#soviet slash

[nirinnnnn]

doodles…

(originally posted on Feb. 8

[boygirlctommy]

still thinking about yeti massacre. truly the pinnacle of shitty documentaries. i grew up on ancient aliens and yet nothing holds a candle to this one i fear

[houseofbrat]

Bernie Would Have Won

By Krystal Ball

There are a million surface-level reasons for Kamala Harris’s loss and systematic underperformance in pretty much every county and among nearly every demographic group. She is part of a deeply unpopular administration. Voters believe the economy is bad and that the country is on the wrong track. She is a woman and we still have some work to do as a nation to overcome long-held biases. 

But the real problems for the Democrats go much deeper and require a dramatic course correction of a sort that, I suspect, Democrats are unlikely to embark upon. The bottom line is this: Democrats are still trying to run a neoliberal campaign in a post-neoliberal era. In other words, 2016 Bernie was right.

Let’s think a little bit about how we got here. The combination of the Iraq War and the housing collapse exposed the failures and rot that were the inevitable result of letting the needs of capital predominate over the needs of human beings. The neoliberal ideology which was haltingly introduced by Jimmy Carter, embraced fully by Ronald Reagan, and solidified across both parties with Bill Clinton embraced a laissez-faire market logic that would supplant market will for national will or human rights, but also raise incomes enough overall and create enough dynamism that the other problems were in theory, worth the trade off. Clinton after all ran with Reagan era tax cutting, social safety net slashing and free trade radicalism with NAFTA being the most prominent example. 

Ultimately, of course, this strategy fueled extreme wealth inequality. But for a while this logic seemed to be working out. The Soviet Union collapsed and the Cold War ended. Incomes did indeed rise and the internet fueled tech advances contributing to a sense of cosmopolitan dynamism. America had a swaggering confidence that these events really did represent a sort of end of history. We believed that our brand of privatization, capitalism, and liberal democracy would take over the world. We confidently wielded institutions like the World Bank, IMF, and WTO to realize this global vision. We gave China most-favored nation trade status.

Underneath the surface, the unchecked market forces we had unleashed were devastating communities in the industrial Midwest and across the country. By the neoliberal definition NAFTA was a roaring success contributing to GDP growth. But if your job was shipped overseas and your town was shoved into economic oblivion, the tradeoff didn’t seem like such a great deal.

The underlying forces of destruction came to a head with two major catastrophes, the Iraq War and the housing collapse/Great Recession. The lie that fueled the Iraq war destroyed confidence in the institutions that were the bedrock of this neoliberal order and in the idea that the U.S. could or should remake the world in our image. Even more devastating, the financial crisis left home owners destitute while banks were bailed out, revealing that there was something deeply unjust in a system that placed capital over people. How could it be that the greedy villains who triggered a global economic calamity were made whole while regular people were left to wither on the vine?

These events sparked social movements on both the right and the left. The Tea Party churned out populist-sounding politicians like Sarah Palin and birtherist conspiracies about Barack Obama, paving the way for the rise of Donald Trump. The Tea Party and Trumpism are not identical, of course, but they share a cast of villains: The corrupt bureaucrats or deep state. The immigrants supposedly changing your community. The cultural elites telling you your beliefs are toxic. Trump’s version of this program is also explicitly authoritarian. This authoritarianism is a feature not a bug for some portion of the Trump coalition which has been persuaded that democracy left to its own devices could pose an existential threat to their way of life. 

On the left, the organic response to the financial crisis was Occupy Wall Street, which directly fueled the Bernie Sanders movement. Here, too, the villains were clear. In the language of Occupy it was the 1% or as Bernie put it the millionaires and billionaires. It was the economic elite and unfettered capitalism that had made it so hard to get by. Turning homes into assets of financial speculation. Wildly profiteering off of every element of our healthcare system. Busting unions so that working people had no collective power. This movement was, in contrast to the right, was explicitly pro-democracy, with a foundational view that in a contest between the 99% and the 1%, the 99% would prevail. And that a win would lead to universal programs like Medicare for All, free college, workplace democracy, and a significant hike in the minimum wage.  

These two movements traveled on separate tracks within their respective party alliances and met wildly different fates. On the Republican side, Donald Trump emerged as a political juggernaut at a time when the party was devastated and rudderless, having lost to Obama twice in a row. This weakened state—and the fact that the Trump alternatives were uncharismatic drips like Jeb Bush—created a path for Trump to successfully execute a hostile takeover of the party.

Plus, right-wing populism embraces capital, and so it posed no real threat to the monied interests that are so influential within the party structures. The uber-rich are not among the villains of the populist right (see: Elon Musk, Bill Ackman, and so on), except in so much as they overlap with cultural leftism. The Republican donor class was not thrilled with Trump’s chaos and lack of decorum but they did not view him as an existential threat to their class interests. This comfort with him was affirmed after he cut their taxes and prioritized union busting and deregulation in his first term in office.

Meanwhile, the Democratic Party put its thumb on the scales and marshaled every bit of power they could, legitimate and illegitimate, to block Bernie Sanders from a similar party takeover. The difference was that Bernie’s party takeover did pose an existential threat—both to party elites who he openly antagonized and to the party’s big money backers. The bottom line of the Wall Street financiers and corporate titans was explicitly threatened. His rise would simply not be allowed. Not in 2016 and not in 2020.

What’s more, Hillary Clinton and her allies launched a propaganda campaign to posture as if they were actually to the left of Bernie by labeling him and his supporters sexist and racist for centering class politics over identity politics. This in turn spawned a hell cycle of woke word-policing and demographic slicing and dicing and antagonism towards working class whites that only made the Democratic party more repugnant to basically everyone.

This identity politics sword has also been wielded within the Democratic Party to crush any possibility of a Bernie-inspired class focused movement in Congress attempted by the Justice Democrats and the Squad in 2018. My colleague Ryan Grim has written an entire book on this subject so I won’t belabor the point here. But suffice it to say, the threat of the Squad to the Democratic Party’s ideology and order has been thoroughly neutralized. The Squad members themselves, perhaps out of ideology and perhaps out of fear of being smeared as racist, leaned into identitarian politics which rendered them non-threatening in terms of national popular appeal. They were also relentlessly attacked from within the party, predominately by pro-Israel groups that an unprecedented tens of millions of dollars in House primaries, which has led to the defeat of several members and has served as a warning and threat to the rest.

That brings us to today where the Democratic Party stands in the ashes of a Republican landslide which will sweep Donald Trumpback into the White House. The path not taken in 2016 looms larger than ever. Bernie’s coalition was filled with the exact type of voters who are now flocking to Donald Trump: Working class voters of all races, young people, and, critically, the much-derided bros. The top contributors to Bernie’s campaign often held jobs at places like Amazon and Walmart. The unions loved him. And—never forget—he earned the coveted Joe Rogan endorsement that Trump also received the day before the election this year. It turns out, the Bernie-to-Trump pipeline is real! While that has always been used as an epithet to smear Bernie and his movement, with the implication that social democracy is just a cover for or gateway drug to right wing authoritarianism, the truth is that this pipeline speaks to the power and appeal of Bernie’s vision as an effective antidote to Trumpism. When these voters had a choice between Trump and Bernie, they chose Bernie. For many of them now that the choice is between Trump and the dried out husk of neoliberalism, they’re going Trump.

I have always believed that Bernie would have defeated Trump in 2016, though of course there is no way to know for sure. What we can say for sure is that the brand of class-first social democracy Bernie ran on in 2016 has proven successful in other countries because of course the crisis of neoliberalism is a global phenomenon. Most notably, Bernie’s basic political ideology was wildly successful electorally with Andrés Manuel López Obrador and now his successor Claudia Sheinbaum in Mexico, Lula Da Silva in Brazil, and Evo Morales in Bolivia. AMLO, in fact, was one of the most popular leaders in the entire world and dramatically improved the livelihoods of a majority of his countrymen. Bernie’s basic ideology was also successful in our own history.

In the end, I got this election dead wrong. I thought between January 6th and the roll back of human rights for women, it would be enough. I thought that the overtly fascist tendencies of Donald Trump and the spectacle of the world’s richest man bankrolling him would be enough strikes against him to overcome the problems of the Democratic Party which I have spoken out about for years now–problems Kamala Harris decided to lean into rather than confront. Elevating Liz Cheney as a top surrogate was not just a slap in the face to all the victims of American imperialism—past and ongoing; it was a broad signal to voters that Democrats were the party of elites, playing directly into right-wing populist tropes. While the media talked about it as a “tack to the center,” author and organizer Jonathan Smucker more aptly described it as “a tack to the top.” And as I write this now, I have zero hope or expectation that Democrats will look at the Bernie bro coalition and realize why they screwed up. Cable news pundits are already blaming the left once again for the failures of a party that has little to do with the actual left and certainly not the populist left. 

Instead, Trump’s victory represents a defeat of social democratic class-first politics in America—not quite final, but not temporary either. The Democrats have successfully smothered the movement, blocked the entranceways, salted the earth. Instead they will, as Bill Clinton did in the ‘90s, embrace the fundamental tenets of the Trumpist worldview. 

They already are, in fact. Democrats have dropped their resistance to Trump’s mass deportation policies and immigrant scapegoating. The most ambitious politician in the Democratic coalition, Gavin Newsom, is making a big show of being tough-on-crime and dehumanizing the homeless. Democrat-leaning billionaires like Jeff Bezos who not only owns Amazon but the Washington Post have already abandoned their resistance.

Maybe I will be just as wrong as I was about the election but it is my sense that with this Trump victory, authoritarian right politics have won the ideological battle for what will replace the neoliberal order in America. And yes, I think it will be ugly, mean, and harmful—because it already is.

[morbidology]

In 1959, a group of nine students from the Ural Polytechnical Institute set out on an expedition through the Ural Mountains in the Soviet Union. Led by Igor Dyatlov, the group aimed to reach the summit of Otorten, a remote and challenging peak. Unfortunately, their journey would end in one of the most perplexing and eerie mysteries of the 20th century.

The group left in January of that year, fully equipped and with considerable experience in handling cold-weather treks. However, not long after the journey began, one member, Yuri Yudin, became ill and had to return home, a decision that would ultimately spare his life. The remaining hikers continued their trek, moving across the slopes of Kholat Syakhl, a mountain ominously known as "Dead Mountain" among the local Mansi people.

Their last communication was on January 31, when Dyatlov sent a message stating that they were progressing, though delayed by harsh weather conditions. It wasn't until the group failed to return home as scheduled that a search and rescue operation began.

On February 26, searchers made a strange discovery: the group’s tent was found abandoned and slashed open from the inside. Oddly, most of their equipment and warm clothing were left behind, suggesting that they fled in a hurry despite the bitter cold.

Following a trail of footprints leading away from the tent, rescuers eventually found the bodies of five of the hikers. They were in various stages of undress, with two found near a makeshift fire beneath a large cedar tree. The others were scattered between the tree and the tent. It appeared as though they had succumbed to the freezing temperatures as they attempted to return to shelter.

