power.”

On Sunday the front page of the New York Times opinion section read, in giant capital letters: “DONALD TRUMP/ SAYS HE WILL PROSECUTE HIS ENEMIES/ ORDER MASS DEPORTATIONS/ USE SOLDIERS AGAINST CITIZENS/ ABANDON ALLIES/ PLAY POLITICS WITH DISASTERS/ BELIEVE HIM.” And then, inside the section, the paper provided the receipts: Trump’s own words outlining his fascist plans. “BELIEVE HIM,” the paper said.

On CNN’s State of the Union this morning, host Jake Tapper refused to permit Trump’s running mate, Ohio senator J.D. Vance, to gaslight viewers. Vance angrily denied that Trump has repeatedly called for using the U.S. military against Americans, but Tapper came with receipts that proved the very things Vance denied.

Trump’s rally at Madison Square Garden began in the early afternoon. The hateful performances of the early participants set the tone for the rally. Early on, comedian Tony Hinchcliffe, who goes by Kill Tony, delivered a steamingly racist set. He said, for example: “There’s literally a floating island of garbage in the middle of the ocean right now. I think it’s called Puerto Rico.” He went on: “And these Latinos, they love making babies too. Just know that. They do. They do. There’s no pulling out. They don’t do that. They come inside. Just like they did to our country.” Hinchcliffe also talked about Black people carving watermelons instead of pumpkins.

The speakers who followed Hinchcliffe called Vice President Kamala Harris “the Antichrist” and “the devil.” They called former secretary of state Hillary Clinton “a sick son of a b*tch,” and they railed against “f*cking illegals.” They insulted Latinos generally, Black Americans, Palestinians and Jews. Trump advisor Stephen Miller’s claim that “America is for Americans and Americans only” directly echoed the statement of Adolf Hitler that "Germany is for Germans and Germans only.”

Trump took the stage about two hours late, prompting people to stream toward the exits before he finished speaking. He hit his usual highlights, notably undermining Vance’s argument from earlier in the day by saying that, indeed, he believes fellow Americans are “the enemy within.”

But Trump perhaps gave away the game with his inflammatory language and with an aside, seemingly aimed at House speaker Johnson. “I think with our little secret we are gonna do really well with the House, right? Our little secret is having a big impact, he and I have a secret, we will tell you what it is when the race is over,” Trump said.

It seems possible—probable, even—that Trump was alluding to putting in play the plan his people tried in 2020. That plan was to create enough chaos over the certification of electoral votes in the states to throw the election into the House of Representatives. There, each state delegation gets a single vote, so if the Republicans have control of more states than the Democrats, Trump could pull out a victory even if he had dramatically lost the popular vote.

Since he has made virtually no effort to win votes in 2024, this seems his likely plan.

But to do that, he needs at least a plausibly close election, or at least to convince his supporters that the election has been stolen from him. Tonight’s rally badly hurt that plan.

As Hinchcliffe was talking about Puerto Rico as a floating island of garbage, Democratic presidential nominee Vice President Kamala Harris was at a Puerto Rican restaurant in Philadelphia talking about her plan to spread her opportunity economy to Puerto Rico. She has called for strengthening Puerto Rico’s energy grid and making it easier to get permits to build there.

After the “floating island of garbage” comment, Puerto Rican superstar musician Bad Bunny, who has more than 45 million followers on Instagram, posted Harris’s plan for Puerto Rico, and his spokesperson said he is endorsing Harris.

Puerto Rican singer and actor Ricky Martin shared a clip from Hinchcliffe’s set with his 16 million followers. His caption read: “This is what they think of us.” Singer and actress Jennifer Lopez, who has 250 million Instagram followers, posted Harris’s plan. Later, singer-songwriter and actress Ariana Grande posted that she had voted for Harris. Grande has 376 million followers on Instagram. Singer Luis Fonsi, who has 16 million followers, also called out the “constant hate.”

