#victory over aids flag

[hellokittystims]

Victory over AIDS LGBT flag 🖤

“The flag was reportedly suggested by a San Francisco organisation, and Sergeant Leonard Phillip Matlovich – a Vietnam War veteran – suggested that the black stripe be removed, and all surviving flags featuring the black stripe burnt, once a cure for AIDS had been discovered.”

x / x / x / x / x / x / x / x

[genderqueerpositivity]

Because we always need more rainbows.

(Image description: ten square pride flags with white text that reads "you'll never have the comfort of our silence again".)

These are inspired by an image of a sign taken at an anti-Anita Bryant protest in 1978.

Flags:

Six stripe rainbow

Philadelphia pride flag

Indivisibility pride flag

Victory Over AIDS flag

Progress pride flag

Philadelphia pride flag with added trans pride stripes

9 stripe Love Fest Festival pride flag

Rainbow/bisexual flag combination

Gilbert Baker's 2017 9 stripe Diversity flag

Baker's Diversity flag with added black and brown stripes

[workingclasshistory]

On this day, 19 July 1936, in response to a right-wing coup by general Francisco Franco, workers across Spain took up arms and launched one of the most far-reaching social revolutions in history. The ensuing civil war pitted the working class against the Spanish capitalists, who were backed by Nazi Germany and fascist Italy. In the revolutionary areas, anarchist and socialist workers and peasants took over workplaces and land and began to run them collectively. Thousands of mostly working class people came from all over the world to aid the workers of Spain. One of them was British socialist author George Orwell, who described the scene in Barcelona: "It was the first time that I had ever been in a town where the working class was in the saddle. Practically every building of any size had been seized by the workers and was draped with red flags or with the red and black flag of the Anarchists; every wall was scrawled with the hammer and sickle and with the initials of the revolutionary parties… Every shop and café had an inscription saying that it had been collectivised… Waiters and shop-walkers looked you in the face and treated you as an equal. Servile and even ceremonial forms of speech had temporarily disappeared. Nobody said ‘Señor’ or ‘Don’ or even ‘Usted’". Western democracies, including Britain and France, abandoned the republic and enforced a blockade on Spain which stopped the flow of aid and weapons to the anti-fascists. Meanwhile, Italy and Germany openly flouted the ban, and the US oil giant Texaco supplied the nationalists with oil and other supplies without even demanding payment while stopping any supplies to the republic. Ultimately, after nearly three years of bitter and bloody warfare, the nationalists with their superior weaponry and equipment, were victorious. Learn more in our podcast eps 39-40. We've also got books and more commemorating it, here: https://shop.workingclasshistory.com/collections/spanish-civil-war?sort_by=created-descending https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=664426942397191&set=a.602588028581083&type=3

[pmvstump]

flag is under the read more :)

i also made a version where i combined it with the 2017 philadelphia pride flag (black and brown stripes at the top) and another with the victory over aids black stripe at the bottom. both can be seen here.

[mariacallous]

The collapse of the Afghan state amid the United States’ withdrawal in 2021 gifted the new Taliban government with more than $7 billion worth of U.S. military equipment. Afghanistan’s new overlords suddenly found themselves with fleets of Humvees, mountains of machine guns, and forests of radars and satellite dishes. The vast hardware hoard also included dozens of aircraft: a motley mix of Hind and Blackhawk helicopters, cargo planes, and close air support props.

Before the Taliban even had time to inventory their new arsenal, Egyptian filmmaker Ibrahim Nash’at arrived in Kabul. From his home in Berlin, he had seen the scenes of civilians storming Kabul’s international airport in a desperate attempt to flee, and he had managed to obtain permission to come to Afghanistan and film. But his plan—to record the suffering of ordinary Afghans—was swiftly dashed. Accompanied by a Taliban minder at all times and forbidden to film anyone other than a Taliban commander and his men, Nash’at was forced to switch tack. That commander happened to be Mawlawi Mansour, the Taliban fighter in charge of creating a new Taliban air force from the equipment and pilots who were left behind.

Under orders from Mansour, Nash’at became the unexpected chronicler of a high-profile facet of Afghanistan’s regime change. The result is Hollywoodgate, a 90-minute documentary named after the sprawling U.S. base in Kabul, where the Taliban created their new air force after U.S. forces fled. In a total of seven months in the new Afghanistan and assisted only by a lone translator, Nash’at shot 220 hours of footage, later culled down with a team of five producers and nine Afghan translators. Overcoming his subjects’ extreme suspicion, Nash’at managed eventually to blend into Taliban meetings, inspections, and military missions, becoming so invisible that his subjects forgot about his camera and relaxed.

Mansour takes command of the former U.S. air base and immediately sets to work. He inspects his new force and is impressed by the scale of U.S. resources. But he is appalled by their Spartan aesthetics; “plant some trees here” is a constant command to scurrying subordinates as Mansour strides across the base. Taliban conversations show a sudden inversion: Off-screen holdouts against the new regime are “the insurgents” opposed by “our special forces.”

For Mansour’s men, the order of the day is repairing aircraft, many of which were purposely disabled by departing U.S. forces. After a perfunctory grilling, a handful of pilots from the old Afghan air force are welcomed into the new force. (Many others had fled with their aircraft to neighboring countries.) Training new Taliban pilots will take time, but Mansour gets a course up and running, his lecturers aided by a cardboard mock-up of a cockpit.

Women are immediately pushed to the margins of the new Afghanistan. With a whiff of amusement at their past effrontery, Mansour dictates that women in his ministry may return to work, but only if they are veiled. His own wife, he brags to his staff, is a doctor, but he restricted her to the home upon marriage.

The mood among Mansour’s future Taliban airmen is upbeat. We see low-ranking fighters exulting in their victory over the Americans and “the Jews.” An ambitious lieutenant is showered in confetti to celebrate his acceptance into the new air force academy. A gleeful door guard flags every comrade passing him in the hall with his U.S.-made M-4 rifle—the cocktail of frivolity and danger that characterizes many an insurgency or militia in the poorest parts of the world.

At times, the new overlords can verge on endearing. Mansour and his men visit the base’s well-appointed gym, where one Talib struggles to press a pair of dumbbells above his head. The boss steps on a treadmill and happily plods along, ordering one sent to his home “to make my belly smaller.”

I witnessed a very similar scene when I was deployed to Afghanistan as a U.S. Marine more than a decade ago. When we handed over a coalition patrol base to one of the Afghan government’s paramilitary forces, the incoming commander breezed by the fortifications, operations center, and mess hall. But a derelict elliptical trainer in our sandy outdoor gym fascinated him. He hopped aboard with a big grin and churned away, to the bemusement of the handful of watching Marines.

Outside the tight circle in which he was permitted to film, Nash’at was far less welcome, he told me in an interview this summer. In his wordless brushes with Afghan civilians, he felt indicted by their stares. He was convinced that they saw him as an Arab propagandist—a voyeur who had come to Afghanistan to see and celebrate the Taliban’s triumph.

Despite the restrictions placed on him as an outsider, Nash’at managed to get glimpses of ordinary Afghan life. Children occasionally appear onscreen, and we get a sense of the extent to which they have been formed and traumatized by a lifetime of war. Hanging on a tow ring of a hulking mine-resistant vehicle, one boy in a camouflage shalwar kameez mumbles that he will “take a weapon and kill you all.”

After months of maintenance, training, and reorganization, Mansour gets his triumph. Toward the end of Nash’at’s filming, the Taliban stage a military parade for their own men and a handful of Russian, Chinese, and Iranian dignitaries. After a show of marching infantry, armored vehicles, and a battalion intended for suicide bombing on motorcycles, Hinds and Blackhawks fly past the grandstand. It’s a successful first operation for the Taliban’s new air force, even if the fly-by is bit too fast for Mansour’s liking.

In the film’s final scene, Mansour is seen on his cell phone berating an official at the Tajikistan Defense Ministry for harboring the Taliban’s enemies. Nash’at told me he believes that many Taliban have aims beyond Afghanistan’s borders. One high-ranking leader told him, “I can’t wait until we conquer Egypt.” The Taliban believe they and their forebears have turned Afghanistan into the graveyard of empires, defeating the British Empire, the Soviet Union, and now the United States. One fighter exults that “with American weapons we will rule the world!”

Whatever their intentions, the film also leaves viewers skeptical of the Taliban’s ability to wield meaningful military power. Like many journalists since then, Nash’at immediately picked up on the boredom among the Taliban fighters that followed on the heels of military victory. While negotiating Kabul’s traffic in a sedan just weeks after the city’s fall, one of Mansour’s lieutenants tells the filmmaker that he already longs for war: the return of the Americans, 500 bullets, and martyrdom. Late in the film, an enthusiastic crowd of Taliban tries to pile into an aircraft for a VIP test flight and are beaten off with curses by Mansour’s men. Afghanistan’s new rulers are likely to have their hands full just keeping discipline among their own former fighters.