It wasn't until May, two months later, that the remaining four bodies were discovered further into the woods, buried in snow within a ravine. These hikers had suffered far more serious injuries. Two had fatal chest trauma, and another had a severe skull fracture. Disturbingly, one of the women was missing her tongue, eyes, and part of her lips.

What else struck the searchers as peculiar was that some of the victims' clothing was found to be radioactive. Despite extensive investigations, no definitive cause of death was ever determined. The official Soviet report vaguely concluded that the hikers had died due to "an unknown compelling force."

Over the years, various theories have been proposed to explain what happened at Dyatlov Pass. Some suggest that an avalanche may have forced the group to flee the tent in panic, although there is little evidence to support the occurrence of an avalanche in the area.

Another theory suggested that wind-induced infrasound might have triggered extreme fear and irrational behavior among the hikers. However, this theory does not adequately account for the severe physical injuries observed in some of the victims.

More controversial speculations involve secret Soviet military tests or experiments, particularly given the radiation detected on the victims' clothing. Some theories even venture into the realm of the paranormal, suggesting that the hikers may have encountered a yeti or extraterrestrial beings, though these ideas are often dismissed as implausible.

[blingblong55]

Perception- 141 x M!Reader

Based on a request

M!Reader, angst, mentions of blood,

The Gulag was the government agency in charge of the Soviet network of forced labour camps 

You are a well known member of Task Force 141. Although on field you are known for being the violent and viscous way you fight enemy soldiers, many on base don't really mind calling you names. In a way, you have become the freak of base. Ghost himself fears you at times, mainly because he has see you kill men with your bare hands and act as if it was nothing. He has seen the blood of the enemy dripping from your body and how you act as if it was normal. The team has so much respect for you though, they understand you are there for the mission, that you'd kill if it means to reach the goal.

Nothing really stands in your way when it comes to combat. But before you had become the man you are known as today, you were normal. A man of honour, never wanting to hurt anybody, no matter the circumstances.

----

What changed you, was 12 years ago, you were 2 years into your service when in a mission you were captured. Although the Soviet Union had fallen, Russia still held prisoners in infamous Gulag. You and a few of the other men who were also captured were tortured. Day and night was a living hell. The conditions were always horrible, men dying ever other hour due top weather and physical strength.

One night, you and three other men tried to escape, but because of a guard dog, you all failed. You fought back though, kicking, scratching and punching the guards. When one of the men saw you fight, he knew where they'd send you to next.

"глупый гребаный человек, думает, что может убежать от нас." a soldier spoke, some laughed as the other beat you senseless. They had broken your old self to the point that you just didn't care how you survived. For three hours straight every soldier that wanted to, would go and kick you, punch or even throw rocks at you.

Sometimes at night when you feel your most vulnerable, you feel for the cigar burns they left around your body. At times, you look in the mirror when you are shirtless, the deep scars that were scattered all over your body. Each touch took you back to the three years you were held in.

The winters were unbearable, at times, some of the men that would sustain injuries would die or have body parts be amputated. Others also died from hyperthermia, and somehow you survived the easy deaths.

On the night they sent you to a new part of the camp, they made sure to tattoo a symbol on your chest. A large skull a sword that pierced the top of it. All the prisoners were in cages, it ranged from the smallest of men to the biggest of all. You were well in your early 20's, so your shape was not so bad, even after all the days you spent without eating.

Once they clothed you properly, they threw you and a few other men into the fighting area/stage. Rich people watched from the stands as you all looked at them, you were all new. No one knew what the hell you were thrown in for.

Until you spotted the tools for fighting. And eerie sound came from speakers, the crowd clapped and cheered as soon as the prisoners started to fight each other. You, with some luck held a small dagger, a man much smaller than you sprinted to you, a sword on his hand.

If this was the way of getting out might as well fucking fight, you thought. You quickly dodged the man and soon stood behind him, you slashed his throat and took the sword from him. For hours on end, the smallest and even biggest of men fell to their demise. Blood was soaking the floor beneath you. Only 10 men survived from 50. You being lucky number 3.

And for many nights the routine was the same. Get beaten to sleep, trapped into a cage and wake up early, eat little to nothing and by sundown fight for your life.

In your time of fighting, you learned a few tricks, go for both weak and big. You did things you aren't proud to ever admit. You killed more men than any of the task force ever dared to do.

One night as you slept another prisoner escaped his cage, you woke up to being held by a knife at your throat.

"ты убил моего гребаного брата" the man spoke. (Translation: you killed my fucking brother)

"этот слабый ублюдок на это наткнулся" you answered coldly. (Translation: this weak bastard stumbled upon it)

"Я убью тебя" (Translation: I'll kill you)

"Нет, если я убью тебя первым" and thats when you grabbed the knife from him, stabbing him in the eye and then his throat. Before the guards came, you threw the night far from your cage and pretended to sleep. (Translation: Not if I kill you first)

----

You still have nightmares about it, but they aren't ever too bad. This mission that you were on though was a hard one. You and the rest of your team were captured. Price took the situation under control, trying to make negotiations with the enemy. In your years since being freed from the gulag, you hadn't spoke Russian or even heard it until tonight.

"Говорю тебе, сегодня вечером мы договоримся об этом, а завтра они проснутся мертвыми." the soldier said from the other room. (Translation: I'm telling you, we'll settle this tonight, and tomorrow they'll wake up dead.)

Your blood ran cold. Your breathing started to get out of control, you looked around the room, none of the other men knew what they had said. Gaz was the one who noticed your shift in behaviour, "Mate, whats wrong?" he whispered which caused all the other to look at you.

"I won't die, not by fucking Russians." your hands slowly shaking, you tried to steady your breathing, and thats when you realised you were back in a cage. You knew you were trapped, but it was as if you were young again, fighting every night for a spot to live.

"What does that mean?" Soap asked.

"Nothin'" you answered. You have to escape, you can't live like that anymore. You looked around the room and saw a poster, the same kind that was at every fight. You started to feel dizzy, and thats when Ghost noticed it, you were having a panic attack.

"Price, we have to get him out, now."

One look at Price understood why, Ghost shifted closer to you, he positioned himself in a way that would help him rub your back.

"s'alright mate, I won't let that shit happen twice." Ghost knew about what happened to you years ago, he accidentally found the files Laswell and you worked hard to bury. But not once did he push to know more, at times when you felt comfortable, you would open up, and he'd listen to the stories of those days.

But you couldn't listen, you didn't really understand the words that came out of his mouth when he tried to reassure you. Your hands digging at your skin, trying to feel your skin brought some good.

"Gaz, you untie me, and I'll untie you." Price ordered, soon the two men were up. They untied Soap, who untied Ghost. And he knew you best, so he opted to untie you once the Russians were taken down.

And once your eyes met Price, Ghost and Gaz untied you, Soap holding close as they all comforted you. Your breathing was starting to go back to normal. But still, the memories and the horror that place brought you were no fun.

The constant nights where you wished to just end your life, that maybe I'd be best if you die by your own hands and not by someone else's, especially not in front of the all the wealthy people who would watch the fight as if it was a sport.

The memories will forever stick to you and the regret you carry is who makes you the soldier you are today.

-----

A/N: I wanted this to be longer, but my ideas ran out, sorry

REQUESTS ARE OPEN

Tags: @xweirdo101x

[mariacallous]

Americans love to focus on presidential campaigns. The House of Representatives and Senate receive some attention every now and then, but our political love affair tends to center on the race for the White House. When congressional elections gain some attention, it usually happens during the midterms when political junkies don’t have much else to talk about.

But this is a mistake. Congress matters. The outcome of congressional elections during a presidential campaign is crucial to shaping the first two years of an administration, the period when the opportunity for legislating is greatest. In the coming months, the fate of the Democratic Party agenda—regardless of who wins the presidency—will depend as much on how power is distributed on Capitol Hill as who lives at 1600 Pennsylvania Ave.

Even after a mandate election, just one chamber of Congress can be sufficient to check a new president’s agenda. This was the story in 1980. The election was devastating to Democrats. Ronald Reagan, who was a key figure in the modern conservative movement that took hold in the 1970s, promised to move the national agenda sharply to the right after the one-term presidency of Jimmy Carter. And then, for the first time since 1954, Republicans won control of the Senate with a majority of 53 seats.

The saving grace for Democrats that year was the House, where they remained on top. While Reagan defeated Carter in an Electoral College landslide, 489-49, Democrats exited Election Day with a 243-seat majority. Though the number of conservative Democrats had increased, the caucus as a whole was quite liberal compared with the Republicans. Under the speakership of Tip O’Neill, the lower chamber became the last bastion of liberalism. Using this as a base of power, Democrats were able to veto many of Reagan’s boldest initiatives while continuing to push forward their own agenda, even as the chances for passage were minimal.

The impact of a Democratic House was evident in both domestic and foreign policy. Republicans were forced to back away from many of their most ambitious plans to slash the social safety net. When the administration moved to reduce Social Security benefits for early retirees in 1981, O’Neill mobilized a coalition as he warned that the president aimed to dismantle this popular program. Republicans were shaken. Rep. Carroll Campbell was frustrated with the electoral impact: “I’ve got thousands of 60-year-old textile workers who think it’s the end of the world. What the hell am I supposed to tell them?” Democrats also approved a budget that raised taxes, a move that was anathema to Reagan’s acolytes. In 1983, the administration worked with congressional Democrats to shore up the financial strength of the program. The Democratic majority would be bolstered in the 1982 midterms, which took place in the middle of what O’Neill called the “Reagan recession.” The political scientist Paul Pierson showed in Dismantling the Welfare State? the limited progress Reagan made on cutting most major programs.

Similar effects were evident with foreign policy. Reagan’s hawkish posture toward the Soviet Union had been defining as he rose in national prominence during the 1970s. He railed against Presidents Richard Nixon, Gerald Ford, and Carter for practicing the policy of détente, easing relations with the Communists, while ramping up rhetoric against the Soviet Union, calling it an “evil” empire in moralistic terms that presidents had traditionally avoided. He also curtailed negotiations over arms agreements and increased support for anti-communist operations in Central America.

House Democrats responded in force. In 1982, 1983, and 1984, they passed the Boland Amendments, which curtailed Reagan’s ability to provide support to the government of El Salvador and the anti-communist rebels in Nicaragua, the Contras. The global nuclear freeze movement also found strong support on the Hill as a number of members supported resolutions for limitations on nuclear arms production. “I can’t remember any issue, including Watergate, that has moved so many people so quickly,” Democratic operative Robert Squier noted in 1982.

None of this meant that Reagan could not achieve big changes. After all, the president pushed through a massive supply side tax cut in 1981 that made deep inroads into the finances of the federal government and began a path of ongoing cuts that privileged wealthier Americans and business. Scared to oppose him, many House Democrats voted for the cuts of their own accord. Reagan increased the defense budget, and his administration used illegal methods to direct support to Central America. And House Democrats couldn’t stop the enormous impact that Reagan had on pushing national rhetoric toward the right, either. Nonetheless, House Democrats played a pivotal role in restraining conservatism while protecting the liberal legacy of the New Deal and Great Society.