The headlines were brutal. “MAGA speakers unleash ugly rhetoric at Trump's MSG rally,” read Axios. Politico wrote: “Trump’s New York homecoming sparks backlash over racist and vulgar remarks.” “Racist Remarks and Insults Mark Trump’s Madison Square Garden Rally,” the New York Times announced. “Speakers at Trump rally make racist comments, hurl insults,” read CNN.

But the biggest sign of the damage the rally did was the frantic backpedaling from Republicans in tight elections, who distanced themselves as fast as they could from the insults against Puerto Ricans, especially. The Trump campaign itself tried to distance itself from the “floating island of garbage” quotation, only to be met with comments pointing out that Hinchcliffe’s set had been vetted and uploaded to the teleprompters.

As the clips spread like wildfire, political writer Charlotte Clymer pointed out that almost 6 million Puerto Ricans live in the states—about a million in Florida, half a million in Pennsylvania, 100,000 in Georgia, 100,000 in Michigan, 100,000 in North Carolina, 45,000 in Arizona, and 40,000 in Nevada—and that over half of them voted in 2020.

In 1939, as about 18,000 American Nazis rallied inside Madison Square Garden, newspapers reported that a crowd of about 100,000 anti-Nazis gathered outside to protest. It took 1,700 police officers, the largest number of officers ever before detailed for a single event, to hold them back from storming the venue.

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

#Madison Square Garden #Letters From An American #Heather Cox Richardson #Nazis #Hitler #Trump Rally #MAGA rally #racism #Puerto Rico #endorsements #Puerto Rican voters #election 2024

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hussyknee · 1 month ago

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Unrolled twitter thread by Progressive International (@ProgIntl)

30 Sept 24 • 4 minute read • Read on X

On 30 September 1965, the Indonesian military, working closely with the US government, initiated a coup that would depose President Sukarno and install the brutal, 30-year dictatorship of General Suharto.

In the dark years that followed, the dictatorship massacred over a million Indonesian communists, with the CIA and US diplomats drawing up “kill lists” for the Indonesian military. The operation would become a template for the US’s regime change operations for decades to come.

Major-General Suharto with Indonesian Army in 1966

In 1945, President Sukarno led Indonesia to independence from Dutch colonial rule. He championed the Non-Aligned Movement and hosted the historic Bandung Conference, a meeting of Afro-Asian states, in 1955.

First President of Indonesia Sukarno making a speech circa 1945

Opening the conference and forecasting what was to come, Sukarno said: “We are often told ‘Colonialism is dead’. Let us not be deceived or even soothed by that… Colonialism also has its modern dress, in the form of economic control, intellectual control, actual physical control by a small, but alien community within a nation.”

Leaders attending the Bandung Conference 1955 in Bandung, Indonesia. From left: Indian Prime Minister Jawaharlal Nehru, Ghanian Prime Minister Kwame Nkrumah, Egyptian Prime Minister Gamal Abdel Nasser, President Sukarno, and Yugoslavian Prime Minister Josip Broz Tito.

By 1965, Indonesia possessed one of the world's largest communist parties, the PKI. The PKI had a mass membership and mobilized vast numbers of people in the battle against Indonesia’s ruling class.

Campaign of the Indonesian Communist Party (PKI) in September 1955.

Terrified by the strength and organization of Indonesia’s people, the Indonesian military’s 30th September Movement began to purge the PKI.

Men suspected of being IPK members being transported under guard by an armed Indonesian soldier

In the early hours of 1 October, a group of military conscripts murdered six high-ranking generals. Blaming the deaths on the PKI, Suharto used the attacks as a pretext to seize power. CIA communications equipment allowed him to spread false reports around the country and begin a long campaign of anti-communist propaganda.

The US had tried to overthrow Sukarno for years; in 1958, the CIA backed armed regional rebellions against the central government. In 1965, they did all they could to aid Suharto’s murderous power grab.

The campaign soon became genocidal. On islands like Bali, up to 10% of the population was massacred — and luxury hotels soon began to appear over the killing fields.

One US embassy staffer told the US press that Suharto’s military “probably killed a lot of people, and I probably have a lot of blood on my hands, but that's not all bad.”

Time Magazine referred to the killings as “the West’s best news for years in Asia”.