Nash’at likened the realities of governing after fighting to coming down from a narcotic high. Building a bureaucracy seems much harder work than winning a war. Staff meetings and wrangling over budgets are a poor substitute for ambushes and assaults. Early in the film, one Talib waxes nostalgic for the life of an insurgent, showing Nash’at the cave he and a few other men took refuge in.

Despite his fear and disgust of the Taliban, Nash’at believes that the West should engage them. He said that if they are ignored, they will act out for the world’s attention, to the detriment of their own people and the region. But he harbors no illusions that such engagement will yield swift changes in the character of the Taliban.

With Hollywoodgate, now streaming after a limited theatrical release, Nash’at may not have made the film he originally set out to make. The suffering of the Afghan people was walled off from him. The Taliban’s strictures confined him to a narrow lane and, as he notes in an introductory voice-over, to the story they wanted to tell the world. But if the Taliban thought that they had put Nash’at on a short enough leash to force him to produce a piece of propaganda for the new regime, they were mistaken, too.

After Mansour’s air show, Taliban secret police demanded that Nash’at come to their office and show them all of his footage. As he told IndieWire in an interview, he knew then that his work was done: “I was filming the transformation of a militia into a military regime, and I realized at that moment the transformation was complete.” Through empathy, patience, and not a little audacity, Nash’at succeeded in capturing a story of Afghan nation-building—but a far different one than almost any Westerner could have imagined 20 years before.

[alex-dontknow]

long live Israel

75 years compared to Palestine's over a millennia isn't very "long lived" imho

imagine condoning the slaughter, genocide, ethnic cleansing and fascist propaganda of a nation stood upon stolen land and the tears of the very people that welcomed Jews and Christians alike into their country.

imagine seeing children, dead and mutilated, sometimes completely unrecognizable in a city with zero defense where the residents are not allowed to leave or even have humanitarian aid allowed inside and think Israel is somehow the victim.

imagine being such a bootlicker to the west and being so brainwashed by propaganda and publicised lies that when a man shoves a dead child into the camera to plead the world to listen,

when a child sobs at their deceased father asking why he left them,

when a mother refuses to wash the blood off her hands because it's all she has left of her family,

you turn the other cheek and proclaim "long live" to a false nation, an apartheid terrorist state with war crimes too numerous to mention, yet are covered by the powerful to never be prosecuted for.

you stand on the side of history schools will teach children to condemn and remember for the atrocity and barbarity it waved like a flag of victory.

Palestine will not be the ones to wave the white flag.

Long Live Palestine. 🇵🇸❤️

[cobrastrikes421]

LGBTQ art

Bisexual fact:

Overall, 4% of U.S. adults say they identify as bisexual, according to an August 2023 survey by the Center. Younger adults are more likely than older Americans to describe themselves as bisexual. the term bisexual was used in Dutch for the first time in 1877, to refer to a hermaphrodite who had their sexual career as both a heterosexual woman and a heterosexual man. Later, the term bisexuality is used to represent both the double sexual-object choice and androgyny.

Aromantic fact:

Aromantic people can also form non-romantic relationships of all types, as well as being able to enjoy sexual relationships. They may also choose to have children, and studies indicate that aromantic individuals are no less likely to have children than alloromantic individuals. One of the earliest uses of the modern term "aromantic" dates back to 2005. The early online community around aromanticism formed on the Asexual Visibility and Education Network (AVEN), an online community around asexuality, and social media platforms such as tumblr.

Progress fact:

a reinterpretation of multiple iterations of the pride flag. The original 'rainbow flag' was created by Gilbert Baker in 1978 to celebrate members of the gay and lesbian political movement. It comprised eight coloured stripes stacked on top of each other to evoke a rainbow, a symbol of hope. Daniel Quasar (xe/xyr pronouns) is the creator of the Progress Pride flag, a combination of the original Pride flag by Gilbert Baker, the Trans Pride flag by Monica Helms in 1999, the More Color, More Pride flag introduced by Amber Hikes in 2017, and a black stripe from the Victory Over AIDS flag, inspired by Sergeant Leonard Matlovich, to represent those lost during the AIDS crisis. This flag design “forces the viewer to confront

Aro/ace fact:

Aromantic asexual people are colloquially known as "aro-ace" or "aroace". Aromantic individuals are also able to experience platonic love and may have committed friendships, and some form intimate non-romantic partnerships called "queerplatonic relationships". the early 2000s as a way for individuals to explore and understand their experiences of limited or absent sexual and romantic attractions.

Agender fact:

agender" was actually on the Internet! It was born in the year 2000, on an Internet forum called UseNet. In a chat room discussion entitled alt. messianic, a user posted the following: “God is amorphous, agender, so image can't be a physical or gender or sexual thing.” Agender is a term used by individuals who do not identify with any specific gender or who experience a lack of gender altogether. Agender people have a sense that their gender identity is completely neutral, or does not exist at all. They may use words like "genderless" and "gender free" to describe themselves.

Trigender fact:

In Ancient Greece, Phrygia, and the Roman Republic and Empire, Cybele and Attis were worshiped by galli priests (documented from around 200 BCE to around 300 CE) who wore feminine clothes, referred to themselves as women, and often castrated themselves, and have therefore been seen as early transgender figures. The exact origin of the term "trigender" is unknown, but it has been mentioned as early as 1998. The prefix tri- means three, so "trigender" literally means "three gender".

Gay fact:

2400 BCE, are speculated to have been gay based on a representation of them embracing nose-to-nose in their shared tomb, though critics say that they were likely brothers. In 1978 Harvey Milk became the first openly gay man elected to public office in the United States, and the first openly gay or lesbian person to be elected to public office in California, when he won a seat on the San Francisco Board of Supervisors. "The green (Community) and teal (Joy) in the flag represent Nature. I thought this was important because love between men is often seen as “unnatural” in the eyes of society and in religion. Furthermore, gay men have historically used green flowers and plants (Carnations, hyacinths, etc.) to symbolize our love, reinforcing our connection with Nature. The white stripe is adopted from the Trans Pride flag because trans, nb, and GNC men are often erased or talked over and need explicit representation.

Pansexual fact:

the hybrid words pansexual and pansexualism were first attested in 1914 (spelled pan-sexualism), coined by opponents of Sigmund Freud to denote the idea "that the sex instinct plays the primary part in all human activity, mental and physical". created to differentiate between the bisexuality flag, which also has three horizontal bars. It was created on the internet sometime around 2010, and has gained popularity since then. The Pansexual symbol combines the male, female, and transgender symbols into one, new, P-shaped symbol representing pansexuality.

Demigirl fact:

The earliest demigirl flag was created on April 15th, 2014 by Tumblr user kyriefortune. The second demigirl flag was created on August 24th, 2015 by pride-flags based on Willow's demiguy flag. Another flag was posted on the same day by pride-flags also based on Willow's demiguy flag. A gender identity term for someone who was assigned female at birth but does not fully identify with being a woman, socially or mentally. transgender pride-flag, retaining the central white & pink stripes representing enbies & women, but with 4 added horizontal stripes of different shades of grey to signify a disconnect and/or uncertainty associated with this gender-identity.

Hope you all had a great pride month. Can’t wait to do more of them.

What pride art should I do next year?

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Sahil Kapur at NBC News:

WASHINGTON — Donald Trump has chosen Sen. JD Vance, an Ohio Republican, to be his vice presidential running mate, catapulting the first-term senator into the national spotlight.

Vance was an outspoken Trump critic during the 2016 presidential campaign, the same year Vance was promoting his memoir “Hillbilly Elegy.” He has since transformed into one of Trump’s staunchest MAGA allies over 18 months in the Senate, after winning a 2022 race for an open seat in red-trending Ohio. As a senator, Vance is known for his "America First" skepticism of U.S. involvement in global affairs like the war in Ukraine and his opposition to bipartisan deals on government funding. He has also helped lead a rail safety bill across party lines in the wake of last year's deadly train derailment in East Palestine, Ohio. And Vance has echoed Trump's attacks on the legitimacy of the 2020 election, which the ex-president has put front and center in his campaign as he continues to promote false claims that it was stolen from him. Unlike some other vice presidential prospects, Vance was not in Congress on Jan. 6, 2021, and didn’t vote on certifying President Joe Biden’s victory. In a February 2024 interview on ABC News, Vance endorsed the claim that the 2020 election was problematic and said Congress should have considered competing slates of electors. [...]