The reverse has also been true. Some congressional elections are extraordinarily dramatic. For all the attention paid to the legendary political prowess of Lyndon B. Johnson, the fact that the 1964 election produced massive Democratic majorities in the House (295) and Senate (68), while shifting the balance of influence within the party away from conservative southerners toward the liberal North, was instrumental to the passage of the Great Society legislation: Medicare and Medicaid, the Voting Rights Act, higher and secondary education funding, immigration reform, and more all became possible because of the size and structure of the Congress that Johnson was able to work with. “The once powerful coalition of Republicans and conservative Democrats appeared to have been rendered impotent, or nearly so,” the New York Times noted in 1964. Once the 1966 midterms revived the conservative coalition of southern Democrats and midwestern Republicans that had ruled Capitol Hill since 1938, Johnson’s window for legislating closed.

Most recently, there was the 2020 election. One of the most important outcomes was Jon Ossoff and Raphael Warnock winning in Georgia, giving Democrats two Senate seats and effective control of the upper chamber. As soon as they won, the Biden administration’s fortunes changed dramatically. With unified control of Congress, Biden’s path to legislative success opened. Although the administration would have to struggle to placate the demands of Sens. Joe Manchin and Kyrsten Sinema, Biden kept his party united enough to move a series of major bills on COVID-19 relief, infrastructure, and climate change. In so doing, he racked up an impressive record.

When Biden was still at the top of the Democratic ticket, one of the greatest sources of concern for Democratic legislators such as former Speaker Nancy Pelosi and Rep. Adam Schiff was that he was making a Republican Congress almost inevitable. Democrats in many parts of the country watched as their polling numbers plummeted.

With the energy and momentum that Harris and her running mate, Minnesota Gov. Tim Walz, have brought to the campaign, the odds for Democrats to win control of the House and possibly the Senate have vastly improved.

As much as Democratic voters will be focused on raising money, canvassing, and promoting their presidential candidate, they would do well to devote as much energy to key congressional races—whether the seats in Long Island that Republicans picked up in 2022 or Senate races in states such as Montana and Ohio.

Johnson always understood how Congress controlled his fate. In 1968, when Treasury Secretary Henry Fowler told the president, “You are the master of the Senate and always have been,” Johnson responded: “I’m not master of a damn thing.” As a veteran of Washington, Johnson always understood that his legacy would ebb and flow based on the composition of the Congress.

This time around, Democratic control of one or two chambers will be pivotal, regardless of who wins. If Donald Trump is reelected as president, congressional power will be essential to impede his inevitable efforts to aggressively deploy presidential power and dismantle the administrative state.

If Harris wins, on the other hand, congressional power will be essential to ensuring that she can use the limited window she would have to expand on and strengthen the legislative legacy of Biden—and to start tackling new issues aimed at exciting an emerging generation of voters.

[tomorrowusa]

Sadly, a majority of Americans are almost completely ignorant about Eastern Europe. They probably don't know the difference between Budapest and Bucharest. (Spoiler: They are capitals of two non-Slavic countries in the region)

When Russia illegally annexed Crimea in 2014, Americans were surveyed on the location of Ukraine on an unlabeled map. Just 16% got it right. This map shows one dot for each response.

Yes, a couple of people thought Ukraine was in Memphis. Not sure what's up with those many folks who thought it is in Greenland. Maybe that's why Trump tried to buy it from Denmark.

In history in US classrooms almost nothing is mentioned about Eastern Europe that happened before the 20th century. This short list of items is typical.

A few (usually exotic) personalities like Ivan the Terrible, Vlad the Impaler, and Peter the Great.

Copernicus (real name: Mikołaj Kopernik) sorting out the Solar System. And that is actually more science than history.

The Siege of Vienna (1683). Vienna is not exactly in Eastern Europe but the siege was lifted by Polish King Jan III Sobieski.

A passing reference to Tsar Aleksandr II freeing the serfs – but only because it happened within two years of the Emancipation Proclamation.

So if you know almost nothing about the location and history of a country, you certainly won't understand its importance to international peace and security.

And that's the case with Ukraine which Putin sees simply as a piece in his country collection in his effort to restore the decrepit Soviet Union in all but name.

As Brendan Simms writes in his linked article up top...

It is worth reminding ourselves what is at stake. If Putin is not defeated and forced to withdraw from Ukraine, this will endanger much more than just the viability of that country. It will enable the Russians to reconstitute their forces facing the Baltic states and Finland, constituting a threat that we will have to face without support from Kyiv. The Ukrainians are thus fighting not only for their own sovereignty but our security as well. Their army is one of the best guarantors we have against future Russian aggression. All they ask is our help. We should give them what they need.

About those so called "red lines" we hear about from tankies and Trumpsters – those lines apparently don't really exist.

Robyn Dixon and Catherine Belton at the Washington Post write:

Ukraine’s resistance to Russia’s invasion keeps crossing President Vladimir Putin’s red lines. Kyiv’s lightning incursion into Kursk in western Russia this month slashed through the reddest line of all — a direct ground assault on Russia — yet Putin’s response has so far been strikingly passive and muted, in sharp contrast to his rhetoric earlier in the war. On day one of the invasion in February 2022, Putin warned that any country that stood in Russia’s way would face consequences “such as you have never seen in your entire history,” a threat that seemed directed at countries that might arm Ukraine. If Russia’s territorial integrity were threatened, “we will certainly use all the means at our disposal to protect Russia and our people. It’s not a bluff,” he said a few months later in September. “The citizens of Russia can be sure that the territorial integrity of our Motherland, our independence and freedom will be ensured — I emphasize this again — with all the means at our disposal,” making a clear reference to Russia’s nuclear weapons.

In other words, Putin has been bullshitting.

Ukraine’s Kursk incursion “proved the Russians are bluffing,” said Oleksandr Danylyuk, a former Ukrainian intelligence and defense official, now an associate fellow with the Royal United Services Institute, a think tank in London. “It shuts down all of the voices of the pseudo experts … the anti-escalation guys.”

Vladimir Putin can bluff only so much before people see that he's full of shit.💩 We're already past that point. His imperialist fantasies make him think that he's back in the Soviet Union and all he has to do is say something bellicose to get whatever he wants.

There are now Ukrainian troops on Russia's soil and over 133,000 refugees fanning out from the area telling other Russians of what's really going on near the border without censorship from Russian state media. The weaker Putin looks inside Russia, the sooner his invasion will end.

As I've said before, give Ukraine whatever weapons it wants – except nukes. Ukraine is doing NATO an enormous favor by keeping Putin at bay.

[sergeifyodorov]

"At first, it was just the two of them -- Sani and the Soviet, and then one of them made a slash at Theo and there were four, and then everyone. You stand by your teammates, I thought, but I didn’t know if it was right to get into it. A couple of the commies jumped off the bench, went to the rest of the group. I had no choice. I knew what I had to do. Those Soviets were starving, and if we beat them then we would win the gold. I kicked one of them in the shin, felt his leg give out. It was so dark in there I couldn’t see the face of the kid I was fighting, hardly even the reflection off his collar from the scoreboard light. The sound from the crowd was amazing. They were so angry, so shocked. The lights came back on and I’d choked the Soviet kid on his own collar, beat him so hard both of his cheeks had split and half his sweater was wet. I didn’t notice until after they tossed us all that he’d gotten me back.”

read the rest here

[yesterdays-xkcd]

I'm waiting for the day when, if you tell someone 'I'm from the internet', instead of laughing they just ask 'oh, what part?'

Online Communities [Explained]

Transcript

[Hand-drawn fantasy style map with land and sea areas representing populations of online communities, plus some fictious jokes and references. Each area or item is labeled.] Map of Online Communities and related points of interest Geographic area represents estimated size of membership

[A giant continent with:] The Icy North (Yahoo, Windows Live) containing the Mountains of Web 1.0, AOL, Qwghlm, Yahoo Games, Reunion dot Com, Classmates do Com, Faceparty, E-Harmony, Friendster (off the coast of which is the The Lonely Island), My Space containing The Series of Tubes, MySpace Bands, and the much smaller Attractive MySpace Pages, Blurty, O.K. Cupid, Cyworld, Orkut, Facebook, and Livejournal & Xanga - the coasts of which form the Bay Of Angst.

[The Noob Sea is bordered by AOL, the Icy North, MySpace, and an island system off the coast of Yahoo Games consisting of:] Second Life (and the much smaller island Third Life), Lineage, World of Warcraft, Runscape, Ultima Online, EverQuest, Final Fantasy 11, and further off, 2Channel and 4Chan. [To the east is labelled "Here be anthopomorphic Dragons].

[The Gulf of Youtube is bordered by Facebook, Myspace, and the island continents of:] Piczo, Broadcaster, the river Bit Torrent, Flickr, Last.FM, and DeviantArt with the subsection Gays of Web 2.0, and off the south coast and between another island is the Straits of Web 2.0.

[Off the pennisula of MySpace, island of Second Life, and island continents of Broadcaster et al is the Sea of Culture which hoasts the Peer-to-Peer Shoals. The Sea of Culture is separated from the Ocean of Subculture by and island system consisting of:] Digg, Fark, Reddit, Slash Dot, Soviet Russia, and Something Awful, which surround the Bay of Trolls, and Spaaarta (You're The Man Now Dog), Stumble Upon, and Delicious on the south end of the Viral Straits and the north end of the Sea of Memes, the Isle of Slash, Numa, and Your Base.]

[On the south end of the Sea of Memes, mostly made up of the IRC isles with a dotted outline where Usenet is located, is:] Stallman's Airship, Google's Volcano Fortress, Sourceforge, and the Wikipedia Project bridged island system that connects to M.I.T., EnGadget, Gizmodo, and Make Blog.

[West of the Wikipedia Project lies the Blogipelago with:] BoingBoing, Technorati, [something that can be read as T.W.B. or T.M.Z.], Cory Doctorow's Balloon, Sulawesi, Xu Jinglei, Post Secret, the Shipwreck of the S.S. Howard Dean, the Huffington Post, and the Wet Sea.

[North of the Blogipelago lies the Compass Rose-Shaped Island, with the north arm labelled Practicals (Noob), the south Intellectuals (Pi), west Focus on Real Life (I.R.L.), and the east Focus on Web (dot Com).]

(Not a complete survey. Sizes based on the best figures I could find but involved some guesswork. Do not use for navigation.) Spring 2007

[genlosscharliie]

hello countryhumans fandom tumblr.com. i make an offering to you. same fic under the cut but the formatting is better on ao3!

It wasn’t that you knew where it was, not by sight anyway, but you still remembered the steps. You let your memory guide you throughout the woods, half surprised they hadn’t been burnt down by now. As quickly as you could without Iran losing you or with your crutches giving out on you, you tried to make your way.

It had to be near here somewhere.