A cable from the US embassy’s first secretary, Mary Vance Trent, to the State Department referred to events in Indonesia as a “fantastic switch which has occurred over 10 short weeks”. It also included an estimate that 100,000 people had been slaughtered.

Cementing his power, Suharto became president in 1967. His ‘New Order’ policy allowed Western capitalism to exploit Indonesia’s cheap labour and plunder its natural resources. Civil rights and dissent were suppressed.

In one of the world’s most populous countries, any possibility for the emergence of a new, democratic political project was eliminated. Richard Nixon described Indonesia as “the greatest prize in Southeast Asia”. Suharto would not leave office until 1998.

U.S. President Ronald Reagan stands with Indonesian President Suharto in the White House South Lawn at the arrival ceremony for Suharto's State Visit. Oct 12, 1982

CIA officers described Suharto’s rise to power and anti-communist purge as the “model operation” and “Jakarta” soon became the codeword for anti-communist extermination programs in Latin America, where hundreds of thousands were massacred in regime change efforts engineered by Washington.

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fuck-customers · 2 months ago

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You know having grown up my entire life in Miami and living through multiple hurricanes including Hurricane Andrew that totally destroyed my grandmothers and aunt's homes. Then there was Charles, Francis, and Katrina in 2005 that took out power to most of South Florida for over a month. And many other tropical storms and tornadoes.

I figured I would move to central Florida "because they don't get hurricanes." I've been here for about 13 years this time. (lived here 1999- 2003 and went back to Miami till my mother passed.)

This is the 5th storm to hit (or come close enough to close everything including theme parks) and not a single one anywhere near Miami.

WTF? Are they drawn to my big ass??? If not it's one hell of a coincidence.

-Rodney

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starfishstark · 4 months ago

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MOONLIGHT

SYNOPSIS The moment tribals heard of a rumor of an outsider inhabiting their planet, Kaibre volunteered to find this man, see if he was a threat to their people or if coexistence was viable. With their blooming friendship, will they become more or will Kaibre find out about his dark origins...

PAIRING qimir x tribal! reader, reader uses the name Kaibre (i cannot write using y/n sorry chat!), reader uses she/her pronouns, the reader has a kid (rhysin my beloved)

WARNINGS 4.7K words, fluff so far, very mild descriptions of violence

pt 1

There’s someone else on the beach…

Word spreads ridiculously fast on Bal'demnic. Even between the coastal tribe to the river tribe, and even back to the mountain tribe driven in solitude with their forever warm underground pools filled with steam and the sound of laughter and prayers all night long. Even more from a single rumor, everything is exposed.

Kaibre assumes, sure, it’s easier, when a single rumor about a crush becomes a marriage proposal in the course of a week. Why bother hiding attraction? Just propose, and if they say no, go sing melancholy songs to the moons above, and sit in your corner of the lagoon for while till you no longer feel so worrisome over something so trivial. If they say yes, grin like a madman and get married that night in front of the black sands, a cortosis thread tied around their neck, and the high moons. On Bal'demnic, when word spreads, it spreads fast.

When the morning scouts went on their early rounds, they noticed the disturbance in the waves. It was a little irk in the back of their heads, making them tread lightly until one of the boys caught sight of another person on the beach. An outsider!! On their little planet?!

Within the nightfall of the second day, everyone in the tribe harbored anxious thoughts about what to do next. As the closest tribe to the outsider, the stranger, on their lands, they were expected to take care of it. Word had started to reach the other tribes, and the coastal tribe would soon need to find out whether this stranger was here to harm them or not. The little kids of course thought nothing but another face to play along with, and maybe a stranger with no responsibilities would have more time to toss them up into the air while they giggled their little hearts out.

“Tell me again, what did you see…”

Everytime, the story was the same. There was the stranger in one of the lagoons further north, he limped into the pool, and he had a bag of belongings with him. In the distance, one of those space ships rested peacefully on a small island off the coast.

And everyone wanted to hear the story. Of course, when words spread, it’s not always true.