An opponent of Ukraine aid and abortion rights

Vance has carved out a niche as a vocal opponent of aid to Ukraine, arguing that the U.S. should encourage a deal in which Ukraine cedes land to Russia in order to end the war. He has dismissed concerns that Vladimir Putin would continue his territorial march through Europe if he takes Ukraine. And while he has continued to express support for Israel, he has broadly stood against interventionist U.S. foreign policies.

“There’s still this fundamental inability to deal with the limits of American power in the 21st century,” Vance told NBC News in April, after the Senate passed $95 billion in Ukraine aid, adding that his colleagues — who have “have presided over the declining relative strength of this country” — should instead work to rebuild it. During his year-and-a-half in the Democratic-controlled Senate, Vance has led the introduction of 57 bills or resolutions, none of which have become law, according to the legislative tracking website Congress.gov. He has co-sponsored many more, just two of which have made it to President Joe Biden's desk. They would have undone Biden's consumer and environmental regulations. Biden vetoed both. Vance has co-sponsored symbolic resolutions that have been adopted by the chamber, including a resolution to celebrate the U.S. flag and the Pledge of Allegiance, and another resolution to honor the life of former first lady Rosalynn Carter. Vance has been a reliable vote with the right flank of the party against most of Biden’s legislative priorities, judicial nominees and bipartisan government funding deals that have been championed by Republican leaders in both chambers.

Like most Republicans, Vance has consistently voted against Democratic-led legislation to codify abortion rights, restore the protections of Roe v. Wade, establish federal rights to access contraception and create protections for in vitro fertilization. Vance opposed and campaigned against last year’s ballot initiative in Ohio to protect abortion access, calling the measure’s passage “a gut punch.” He has rejected calls for tougher gun laws and clashed with Democrats over the politically thorny issue. And he voted to sink a bipartisan border security deal this year that Trump and many conservatives said didn't go far enough. [...] On the one-year anniversary of the Capitol attack, Vance — a Yale Law School graduate — falsely claimed that “dozens” of people “who haven’t even been charged with a crime yet” were being held in “D.C. prisons” pre-trial when, in fact, every person who was held in pretrial custody had been charged and had been ordered held by a judge. Vance linked to a fundraiser for Jan. 6 defendants including Jack Wade Whitton, who subsequently confessed to his crime and was sentenced to more than four years in federal prison.

Trump VP pick J.D. Vance has crafted a far-right image during his time in the Senate, such as opposition to Ukraine Aid funding, support abortion bans, opposition to IVF and contraception protections, election denialist claims about the 2020 election being “stolen”, and opposition to bipartisan government funding bills.

[josefavomjaaga]

Bessières and Soult in Spain

After the battle of Baylèn in 1808, King Pepe Joseph had been driven from Madrid for the first time. Napoleon could not come to his brother’s aid immediately, because he first had to watch some theater plays together with Alexander during their meeting at Erfurt. Priorities. However, among others, Bessières was still holding out in Spain (under direct orders of Joseph which cannot have been much fun), leading second corps.

When the congress of Erfurt had ended, Napoleon hastily threw all available troops into the peninsula, including a certain marshal Soult who was destined to take over second corps. And while Soult’s presence usually caused his fellow marshals to adapt a slightly hostile attitude, Bessières, waiting in front of the enemy fortress of Burgos and not quite daring to attack, might be the only example of the marshal species who even wished for Soult's prompt arrival. It even seems that, on learning on 6 November 1808 that Soult was on his way and that he himself would take over Murat’s former position at the head of the cavalry reserve, he deliberately postponed all action and rather chose to leave the job to Soult:

The day of 8 November was lost unnecessarily by Bessières, and this was a blunder [...] The Marshal gave no serious excuse for his inaction; was it the high number of men attributed to the enemy that stopped him, was it that he waited for Soult's arrival in order to hand over command of the 2nd corps to him and to concern himself only with the cavalry? In a first letter to Berthier, he announced that "a full-scale battle" was needed to take the vicinity of Burgos, but he did not dare or did not want to fight it. In a second letter, he wrote: "I would very much like Marshal Soult to arrive soon... Marshal Soult and I will get on very well together."

As weird as that sounds, he was right about that latter point. Bessières also seems to have been delighted at the idea of rejoining Napoleon’s guard and at taking over the cavalry. Sounds as if he, learned cavalryman that he was, had not been very comfortable with commanding infantry.

Soult set out from Vittoria towards Briviesca on the evening of the 8th and joined Bessières on the morning of the 9th, who handed over command of the 2nd Corps to him.

Bessières: Oh, for god’s sake, you’re here! Look, I’m perfectly fine with the cavalry stuff but … there’s also all these folks who have uniforms and weapons – but no horses? Do you know what those are? What are we supposed to do with them?

Soult took command of his troops and began his offensive movement: he stopped on the evening of the 9th at the entrance to the defile which from Quintanapalla through Villafria leads to Gamonal and opens onto the Burgos plain. He wrote to Berthier: "His Excellency Marshal Bessières has kindly agreed to come with me as far as Burgos…"

Soult: Oh, c’mon, Bessie, I’m sure the emperor can wait another day. We’ve not even had time to properly catch up on everything…

Bessières: Okay. But only as far as Burgos. I’m not in the mood for another of Nappy’s lectures...

Bessières was to lead the cavalry, Soult the infantry. Soult had only expected an "avantgarde engagement" to take Burgos: it was a battle that had to be fought, as Bessières had thought, but the battle was a brilliant victory. On 10 November, at noon, Soult wrote to the Emperor from Burgos: "Your Majesty is master of Burgos: the corps of Estramadure, 12,000 strong, is destroyed. There are already more than 1,000 prisoners, 10 cannon, many caissons: the ground, for more than a league, is covered with corpses, weapons and debris; two flags have also been taken. Marshal Bessières has already passed Burgos and is pursuing on the road to Madrid all those who fled in a rout..."

[Translated from: A. Rabel, Le Maréchal Bessières, Duc d’Istrie]

Seeing somebody work well together with Soult in Spain is a nice change for once. Unfortunately it was pretty much the only time.

[berriethewizard]

let me lose on losing dogs - Hyrule Warriors fic

Sprout (oot/mm link) did not return from the latest battle, and Link heads out to find him. What he finds, instead, is something else. aka, obligatory Fierce Deity angst fic. Wordcount: 4102

(for more detailed description, or preferred reading location, ao3 link here)

----

Captain Link Bennett, Observation Log, Date: 02/xx/1692

Sailor dropped Sprout off at our tent today. He was carried off the battlefield, awake but exhausted. Once I got him tucked in, Sailor then pulled me aside and detailed what I had missed in hushed tones – I’ve never seen him more serious. 

The Fierce Deity, Proxy managed to weasel out of Sprout. Sailor described him being possessed by it, the spirit seemingly locked inside that mask he carries. A powerful thing, decimating all that was in its path, the battlefield cleared within moments – the soldiers I asked confirmed what Sailor saw. The soldiers that weren’t caught up in the violence, that is. He also said the spirit seemed… reluctant to return Sprout to normal, afterward.  

Sprout seemed the same as ever once he was up again. Physically healthy, happily listening to Sailor and Midna talk around the campfire and eat his soup. But the kid is an expert at hiding what he wants nobody to see, and I know it hurts him. Nothing with that much power comes without cost. Nothing. 

He’s asleep in my bed right now, because neither of us would have anything different. Sailor is curled up in his own bedroll, snoring loudly. I suppose it’s time for me to crawl into the bed and get my own sleep, and see if he is willing to tell me more in the morning. Sailor said if he’d tell anyone, it’d be me. I really hope so. 

~

Couldn’t sleep. Tried to investigate the mask, because there was something about it keeping me up. It felt like flesh in my hands, for a split second. I will be asking Sprout about this in the morning. 

Goodnight – if I can manage it.

----

Sprout is missing. 

Link steps over the ruins of the latest battle. He had led the remaining weary soldiers of his platoon back to camp, sending each to their tents to recuperate. A few from the other groups had greeted them as the last to return. And then Ravio had loitered by his side, once the rest had passed to return to duties, and anxiously asked, “Sprout isn’t with you?” 

He steps over the body of something, a lump covered in the flag of the nation of Hyrule, and doesn't have the stomach to check if it was an ally. Doesn’t have the stomach to check if the meagre dignity of the tarp covering their corpse is a cruel symbol of anything, or a sign of their hollow victory. 

A lot of people died today. Good people. Honourable people. And, goddesses above, he hopes his boy isn’t among them. 

