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soullessdianthus · 9 months

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𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐛𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐭 | 𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 (𝐱 𝐊ö𝐧𝐢𝐠)

Summary: During the mission somewhere in Austria, König takes an interest in TF 141 medic. Little did he know, she's Lieutenants Riley's girlfriend.

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟐

A/N: Possessive/Protective boyfriend Ghost? Yes, double and give to the next person. Also inserted Hank/Connor "lieutenant" reference, I just find it funny. Y/C ━ Your Codename (have fun, pick something babes) Poorly translated German ━ correct me if needed!

Warnings: nothing, reader is eastern european coded (we deserve more recognition as reader inserts ꃋᴖꃋ )

Word count: 1.8k

The tree line of the thick forest melted into the base of the rocky mountains. Your gaze traveled across its pointy shapes and up higher - there hadn’t been a single cloud on the sky that day, causing a slight heatwave.

You let your body slightly wag as the car passed over surface bumps on the earthen road. The dry lump grew in your throat as the dust hovered all over the convoy and all you could think of was a sip of cold, mineral water.

Soon, you reached the small town in Austria, secluded from the ring roads. The cars were parked near the surrounding forest at the entrance of the village. Lieutenant Riley's sight crossed with yours as he helped you get out of the truck.

He could be such a gentleman sometimes.

A handful of soldiers gathered near the vehicles - some of them wearing a KorTac patch on their shoulders, the other ones (from your unit) a Task Force 141 badge. But besides those sigils, none of them were wearing full battle gear.

There was no active fighting against the enemy at the moment. It was just a careful chase after the terrorists - following their footsteps, interviewing associates, gathering proof. Because at the end of the day, the military (or army related organization) cannot shed blood over a defamation.

But KorTac and TF 141? Quite an unusual partnership between the two groups, right?

━ Ghost, Y/C you’re goin’ with me ━ Captain Price announced, adjusting his hat as he closed the car’s doors behind him. ━ Gaz, you’ll stay here, is that clear?

Captain heard a firm ‘yes, sir’ from your teammate Kyle who was to stay at the parking spot. Meanwhile the KorTac colonel gave an order to his soldiers in German. “Such a tough language” you thought to yourself. Only two of his people went along the wood road with the rest of you.

The Colonel.

Exceptionally tall, Austrian man who served many years for his country. The one you found yourself in on the latest mission.

Each time you wanted to look at him while Colonel König was speaking, you had to chin up. And even though, a black hood with a red paint on it covered his whole face besides his cold, blue eyes. He was lowkey intimidating with his massive size, but just like your captain, the Austrian’s rough looks didn’t reflect his character. At least to you and your comrades he was quite nice.

Unfortunately, you couldn’t say the same about his teammates.

You didn’t have to walk for long as the isolated, one floor house emerged behind a hill. By the quick peek at that building and the noises coming from the inside you knew, it felt like a warm home.

As you approached the building, you heard a child’s cry.

Price knocked at the front door and soon after a man with dark bags under his eyes opened them slightly. He was peeking through the crack.

━ Jakob Hausner? ━ The Captain asked with a playful smile under his mustache, his thumbs interlocked with the gear straps over his chest.

━ Ja, wie kann ich helfen? [ger.: Yes, how can I help?]

━ Can you ask him if he speaks english? ━ John looked over his shoulder towards König, asking for a favor.

━ Yes, I speak english ━ master of the house answered with a thick accent, before colonel could translate. ━ What do you want?

He wasn’t trusting at all, well, how could he? You were all strangers at his doorsteps, two of your partners wearing scary looking masks. But it all had a purpose - they were supposed to look… intimidating, yes?

A loud wailing made their ears hurt, it was that damn baby again. Jakob sighed loudly, his shoulder collapsing as he opened the doors a little bit more.

━ We just want to talk about the company you were working for. ━ Price continued talking.

━ About them again? ━ Mr. Hausner frowned his eyebrows and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Poor man was exhausted apparently. ━ Okay, okay, ja, come in.

The man let you all inside, however König told his soldiers to have a look outside the plot - to make sure it’s safe here and you’re not being watched. Poor Jakob wasn’t even fully aware (because of his state) that he let in a group of military people inside of his home.

As soon as you crossed the hallway into the dining room with a big, wooden table, you noticed a struggling toddler in a children’s chair. The girl was crying, her face red from the tantrum.

━ I’m sorry, it’s just my daughter, she… she doesn’t want to eat her–. Lina, bitte. [ger.: Lina, please.]