“He had scars littering his body. He’s taller than the anyone in the entire tribe! He was bleeding out his side, limping for relief to the warm lagoon, like someone had maimed him! Bested him, even! Perhaps he’s in exile, all for killing little naughty children who don’t listen to their mothers…!”

Once the sun had set, and the moons started to align again in the lunar solstice of every night, the warriors and workers of the tribe alike gathered around the central fire. Whispers of the stranger slaughtered the silence, he was a myth and legend all the same. There has been no outsider in Bal’demnic for generations.

“Silence!” Icar swished his long robe in a singular motion, letting the quiet settle throughout the crowd around the fire. Their northern coastal tribe was small, many opting to move to the south for the plentiful resources, but the ones still here remained for the sand rich in cortosis, the metal their ancestors settled here for. Powerful to the breathing heart of this planet. That said, there weren’t all that many workers and warriors around the fire, but enough that the instant silence spoke measures to how much respect Icar wielded in the tribe. “I assume we all know of the situation at hand. I am not to waste time, but we must send someone to actually see this stranger on our planet…on our beaches…”

Icar looked up expectantly from his stare at the fire. There was a wash of agreements from the people around, some people automatically raising their hands and volunteering.

“No, no warriors, we cannot seem as a threat before we know how powerful this stranger is. He could have more with him. No, no we cannot send a stranger immediately, our safest option is someone more…flexible. Unassuming. We need to show the tolerance for co-existence if they come in peace. Able to collect information, and for the worst path…someone our tribe is mendable to be without. I’m sorry, but we cannot afford to lose a head warrior if this is a legitimate threat.”

Instant groans and protests sounded from the head warriors seated next to Kaibre, one of them even getting up and ready to argue with Icar before Icar shot him a hot look.

“I can do it.”

The head warriors turned to look at Kaibre with a curious look, like they didn’t even notice her at the meetings.

Icar looked at her with a pained expression, shaking his head, “Kaibre, you have a son.”

“The- the people will watch over him.” Not gonna lie, Kaibre forgot about that for a moment she volunteered. But she didn’t feel like this stranger was going to kill her, and people like Kaibre have knack for getting things like this right. “No child goes without here.”

It takes a village to raise a child, that much was true. If Kaibre was to drop dead the next second, her son would not go without being taken care of. Without being fed, without a roof over his head, even if he might be alone in the hut Kaibre built by herself, 3 months pregnant with him. But even then, the children will come and go in their hut, he will stay with the people, and he will find his place among them.

“But you have just had a son, it’s been barely 4 cycles.” Icar reminded her, watching her carefully.

“I…don’t believe this stranger will kill me.”

The tribals went silent again, holding their breaths.

Kaibre was sensitive to the air, the kids used to say. She could always tell if one of them was lying about where they all really were. Even when she was a kid, she could tell when one of her friends would become sick the next day. She would always give her food away for the hunter and warriors who went hungry too soon too fast, like she could tell that night they would be bountiful in their hunt and bring back the food she had given away tenfold.

And even now, everyone held their breath to the girl who could feel what was wrong in the air. Their attention made her squirm in her seat, trying to focus on Icar, who was looking at her with furrowed eyebrows, but resolved in his decision.

“Are you sure? Rhysin only has one mother. One guardian.”

Her eyes focused in on the movement of the fire, swallowing her fear and trying to commit herself to this. When her eyes met Icars’ again, he knew her answer.

“You will leave one rotation from now, when the sun sets, take a cortosis blade with you for protection, and a bag of warm supper for amity.”

Kaibre nods, barely able to keep in her excitement of going out of the village again. She hadn’t been out like this in 4 cycles.

The next day goes by in a hurry, with Kaibre prepping her eyes with the dark ashes in a clay pot for seeing in the night, strapping a cortosis blade flat to her thigh, hidden by the ruffles of a white skirt. Her black drape lays artfully on her, even earning her a “Pretty Ammi!” from Rhysin when she sees her getting ready. She laughs, picking up her little boy and kissing both his cheeks, before telling him to run off to Lysa’s house for the night, her close friend.

She sees Icar one last time where he hands her a bag full of food, enough to feed two and a clear sign of appeasement. Giving her one last nod, he sends her off before the moons align that night.