There was a part of Link that didn’t want to get close to those that were pulled through from the other eras. A group he knew would be leaving him, so why bother? Why set his heart up to be broken? But then he met them, more of them than those he met in their own domains. Those across the timeline that Lana deemed ‘useful’, their stories far behind his and yet affecting him profoundly – he couldn’t turn away. At first, it was in awe – the sailor, two heroic quests under his belt and many more smaller adventures in between, only sixteen years old. Ravio, someone who insisted he wasn’t brave, yet not only stepped up at every chance to aid them in other ways, but also did his best when caught up in the battle anyway. The tinkerer, and his mastery over a machine Link has never fathomed before in his life, seamlessly integrating his knowledge into that of the Gorons in their company, almost always guaranteeing their victory.

And Sprout. Brave, young Sprout. His Sprout.

When he had first met Sprout, something in him switched. Beyond the urge to rip shreds into Lana for willingly bringing a child into this horrific war, regardless of who that child was. (Which he did, for the record, in front of every one of his superiors. He still doesn’t know if they saw it as a conviction of values or an unwillingness to face his own fate in the matter.) For the first time since the valley: he was going to make it. Just to look after these people. Ravio and the tinkerer will have the resources they need to make what they want. Sailor will tell his stories and Link will learn the songs that come along with them. Sprout will get to be a kid. War be damned, destiny be damned, they will get to live their lives during, and after this. He will see it through (regardless of his broken heart at the end of it all).

Link steps over discarded weapons, limbs of friend and foe, sundered barricades and bomb craters. All the while, his eyes are trained to pick up a bright green among the dull of the land – a tunic way too small to be present in such a place, his own a mockery of it, dressed up for war. He skirts around a still smouldering pile of wood and ash in his path; the sky is clouded, but the rain has yet to dampen the carnage. Sprout wasn’t in his group – as much as it pains him to be unable to protect him, strategy dictates separating those with unique abilities to assist on different fronts – and he is crossing over into territory he didn’t fight in. It looks like everything else: ruined. 

But he knows something happened here. The soldiers retreated too early, joining his own ranks and those of Zelda and Impa’s – nothing on their lips but a frightened: “Something helpful arrived, but it can’t tell who’s the enemy.” When nothing followed them, neither monster nor this mysterious something, they wrote it off as a random portal-related phenomenon to be investigated after the dust had settled. But Sprout has not returned. And as Link walks through the ruins of the battlefield, he has a sinking, gut-churning suspicion as to why. 

“There’s some deal, or sick game, the spirit has with Sprout,” Sailor had murmured, tone severe, “It kept its claws in him for too long – like it didn’t want to give up the fight.”

Rounding the corner past a hill has him coming upon a massacre. 

Monsters’ bodies are slow to fade into smoke, sometimes. Especially when there are so many in such a small area. But the littering of monster corpses across the battlefield does not disguise the sheer amount of Hylian bodies. Nor does it distract from the oppressive presence of the figure standing in the middle of it. 

It stands over seven feet tall. Its armour shines under an invisible sun, gleaming brighter than should be possible – like it's not quite on this plane of existence. The large helix sword is idly resting in one hand; it weighs nothing in the warrior’s grip. Even with its back turned to him, Link feels as though its eyes are on him, weighing down upon his shoulders, a condemnation. A judgement.

And then it turns to meet his gaze, and that sick mockery of his kid’s face is staring back at him.

Link knew, of course, the resemblance. The shape of the hair, a cool white in place of soft blonde. The point of the nose, grown to fit a larger face. The same mouth and eyes, blankly staring instead of crinkling with a smile. And he knows the legends – he knows Sprout has seen his own adult face, forced to grow up too fast, and then back again without any say in his own autonomy. That’s precisely why it feels so wrong to have this… spirit match him in such a way. His visage twisted and into one used as a weapon, a cruel mirror of everything Sprout was forced to become under destiny.

Under the weight of its stare, Link’s voice falters. “W-where is he?” This is not Sprout. The spirit has taken him away, locked him up in a prison of his own body, breaking it to suit its needs.

The Deity just watches. Observing – Link feels like he’s being stripped back under its scrutiny, bare and vulnerable even in all his layers. His very soul is being witnessed, in this moment, ripped out of his chest and held in the balance; to be saved or shattered. He fears for the version of it Sprout holds.

He tries to ask again, voice small and meek and falling away from him. “...Where’s my son?” 

The Fierce Deity takes a step towards him. Adrenaline rushes through Link’s system, all-enveloping, immediately forcing him to take a step back. It cocks its head at the action. Takes another step. He desperately tries to resist the urge to flee, but he steps back again. A third step forward – Link forces his legs to still.

“Give- give him back!” His voice cracks, not used to raising it, Proxi woefully absent to do it in his stead (but he wouldn’t want her to see this spirit corrupt someone she is so fond of anyway). It stops then, still watching him, Link frozen against its gaze. It looks like it’s going to say something, and he waits with his breath held.

“Hero… you care for this vessel?” Its voice is in multiple tones, deep baritones clashing and echoing against a melody, almost surrounding him despite the single source. Once again, like it is not grounded to the earth. But it is not just the way it sounds, but the words itself that give him pause. 

Vessel… Sprout is a conduit to this spirit. It says it so impersonally, like his personhood doesn’t matter, only worthy as a tool. It’s sickeningly similar to everything else in their joint experience. Vessel of destiny. Holder of the triforce. Hero, not by choice, but by burden of prophecy. Someone coming along, pulling them into a war, because they will be useful. And questioning if, why, he cares for Sprout? How could he not? This bright, brave young boy, too much hurt in his past and too much ahead of him, once again treated like a tool before a child in this war – it is his responsibility to, not just because it is his fault that this is all happening in the first place, but because he wants it to be. Link lies awake each night, Sprout curled up against him in the bed, and hopes he feels a fraction of the love he’s trying to pour into him. He knows it won’t make up for everything else, but someone has to give it. He deserves it more than anyone.

The terror still grips his throat, but anger curls up against it; the longer it keeps using Sprout, the more it builds. 

“I-I do. And I want him back.” He isn’t above fighting. He isn’t above begging. He’ll do anything to ensure his kid’s safety, whether this spirit is that of a god’s or not. 

“This vessel wears my mask willingly.” The same stare, the same lack of emotion. The same disregard for Sprout as a person and his circumstances. Of course he does it ‘willingly’ – in the same way someone ‘willingly’ cuts their hand off to escape binds in captivity. He looks at the bodies strewn about the battlefield. Nobody chooses this. 

“And he should be allowed to take it off willingly.” Link stares back into the eyes of the Fierce Deity. As he tries to find even the smallest glimmer of Sprout within them, a tiny crumb of an inclination that there’s some resistance, it takes another step forward.

Then it rushes him.

Link doesn't have time to react. It moves fast, faster than possible, faster than any mortal could – all he can do is throw himself to the side in hopes of dodging the attack. It’s fruitless, but instead of a blade meeting his body, his arm is grabbed and squeezed. The Fierce Deity holds him in place and leans in, their faces inches apart, pure terror striking through Link’s veins as the overwhelming power of its presence bears down on him. 

Link stares into its face. The face that is Sprout’s but also so very not in the same breath, a face that is wrong and marked, a face he shouldn’t be seeing for many more years. (And isn’t that a thought? Getting to watch Sprout grow up? A fruitless fantasy, only possible in this one twisted moment.) Holds his breath, heart pounding in his chest, unable to do anything but stand held and wait for the spirit’s next move. 

It squeezes down harder on his arm, almost to breaking and definitely to bruising, like its next words are urgent. And they are. 

“Will you look after this vessel?” Its voice is faded and wispy. Instead of the harmonies of its power before, it's now a hush, a tremor in the land, fuzzy and distant. Like it's being pulled away somewhere. Like it’s losing its grip. 

“Y-yes, of course…?” Link stammers out, perplexed. 

“Good.” Suddenly, light pours out from the Fierce Deity’s eyes, forcing Link to close his own against it. Then, the grip on his arm slackens and disappears entirely – and Sprout’s small body is falling to the ground. 

Link reaches out to catch him immediately, body hitting his arms and sending him to his knees. Whether it’s just because of his weight, or that the oppressive force of the Fierce Deity is no longer present and his body is faltering as a result of the relief, he doesn’t know. He is shaking as he pulls Sprout closer to his chest.

He’s out cold, but breathing evenly. A collection of small cuts and bruises litter the skin Link can see, no doubt more underneath his tunic. There’s a slight stain of red in his bangs, and when Link brings a shaking hand up to push them back, he can see a half-congealed cut across his forehead. And that the roots of the front of his hair are white.

He glances down at where the mask now rests on the ground by his knees, and swallows a shaking, hollow breath.

Nothing without a cost.