Being a parent. Must be tough, huh?

Not when you were forced to babysit your siblings or cousins since you were a teenager.

━ She’s not hungry. ━ You noticed the way the little girl pushed her plate away and how she tried to climb out of the seat. Christ, that man really had to be exhausted. ━ Can I?

You took a few slow and calm steps towards the sitting child - a warm smile painted over your face. Even your boyfriend Ghost was slightly… surprised? Seeing you drop the apathetic shell, then becoming more warm and gentle towards the little girl.

━ She’s our medic ━ your Captain explained to the worried father ━ let her take the kid and we’ll have a talk. In peace.

Mr. Hausner let you take care of his unsettled daughter, so they could have a conversation about his former employers. You took the girl out of her chair and placed her over your left hip, pushing it outward.

━ Come, Lina ━ you addressed the girl by her name, even though she probably couldn’t understand what you were saying ━ let’s leave the stinky men alone, ja?

You left the dining room and entered the seemingly endless garden behind the house. Since you took that girl in your hands she already began to calm down, perhaps a woman's touch was all she needed?

“Where was your mother? Was she at work working a long shift? Did something happen to her? Did the bad men–” your thoughts seemed to take a rather pessimistic route, so you had to quickly change it.

You didn’t know much German. Well, you didn’t know any at all.

Fuck.

But at that moment you were thanking the heavens that your father watched movies about Hans Kloss or war on a regular basis. You were happy that your father was taught some phrases and somewhere in your subconsciousness he passed them to you.

You sat on the wooden bench somewhere in the garden not far from the building. Then, you placed the child on your lap and began talking to her - mostly in your mother tongue. Then you added some words in German that you knew, like:

━ Schau, schmetterling! [ger.: Look, a butterfly!]

Soon you grew more comfortable around the girl named Lina, even though there was a language barrier. Without your knowledge, your legs began to bounce her, pretending she was riding a horse.

If anyone would point that out later, you would certainly deny it. You, getting soft for a child? No, no, no.

You were so occupied with entertaining her that you didn’t even notice a looming, black figure in the corner of your eye. Watching the scene from somewhere nearby.

König was standing just next to the doors, leaving against the white plaster on the outside walls. He listened to your attempts to speak German, finding it… adorable?

Never did he meet a woman in his profession so empathetic and gentle. Especially the one who managed to catch his attention. Let’s be honest, most of them were cold blood murderers and he was a colonel - he couldn’t let himself have such a luxury of having a family.

Until now.

His imagination began to play a nasty and stupid trick on him - just because he saw you speaking German with a kid. What if it was you to take care of his children? Were your hands usually this delicate? Would you care for him as much?

The tall soldier was intrigued by you and his dreamy stare exposed him for it.

━ Don’t even think about it. ━ Ghost voice snapped him back to the reality. The British soldier emerged from the building the same way the colonel did after the conversation came to an end with Mr. Hausner.

Simon Riley wasn’t a fool. He noticed all the little peaks at his girlfriend other soldiers usually would take, she was in fact a pretty thing. So it didn’t take much to notice that the tall guy from KorTac took a liking of you. Too much liking in Ghost’s opinion.

━ Verzeihung [ger.: Excuse me] ━ König apologized, flustered slightly by obviousness of the situation. He instantly understood the reference. ━ didn’t know she was… taken.

━ Yeah ━ British lieutenant scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. His dark irises didn’t even dare to stare at him. His eyes were on you ━ she’s very much taken.

There was a dead silence between the two of them - for a short moment, before Ghost gave you a heads up.

━ Y/C, we’re moving.

The rough and firm tone of Ghost’s voice made you snap back into reality. You were in the middle of something, right? Yet, you almost jumped on that little bench painted in floral patterns.

━ Coming, lieutenant. ━ You declared quickly, before putting the little girl over your hip again and heading inside of her home.

Ghost was a few steps ahead and so you had to pass the massive figure of König to go inside again. You pressed the child’s head into your cleavage as she was a little scared of colonel’s hood.

Well, you would be too, if you saw his cold stare in the middle of the night from under that veil, right?

━ Don’t worry, he just looks scary. He won’t bite. Isn’t that right, sir? ━ You sent him a polite smile as you tried to comfort the petrified girl. Your hand caressing her golden locks.