—

The eighth of October, nineteen-eighty, is when your relations with him improve again. You hadn’t wanted them to thaw in the first place, but you could not control all your government decided or saw as right—you just listened to them. You just didn’t think it made sense to distance yourself from that important of an ally.

It was not like you could find allies in your fellow Arab nations, really, either. Reaching out to foreigners was your best call here. What was the point of aligning yourself with your kind if they only brought your people strife? Playing a puppet again? Stupid thought.

Moscow is where you are requested (and requested is a light word, but you were never one to disobey your actual leaders) to accompany your leaders to, to finalise this treaty. The Union will be there, too, they said, try to be pleasant.

He is holding something, some small box, when you spot him as you enter and wave at him. He does not wave back, but he offers you a glance and places the box on the table.

The meeting is all you could expect of it: talking over points, laying out details, writing down things. Nothing in particular stands out in it, until you are dismissed at least.

“Could I have a moment of your time?” he asks when the time comes, and you agree with a healthy amount of wariness. You’d taken a liking to the man in the past forty years of cooperation, but you couldn’t help but be skeptical of your allies nonetheless—especially one as young and ambitious as Soviet is.

He gives you the box the moment the room is emptied, tells you to open it. You do. A present, then? Strange, but you weren’t going to just turn him down.

In it sits an eyepatch. Black cloth with a single, green star atop it. It matches with Soviet’s, and one of those kids’ he had separated from the other.

“Huh,” is your response, but you couldn’t force the smile that rose back down, “Thank you.”

Later, he helps you with getting the bandages you usually use as eye covering off and cleaning out the wound slash gaping hole slash empty socket that once held your eye, then assists with actually getting the patch on.

It looks nice, you think. He gives you a thumbs-up when you ask him; it looks a bit comical with how stoic he still looks as he responds

—

You could hear Iran tapping the shovel against the exposed roots of a tree behind you as you tried your damnedest to remember what direction you were meant to go in to arrive there. It would have been incredibly awkward to claim you knew exactly where this thing was and then get lost.

Eventually, you decide that heading north is the most correct option. You continue in the same direction you were going already.

—

Soviet has a lot more connections than you do, you quickly realise the longer you are affiliated with him. It is most apparent when you are invited to an event that was apparently reserved for the Second World.

You are pretty sure you have seen at least one nation from every single continent, barring Antarctica, and yet you are somehow his only pair of eyes and ears in the Middle East.

Notably, you feel disconnected from the rest present. You suppose that is your own fault for distancing yourself from most of your kin. Eh, not like they would accept you right now, not most of them.

The only people you know here are Soviet himself and the few that had made independent efforts to become acquintances with you (though, the latter was mostly just Korea).

In the evening, you are invited to a walk with Soviet, and you gladly accept. After all, it would be rude not to when he was hosting all of you for this time, would it not?

It is a cold, late-autumn day. Nearing winter. There are small, thin sheets of snow where you walk. You don’t get to see that very often.

He says that he expected you to fare worse under such vastly different conditions. He speaks in Arabic, or his accented, mispronounced-here-and-there version of it.

You respond to him in Russian, your own knowledge of his language equally challenged as his of yours, that your home doesn’t have insulation; it’s easy to deal with it when you have to spend your winters like that back home

The conversations continue from there, drifting from topic to topic, with each of you speaking one another’s language and offering corrections when especially egregious mistakes are made.

You arrive back in your country a day or two later, and are glad to be closer allies—friends, you dare say—with him.

You should’ve probably asked him why he knew Arabic, but with the way he was, he probably would’ve only asked you why you knew Russian.

—

“And you’re sure that you know where it’s buried?” Iran asked as he helped you get back up from where you had collapsed.

You did not speak Farsi, and he did not speak Arabic. It was almost ironic for Russian to be one of the languages you had in common.

“Yes, I am. Shut up," you responded. You were close, you could tell. How, you didn’t know, but you knew you were getting closer.

—

It’s eerily quiet. No one wants to be the first to speak here. Nineteen-ninety-two, January second, is when Soviet’s funeral takes place. You doubt that his body is actually inside the casket. Does he even have a corpse?

The thought isn’t one you want to have here, amidst the crowd. Citizens, human ones, and nations like you alike are present. Some look more upset than others do, some look like the only reason they aren’t openly celebrating is because they’re in public.

You whisper a prayer to him under your breath. Soviet didn’t believe in a God, but you did, do. You get a side-eye from the person to your left, someone you do not recognise and could care less for. They are bearing a flag you don’t recognise off the top of your head, so they are unimportant to you.

You stay longer than strictly necessary, unsure of when these customs—unlike yours—ended officially. The funeral only lasts a day, hardly that, even. It is odd to you, especially for someone so important.

When you come back home, it’s like a wall of emotion you didn’t even know existed came crumbling down on you. So that was the last of your friend, huh?

A few days later, you discard of the eyepatch and instead leave it to detoriarate over time in a desk drawer you would not look at if you got the chance to. You return to bandages to cover that half of your face, only with a crudely drawn star atop them this time around. It’s silly, but commemorative enough for you.

—

Iran shouted at you to duck a second later than he should’ve, and you end up whacking your head against a particularly low-hanging branch of a tree. You really should’ve brought your walking stick with you, instead of depending on blind (hah.) muscle memory.

You offered him—his general vicinity—a glare that was entirely useless considering your blindfold. You hoped he got the memo anyway.

—

You can see the writing on the wall, you are not stupid. You are not unaware of your people’s turmoil. I t acts like a parasite, how could you be?

A combined anguish, an anger and a sense of mourning you hope is displaced, all of it boils under your skin, bubbling and popping and threatening to escape any moment, to come to a point where your people could not keep a lid on their ideas and follow in their neighbours’ footsteps.

It is inevitable. You are not unaware. They believe you are, but the crows had started circling long ago and you have kept a silence about you when it came to it.

Your allies are closer to you now. This does not matter in the present. Iraq and Iran and Palestine will not save you from a fate of near-death and sickness and collapse, they will not just like Russia and Venezuela and Korea will not.

You wished you had more time, at least, to prepare.

You dig in your pocket for the worn eyepatch, extracted from the drawer hours ago, when you had began your departure for this forest. So far from your home, it had to be safe, didn’t it? You hope it stays in-tact as you stuff it into as secure a container as you could find on short notice.

It is just over midnight, the moon shines on you like she knows of all your misdeeds and your sins and how you have mistreated your people in favour of an unjust ruler. You deny the notion vehemently, peer up at her with defiance unlike that you can muster around the people you hate.

You dig your shovel into the earth, drive it in again and again and again like you are burying a body you came across and not one of your stupidest, most sentimental possessions that you have not touched in since nineteen-ninety-two. It is the late two-thousands now.

Dirt stains the inside of your nails and your palms and your trousers as you kneel down on the bare earth, depositing the triply-checked secure box into it. You heave in air as you force yourself back to your feet rather than collapsing here, or in the grave.

You pour the dirt back over it, praying for a thousand different protections over it as you smooth down the mound that forms. You do your best to make it look like untouched ground.

You will not be safe from the violence that is coming, the unrest, but it will be, and for tonight, you think that is enough. Just for tonight, that is enough, you think as you begin the long trek to your own house.

—

The only good thing about being unable to see was the fact that you could get Iran to do this one thing for you, you thought, listening to the crunch of metal being shoved harder than was needed between dirt.

After a handful of minutes of waiting around, circling around the same tree six times, he announced that he had found something as a sound distinctly unlike dirt was heard from where he had dug it in.

You made haste to get over to where he was standing, crouching beside him to feel into the cavity now present there. You had forgotten just how deep you had buried this thing, but that mattered little as your fingers found purchase on the container—edge of it, anyway—and latched on.

You dug it out with your bare hands now, Iran standing off to the side and watching. You thought your hands were shakier than normal, but whether that was a result of finally getting this thing back, or exertion that wasn’t exactly healthy for you to commit to in this state, or something else, was entirely unknown to you.

You opened it without thinking much for it, getting it into your hands at least. It had been so long since you had gotten your hands on it. Iran piped up with a “Didn’t think it was real,” somewhere behind you.

You traced your thumb over where the star was embroidered, the one that wasn’t scarred enough that you would’ve hardly made out the bumps from them. One of the threads was loose. You felt over the string. Also worn.

Huh. That was a bad feeling. You’d let it get too ruined, one of the few gifts you actually cared for getting (and one of the few, in general, that you had even gotten). How time flies, or something. It made you upset, why did it mae you upset?

Iran placed a hand over yours before you could too in your head about it. “You sure that thing’s even wearable?” he questioned, the sorry state of it probably even more evident to him than to you. He didn’t sound genuine in his asking, so you didn’t bother with responding.

A beat of silence passed before he shifted to put an arm under yours, hoisting you up suddenly and getting you to nearly drop the patch in your surprise.

“Come on, we’re going home," was all Iran said to you, helping you in getting your crutches from where you had discarded of them in favour of digging like a dog. You didn’t respond, only nodding with your lips pressed into a thin line as you pocketed the eyepatch.

You followed him this time around, he seemed to remember the way back. Your mind conjured up the image of Soviet’s ghost watching over the two of you, like some guardian demon. You mentioned it to Iran and earned a laugh from him. That improved your mood slightly.

It was... well, it was definitely not fine, per se. But you would live, you thought. You’d lost much more than a gift before, hadn’t you?

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

December 26, 2023

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

DEC 27, 2023

On December 26, 1991, the New York Times ran a banner headline: “Gorbachev, Last Soviet Leader, Resigns; U.S. Recognizes Republics’ Independence.” On December 25, Soviet president Mikhail Gorbachev had resigned, marking the end of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics, often referred to as the Soviet Union or USSR.

Former Soviet republics had begun declaring their independence in March 1990, the Warsaw Pact linking the USSR’s Eastern European satellites into a defense treaty dissolved by July 1991, and by December 1991 the movement had gathered enough power that Belarus, Russia, and Ukraine joined together in a “union treaty” as their leaders announced they were creating a new Commonwealth of Independent States. When almost all the other Soviet republics announced on December 21 that they were joining the new alliance, Gorbachev could either try to hold the USSR together by force or step down. He chose to step down, handing power to the president of the Russian Federation, Boris Yeltsin.

The dissolution of the USSR meant the end of the Cold War, and those Americans who had come to define the world as a fight between the dark forces of communism and the good forces of capitalism believed their ideology had triumphed. Two years ago, Gorbachev said that with the collapse of the Soviet Union, "They grew arrogant and self-confident. They declared victory in the Cold War." 

The collapse of the USSR gave the branch of the Republican Party that wanted to destroy the New Deal confidence that their ideology was right. Believing that their ideology of radical individualism had destroyed the USSR, these so-called Movement Conservatives very deliberately set out to destroy what they saw as Soviet-like socialist ideology at home. As anti-tax crusader Grover Norquist wrote in the Wall Street Journal: “For 40 years conservatives fought a two-front battle against statism, against the Soviet empire abroad and the American left at home. Now the Soviet Union is gone and conservatives can redeploy. And this time, the other team doesn't have nuclear weapons.”