Link pulls Sprout impossibly closer, trying so very desperately not to lose himself entirely in this moment. Waves of grief overtake him for a boy that still lives in his arms. Breathing evenly, simply asleep, protected by a spirit from the horrors around him when it became too much. But the cost… the cost of all of this. He shouldn’t even be here. Link is kneeling on a battlefield of his own creation, holding a child who shouldn’t even understand how to hold a sword. The twisting of fate sinks into his stomach like a knife – when he was Sprout’s age, he dreamed of being a hero.  A foolish one, he of course now knows, but at least he got to have that childhood of fairy tales before it was all ripped away. 

It’s been a mantra, in his head, this whole time. The little voice in his mind that sounds like himself as a child. It isn’t fair! it cries. A voice that mirrors Sailor’s after a bad nightmare, shaking and bitter. Midna’s raging through a tent stacked with crates, infuriated, curses throughout. Ravio’s after a harrowing day helping chase supplies to and from the infirmary, scared and exhausted. It isn’t fair! He’s never heard Sprout say it, and that quite possibly hurts him more than every inconsolable night holding him tight in their bed. Does he even know what is and isn’t fair, when so much of his life has been this? Does he know? How much better he could have it, if the world loved him enough?

The first raindrops fall in tandem with Link’s tears as he curls around Sprout’s unconscious body. He knows he should get up and start moving – it will do neither of them any good to stay shivering on the battlefield in the rain, and Sprout still needs medical care. But his legs are numb, unwilling to follow his commands, and the rest of him just wants to hold Sprout for a moment. Ignore the death and pain around him, and just… hold his son close to his chest. 

He knows his love isn’t enough, either, but he holds him anyway.

An hour later, soaked to the bone and finally stumbling back into camp, Sailor and Proxi are the ones that lead them to their tent. Link lost himself, in the chill of the weather, and he sits numbly on the floor watching Sailor wrap the cuts and scrapes on Sprout’s little body while Proxi flits about his head and frets. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to – Sailor took one look at the boy in his arms and his face turned to stone. On the walk back, the entire front of Sprout’s hair had turned white. 

When they’re both dry and tucked into bed, Sailor sinks to the floor cross-armed to lean against it. Link feels bad, how often it seems that Sailor is the one looking after him, even though he’s the older one. In many of the same ways he sees Sprout as his son, he sees Sailor as a little brother. Also more experienced beyond his age, also burdened in the same way he is, but keeping it all hidden behind a carefree and mischievous air. It’s only in moments such as this that Link faces how truly wise he is to all of this.

“Do you want me to take it? The mask. We can stop him from using it again – I’m pretty good at hiding things.” 

Link stares up at the tent ceiling. Hesitates. “Will you look after this vessel?” The Fierce Deity’s words echo in his mind. Was it self-preservation, that the spirit asked that of him? Was it the simple need to keep the tool that allows it freedom in working order? Or was there something more? Is there truly just a mutually beneficial deal here – Sprout winning any battle, and the Fierce Deity revelling in it – or is there something else fighting in his kid’s corner, however unorthodox?

The traitorous part of his mind is refusing to let go of how clearly powerful the mask is. The strategy of using it, this maybe-god trapped in a mask, as one of their strongest weapons against the darkness yet. Maybe if the burden was no longer on such a small body…

“We don’t have to hide it away. As long as Sprout is not the one using it—”

“Swapping the burden onto yourself won’t erase its weight.” 

Link’s thoughts halt in their tracks. Sailor doesn’t look back at him, silence hanging heavy in the tent, almost letting the words sink in. Then he groans, throwing his head back onto the bed. 

“Look at this, you got me talkin’ like the old boat, this is bullshit. I’m supposed to be the fun one, here,” he glances up at Link – staring back at him wide-eyed – and when it becomes apparent he doesn’t know what to say, Sailor sighs. “He doesn’t want you hurt just as much as you don’t want him hurt, you know that right? You’re not the exception to the rule here just because it’s your quest. We care about you, I care about both of you – and if I have to chuck that mask into the Great Sea just to stop it from bein’ used, I will.” 

He reaches out and gently clasps Link’s shoulder, squeezing it. Link still doesn’t say anything. His brain struggles to catch up with the conversation. It… doesn’t work like that, normally. It is his job to take on the burden. From the very moment he wrapped the scarf around his neck, it was his to carry.

But this is Sailor’s third time doing something like this, and a part of him does recognise that what Sailor is doing right now is exactly what he does for Sprout. Tries to take a little off his shoulders, soothe the worries and give him a carefree moment when he can. He doesn’t quite know how to feel about it. 

Sailor takes his silence for refusal to agree, and sighs again, before standing. “We’ll talk more about this later, when Sprout is awake again. For now, it’s time you took a good nap with the lad, alright?” 

Link takes it for the out it is and nods. Sailor reaches over and ruffles his hair, and he can’t help but scrunch his face up and huff. “Yknow, you’re supposed to be the younger brother, here,” Link jokes, trying to break the tension from the deep conversation, brief as it was. 

“What? No way! I’m the older brother back home, and that is not changing just because you happen to be older than me. I’m infinitely smarter and more cleverer than you, anyway.”

Link raises an eyebrow. “‘More cleverer,’ huh?” Sailor just crosses his arms again. 

“Whatever. I’m going to go get some food. Rest well, little bro.” 

Sailor leaves the tent and Link settles back into the pillow properly, taking a deep breath. Sprout snuffles faintly in his sleep, curling closer against him, and he turns onto his side so he can press him directly against his chest. Hold him, safe and warm.

Sailor mentioned back home. He tries not to think about it, most days. About how when the war ends, he’ll have to send everyone off back to their own eras. It hurts too much to imagine saying goodbye.

The grief returns tenfold now the dust has truly settled – Link pulls Sprout even closer to him. What is he going to do, when he has to say goodbye to Sprout? When he has to send his son back through that portal, never to see him again? He can feel the hole in his chest already. This war, there is no part of this that is fair to any of them. But…

No, Link doesn’t have an excuse. Just a small, selfish dream to watch his kid grow up while he’s there to love him through it. To watch him come into adult features naturally over time – the soft blonde hair, maybe grown out and tied back into a ponytail, to match Sailor’s braid. The point of his nose, perhaps in an awkward phase where it grows before the rest of his face grows to match it. Watch through the days as Sprout smiles and laughs and grins, wrinkles forming at the edges of his eyes, instead of the indentations of a frown. 

Link can’t love him enough to replace the horrors of the world around him. But if he had a way to keep protecting him from some of it, take the burden and the loneliness off his shoulders, he’d do it in a heartbeat. 

He gets an idea.

“Hey, Proxi?” She flutters awake from her place on the pillow, paying attention. “Why do you follow me around? Do you have a… mission?”

The fairy hums, thinking for a moment. “It’s so I can help you! Give you a voice when you don’t have it during this war. I do also just like you a lot, though.” Link knows she also likes Sprout a lot, too.

“And, when the war is over? Is your mission over?”

“I suppose you could see it like that – unless you don’t want it to be? Why? Got a new one for me or something?”

“I do.” He looks down at Sprout. He mentioned, once, how he had a fairy of his own. The past tense of the conversation clearly upset him, and Link didn’t push for more. Link takes a deep breath, choking up at the mere concept of talking about this out loud. “Would you go with him, when the war ends? I can’t… I can’t look after him, when he goes back home. But you can go anywhere you want, right?” Tears water in his eyes again. A lump in his throat. “I don’t want him to be alone ever again. Please make it your mission to look after him, and protect him, when I no longer can.”

He sniffs, and Proxi comes to settle herself against his cheek. “Oh, Link… I will do my very best.” 

Link curls around Sprout, pushing his face into the top of his head – the white hair appearing against his eyes even as they’re closed – and tries to silence the sentence repeating over and over and over in his mind. 

It isn’t fucking fair…

He falls asleep like that, weight piled onto his shoulders, a hole of grief slowly cracking open in his chest. 

[acourtofquestions]

Tower of Dawn Chapter 59:

🚨spoiler alert🚨

A naval battle. Aelin against Maeve. He waited for the dangling sword to drop. If he had been too late--

Aelin--thank the gods Aelin had managed to find a way-- "Though there were some interesting details." Then the princess rattled off the facts. The numbers. A third of Maeve's armada, bearing Whitethorn flags, had turned on their own and joined Terrasen's fleet. Dorian had fought--held the front lines with Rowan. Then a pack of wyverns had soared in from nowhere--to fight for Aelin.

Manon Blackbeak. Chaol would be willing to bet his life that some-how, either through Aelin or Dorian, that witch had done them a favor, and possibly altered the course of this war.