The trek to the northern lagoons is not difficult usually, but with her watching every step in the darkness, and carrying all that food, it takes the breath from her just a little. However, the energy returns to her the second she sees the trail of smoke coming from an opening in the nearby cave system adjacent to the lagoons. Her breath catches, and she carefully treads on the rocks leading her to the cave opening.

She hears the whirs and revs of machinery, oh she hasn’t seen any her entire life, and peers from behind a rock wall to see the stranger…

They were right, he bleeding out his side. How did Lysa even come up with a lie that clever and accurate? Even from where she was standing, she could see the slight way he preferred to his left side, with the hint of bandages under his loose shirt.

Wow, he’s wearing a shirt…

She hasn’t seen a shirt except one time she dreamt of one, and once when she saw it in a what they call a magazine in the mountain tribe from years ago.

He had skin paler than those in the tribe, almost like someone washed him in milk compared to her own wood toned skin. His hair covered the back of his neck, hanging low in front of his face, covering it from his view, but she picked up on hooded eyes narrowed in on what he was melding.

She looked around the room, staying behind that wall keeping her from his view. It didn’t look like that of someone aggressive.

“You know, you don’t have to hide behind that wall.”

Kriff…

She leaned from the edge of the wall again, peering at the stranger all over again. He was relaxed, and open with his posture. Hunched just a little in his seat, with his lips tugging at an easy going smile.

“Do you speak Aurebesh?” He asked patiently while Kaibre stepped completely out of the shadows, standing with arm against the rock wall.

She nodded, unsure what to say after being caught so blatantly, and not more than a minute she had been there. Was she losing her touch?

“I apologize for disturbing your planet…It was recorded as uninhabited and uninhabitable. It wasn’t until I landed that I realized how ridiculously outdated that was.”

Kaibre nods unsurely, slowly - towards him and stands closer to him. “Why are you here?”

“I- uhm,” He looks taken back by the question, unsure what to answer. “Refuge. I’m, uh, searching for somewhere safe. To live, away from…all that out there.” He gestured vaguely to the stars, visible in the openings of the cave. Awful cave to be in really, absolutely useless in the rain season. “I don’t plan on hurting anyone.” To emphasize his point, he raises his open palms as a pseudo-surrender.

She relaxes, getting closer to him curiously, dropping her bag carefully before taking another step and lurching forward to cup his face with both hands.

“You look like the mountain people…” She trailed off, rubbing her thumb on his cheekbone inquisitively, as if she thought it would wipe off. Her fingers touched his hair, wondering how it was so straight on him.

It was a common greetings between tribes meeting once in a decade of rotations, just to see how different the people looked between tribes, but Kaibre was unaware how sudden it seemed to him.

“Uh….what are you doing?” He asked quietly, watching her attentively but taken off guard with how curious she was. He didn’t move her off though, a small piece of him enjoying the innocent curious touch as opposed to the violent, brash, and fleeting touch he’d escaped. Her hands were warm against his cool face, and he looked right at her, trying to meet her eyes. He breathed out softly, “What’s your name?”

“I’m Kaibre from the northern coast tribe.” She tilted her head in the same way his was tilted, her lips turning into a smile when she saw the way he started to chuckle at the same time. Kaibre noticed his hands slowly covered her own on his face. “What are you called?”

“Qimir,” he answered immediately. “I promise I’m no threat to your people…So long as they don’t hurt me…”

“Where are you from…?”

“Coruscant,” He answered in the same quiet voice, like being too loud would scare her away. Quimir squinted at her, taking in the embellishments on her ears, like little bells. Really, how did she manage to be that quiet with those on her? Her hair was pulled back into a complex braid, leaving stray hairs on the nape of neck and at the edges of her hairline.

Kaibre nodded, feeling satisfied with the way she scrutinized him as a person, and stepped back, slipping her hands from under his. She picked up the bag from the ground, holding it out to him like an offering. “A gift. We did not know if you were able to catch any food.”