In the 1990s the Movement Conservatives turned their firepower on those they considered insufficiently committed to free enterprise, including traditional Republicans who agreed with Democrats that the government should regulate the economy, provide a basic social safety net, and promote infrastructure. Movement Conservatives called these traditional Republicans “Republicans in Name Only” or RINOs and said that, along with Democrats, such RINOs were bringing “socialism” to America. 

With the “evil empire,” as President Ronald Reagan had dubbed the Soviet Union, no longer a viable enemy, Movement Conservatives, aided by new talk radio hosts, increasingly demonized their domestic political opponents. As they strengthened their hold on the Republican Party, Movement Conservatives cut taxes, slashed the social safety net, and deregulated the economy. 

​​At the same time, the oligarchs who rose to power in the former Soviet republics looked to park their illicit money in western democracies, where the rule of law would protect their investments. Once invested in the United States, they favored the Republicans who focused on the protection of wealth rather than social services. For their part, Republican politicians focused on spreading capitalism rather than democracy, arguing that the two went hand in hand.

The financial deregulation that made the U.S. a good bet for oligarchs to launder money got a boost when, shortly after the September 11, 2001, attacks, Congress passed the PATRIOT Act to address the threat of terrorism. The law took on money laundering and the illicit funding of terrorism, requiring financial institutions to inspect large sums of money passing through them. But the Financial Crimes Enforcement Network (FinCEN) exempted many real estate deals from the new regulations. 

The United States became one of the money-laundering capitals of the world, with hundreds of billions of dollars laundered in the U.S. every year. 

In 2011 the international movement of illicit money led then–FBI director Robert Mueller to tell the Citizens Crime Commission of New York City that globalization and technology had changed the nature of organized crime. International enterprises, he said, “are running multi-national, multi-billion dollar schemes from start to finish…. They may be former members of nation-state governments, security services, or the military…. These criminal enterprises are making billions of dollars from human trafficking, health care fraud, computer intrusions, and copyright infringement. They are cornering the market on natural gas, oil, and precious metals, and selling to the highest bidder…. These groups may infiltrate our businesses. They may provide logistical support to hostile foreign powers. They may try to manipulate those at the highest levels of government. Indeed, these so-called ‘iron triangles’ of organized criminals, corrupt government officials, and business leaders pose a significant national security threat.”

In 2021, Congress addressed this threat by including the Corporate Transparency Act in the National Defense Authorization Act. It undercut shell companies and money laundering by requiring the owners of any company that is not otherwise overseen by the federal government (by filing taxes, for example, or through close regulation) to file with FinCEN a report identifying (by name, birth date, address, and an identifying number) each person associated with the company who either owns 25% or more of it or exercised substantial control over it. The measure also increased penalties for money laundering and streamlined cooperation between banks and foreign law enforcement authorities.

But that act wouldn’t take effect for another three years. 

Meanwhile, once in office, the Biden administration made fighting corruption a centerpiece of its attempt to shore up democracy both at home and abroad. In June 2021, Biden declared the fight against corruption a core U.S. national security interest. “Corruption threatens United States national security, economic equity, global anti-poverty and development efforts, and democracy itself,” he wrote. “But by effectively preventing and countering corruption and demonstrating the advantages of transparent and accountable governance, we can secure a critical advantage for the United States and other democracies.” 

In March 2023 the Treasury told Congress that “[m]oney laundering perpetrated by the Government of the Russian Federation (GOR), Russian [state-owned enterprises], Russian organized crime, and Russian elites poses a significant threat to the national security of the United States and the integrity of the international financial system,” and it outlined the ways in which it had been trying to combat that corruption. “In light of Russia’s further invasion of Ukraine,” it said, “we must redouble our efforts to prevent Russia from abusing the U.S. financial system to sustain its war and counter Russian sanctioned individuals and firms seeking to exploit vulnerabilities in the U.S. financial system.” 

The collapse of the USSR helped to undermine the Cold War democracy that opposed it. In the past 32 years we have torn ourselves apart as politicians adhering to an extreme ideology demonized their opponents. That demonization also helped to justify the deregulation of our economy and then the illicit money from the rising oligarchs it attracted, money that has corrupted our democratic system. 

But there are at least signs that the financial free-for-all might be changing. The three years are up, and the Corporate Transparency Act will take effect on January 1, 2024.

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

[morbidology]

In the world of video games, few titles have achieved the iconic status and enduring popularity of Tetris. Created by Russian computer engineer Alexey Pajitnov in 1984, Tetris revolutionized the gaming industry with its simple yet addictive gameplay and geometrically challenging puzzles.

However, behind the success of Tetris lies a tale of intrigue, betrayal, and tragedy, with one man at the center of it all: Vladimir Pokhilko.

Vladimir Pokhilko was a computer scientist working at the Soviet Academy of Sciences in Moscow, and he played a pivotal role in the discovery of Tetris. In 1984, Alexey Pajitnov, Pokhilko's colleague, developed the game while experimenting with programming on an Electronica 60 computer. Inspired by his love of geometric shapes and puzzles, Pajitnov created Tetris, a game where players arrange falling blocks to complete lines and clear the board.

Pokhilko recognized the potential of Tetris and helped to introduce it to a wider audience by distributing copies of the game to friends and colleagues. The game's addictive gameplay quickly caught on, spreading through word of mouth and eventually attracting the attention of international game developers.

As Tetris gained popularity, its rights became the subject of a bitter dispute between Soviet authorities and Western companies seeking to license the game for commercial distribution. But then in 1989, Pokhilko was implicated in the brutal murders of his wife and son, a shocking crime that sent shockwaves through the gaming community.

After killing his family, Pokhilko slashed his own throat. He left behind a note which read:

“I’ve been eaten alive. - Vladimir. Just remember that I exist. - The Devil.”

[dorminchu]

The Gentle Hum of Anxiety, Chapter Two

Read Chapter One here!

Notes:

Surprise! Here's another chapter, because I had an Eureka moment with Madeleine's knowledge of the Safin family & Safin pilfering from Madeleine's candy-bowl.

Alone in her apartment, Madeleine cuts the lights and lays in bed, staring up at the ceiling. Five years under the pseudonym 'Swann' rendered moot, just like that. Pulling up roots is always a thankless process, but she'll have to disappear sooner than later. Dye her hair. Pop up in a different country inside of a month. Life will resume its fragile stability, with or without her father's intervention. That's the short-term solution. Its alternative only ever comes true in dreams.

Anyone on a first-name basis with the soon-to-be erased Madeleine Swann is in the crosshairs. Friends kept at arm's distance will speculate for a while on her abrupt disappearance. Emails and cards sent to her last known address have a habit of turning up fruitless. But they will have other people to fill the shallow mould left in her wake. A woman with her credentials and connections can find a job most anywhere.

She rolls onto her back, but doesn't close her eyes. The porcelain mask, safe its carved box, sits on the end-table next to the recorder. She's always been more comfortable away from home. Now she is taking work home with her, just like her father and his endless stacks of bound folders and locked cabinets.

This, of course, is an extreme case, and cannot be counted as a slip of judgement. She cannot stomach the comparison, nor the idea of Lyutsifer Safin invading her office twice, only to take back this icon.

Since she was born, and before that, her father has kept records. Men he'd slain personally or in his stead, crossed, worked for when SPECTRE was operating under the name QUANTUM. She's looked over the files, in between holidays and schooling, enough times to recall a handful of names.

A week after leaving Nittedal, while he was planning her mother's funeral, her father pulled her aside to explain.

The Safin family were chemists, working on Blofeld's payroll up until the fall of the Soviet Union. Sometime in the early 'aughts the family's contract was terminated. Lyutsifer, the sole survivor and inheritor of his father's syndicate, was rendered comatose, hospitalised. The doctors chalked the cause of death up to food poisoning and sealed the case.

Madeleine always has had the feeling there was more to it than that, but as a child, she contented herself in a perpetual state of faux-indifference.

There is no reason to start looking deeper now. She has survived on account of her carefully curated ignorance. It is the only way she can stomach her own reflection.

She sits up. Crosses the room, barefoot. Flicks a switch; the lights snap on. Squinting, she makes her way over to the end-table and opens the drawer. She keeps a notebook and recorder in her desk at the Hoffler Klinik, and one in her flat, for nights such as this. She reaches for the recorder. Clicks it on, listening.

Each time his ragged voice breaks through tinny speakers, she strains to discern his words: "...saving someone's life connects you to them forever, the same as taking it. They belong to you."

The hitman in the mask is a creature without humanity. The man beneath permits less room for a childhood monster's nomenclature, or aggrandisment. 

Her thumb pushes the stop button. She takes the pen and writes:

Affected by loss. A chasm left in absence of a family he can never fill.

She resumes the recording. Hits the button before the clatter of the lid causes the audio to peak. To hear her own voice succumb to fear is something she cannot stomach. Not while the shock is fresh.

She writes: Finds amusement at others' expense. Favors control. Eager to instruct me. (foxgloves, memory bo—

Ink slashes across paper.

Madeleine's body shudders on the exhale.

Inhale, hesitance.

Exhale, dragging.

She turns the page. Writes:

Reserved but not passive. Deeply invested in father's work. Exhibits sense of entitlement/ownership exacerbated by personal loss. Pause, to look over what she's written, not because of her unsteady hand. She adds, Memory box — mine? His own?

A man who brought with him the relic of a botched hit. If he would pursue the family into Nittendal, why not track down her father afterwards?

She's never asked, point-blank, if her father had anything to do with what happened that day. Her parents were closer to Madeleine, individually, than they were to each other. Her mother stopped putting up that front after Madeleine was old enough to start walking to school unaccompanied.

It wouldn't be the first time her father put his occupation before the well-being of his progeny. Men like her father, like Lyutsifer, operate on the principle of an eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth. Beneath all the pretty words and platitudes are brutes in well-tailored suit jackets. She is unfortunate enough to inherit the aftermath. Unlike her mother, she has no vices with which to control her aside from an empty heart.

It stands to reason, then, that Safin's love for his father could have blinded him to a similar truth. His father put business before family, and it simply caught up to him in the end. Just like maman. In lieu of self-reflection, he has fixated on the girl he spared for seventeen years.

She looks back at what she wrote: Displeased at the idea of returning for following appointment, or at my lack of reaction to the mask?  She strikes it out, and writes below it:

Entrenched within his own designs of heroism. The line between vengeance and justice has become irresolute. To enable such a delusion would be to the detriment of his recovery. Unable to determine at this time whether his emotional responses are feigned or stem from cognitive dissonance. Will require further analysis.

Next morning, she gets to her office an hour after the building opens its doors. Most of the other clinicians are genteel to her face. But there's always bound to be speculation about Madeleine’s certifications and clincial, aloof disposition. Twenty four is awfully young to become an MD. In five years, she'll have enough time and money to settle down and less to fret about, or so goes the canned line.