But he was speechless at the moment. He couldn’t form a simple sentence. A fucking grown ass man. “So fucking pathetic”, he thought to himself. Your lips twisting into a wide smile for him. It wouldn’t be easy for him to erase that sight from his memory. König would have trouble falling asleep that night, thinking of you.

A/N: ♪ Two big guys and they grab on my thighs ♪

#reader insert #cod mw2 #cod mwii #simon riley x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #ghost cod #ghost mw2 #konig #konig mw2 #konig cod #könig #könig cod #könig mw2 #könig x reader #konig x reader

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baejax-the-great · 1 year

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Absolutely reeling.

So I knew that the origin of "Hector was a great man, moral, noble, better than all of the Greeks" began as Roman propaganda that somehow has made it to now, the year 2023, and is still taught to high school students.

What I did not know was why scholars shit on Achilles as vehemently as they did (and still do).

My copy of Fagles' translation of the Iliad has a preface by a different scholar who I'm not going to bother to name because he's an idiot (and idk probably dead at this point). I read the entire thing, absolutely baffled, because he would cite a part of the text (that I admittedly had not read yet! at all!), quote it, and then come to the most batshit interpretation based on that quote I had ever seen in my life. His general take was that Achilles was a sociopath who had no feelings for anyone other than himself and his own pride, and every action he took (until welcoming Priam into his hut) was done in service of that pride. To support this, he decided that Achilles did not see Patroclus as a person, but rather as an extension of himself, and thus someone injuring Patroclus was them injuring Achilles, and so he did not care about Patroclus, he only cared about his wounded pride.

Yeah.

That sounded wrong before reading the book, and while reading the book all i could think was, "Did we read the same fucking thing???" Put in context, those quotations still did not support his conclusions whatsoever.

But i cracked open Caroline Alexander's "The War That Killed Achilles" last night, and she solves this mystery of "Hector good, Achilles bad" for me right out the gate (which is good because so far I've only read the preface).

Western Europeans by and large learned about the Trojan war from Roman stories, which became fairly popular, and not the Iliad, which was not translated into French or English until centuries later. As mentioned, these were propaganda that cast the Trojans in a much better light than the Greeks because the Romans believed they were descended from Trojan refugees. This starts a trend that is still going on in scholarly circles as casting the Iliad as a war between "barbaric Greeks living in a shitty, lawless camp" vs "civilized, educated, weaving, real-wife-having Trojans," making the Iliad a tragedy in which Homer for some reason skewers his own people and their warlike culture as barbaric while propping up a dead, foreign city-state. This interpretation is still extant and was the postscript to another copy of the Iliad I have.

According to Alexander, scholars closer to Homer's time saw the entire war as a tragedy--both the destruction of Troy AND the destruction of the Greek army. While this is not covered in the Iliad, very few Greeks actually made it home after Troy. Some that did were then outcast (Teucer for example), some were murdered (bye, Agamemnon), some went on to create new kingdoms in other places (Diomedes), but by and large, there was no going home from that war. There was no great victory with all their loot. The entire thing was a disaster for both sides, spurred on by fickle gods.

Back to the more recent European interpretations of this story, one reason Hector ended up cast in such a "good" light, despite being a dumbass who wants to dishonor dead people just as badly as Achilles ever did, was in order to make Achilles look worse. Why was it important that Achilles becomes a villain in this story in which he is very much not a villain? Because Europeans were involved in so much war with each other and the rest of the world that a young, insubordinate man who criticizes his idiot of a commander, decides his life isn't worth throwing away for this war, and refuses to fight to sack a city was an affront to their values. Young men were to be obedient, follow their commanding officers, and colonize the world for queen and country. Achilles suggesting losing his life is not worth it to prop up Agamemnon's war is a dangerous precedent for all the good little soldiers needed to make their nations wealthy.

It's almost funny that these analyses propping up Troy as a beacon of civilization were made by people living in countries so bent on colonizing the world. They identified with the city being sacked and not the greedy sackers of said city, who they were much closer to. And Achilles, educated, morally rigid, emotional Achilles, is recast as a sociopathic asshole who doesn't care about anyone other than himself, unlike all of those other beacons of selflessness among the Greek leadership.

The tragedy of the Iliad is that Achilles is right, the war is pointless, Agamemnon did dishonor the shit out of him, and it doesn't matter because he's going to die in it anyway.

Frankly, given how badly his character has been interpreted for so long, I think the muses owe him an apology.