"The magic, they say, was impressive," Hasar went on. "Ice and wind and water." Dorian and Rowan. "Even rumor of a shape-shifter." Lysandra. "But no darkness. Or whatever Maeve fights with. And no flame."

"Though some reports claim they spotted flame and shadow on shore--far away. Flickers of both. There and gone. And no one spotted Aelin or the Dark Queen in the fleet."

It would have been like Aelin, to shift the battle between her and Maeve to the shore. To minimize casualties, so she could unleash her full power without hesitation.

"As I said," Hasar continued, fluffing the skirts of her dress, "They were victorious. Aelin was spotted returning to her armada hours later. They've set sail--north, apparently."

He muttered a prayer of thanks to Mala. And a prayer of thanks to whatever god watched over Dorian, too. "Any major casualties?"

"To their men, yes, but not to any of the interesting players," Hasar said, and Chaol hated her. "But Maeve ... there and gone, not a whisper of her left." She frowned at the windows. "Maybe she'll sail here to lick her wounds."

Chaol prayed that wouldn't be the case. Yet if Maeve's armada still sat in the Narrow Sea when they took the crossing ... "But the others sail north now--to where?" Where can I find my king, my brother?

"I'd assume Terrasen, now that Aelin has her armada. Oh, and another one."

Hasar smiled at him. Waiting for the question--the plea. "What other armada," Chaol forced himself to ask. Hasar shrugged, walking from the room. "Turns out, Aelin called in a debt. To the Silent Assassins of the Red Desert." Chaol's eyes burned.

"And to Wendlyn."

His hands began shaking.

"How many ships," he breathed.

"All of them," Hasar said, hand on the door. "All of Wendlyn's armada came, commanded by Crown Prince Galan himself."

Aelin... Chaol's blood sparked, and he looked to Yrene. Her eyes were wide, bright. Bright with hope--burning, precious hope.

"Turns out," Hasar mused, as if it were a passing thought, "there are quite a few people who think highly of her. And who believe in what she's selling."

"Which is what?" Yrene whispered.

Hasar shrugged. "I assume it's what she tried to sell to me, when she wrote me a message weeks ago, asking for my aid. From one princess to another."

Chaol took a shuddering breath. "What did Aelin promise you?"

Hasar smiled to herself.

"A better world."

[autisticsupervillain]

Complete Monster Write-Up: Reza Zaydan

What's the Work?

Hitman is stealth action game franchise following the adventures of the world's greatest assassin, Agent 47. The World of Assassination Trilogy is the latest entry in the series as of now, with its third main story mission having two targets for 47 to bring down: Carl Strandberg and today's candidate Reza Zaydan.

Who's the Candidate? What have they done?

Reza Zaydan is a general in the Moroccan Army, known amongst his peers more for womanizing and social skills than for any actual military victory. A classic nepotism baby, Zaydan is always looking to get more power and is willing to sink to any low to get it if it means upstaging the rest of his highly successful family.

Willingly signing up with an international secret society called Providence, Zaydan agreed to become their Puppet King if they aided him in taking over Morroco. To this end, he hatched a plan with banker Claus Strandberg to initiate a military coup. When Strandberg gets caught steeling millions of dollars from the Moroccan public, Zaydan hires mercenaries to break him out of jail, leaving countless innocents and security personnel dead in their wake. This sparks a public outcry that causes riots all across Marrakesh, which Zaydan hopes he can use to justify a full on military coup, painting the Moroccan government as weak and incompetent to his fellow commanders for their inability to handle the riots so they'll join him in uprising.

To further fuel the flames, Zaydan has his people spread propaganda for the terrorist organization Crystal Dawn, hoping to use their supposed involvement to spark massive violent riots across all the most populated cities in Morroco. Once the dust is settled, Zaydan shamelessly admits he plans to have these false flag operatives executed so they can't contradict the narrative he's created.

When one of Zaydan's closest lieutenants and friends learns that his brother died in the Strandberg prison break, he threatens to go public with the truth behind the coup. Zaydan rewards this treachery by have him captured and tortured with advanced interrogation techniques, smugly taunting him about his dead brother in between rounds of torture. Out on the streets, Zaydan's soldiers have innocent people thrown out of their houses and workplaces to convert them to military bases for the upcoming coup, with one store owner in particular being threatened at gun point and told his family will be shot if he does not cooperate. Zaydan has turned the public school into his personal base for the coup this way, forcing the headmaster to live with a relative nearby as he now has nowhere else to go since he cannot work.

Desiring nothing more than to dominate his own country, Zaydan smugly admits that once all is said and done, he plans to throw Strandberg from a plane once he's no longer needed, happy to kill anyone who gets in his way of conquering Morroco.

Thankfully, Agent 47 is brought in to put a stop to this violent insurrection, eliminating both Zaydan and Strandberg before any further damage can be done.

Mitigating Factors?

Nothing concretely redeeming at any rate. Zaydan comes from a large, wealthy family and its suggested that this is what fuels his lust for power, but he never mentions them and no redeeming care or fondness is implied. Zaydan is not popular amongst his own troops, with many badmouthing him behind his back for being a cowardly nepo baby. Several of his own troops express disgust for his fondness for torture and his orders to shoot civilians, with him childishly blowing up at any he hears criticize him. While Zaydan gets on better with his lieutenants, he's happy to throw them to the wolves when betrayed, as discussed above. If directly confronted by 47, he'll even flee to save his own life, leaving all his troops, loyal or not, for dead.

He's not even liked by his girlfriends. One spy working for international terrorist group IAGO mentions that she hates him so much that she's considering quiting just so she won't have to keep dating him.

The biggest concern is being played seriously. There's an Easter Egg in which, if every soldier in the building is dismissed, Zaydan will start dancing a silly dance to goofy disco music. That said, this isn't canon. It's a silly easter egg with no baring or context in the plot and shouldn't be taken against Zaydan's canon actions.

The other issue is Zaydan's potential death, where 47 can drop a toilet on his head from the floor above while he whines about his soldiers disrespecting him. This is his only silly moment in canon, though, and its not enough to detract from how dead straight his atrocities are played otherwise.

Heinous Standard

Hitman's heinous standard is jacked. Just in the WOA Trilogy alone, we have a terrorist organization that got a diplomat and his family killed by leaking classified flight plans, an organ harvester who experiments on the homeless to create mind control technology, and a cult hellbent on spreading an apocalyptic plague around the world.

That said, Zaydan is the most heinous villain in his niche. The latter above examples are CMs in their own right with backing from large, international organizations. Zaydan is ultimately a small cog in Providence's large design whose mostly content just subjugating his own country. As far as dictators whose scope is limited to just their country go? Zaydan is easily the worst.

All the other dictators in the franchise that 47 goes after are all already retired by the time he gets to them, so their crimes are offhandedly described in conversation and mission briefings. Nothing they do goes quite so far in scope and attempted body count as Zaydan does. We see, in gameplay, most of his atrocities play out in front of us. Civilians forced from their homes, a whistle-blower tortures, a riot in the verge of bloodshed that Zaydan plans to spread to major cities all around the country, putting the pieces in place to justify gunning down thousands of innocent civilians to secure his rise to power. Yeah, I think he's bad enough by a hair or two.

Conclusion

He's got a yes from me. I think he just clinches it.

[random-thought-depository]

Just gonna do this like a band-aid: quick and rough so it's over with fast: Trump won.

Looks like Republicans are likely to control the next Congress too.

After having slept terribly last night because of election anxiety, I feel weirdly calmer now. At least now I know the outcome, we lost, they won, I know what to expect, and I can plan from there.

The smart guess was always that this was basically a coin toss, but in the last few days before the election it looked like things were looking up and I'd allowed myself cautious optimism. That made the disappointment of last night sharper.

The results really do look humiliating for Democrats, looks like Trump won the popular vote, though I guess that might change as all the votes get counted (not that this would concretely help us much).

In retrospect I think the fact that Harris's path to the top of the ticket was "do poorly in 2020 primaries, get picked as VP because Biden thought she was someone he could work with, become the obvious successor when Biden dropped out" might have been a huge red flag. Of Hillary Clinton, Joe Biden, and Kamala Harris, Biden had the most competitive primary, and I think one practical lesson for the Democrats from this might be the importance of having their candidate be selected by a really competitive primary. You should stress-test your Presidential candidates to verify that they're actually good at winning national elections before you put them at the top of the ticket!