She's done what she can to make her clients feel safe and respected within her office. She's on amiable terms with her coworkers. Shouldn't that be enough?

"You're up late," Sophia says from her desk. "Did you get some sleep?"

Madeleine hums. "Just enough."

"Your first client won't be here for another hour. If you don't take a break every so often you're going to kill yourself."

Hand poised on the knob, Madeleine forces herself to smile. It is not requited. "Idle hands, you know? I really need to get to—"

"—Safin, isn't it?" Madeleine turns the knob, but doesn't push the door open. "He dropped by earlier." Sophia gestures to the desk. "Left you these."

On the desk is a small boquet. White chrysanthemums. Madeleine hadn't noticed. She's passed by Sophia's desk so many times it has simply become part of the background. This is the last thing she intends to discuss, least of all with anyone at work.

If that's asking too much, perhaps it's time to look for a different secretary or hell, a new job. As if it would make a difference. He'll keep doing this until the only place she can run to is an early grave.

She looks at Sophia, busy with her mortage and children going off to university and issues befitting of an easy, uninteresting life. Madeleine has never taken the time to know her more intimately than small-talk. Sophia might sense something is amiss, but never grasp the heart of Doctor Swann's troubles beyond youthful ennui and poor taste in men.

"I see," says Madeleine tartly. "I'll set them in the vase."

Sophia peers at her from the top of the paper. "Is everything all right?"

"Yes. Thank you."

The door closes behind her. Madeleine pitches them in the rubbish bin. 

When he steps through the door, his eyes wander to the framed icon. If he thinks anything of it, he doesn't elaborate. He takes a seat. “You look tired.”

Madeleine says, “I’ve had a long day of work.” His eyes fall on the vase, empty. "I'm afraid I am allergic." A verifiable lie. If he is as attentive as he's letting on, she'll soon find out. 

Rather than call her bluff, he has the gall to look empathetic. "Do you realize why I have selected you, Dr Swann?"

Her carefully constructed veneer of professionalism falters. She cannot give him an inch. “I do not.”

You resent the very nature of my survival, and what it signifies. If you're seeking to redeem yourself, that is not possible. 

"Your mother was buried in Döbling Cemetery, in Vienna. It's a beautiful cemetery." Two divides; anger and terror, freezing her in place. It is as if he has reached across the desk and slapped her. Her eyes well up. She sucks in a slow breath through her nose and exhales, quietly, as he continues: "You stopped sending flowers."

Her mother's resting place, a simple headstone, wedged between others. When her father's lease on the grave in ran out, Madeleine saw no reason to continue ordering flowers. She'd only done it for his sake, not that he had asked her to. He was too pride to admit such a mistake. It would be to acknowledge his own weakness in front of her, something beyond his capabilities.

“These games,” she says, repulsed by the slight catch in her voice, “the mask, these questions. It’s all a little rote, I think.”

Safin frowns. "The flowers I sent have a meaning." He meets her eyes. "A token of grief. Bereavement and comfort."

Perhaps the only way to get to the heart of his affliction is to let him talk. There is no harm in it, while she catches her bearings. She bites her tongue and holds his gaze.

"The first year, purple lilac — mourning — and white clover — think of me. White roses —" a knowing look that makes her want to throw something "— devotion, silence, reverence for the dead. Peonies and stargazer lilies — for sympathy. Blue delphinium for dignity. Statice for remembrance. Last year, blue hydrangeas — regret, a want of forgiveness."

"I was expecting something more drastic than flowers," Madeleine finds her voice. It is cold and carefully polite. 

He inclines his head. "There is no need. We already understand one another." His gaze does not avert, the eyes not quite dead. Whatever humanity was once there has been snuffed out and leaves only the darker undercurrent of a sentiment best left unspoken.

"What makes you think I would understand you?" 

His mouth curls. Bile in her throat. "Both of us, born into organised crime. Marred by tragedy."

"You're speculating."

"You asked me to explain myself." His eyes fall to the glass bowl, brimming with pink candies. A psychiatrist's inside joke. The average patient that crosses her door will only see the vessel, the candy, no further than the confines of his own mind. This room has been curated with care. 

Wetting the pad of his forefinger, he reaches into the bowl. The candy is waxy, a little sweet. The kind of thing that's too boring to eat with any gusto.

A flicker of repulsion, on the cusp of something else she fails to conceal, shifts into rigid comprehension. When he smiles, her stomach twists upon itself.

"I want to ensure," he says, "there is no misunderstanding between us. Thank you for your time."

In his hands, the mask is little more than a tool to inspire fear. She hangs it on her wall as a declaration of war, with a proper frame. It looms over her office wall, the spiderweb cracks in the porcelain giving the right eye a hollowed visage. A constant reminder of what she is undertaking. What she must never become, nor indulge in. She is asked, Where did you get that? myriad times, and Madeleine smiles flatly and says, a gift from a client, and that's the end of it.

a/n: Third time I've rewatched NTtD, and the greater significance of the candy-bowl sailed over my head completely until a commentator (I think it was on youtube or tumblr) pointed out its Freudian shape and, uh, potential for symbolism. After a good deal of snickering (yes, I'm very mature) I stopped to consider. If the idea was to depict Safin's salacious, quietly unhinged fixation with Madeleine (well, more so the power he assumes he has over her), well, I think the screenwriters didn't let him get weird ENOUGH. The fic probably won't go above a heavy-T to light-M, but it certainly flirts on the borderline.

[headmates-4-you]

Yo, can we get a subsystem themed around yandere, horror and possibly cannibalism? We want it to be fictives heavy (mainly COD fictives). You won't need to create a host for this one:3

We also want a lot of transIDs (more specifically transRAMCOA/programmed terms, transHarmful/ed terms), MUDs and paraphilias pls!

- @thewinnersys

YO YO!! when you sent this request, we went and checked out your account to see what fictives you already have, and I'm pretty sure you might be (or if not are very similar to) the same system that created three of our headmates (Ixya, Roman and Lesly)

Also, sorry if the COD fictives are innaccurate, we know next to nothing about this source 😭

anyways, hope you like how we made this subsystem :D

HEADMATE #1

name: Runai

age/age range: 19

pronouns: she&/it/cut/eat/cannibal/blood/gore/slash/yandere/crazy/🩸/🔪

gender identity: girlthing

species: human

sexuality: pansexual

ethnicity: Japanese

role: persecutor

mental/physical condition: very, very unstable

personality: cold, insane, yandere, seductive, manipulative

source: none

cisIDs: ASPD, Japanese, blue eyes, yandere

transIDs: transBPD, transschizophrenia, transjealousyandere, transmurderer, transprogrammer, transcannibal

paras: MAP (specifically 13-16 range), assassinphilia (attraction to murder/severe injury), autoassassinphilia (attraction to the image of yourself being murdered/severely injured), necrophilia (attraction to dead bodies), spectrophilia (attraction to ghosts)

MUDS: Possessive Attachment Disorder, Anthropophagic Compulsion Disorder (the compulsion to consume human flesh)

fact: will harm anyone who gets close to it's love, and frequently harm her love

HEADMATE #2

names: Viktor Reznov, Виктор Резнов

age/age range: [redacted] age (a being who's name is long forgotten, or who's age is beyond human comprehension)

pronouns: it/bitch/shoot

gender identity: apangender (someone who's gender connects to both none and all genders at once)

species: human

sexuality: lesboy, hypersexual

ethnicity: Soviet Russian

role: physical protector

cisIDs: Russian, PTSD, brown hair, dead

transIDs: transressurected, transhypersexual, transprogrammed, transcoldblooded, transraped, transseverity (more specifically wishes to have been killed in a more brutal way), transseveritytrauma (wishes it's trauma was more severe)

paras: autoassassinphilia, rapephilia/rapesexual, robophilia

mental/physical condition: [redacted]

personality: brutal, cold-blooded, cannibalistic

source: Call Of Duty

MUDS: Violence Based Mind Disorder, Apathetic Personality Disorder (APD), Glitching Mind Disorder (GMID)

HEADMATE #3

names: Alexi / Алексей

age: agefluidflux

pronouns: no pronouns

gender identity: goregender

species: human

sexuality: rapesexual, abrosexual

ethnicity: Soviet Russian

role: system gatekeeper

cisIDs: Russian, Soldier, dead, John Doe (not much is known)

transIDs: transtraumatized, transraped, transabused, transabuser, transharmful, transprogrammer, transprogrammed, transpagan, transwitch, transsatanist, polyreligion, transalive

HEADMATE #4

names: Bonehound

age: ageless

pronouns: it/crush/feral/burn/destroy

gender identity: agender

species: shapeshifter (can appear as any animal, but something about it will always look off. it can also communicate in English, but has a very rough voice, as though always affected by a cold)

sexuality: hypersexual, pansexual

ethnicity: N/A

role: urge holder + creature/non-human

cisIDs: non human, shapeshifter, feral, identity fluid

transIDs: transprogrammed headmate(a headmate who believes they should have a specific program implemented into them), severitprogrammed (an identity in which one was previously programmed weakly or partially, and is now fully and strongly programmed), trans RAMCOA (a person who believes they should have gone through ritual abuse and/or mind control), transbetaprogram (a person who believes they are supposed to be beta programmed), transexistence (they didn't exist, and believe they should), permadissociated (they believe they are supposed to be permanently dissociated), permadisconnect (permanently disconnected from reality)

paras: zoophila (towards humans

MUDS: none

(pictures show various forms it may choose to take)

hope they are sufficient and you like them!!

(headmates were designed by Man'Bug)

:D

[mariacallous]

Last spring, customs officers in the tiny nation of Moldova struck gold. Acting on a national intelligence tip-off from, they intercepted more than 100 passengers arriving from Russia via Armenia, each carrying bundles of cash just shy of €10,000 – the threshold for mandatory declaration. In a single night authorities at Chișinău airport seized more than €900,000.

Moldovan officials swiftly announced that the cash couriers were part of a scheme allegedly led by a Kremlin-linked fugitive oligarch and aimed at financing protesters and buying votes in this month’s presidential election and pivotal EU referendum.

The operation offered an early indication of what Moldovan and western officials have described in interviews with the Observer as an unprecedented effort by Russia to undermine the country’s bid for EU membership and weaken the authority of its pro-western president through a series of destabilising campaigns.

“Russia is pouring millions in dirty money to hijack our democratic processes. This isn’t just meddling – it’s full-blown interference aimed at destabilising our future. And it is alarming,” said Olga Roşca, a foreign policy adviser to the pro-western president, Maia Sandu.

The election, set for 20 October, in which Sandu faces re-election, is to be held on the same day as a referendum asking Moldovans whether they support constitutional changes that could eventually enable the country – one of the poorest in Europe – to join the EU.

Roşca said the government estimated that at least €100m was being funneled into Moldova from Russia to manipulate the elections and EU referendum. It is not the first warning about Russian interference: in June, the US, UK and Canada said Moscow was trying to meddle in Moldovan politics and would seek to provoke mass protests if its campaign fails.