He smile turned lazy, looking at her in sincere gratitude. “Oh, you have no idea how much I’ve missed good food…”

They sat on the ground next to each other, with Qimir asking what each food was called and nothing less than melting at each bite he took in his right hand. After the first two times Kaibre slapped away his left hand when he went to go grab something new, he quickly learned he had to eat with the right hand or nothing else.

Kaibre still noticed how he preferred his left side. “What happened?” If he was attacked, he could be tracked, and if he was tracked, he could lead trouble right to her little planet.

“I got in a mixup with some spice traders. Not to worry, they won’t follow me here if that’s what you’re worried about.”

That’s…exactly what she was worried about. How did he know that?

She nodded slowly, pulling out the grain drink from inside the bag, handing it over to him. Qimir squinted at first, looking at her with apprehension with the first time, eyes flickering between the weird substance and her expecting face.

“Uh…what is that?”

“It’s sathu, drink up, you’ll heal fast.”

“I can heal with some bacta, really, it’s fine—”

“Sathu is refined and prepared for hours, you know how much work goes into this?”

He looked at it again, his face betraying his thoughts. “Do I have to?”

She looked at him expectantly, nudging it forward again. Kaibre, single mother of a toddler, nailed down the ‘don’t make me ask twice’ look ages ago. Qimir stood no chance.

He sighed, taking it from her hands, smelling it questionably, and took a sip. However, catching the window she had, she held her hand under the cup, pushing and pushing till he finished the whole drink.

Once he finished, he shot her a grumpy look, maybe aiming for angry, but all she could see was the little brown sathu stache that clung to his actual stache. She nodded, happy that he finished the whole drink without spilling any. “Good, good boy, you finished the whole thing.”

Qimir looked like he might have choked on something, nodding again, and looked at the wrapped up food. He hesitantly looked out the cave. “Is it really ok for you to walk back alone?”

“You came to the forest, I was raised in it,” Kaibre smiled proudly, gathering the leaves and putting them in the bag again.

“Will you come by again?” He asked casually, eyes averted as he stands up.

She thought about it. “It depends on what the people decide on. We might negotiate terms for coexistence, maybe even cooperation between us.”

Qimir just smiled.

Qimir thought about the strange woman he met. She came just up to his collarbone, with long hair swept up into a intricate braid, and dark lining around her round eyes, making them stand out when she studied him those few long minutes. The way her hands felt cupping his face and rubbing against his skin like the color might scrub off if she did it too hard.

And then the food she shared with him. No one told the tribals to do that, but they took it upon themselves. Now Qimir is no fool, they’re trying to prevent animosity in the future for sure, and he felt no aggression coming from the womans’ ridiculously untrained force signature.

He felt her energy from a hundred feet away, his face perking up at it. At first, he thought it was a group of many people traveling together, maybe for a battle. It was only when she got closer that Qimir realized it was one person. One force sensitive person. Incredible. Really, how did the Jedi not detect her?

He could almost feel tendrils of the force nudge against his mental walls, trying to poke and prod a guess of what he was like. Of course, she wasn’t even aware that’s what she was doing. He had to have her, had to teach her, he could feel the urge tugging at him the second she left.

She’ll be back… Qimir reassured himself. He could still remember the second she stepped from behind the wall, white ruffled skirt, and a black shawl draping as a top, leaving her shoulders exposed and a sliver of her hip.

Kaibre, hm? Bal’demnic, oh what a perfect place for refuge…

As the rotations flew by, Qimir became a friend to the Bal’demnic people. Kaibre communicated rules to him, and he accepted, more than happy that they were willing to share the space with them. Kaibre made the walk up to his caves more than once a week, to either bring food, or at his request to help with carving out the space in his caves. In return for the food, he would trade the village for some of the things he brought from outside the planet. He would leave maybe once a month to go run for supplies, and in that time he would return with dozens of pelts and waterskins, and sometimes gifts he saved to trade with later for.

But she would lying if she said she only went up there as often to trade. She found solstice in the quiet companionship beyond the village, given the little artificial light he had set up around the cave, technology she had never seen before. They could take forever in front of the false sun, until the moons had long aligned and she realized she had to head back to Rhysin before morning. She realized that Qimir preferred her company as well, asking if she would return everytime she left.