I'm not super-optimistic about the "this big tent establishment-led don't spook the centrists triangulation approach isn't working, it got us an underwhelming victory with a once-in-a-century wind at our backs in 2020 and now this, the Dems should have been much less dismissive of the uncommitted movement and taken a much harder line on Israel, should have full-throatedly advocated for left-liberal economic policies instead of trying to get the country to swallow them on the down-low like trying to get a dog to swallow a pill by wrapping it in meat, should have aggressively attacked conservative institutional advantages by doing stuff like court-packing, etc., not just cause that's a morally superior set of positions but cause it'd be a better political strategy" take being anything but wishful thinking, but, I dunno, at this point part of me is thinking, yeah, maybe we might as well try that radical high-risk high-reward strategy next time cause the present approach clearly isn't working well. Then again, even if that would work I'm not optimistic about the Dems actually trying it instead of defaulting to their usual reflex of deciding they lost because they got too left-wing and moving right to chase the center-right vote. I dunno, I think we've basically just found ourselves living in the bad timeline again.

I really wouldn't want to be in Gaza, but I extra wouldn't want to be there after January 2025. I expect Trump will give Netanyahu a free hand to kill and kill and kill.

Oh, a rancid cherry on top: Trump is really old and if he dies or becomes incapacitated in office we'll get ... President J.D. Vance. Eeeeww. Shudder. That guy is such a creep. At least he's spectacularly uncharismatic so he'd be likely to lose in 2028 if he's the incumbent then and we still have competitive elections by then (at this point that cannot be taken for granted).

*Sigh.*

I fear we're in for a rough four years.

[glvlvukcan]

What Could Happen

(SOPA Images / Getty)

 

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Ukraine is fighting for the lives of its people and its very existence, and it is running out of ammunition. If the United States does not step back in with aid, Russia could eventually win this war.

Despite the twaddle from propagandists in Moscow (and a few academics in the United States), Russia’s war is not about NATO, or borders, or the balance of power. The Russian dictator Vladimir Putin intends to absorb Ukraine into a new Russian empire, and he will eradicate the Ukrainians if they refuse to accept his rule. Europe is in the midst of the largest war on the continent since Nazi panzers rolled from Norway to Greece, and the Russian invasion of Ukraine is by far the most important threat to world peace since the worst days of the Cold War. In a less febrile political era, defeating Russia would be the top priority of every American politician.

The Republicans in Congress, however, remain fixated both on their hatred of Ukraine and on their affection for Russia. Their relentless criticism of assistance to Kyiv has had its intended effect, taking a bite out of the American public’s support for continuing aid, especially as the war has been crowded out by the torrent of more recent news, including Donald Trump’s endless legal troubles and Israel’s campaign in Gaza.

And so it’s time to think more seriously about what might happen if the Republicans succeed in this irresponsible effort to blockade any further assistance to Ukraine. The collapse and dismemberment of a nation of millions is immediately at stake, and that should be enough for any American to be appalled at the GOP’s obstructionism. But the peace of the world itself could rest on what Congress does—or does not do—next.

First, what would it even mean for Russia to “win”? A Russian victory does not require sending Moscow’s tanks into Kyiv, even if that were possible. (The Russians have taken immense losses in manpower and armor, and they would have to fight house-to-house as they approached the capital.) Putin is reckless and a poor strategist, but he is not stupid: He knows that he doesn’t need to plant the Russian flag on the Mother Ukraine statue just yet. He can instead tear Ukraine apart, piece by piece.

The destruction of Ukraine would begin with some kind of cease-fire offered by a Ukrainian leadership that has literally run out of bullets, bombs, and bodies. (The average age of Ukraine’s soldiers is already over 40; there are not that many more men to draft.) The Russians would signal a willingness to deal only with a new Ukrainian regime, perhaps some “government of national salvation” that would exist solely to save whatever would be left of a rump Ukrainian state in the western part of the country while handing everything else over to the Kremlin.

The Russians would then dictate more terms: The United States and NATO would be told to pound sand. Ukraine would have to destroy its weapons and convert its sizable army into a small and weak constabulary force. Areas under Russian control would become, by fiat, parts of Russia. The remaining thing called “Ukraine” would be a demilitarized puppet state, kept from integration of any kind with Europe; in a few years, an internal putsch or a Russian-led coup could produce a new government that would request final union with the Russian Federation. Soon, Ukraine would be part of a new Russian superstate, with Russian forces on NATO’s borders as “peacekeepers” or “border guards,” a ploy the Russians have used in Central Asia since the 1990s.

Imagine the world as Putin (and other dictators, including in China) might see it even a few years from now if Russia wins in 2024: America stood by, paralyzed and shamed, as Ukraine was torn to pieces, as millions of people and many thousands of square miles were added to the Kremlin’s empire, and as U.S. alliances in Europe and then around the world quietly disintegrated—all of which will be even more of a delight in Moscow and Beijing if Americans decide to add the ultimate gift of voting the ignorant and isolationist Trump back into the White House.

The real danger for the U.S. and Europe would begin after Ukraine is crushed, when only NATO would remain as the final barrier to Putin’s dreams of evolving into a new emperor of Eurasia. Putin has never accepted the legitimate existence of Ukraine, but like the unreformed Soviet nostalgist that he is, he has a particular hatred for NATO. After the collapse of Ukraine, he would want to take bolder steps to prove that the Atlantic Alliance is an illusion, a lie promulgated by cowards who would never dare to stop the Kremlin from reclaiming its former Soviet and Russian imperial possessions.

Reckless and emboldened, emotional and facing his own mortality, Putin would be tempted to extend his winning streak and try one last throw of the dice, this time against NATO itself. He would not try to invade all of Europe; he would instead seek to replicate the success of his 2014 capture of Crimea—only this time on NATO territory. Putin might, for example, declare that his commitment to the Russian-speaking peoples of the former Soviet Union compels him to defend Russians in one of the Baltic states. After some Kremlin-sponsored agitation close to the Russian border, Russian forces (including more of the special forces known as “little green men”) might seize a small piece of territory and call it a Russian “safe zone” or “haven”—violating NATO sovereignty while also sticking it to the West for similar attempts many years ago, using similar terms, to protect the Bosnians from Russia’s friends, the Serbs.

The Kremlin would then sit on this piece of NATO territory, daring America and Europe to respond, in order to prove that NATO lacks the courage to fight for its members, and that whatever the strength of the alliance between, say, Washington and London, no one is going to die—or risk nuclear war—for some town in Estonia.

Should Putin actually do any of this, however, he would be making a drastic mistake. Dictators continually misunderstand democracies, believing them to be weak and unwilling to fight. Democracies, including the United States, do hate to fight—until roused to action. Republicans might soon succeed in forcing the United States to abandon Ukraine, but if fighting breaks out in Europe between Russia and America’s closest allies—old and new—no one, not even a President Trump, who has expressed his hostility to NATO and professed his admiration for Putin, is going to be able to keep the United States out of the battle, not least because U.S. forces will inevitably be among NATO’s casualties.

And at that point, anything could happen. The world, should Russia win, will face remarkable new dangers—and for what? Because in 2024 some astonishingly venal and ambitious politicians wanted to hedge their bets and kiss Trump’s ring one more time? Perhaps enough Republicans will come to their senses in time to avert these possible outcomes. If they do not, future historians—that is, if anyone is left to record what happened—will be perplexed at how a small coterie of American politicians were so willing to trade the safety of the planet for a few more years of power.

From The Atlanic Newsletter Feb 9th 2024

[mariacallous]

Congressional staff delegations are simultaneously incredibly interesting and totally grueling. In order to convince the Ethics Committee that such trips are not corrupt boondoggles, trips have to be packed with meetings—the agendas for which have to be approved ahead of time. Which is why I was in Ukraine a couple of weeks ago as part of a staff delegation—led by the Center for Strategic and International Studies—to Poland, Ukraine, and Moldova to try to understand whether the United States should approve sending another $24 billion in supplemental aid to Ukraine. And, because our days were full of meetings, I had the opportunity to ask dozens of people from around the region what, to them, “victory” looked like.

Some argue that in order to reach a peace agreement, Russia should be allowed to continue its occupation of Crimea, and Ukraine should adopt a neutral stance toward NATO. Eliot Cohen argues that the shortest path to a cessation of conflict is through the collapse of the Russian military. Others maintain that an immediate cease-fire is needed. And still others maintain that peace can be achieved by bringing Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky and Russian President Vladimir Putin together to talk. In other words, ideas of how peace will come about in Ukraine vary.

All wars end, at least in theory. But getting parties to end organized state violence on acceptable terms is, to put it mildly, not easy. What a durable peace agreement might look like is therefore on everyone’s mind. Zelensky himself has promulgated a 10-point plan for achieving an acceptable peace. But talking to different people from around the region, other views surfaced.