Since the breakup of the Soviet Union, Moldova has gravitated between pro-western and pro-Russian courses, though the shadow of the Kremlin has always loomed large. Moscow also has 1,500 troops stationed in Transnistria, a region run by pro-Russian separatists who broke away from the control of Moldova’s government in a brief war in the 1990s.

Sandu, a former World Bank official, was elected president in November 2020, riding a wave of popularity as an anti-corruption reformer with a pro-European agenda. She has advocated a humble lifestyle – a sharp contrast to the bombastic, predominantly male politicians who have long dominated Moldovan politics.

In a recent interview, the president said she was sharing a two-bedroom apartment with her mother, while in her asset declaration from 2023 her bank balance was recorded as $600.

In 2021, Sandu’s pro-western party, PAS, won a majority in the country’s parliamentary elections, giving her unprecedented power to implement reforms and push the country toward the west. But, three years later, Moldova remains mired in economic and political instability.

First, the country was plunged into an energy crisis when Kremlin-controlled Gazprom slashed gas supplies to the country by one-third and demanded more than double the previous rates to maintain the flow, in what was widely seen as political payback from Moscow for Sandu’s pro-western stance. Then, Russia’s war on Ukraine pushed Moldova into a broader financial crisis.

Located just a few hoursdrive from Odesa, Moldova took in the highest number of Ukrainian refugees per capita, placing immense strain on its healthcare system, public services, and infrastructure. Inflation surged by as much as 40% as trade with both Moscow and Kyiv sharply declined.

Stray Russian missiles from the conflict added to the growing sense of danger, while the Russian troops stationed in Transnistria further amplified anxieties.

“Sandu promised a lot, but the geopolitical situation has been very tough on her. They have not been able to deliver on all promises,” said a western official in Moldova, reflecting on the growing frustration among some Moldovans with Sandu and her party.

“There is growing apathy and disappointment, which provides a fertile ground for Russia,” the official added.

Sandu remains the favourite to win the first-round presidential vote against 10 challengers, but she is facing a tricky second-round runoff.

She is also leading the “Yes” campaign for the EU referendum, with polls showing 55-65% of voters in favour of joining the bloc. In a major boost for Sandu, Moldova officially began EU accession negotiations in June. However, scepticism remains high about the country’s ability to implement the necessary democratic and judicial reforms in the near future.

Critics from the opposition have accused Sandu of politicising the referendum by holding it on the same day as the presidential election, suggesting that the move is designed to boost her own political chances. “The referendum is a very cynical move,” said Alexandr Stoianoglo in Chișinău, one of Sandu’s main rivals from the Russian-friendly socialist party, who is polling at 12%.

“EU integration should not be used for personal gain,” he added.

But those close to Sandu said Russia’s growing influence means the country cannot afford to wait. “We have a unique opportunity: Moldova has a pro-European president, parliament, and government. The EU is open to our membership, with all countries backing accession talks last June,” said Rosa. “Moldova’s survival as a democracy is on the line, and the geopolitical stakes are higher than ever,” said Roşca.

The biggest threat for Sandu comes from abroad, say her supporters. In particular, the fugitive pro-Russian businessman Ilan Shor, a vocal – and wealthy – opponent of EU membership who has been sanctioned by the west.

Shor was sentenced to 15 years in prison last year in absentia in connection with his role in the disappearance of $1bn from Moldova’s banking system. He fled to Israel and then Moscow where he set up a political movement aimed at destabilising the current government in Chișinău.

At a press conference last Thursday, national police chief Viorel Cernăuțanu accused Shor and Moscow of establishing a complex “mafia-style” voter-buying scheme and bribing 130,000 Moldovans to vote against the referendum and in favour of Russia-friendly candidates in what he called an “unprecedented, direct attack”.

Officials in Chișinău also believe Shor is behind a wave of pre-election vandalism attacks on government buildings, accusing him of recruiting young people who were allegedly trained in Moscow to cause unrest in the country. “We are prepared for anything in the coming weeks,” said a security official in the city. “It will be a variety of misinformation campaign, violent street protests and crude vote buying,” they added.

Shor did not reply to questions from the Observer. But he has done little to distance himself from the accusations of trying to interfere in Moldovan politics from abroad. Through the social network Telegram, he has offered to pay voters the equivalent of $29 if they registered for his campaign, promising money to people who would “convince as many people as possible at their polling station” to vote “no or abstain” in the referendum.

He has publicly pledged to pay Moldovans for publishing anti-EU posts on Facebook and Telegram.

The central “fear-mongering” narrative that Shor has been promoting centres around the claim that Chișinău’s pro-European policies are pushing the country towards war with Russia, said Vadim Pistrinciuc, the director at the Institute for Strategic Initiatives of Moldova, a thinktank.

“We have never faced this level of foreign interference,” he added.

Worryingly for officials in Chisinau, Shor’s tactics have proven effective elsewhere the country.

Last year, Yevgenia Gutsul, a previously unknown Shor-backed candidate, caused a political earthquake by winning the elections of governor in Gagauzia, another small, Russian-speaking semi-autonomous region in the south of the country.

Pro-Russian sentiments have always been high in Gagauzia, a region populated by a Turkic ethnic minority, which has had an uneasy relationship with the capital Chisinau since the 1991 breakup of the Soviet Union.

But Gutsul’s rise from obscurity and her ties to the Kremlin has stunned even seasoned observers and have prompted questions over Moscow’s role in her elections.

“She was polling at zero two weeks before the elections and then suddenly she appears and wins,” said Mihail Sirkeli, founder of Nokta, an independent media outlet based in Gagauzia.

Gutsul, who has openly declared running “a pro-Russian party” and travelled to Moscow to meet with Vladimir Putin after her election, is currently under investigation for allegedly funnelling Russian funds to a party associated with Shor.

“Shor is looking to repeat the Gagauzia playbook across the country,” said a western diplomat in Chisinau.

For now, officials in Moldova believe Moscow is concentrating its efforts on influencing the EU referendum, rather than the presidential elections where Sandu remains by far the most popular politician.

“If the referendum passes, it will lead to constitutional changes, which are harder to reverse in the long term compared to election outcomes,” said a senior Moldovan official.

But even if Sandu survives this month’s vote and referendum, her team expects renewed Kremlin efforts next year when her party faces re-election in the country’s parliamentary elections.

“Russia’s goal is clear: to keep Moldova stuck in a grey zone,” said Roşca. “If they lose Moldova, they lose a strategic foothold in the region.”

[runwayrunway]

No. 47 - MALÉV Hungarian Airlines

MALÉV Hungarian Airlines (Magyar Légiközlekedési Vállalat) was the flag carrier of Hungary until its dissolution in 2012. I'm excited to talk about MALÉV for a couple of reasons. I'll get into those later, when they come up, so let's cut off the preamble and talk about an airline sadly lost to recent history after 66 years in operation, leaving in its place...

Well, nothing, actually. Hungary no longer has a flag carrier, thanks to MALÉV's rather catastrophic end, and Budapest is now primarily served by ULCCs like Ryanair and Wizz Air. It's a very tragic thing, in my opinion, for a country to lose its flag carrier, and I hope that MALÉV, or something else to replace it, will be (re)established at some point, but for the moment it's a beautiful relic of a less financially tempestuous time.

MALÉV's legacy is well-kept, with the Budapest Aeropark open-air museum containing many more preserved aircraft than a lot of extinct airlines will see. Clearly, this airline was dear to a country.

While I never got to fly on MALÉV, I'm excited to cover this airline's eclectic little fleet, which does one thing I can't pretend for a moment doesn't immediately make me eager to discuss an airline:

When MALÉV folded, Hungary lost a symbol of national pride, but the rest of us lost something too: one of the rapidly-dwindling number still fighting for the long-lost cause of the painted nose radome.

MALÉV was founded in 1946 as MASZOVLET (Magyar-Szovjet Polgári Légiforgalmi Rt.), born from the merger of a handful of similarly acronymic pre-war Hungarian airlines, plus the Hungarian branch of Aeroflot. It was renamed to MALÉV in 1954, when the Hungarian government bought out all the remaining Soviet involvement in the airline, making it a fully nationalized company. It was 'privatized' in 1993, but the majority of ownership was split between a government-owned holding company and the employees, with the government seemingly intent on privatizing it properly throughout. From 1999 to 2003 its CEO was actually József János Váradi, who is probably better known as the founder and CEO of Wizz Air. It was then sold to Russian airline-alliance-slash-joint-management-company AirBridge (later known as AiRUnion), a LATAM-without-rebranding-ish thing which existed for all of a couple years until it went under in 2008, all of its member airlines, classics like Domedovo and KrasAir also defunct. It was briefly under minority ownership by Vneshekonombank (now VEB.RF), a Russian corporation meant to invest in the development of urban infrastructure, but then renationalized by Hungary. During this period of privatization it underwent an elaborate game of CEO musical chairs, broadly struggling and being subsidized heavily by the Hungarian government. Once this happened the EU ruled that said state aid was actually illegal, and forced MALÉV to repay the years of assistance which had kept it above water - which of course promptly killed it, being more than a year of its revenue.

I dislike this pretty broadly. I'm actually of the opinion that flag carriers shouldn't be privatized at all, and it feels like it frequently makes things immediately and dramatically worse. This isn't really the place for pontification, but MALEV's downfall makes me genuinely sad. It feels almost vindictive in its drama and suddenness, and it killed something legitimately important to both infrastructure and national identity. (Also, I find it hard to wrap my head around the government's determination to privatize MALÉV when they ended up pouring so much money into it anyway.)

While other airlines eventually picked up the slack, in the immediate aftermath traffic at Budapest Liszt Ferenc International Airport immediately and drastically dropped, and now the only real choices, in a lot of cases, are Wizz Air and Ryanair. Which is broadly fine, I mean, I frequently can't afford anything else, but it's a bit uninspiring for the only option. It's just outright depressing when two airlines operate the vast majority of flights at any airport, with barely any other airlines offering even three, and those two airlines are Ryanair and Wizz Air, especially when you're just smack in the middle of Europe the way Hungary is and are a pretty easy place to route flights through. Increased range on airplanes is obviously a huge benefit to many people, but I'm getting the sense it may have been a cruel joke the universe saw fit to play on Hungarians.

There are three rows of Wizz Air destinations cut off, by the way.

But, okay, enough of that. I'm here for the livery. MALÉV has had three-ish main liveries, from their early days flying the Lisunov Li-2 (a Soviet license-built DC-3) all the way up to their final shuttering.

Yes, that's right - HA-LIX "Kármán Tódor" is in fact an airworthy Li-2![1]

I'm trying to keep my posts at a length that is manageable to both write and read, so I won't be fully covering all the MALÉV liveries. I'm going to assume any requests are for the most up-to-date version unless specified otherwise. But I do just need to mention that I really want to do a follow-up post on MALÉV's original livery, which I think is a standout from its era - just brushing over it in a general history summary doesn't do it justice. It's modeled below on the Ilyushin Il-14 registered HA-MAL, preserved at Aeropark, while the 1968-1986 livery is modeled on this period photograph of Tupolev Tu-134A HA-LBG.