“Qimir?” Kaibre called out, carrying millets and grain in her bag. She looked around the cave, setting down the bag in it’s usual spot. “Where did you go?”

He could be in the lagoon maybe, but it was unusual at this time. After the sun set? Likely not.

Today was another day she came with no plan in mind, expecting no trade at the time. She came to talk with him, like they often did. He had this sharp tea that he poured to the both of them, sipping at the edge of the cave where the grass met the sand met the hard rock. They talked about the stars, what they would call each on Bal’demnic, and the rest of the galaxy.

They talked about themselves. Sitting across the archway from each other, plenty of space between them, but when they started talking about their pasts, it seemed like that space shrunk to feel much more bearable.

Qimir came from a tribe called Jedi. He tried correcting her that it was simply an organization of sorts, of people unable to love and live like the rest do, but with a name like that, they would be a sick tribe. He described how he couldn’t handle staying with the Jedi, and she was curious why they weren’t allowed to love, but he brushed it off and she didn’t pick it up again.

He felt like he didn’t belong. So Kaibre confessed how the people would say Kaibre was sensitive to the air. His demeanor changed, getting up to sit next to her against the wall instead, nodding and heeding her confession like it was a prayer.

Kaibre told him how it felt sometimes like she didn’t belong in that tribe, where everyone was just a little wary of the truth about her, and he held her hand like she was an altar.

She looked around the corner again, raising an eyebrow when she didn’t see him. She could clearly smell the sharp tea he was brewing in the corner, so he couldn’t have stepped out for long.

“I’m over here!” He called out, walking in with a new pelt in his hand. He was wearing these hamaka pants, as he told to her once, dark along with a crossed wrap top. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you wait Kaibre- woah! Whoa, whoa, whoa, pause. Who is that?”

His eyes were narrowed in on someone behind her, and she, confused, turned to see no one. “Who?”

“Behind- Behind the wall??”

Kaibre reached her hand up the slit in her skirt, pulling out her cortosis blade with ease, as Qimir hurried to grab her shoulder and steady her. “Wait, it was just a little kid.”

“Come out,” She said steadily, watching the edge of the wall carefully. And out padded little ol’ Rhysin in all his glory. “Rhysin?!”

Kaibre sounded undignified, sheathing her blade back into it’s place, walking over to Rhysin with the intention to dragging him by the ear back to the village. Rhysin, sensing her intentions from a mile away, ran at his window and right to Qimir, grabbing onto the hamaka pants and tugging at them. By reflex, Qimir picked him up and turned him away from Kaibre.

“Rhysin, hm? What brings you all the way here? With Kaibre?”

“He was supposed to be sleeping!” Kaibre emphasized. “Do you know how dangerous that was? What if you tripped on something? What if you got stuck in a hunter trap? Hm? I almost threw my blade at you!”

“Ok, ok, it’s not his fault he’s just a little curious. I know someone else that was just as curious as him too,” Qimir spoke easy to her, breaking down the tension and anxiety she had from seeing Rhysin here. The way he adjusted his grip to bounce Rhysin up and down to comfort him at the same time didn’t go unnoticed to Kaibre. He was a natural. “Besides, you’ve been hiding me from the rest of your tribe, isn’t it around time I saw some new faces?”

“Rhysin when we get back to the tribe, you are in big trouble,” Kaibre wanted, narrowing her eyes onto him.

“Hey! Be nice to him.” Qimir all but pouted along side the three year old. “Who is this little adorable little monster anyways-”

Kaibre sighed, rubbing her forehead. “Rhysin, meet Qimir, the outsider and my friend. Qimir, meet my son, Rhysin.”

Qimir’s entire body stiffened up, looking appalled, shocked, and nervous at the same time. “Son?” He choked out, still bouncing Rhysin up and down. “I-I didn’t know you had a son.”

“It…didn’t come up…” Kaibre answered. Actually, she preferred that he didn’t know she had a son with no father, just appearing one day in her womb. Where was she going to start explaining that one?