#the iliad #achilles #I have only read the preface of this book #hope yall like essays #writing essays at 6am and hoping they are grammatical #haven't even had my coffee yet my head is too full of achilles #also a hefty chunk of it was FRENCH propaganda like come ON

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defectivevillain · 1 month

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through gritted teeth

pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Reader

reader's race & gender are ambiguous; no pronouns or physical descriptors are used.

summary:

The man says he’s your husband. He’s polite, charming, intelligent. He seems a little pretentious, but he appears to know you rather well and the thinly-veiled devotion in his eyes dispels most of your remaining doubts. It certainly helps that the man is rather well-dressed—and attractive, a traitorous voice in the back of your mind whispers. Unfortunately, you have no idea who he is.

word count: 3.8k | ao3 version

You wake up to fluorescent lighting burning into your eyes, pulling tears down your cheeks as you blink stars from your vision. Your entire body aches with exhaustion and you can feel a headache brewing already. Groaning, you try to push yourself up to a sitting position. There’s an IV attached to your arm and, upon closer inspection, you seem to be in some sort of hospital room. White walls line the space, and there’s nothing much of note in your immediate vicinity. You blink a few more times past your absurdly dry eyes and continue inspecting the room, until your eyes catch on the chair to the right side of your bed.

There’s a man sitting at your bedside with his eyes closed. He stirs within a few moments, as if he can sense you staring at him. Relief is written all over his face as he leans forward and clasps your hand with a small smile on his face. You can’t stop yourself from instinctively flinching at the contact and he notices, removing his hand at once.

“Do you remember who I am?” He asks. His words are carefully constructed, strung together with eloquence and remnants of what sounds like an accent from a European country. You blink at him once, twice. It takes a moment for you to process the question, and another to contemplate the answer. The man doesn’t look familiar. Indeed, he looks like a stranger.

When you tell him as much, a sad smile works its way onto his face. It seems he expected your answer. He begins to explain the circumstances surrounding your visit here, which you are immensely grateful for. You know next to nothing as you sit in this hospital bed, and, try as you might, you can’t remember anything save for your name.

Apparently, you’ve suffered a serious head injury that left you with a spontaneous case of amnesia. Fortunately, your memories will likely return to you in due time. Somehow, these two revelations aren’t the most shocking of statements from the stranger. What the man reveals next shakes you to your core: he’s your husband.

Upon closer examination, you find that the man is charming, polite… He’s rather attractive, too, with fine-combed hair and sparkling brown eyes with flecks of amber. His face looks as if it was sculpted by Michelangelo himself—sweeping lines, sharp edges, soft curves. The man is intelligent and [perhaps as a result] a little pretentious. From his attire, you can only assume that he makes a lot of money and has rather particular tastes. You could see someone like this going to the opera regularly.

But there’s something else about this man—something lurking beneath the surface. You can’t puzzle out what it is. There’s something sinister concealed in those reddish-brown eyes, an unspoken violence in the man’s careful poise. And you think you catch him intently scrutinizing you—as if you’re under a microscope.

You soon learn that the man’s name is Hannibal Lecter. He’s a psychiatrist who used to be a surgeon. He’s in his 40s. He has refined tastes—and even goes to the opera on occasion, yes. He is fascinating, intriguing beyond measure. He discusses heavily philosophical topics with ease. He is slippery, only giving you the information he wants to give you. He has a very controlled image. The dishes he cooks you are extravagant and lavish, with ingredients you’ve never even heard of. (The meat in them is always some sort of organ, and it turns your stomach every time.)

In the wake of your injury, you’re unsure of almost everything. But you know one thing for certain: Hannibal is not your husband. And you’re convinced that he’s dangerous. You don’t trust him—can’t trust his carefully crafted words, his home-cooked meals, his polite smiles. It’s all a farce.

It would be all too easy to ask your next visitor about this well-dressed, enigmatic man. Unfortunately, you don’t get any other visitors. In fact, your next visitor is Hannibal again… And again. And again. It gets to the point where your nurse gives up on having him sign in when he visits. At first, she had been rather strict in enforcing the rules; she seems to have caught onto something that you still haven’t grasped, because she now collects herself with an entirely different—almost heightened—awareness.

You’re having increasingly conflicting feelings, especially when you consider the fact that Hannibal hasn’t actually exhibited any behavior that justifies your wariness and suspicion. If anything, he’s been the perfect supporter—the perfect husband—throughout your recovery. You want to believe your gut sense, want to believe the whispers in the back of your mind that tell you to exercise caution. But, at the same time, who’s to say they can be believed? You still have almost no recollection of who you are. Why are you questioning the only person who has bothered to show up for you throughout your recovery?