A frozen conflict. This seemed to be the view most prevalent outside of Ukraine itself. Essentially, in this scenario, the Russian front line holds across eastern Ukraine and Russia maintains its grip on the east and Crimea. Fighting continues, but the major victory is that Russia does not take all of Ukraine. The Black Sea Fleet continues to harass Ukraine at sea and by launching missiles and drones, and Russian forces continue bombing civilian and military targets across Ukraine. With investments in (or donations of) air defenses, the harassment is manageable for the Ukrainian forces. This could ultimately take the form of the war formally continuing without significant gains on either side, or as a cease-fire mixed with intermittent periods of conflict.

As a strategist far removed from the front lines, I was reluctantly persuaded that this was the most likely, but far from the most acceptable, conflict outcome. Yet my visit to Ukraine convinced me otherwise—in particular, from seeing the impact of Russian war crimes firsthand and being told of horrors beyond imagination.

The question of war termination, therefore, isn’t just about which flag is raised over which territory; if it were, a land-for-peace kind of deal could be feasible. Rather, Russia and its military forces have made it clear that they are intent on brutalizing and eradicating Ukrainian culture and people. Russians have tortured Ukrainians (and are still doing so), murdered them, and thrown them into mass graves. Tens of thousands of war crimes have been reported and, according to Ukrainian investigators I spoke with in Kyiv, those represent the tip of the iceberg. To the Ukrainians, a frozen conflict means allowing Russia to continue brutalizing their fellow countrymen and women in the east—and it invites Russia to attack Ukraine again later, once it has reconstituted its forces.

Every inch of Ukrainian territory is taken back. Almost every Ukrainian stated that this was the minimum necessary requirement for peace. In their view, anything short of regaining all of the territory that was part of Ukraine prior to the 2014 invasion (read: Crimea, too) would only result in a Russian strategic pause, and another bloody start to the war at the time of Russia’s choosing.

Ukrainian interlocutors also made the point that regaining Crimea remains essential, since the peninsula is a key piece of real estate for launching operations against the rest of Ukraine. Many Ukrainians also see their resistance as a bulwark against Russia’s neoimperial ambitions: If Russia can retain any part of Ukraine, its appetite for regaining other “lost” territories will never be suppressed.

The Russian regime is overthrown—not just Putin. Ukrainian interlocutors who made this point argued that Putin has staked his own regime’s survival on successfully winning Ukraine. Putin has used a martial, violence-oriented vision of masculinity to strengthen his grip on power and Russian society. A defeat in Ukraine—especially when Ukraine has been depicted as alternately fascist and corrupted by Western feminists—would severely undermine the authoritarian order that Putin has constructed. According to this logic, Ukrainians taking back Ukrainian territory could deal a death blow to Putin—yet without some kind of change in polity, another threatening authoritarian actor would likely take the reins in a post-Putin Moscow. Instead, this idea of victory envisaged the hope of a changed and chastened Russia.

Ukraine is a thriving democracy. After the collapse of the Soviet Union and the dissolution of the Warsaw Pact, Ukraine experienced a bumpy path toward democracy—to put it mildly. Support to  Ukraine since 2014, particularly in development and humanitarian assistance, have allowed Ukrainian civil society to become a pretty cohesive network of community builders and democracy advocates. This has enabled staggering numbers of internally displaced persons from the east to be absorbed by, and resettled in, places like Kyiv and Lviv.

It has also created a useful foundation upon which Ukraine can advance its efforts to bring its government and economy up to standard to join the European Union. In this view, the seeds are already in place for Ukraine to be one of Europe’s leading democracies—it’s now time to cultivate them. Doing so will require continued economic and humanitarian support, in addition to providing Ukraine with the military capabilities needed to win the fight.

These are discussions for Ukrainians—and perhaps not the same ones that Americans should be having. Here, the question that keeps being asked is: What does victory look like to the United States? In many ways, Washington is far removed from the war in Ukraine, both geographically and geopolitically. Ukraine is neither a U.S. neighbor nor a NATO ally. Why should Americans care how this war ends? Why should Americans invest another $24 billion in Ukraine when there are problems on the southern border and forest fires in Maui?

Sure, $24 billion is a big number, but displacing entrenched Russian defenses was never going to be a cheap proposition. And it’s a whole lot cheaper than putting American boots on the ground in Ukraine.

But what kind of world do we want to live in? The answer requires speculation, of course, but strategy is, in many ways, inherently speculative. To start with, it’s an obvious point, but one worth restating: The world is watching. In Europe, Russia has demonstrated neoimperial intentions—and its former empire extended into what is now NATO territory. Interlocutors across much of Central and Eastern Europe consistently make the point that Russia’s appetite for land will hardly be sated if it wins in Ukraine.

Do we really want to tempt fate, and the Russians, into creeping into NATO territory—aggression that will inherently draw the U.S. into the conflict (Indeed, we may already be seeing this conflict creep in Romania.)? On the other side of the globe, in the view of observers in Asia, China is watching whether the United States will follow through on its assurances to Ukraine in order to gauge whether it will also do so with respect to Taiwan.

. It  is also worth considering how destabilizing such a world would be to the global economy, and by extension to the American commercial, economic, and security interests that are so intertwined with the global order the U.S. helped construct. Economies need stability in order to prosper; a world characterized by chronic geopolitical instability would likely affect the United States in all sorts of ways. Some believe that a war with China over Taiwan would cost the global economy $2 trillion. And sure, there are risks to continuing to support Ukraine, but giving the Ukrainians the ammunition and other assistance they need remains our best shot at countering expansionist authoritarian regimes and the attendant instability that would arise from the kind of world we would live in if Ukraine is defeated.

More importantly, do we want to live in a world wherein an authoritarian state can massacre its democratic neighbors?.  Ukrainian children are being separated from their families and deported to Russia.  The horrors of this war are mind-bogglingly terrible. Do we really want to look the other way?  The line must be held, and the line is now in Ukraine.

What does victory look like? It starts with a free Ukraine.

[ravarui]

;from @chopchopclown Unlike his usual flashy behavior, Buggy seems more behaved—heartbroken even as he watches the members of kidd's crew being dragged around to that ship. Poor pookie, trying to bite more than he could chew could only lead to that. When the other shows their hand, he doesn't even have the mood to fight. “ Iiiiiiiiiiiiiiishhhhhhhh. That will take a few days for sure. 'Gotta drink beer from a very cold bottle to ease the pain.” He walks to the nearest aid kit without complaining. A little thank you for the help, even if he wouldn't say it out loud. “ .......... Brat's stupid, but has a strong will. Reminded when I wanted to go after the captain's treasure right after his death. Gya hahaha! Stupiid stuppid brat. ” There's a loud deep sign as he started to wrap bandages around the wound, even his laugh sounds less flashy and more melancholic. “ ᴵˢ ᵗʰᵉʳᵉ ʳᵉᵃˡˡʸ ⁿᵒ ᵒⁿᵉ ᵒᵘᵗ ᵗʰᵉʳᵉ ʷʰᵒ ᶜᵃⁿ ᵇᵉᵃᵗ ʸᵒᵘ ᵘᵖˀ ᴵˢ ᵗʰᵉʳᵉˀ……. Well. Whatever. What's done is done. Isn't like they would surrender or anything. That's how things are in the sea.”

What really happened during 1112 today Accepting @chopchopclown

How Buggy had known so quickly what had happened was beyond him. Even less did he understand the clowns obvious worry about the younger redhead. Did he keep an eye on him like Shanks did with Luffy? But why? He would need to ask him about it later.

Had it been anyone else asking to take care of the injured Shanks would've refused, but Buggy had always been an exception. Would always be.

He's silent as Buggy wraps a light bandage around the mild rope burn he received earlier as he had raced to make it in time, knowing damn well that every second counted and any mistake would lead to a devastating destruction of his fleet. Of people he had sworn to protect as he took them under his flag.

He's only listening half-hearted to Buggys rambling, yet the last part grabs his attention. Isn't like they would surrender. Oh but they had, hadn't they? Granted only after he had knocked out their captain and first mate and sliced one of the ships mast in half. But they had surrended. Begged for mercy and even handed over the road poneglyphs. And maybe he would have acted different if it had been their first meeting. If he hadn't seen the clear intent to kill. But he had given them one warning. Beck had taken Kids arm back then, but let them go.

Others might have learned, but the younger hadn't. Most likely still riding the high of his latest victory in Wano. An achievement to be proud of to be sure, but it had lead to overconfidence too. Not that he could blame him. Shanks knew he had been far from different when younger. Always hot-headed. Seeking the thrill of a fight, of stronger opponents. For an outlet of his anger at the world.

"He knew what he was getting into. This wasn't the first time. Thought he had learned." There is no pride in his voice as he speaks about his own victory. He had simply done what he had needed to do and he would do it over and over again. "You care an awful lot for him...."