Qimir hummed, and then just smiled at Rhysin. ��Well, I don’t suppose you guys can make the trek back this late. Especially with this little one, and the pelt at the same time…”

Kaibre sighed, looking regretful. “Rhy, baby, why?”

“I wanted to see him too.” Then he had the audacity to pout.

Qimir practically melted, pouting back and then at Kaibre, “Oh please, Kaibre, one night won’t harm anyone.”

“Qimir, you have a tiny bed. And I’m not sleeping on the floor because someone decided to play explorer tonight!”

“Actually, I have a new pelt,” Qimir pointed out, “And this little guy wouldn’t mind sharing now, would he?”

Kaibre pinches the edge of her nose. It’s alright, yes, but the fact her son would be this reckless…ah, what was she thinking? He was her son after all. Hers, and unpredictabilitys’. She couldn’t get too mad at him, but at the same time she had half the mind to chase him down the coastline all the way to the village the next morning.

“C’monnnn.” Woah. When did he move that close to her? Qimir tugged at her shawl lightly, mindful of the way it would fall off her if he wasn’t careful. He and Rhys gave her matching pouting faces, but she was a little preoccupied with the fact she could count the strands of hair falling in front of Qimirs’ face right now, and the little laugh he did when he realized her staring. “The pelt is really really soft, promise.”

She sighed, nodding while Qimir and Rhysin both giggled in glee and celebrated in their own separate world. Rhysin was not going to getting off Qimir any time soon.

When Qimir finally set him down, Kaibre practically flew at her chance to get her hands on Rhysin, by holding him upside down by the ankles. She emphasized her point while Rhysin giggled at her antics, and agreed he would never do it again (lies). They ate dinner in less tension after that, Qimir exuding off a strange energy. He seemed at unease, but acting completely fine otherwise. She gave him weird looks, ones that he couldn’t have not noticed, but he ignored them outright. It’s fine, she’ll confront him about it next him she sees him, without Rhysin here.

“See? The pelt is pretty great, right?” Qimir laid it down in a carved out corner, perfectly fit for it. She supposes he’s been planning for a while after the initial discomfort of his ratty mattress dissolved. She told him good pelts were found further north, where the thick fur was essential in cold seasons. He even knitted a large blanket to match it. After securing down the pelt onto the bed and moving the pillows back, and placing the blanket on top, he stepped back to show it off in a “ta-da!” motion.

Kaibre shrugged, picking up Rhysin and laying on one side with him, while Qimir laid on the other side.

It was fine, it was incredibly warm and comforting on the pelt, and even the blanket insulated heat inside. Just the one night…

“Ammi, ammi, ammi, get up, get up, get up-”

Kaibre whines quietly, feeling warmer than she has any morning in a long time. She batted away his hand tugging at her arm, moving closer into the warm corner she was against, “Rhy, go catch rabbits, let me sleep…”

Rhy ran off, she rolled her eyes, leaning further into the wall— that wrapped back around her?

Kriffkriffkriffkriff, that was not a wall, that was mister ‘wall-of-muscle’ Qimir.

But dank farrik, he was so warm.

Her eyes fluttered just a little open, noticing that she was currently laying on his bicep (perfect pillow, wow) with his other arm pulling on her waist, fingers splayed around and over the rolls of her stomach where she was curled up. She sighed, content with the soft fur under her, the droning sound of Qimir’s breathing on her neck, and the warm vibrating off his chest. Rhys would be fine, no forest animal came near these caves…Kaibre could indulge in a while, just until Qimir woke up and realized what he had done accidentally in his sleep.

She could hear a soft groan coming from him, probably the rising sun getting into his eyes before he was ready to leave sleep. She quickly closed her eyes. No need to let him think she was letting him hold her like that…

But she didn't say anything when his breathing changed every so slightly from his sleep, and his arms furrowing deeper into his hold on her.

#qimir #the acolyte #qimir x reader #qimir x oc #qimir x you #idk what else to tag #the girls that get it #tribal ishhhhh #pls tumblr do yo thang #this is for everyone who said they wanted this #if you back out on me #ill cry.

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