Days pass in the blink of an eye; before you know it, Hannibal is walking in one morning with the declaration that you’ve been officially discharged from the hospital. Despite your misgivings, you head to the bathroom to change into some normal clothes before putting on the pair of shoes near the door. Your heart is racing as Hannibal’s gaze refuses to leave your form. Why can’t your mind rest? Why can’t your thoughts be silent, for once? Why are you so damn suspicious of every minute kindness?

The walk out of the hospital and through the parking lot is painfully silent. You can’t resist sneaking glances at Hannibal, waiting for his mask to crack and fall. It never does. He catches you looking and sends you a smile, which discourages you from looking again. You let your eyes roam about the shiny cars in the parking lot as the warm afternoon sunlight greets your skin. You missed the fresh air.

“Where are you taking me?” You finally ask, as you continue to follow behind the man.

“Home,” Hannibal remarks. He pointedly does not say your home or even our home. Your heart is racing in your chest. His back is turned, leaving you to imagine the expression on his face.

It isn’t until you’re secured in the front seat and Hannibal’s driving out of the parking lot that you summon the courage to utter the question that has been plaguing your mind. “Are you really my husband?”

“Hm?” It’s clear he heard you; he’s giving you a chance to retract the remark. You know you should take it, but… you want to know what’s going on. You need to find an answer for the seemingly irrational fear drumming in your chest and rushing in your ears.

“You say you’re my husband,” You repeat yourself, gaining a bit more confidence. “But I don’t think you are.” For an awful moment, there’s nothing but silence. The car zips along the road. You feel your hand trembling at your side—hopefully the only visible sign of your distress. You clench your shaking hand into a fist and try to remain calm. Panicking won’t do you any good.

“Do you remember how we first met?” Hannibal asks instead. You stare at him in disbelief, surprised by how he completely ignores your accusation. There is an utter lack of emotion on his face. Seconds later, you remember his question and shake your head. “You’re an FBI agent,” Hannibal reveals. “I was called in to perform your psychiatric evaluation.”

Great. Just great. Out of all things, you had to be an FBI agent. The thought of forgetting your work—forgetting all the victims left to die in muddied puddles of crimson, forgetting all the killers with mocking smiles and cruelty written in the lines of their faces—is sincerely troubling.

And Hannibal is a psychiatrist. That seems to fit—you can see him in a needlessly extravagant office, surrounded by books and expensive elegancies. You have to shake your head to get rid of the weirdly vivid imagery that your thoughts produce. “Are you… my psychiatrist, then?” You ask.

“If you wish,” he replies with a mirthful smile. That answer doesn’t satisfy your curiosity—not in the slightest.

“Were you my psychiatrist?” You press. You get the feeling that you need to be asking the right questions in order to get the answers you want. The man across from you is adept at picking apart people’s words, flipping them around and twisting their intended meaning. Your wording will be immensely important.

“I was your psychiatrist, for a time,” Hannibal acquiesces. From that statement, you get the sense that he really was your psychiatrist, until something evidently happened. You ask him as much, but you seem to go too far, because he regards you with an amused glance. “You’re asking a lot of questions.”

“And you’re not giving me any answers,” you feel the need to respond. You have simultaneous suspicions that honesty is dangerous in front of Hannibal, and that he values honesty above sugar-coated words. Your eyebrows furrow. “You haven’t exactly been forthcoming with information.”

“Is that so?” Hannibal is providing more questions in lieu of answers. He’s definitely hiding something. Sensing that you won’t get anything more from him, you fall silent and settle for staring at him out of the corner of your eye. His gaze is locked on the road ahead. Despite the time you’ve spent together, talking about your past, you still aren’t totally convinced that you’re married to Hannibal. Is there a way you could test him—test his knowledge of you? Surely there’s something you can ask him to determine if he truly knows you or not.

It comes to you a moment later. “What’s my favorite color?” You ask, before you can think better of it. The man doesn’t react at first, instead staring straight ahead. Just before you can repeat the question, he answers.

“I can’t imagine you have a favorite color,” Hannibal responds. “You once told me the very notion was foolish.”

Okay, he’s sort of correct there. But that was an easy question. You sort through the few memories you have, looking for something you can ask him. “What’s my middle name?” That’s an answer that you just barely know yourself—a memory came back to you a mere few minutes ago, of you and your childhood friend talking about middle names and nicknames and other unimportant things.