This is another reason I'm very excited by the MALÉV request. Hungary was, if you will, the sort of country which purchased Tupolev airliners, which means I get to use pictures of and talk about old Soviet models! MALÉV began switching to Western planes in the 80s and withdrew their last Tu-154s in the early 2000s, so they're not necessarily the majority of examples, but I do sort of favor the Tupolevs when I can. They're just very idiosyncratic for someone used to looking at mostly Western aircraft, which is to say basically anyone born in the 90s or later. HA-LBG is a Tu-134A, which you can tell because of the glazed nose. Why the glazed nose? Well, that's the classic Soviet navigator pit!

Unfortunately, the later MALÉV Tu-134s had modern nose radomes, visually indistinct from the fuselage around them. Thankfully, I am finally getting to the actual subject of the damned post, which is that in their last-ever livery, designed by László Zsótér[2] and introduced in 1986, MALÉV remembered where they came from and decided they were going to bring back a trend that should never have gone away.

Why did airlines stop painting the noses of their planes? That's a rhetorical question, they stopped doing it because technology had improved to the point they could use other colors on the radome without interfering with the weather radar's function, but, like, why did they stop doing it? Just look at this. The painted nose adds to a feeling of weight and forward momentum, and now the plane looks like a shuttlecock being launched directly at your face during a game of badminton against someone who dislikes you and is sincerely trying to cause you physical injury. She looks like a throwing dart for giants.

Or like a crayon, maybe, also for giants, especially with the stubbier 737 models MALÉV liked to use. The dark color is also very distinctly beaklike.

For some reason, it really immediately and vividly reminds me of the signature beak thing the drag queen Abhora (of Dragula fame) does. I absolutely love it in both cases, though thankfully to the best of my knowledge MALÉV did not embody horror, filth, and glamor.

It does, however, create quite a startling effect via the contrast between white and near-black blue. I will say that this color scheme makes the plane look a bit...villainous? I like that a lot because I'm twisted in the head. The thing that comes to mind is that this plane is haglike. And I love that for her. But I get that this statement could potentially read as insulting, so just, you know, I do mean it as a compliment. I like that she's a hag. I mean, I'm a Siouxsie and the Banshees fan, I'm no stranger to the power of big dark blocks[3].

I think the choice in color here is absolutely fascinating. You see, the Hungarian flag looks like this.

For a regular three-stripe flag I quite like Hungary's dustier take on the archetype, but we can't get around the fact that green, red, and white is an incredibly common combination. Probably in large part due to this, these are also some of the most oversaturated colors in livery design.

Here are just some of the examples that came to mind - and that's not including similar but not identical schemes[5]. These color schemes can obviously still work (two of these liveries are among my favorite examples of Eurowhite done Euro-right, guess which!) but I think MALÉV made the right choice in not trying to compete with it.

It's kind of interesting, though, how instead of just rejecting it altogether (as Mexican flag carrier Aeroméxico has done, as just one example) they picked a very dark off-black shade but then incorporated the colors of the Hungarian flag. This could very easily have gone phenomenally bad but I think it worked for them. It draws interest to the tail (while the blue background keeps it from being detached), the angular use of lines goes with the similar sharpness of the wordmark, and the muted shades Hungary in particular has to work with suit the generally washed-out scheme of this livery.

And to be clear, I don't mean washed-out as an insult. You could easily be fooled into thinking I dislike desaturation based on my reviews here, but I actually really love it and my main long-term non-Runway-Runway project has stylized desaturation as a core feature of its style guide, so to speak. So let me talk about desaturation! The reason desaturation is so frequently ugly is that people use desaturated colors the same way they would use vivid ones and expect it to get the same result, which it obviously won't. The most important thing for use of desaturated colors, in my own opinion, is maintaining very strong contrast. MALÉV does this, obviously, and the flag honestly lends itself to this via the white stripe's placement in the middle, and to a lesser extent the placement of these colors to break up the dark tail. Interesting designs can be subtle, but minimalism only works when it is an active choice designed to create an impression of minimalism (Vietnam Airlines) rather than a blank space (Lufthansa).

The more similar in hue and brightness to each other desaturated colors are, the more the entire thing starts to look flat. MALÉV avoids this by using green, red, blue, and white, which are completely distinct colors. It also creates a certain staccato impression via the sectioning off of the nose, the sharp lines of the wordmark, and the just-as-sharp lines of the tail. This is the point where I have to bring up that this livery was designed for, in large part, Tu-134s and Tu-154s, and these planes are themselves very visually sharp. While they have a very streamlined appearance without question, their planform actually, to me, suits the style of MALÉV's livery better than some of the other types they used, and may explain a bit more why it was designed how it was.

The wing sweep on the Tu-134 is 35 degrees, which is very unusually aggressive even for a rear-engined t-tail plane. I find that the less swept an airplane's wing is, the less it breaks up the line of the fuselage. The Tu-134 is also a bit of a short-looking plane, vertically, relative to a lot of other models, and the straight downward line blocks off the very square tail quite nicely behind the engines, which add some visual interest where they overlap. This sort of scheme looks pretty alright on the Tu-134, even if I think it could use a bit of an adjustment to the wordmark - make it larger, or maybe add an accent color. That would add a bit more weight to the front of the plane.

Unfortunately, on a somewhat longer-looking plane like the Tu-154 the white fuselage expanse becomes quite a bit more stark. That staggering just isn't enough to avoid the desolate feeling.

It gets even worse with modern Western planes, which lack the almost violent wing sweep, sharpness, and short fuselage of the Tu-134. MALÉV operated both the 767 and the 737-800, and these just don't have enough visual interest in the center to keep the plane from being a big white sausage. Plus, Boeing noses are pointy, but they're not as pointy as Tupolev noses, which means the nose paint covers less space. This is nearing the Lufthansa Line, which is my new term for the point where a plane has so little happening anywhere except the back that it looks distinctly rear-heavy.

(As well as crossing the Lufthansa Line as a sort of event horizon, the 'Lufthansa Line' can also refer to the literal shape of the straight line downwards. The similar practice which utilizes a curve instead of a straight line is the Lufthansa Line, SAS Variation. The Lufthansa Dec-lined - no, I'll stop. I need to maintain a tiny bit of dignity so I can still make fun of jetBlue without being a hypocrite.)

Like most liveries which straddle or cross the Lufthansa Line, this looks completely fine and proportional on a plane which is sufficiently short and/or stubby to reduce the ratio of rear to full body to around one-third, and the more stretch you add the worse it looks.

A short-looking fuselage like that of the Q400 also mitigates the effect a little. Plus, they do something I keep telling operators of planes with this sort of square tail to do - extend the paint to more of the fuselage, rather than keeping it a straight line. It just unfortunately isn't quite enough, though the pointy nose, shortness, and slight extension definitely mitigates the effect enough that I think it's...very nearly acceptable.

The incredible thing is that MALÉV actually solves this problem!

I love this little green swoosh upwards. Now, I think I would have chosen a different color for it - either a slightly lighter blue or maybe a darker green. I like how it tapers and fades towards the top. I like how it overlaps the bottom of the main blue section. I think it basically entirely solves the problem in an elegant way.

Unfortunately, this feature was used only on the CRJ-200 fleet. The CRJ is already a plane that's on the Lufthansa-proof side, particularly the shortest -200 variant, so it's a shame we didn't get to see this do some real legwork on a model that desperately needed it. Still, I think that Lufthansesque design could take notes from this, as it basically solves their issue! I don't get why this isn't something you see done. It's such a simple but satisfactory solution. Why, why did MALÉV not generalize this to their other planes?

Wrapping up my thoughts is the most challenging part of this. Normally I try to judge liveries by their weakest link - Lufthansa or TAM don't get let off because their liveries look better on short planes. But there's enough about the design choices that were made by MALÉV that I keep resisting tossing them into that same pit.

Nothing about MALÉV's livery really changes things drastically enough that it fundamentally deviates from the Lufthansa Line archetype, but it feels like the tiny tweaks change just enough that I actually think it's pretty okay. The painted nose, in particular, does a lot for me. I can't help but wonder if I'm being too kind to MALÉV because they operated so many pointy, angular, square airframes that really prevent the weaknesses of the Lufthansa Line from showing, and I try not to judge based on mitigating airframe factors if the airline operates types that aren't so lucky, but I just can't help but think the nose does add something very tangible, a sense of forward motion and a feeling of character that makes me hate it distinctly less, and the color choices are also nice!

And it's this feeling of character that keeps me...not really disliking this livery even though I will freely acknowledge it's lacking. There's something compelling accomplished just by painting the nose. I almost find that bizarre.

But, honestly...mostly white or not, I think these planes have enough color to them at the tarmac at Budapest wouldn't seem completely desolate. I think they'd go well with Wizz Air too. So, I mean...I think ultimately I like MALÉV, yes.

I'm going to give them a C+.

I can't justify going higher than that. But the main impression I've taken away is that I really wish MALÉV got a chance to overhaul their livery for the 2020s. What they had in their final phase actually looks quite contemporary, but that's because it was played out before it became an actual trend - introduced 1986, it predates even FedEx. I definitely can't rule out that whatever they redesigned this into would be worse, but as long as they kept the painted nose that's at least one thing I like a lot.

I've heard the Hungarian government would like to someday resurrect MALÉV if finances allow. To be clear, I do mean that I've heard it secondhand, but I can't find the actual source on it. This may be because I don't read Hungarian, but I think it would be nice to see. Even if there's a fifteen or even twenty-year gap, that's a better thing to see for a legacy which spans three-quarters of a century than for it to end there, and it's about time Hungary had a flag carrier again.

―――――――――――――――――――――――――――――――

Footnotes are so fantastic and useful. Why haven't I been using footnotes until now? I digress so much, why haven't I been making my posts more legible? I mean, tumblr unfortunately doesn't let you link to part of a post so they're not as useful as they are on other websites, but, like, no worse than endnotes in a book, right? And I deal with those all the time with very little grumbling.

[1] You can even still take a sightseeing flight on HA-LIX, or see her at airshows, where she looks fantastic for her 74 years of age (built 1949). She is operated by the Goldtimer Foundation on behalf of her owners, the Hadtörténeti Museum, still wearing the livery of her former operator, MALÉV. She even just got a round of restoration in early 2022, and is potentially the only airworthy Li-2 in the entire world of over 5,000 built, as it's thought the only other recent user, the North Korean Air Force, has mothballed theirs. [2]: I saw multiple mentions of László Zsótér as the designer of this livery, but cannot find any mention of whether he worked for an outside agency or was in-house at MALÉV. [3]: I mean, when you think about it, all of MALÉV's airplanes are painted birds. [4]: ie, schemes that are also primarily red and green but include other color(s) like blue, yellow, or black - see Ethiopian Airlines or MEA for an example - as well as honestly color schemes that are just red and white or green and white. It's honestly as bad as red, white, and blue.