Hannibal answers the question correctly again. The two of you must’ve been friends, at the very least. You continue to search your mind for something you can ask him.

Five minutes and several questions later, you’re starting to doubt your own conviction. Hannibal answers every single question correctly, providing you with information you don’t remember but know deep-down to be true. It’s unnerving and disturbing to think that you could’ve forgotten this man so easily. He seems… utterly unforgettable, in every sense of the word. Furthermore, he’s your husband—perhaps you shouldn’t be doubting him so easily.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out, before you can quite contemplate your next words. Hannibal’s eyes are locked on the road, but you know he’s listening. “I don’t mean to doubt you, I just- I don’t know what to do. I don’t remember anything, obviously, and… I feel so lost.” You choke out, your throat burning. You bury your head in your hands for a selfish moment, hoping for some solace and clarity.

“Don’t apologize, dear,” Hannibal says. You hate how the remark sends a shiver down your spine. Damn it, why can’t you just be comfortable? This man is practically a dream, so why are you trying to ruin it? Can’t you just accept that, sometimes, you deserve to have nice things?! Hannibal continues, unknowing of your internal dilemma. “You’re going through a lot right now. I’m just happy to be here with you.”

You feel ashamed, knowing that you’ve been holding yourself back despite the fact that Hannibal has shown you nothing but compassion and affection. “I’m… happy you’re here, too,” you say. Guilt prickling in your chest, you impulsively reach out and clasp his free hand resting on the console. Somehow, this surprises your husband, because he stiffens for a second before reciprocating, gripping your hand reassuringly.

“We will get through this,” he promises. You push aside your doubts and decide to believe him.

Maybe things really will be alright. Maybe, you’ll get your memories back sooner rather than later, and you’ll be able to look back on these moments—riddled with doubt, insecurity, wariness—and laugh. You take a deep breath and look out the window, watching the passing trees blur together.

Your hand slips from Hannibal’s and you look at your nails, picking at your cuticles. Your hands are somewhat indicative of the life you led—the one you don’t remember living—with a few scars stretching down your wrist and climbing up your forearm. You look down at the healed wound and frown, trying to remember how you got the scar.

Suddenly, you get a flicker of a memory. It’s faint and fast, but it’s a reminder of the past nonetheless. You squint ahead, trying to focus on keeping the flashback in your mind for long enough to dissect it. You remember… blood. A corpse, perhaps? Yes, a corpse. A woman’s corpse, hoisted and impaled on antlers. You remember… staring at that corpse for so long that you had to be physically led away from the scene, albeit with a gnawing feeling in your gut that something just wasn’t right. You remember… walking into an office, only to be met with Hannibal’s curious gaze. That must’ve been the first time you met the psychiatrist. You put a hand to your temple and try desperately to concentrate.

“You look as if you’ve seen a ghost,” Hannibal says, effectively throwing your focus. You blink and chance a glance at him. He’s still looking at the road, yet you can’t shake the perplexing conviction that he’s been watching you. What’s more, you can’t shake the feeling that his interjection was purposeful—that he meant to throw you off and break your concentration.

“I- just remembered something,” you choke out, feeling a bolt of pain slide down your scalp to the back of your neck. You bring a hand to the nape of your neck and press, hissing as your fingers glide over sore muscles. “Something important.”

“Congratulations,” Hannibal hums, immune to your internal panic. You don’t know exactly what this man did, but he must’ve done something. Your subconscious is convinced that he is incredibly dangerous, and you feel inclined to trust your gut.

Another flashback arrives, apropos of nothing. You remember sitting across from Hannibal in a finely-decorated room, lined with bookshelves and artifacts. You remember averting your eyes as you speak, desperate to avoid the roaring flames racing up your skin with every additional moment of prolonged eye contact. You remember… a twisted grin on Hannibal’s face. You remember… the intensity to his gaze as he studied you when he thought you weren’t looking.

Unsettled, you shake your head and try to refocus on the passing scenery again. To your surprise, you think you recognize where you are. Hannibal must be taking you home. You take a deep breath. You just have to survive this car ride—then you can figure things out from there. You have all the time in the world to muse on the nature of your injury and the nature of your “husband,” once you’re safely contained within four walls. Right now, though, you need to be wary. You need to have your wits about you, you need to watch for any sudden movements, you need to be ready-

“We’re here,” Hannibal announces, promptly throwing your thought process to a halt. You blink and look ahead, only to find a nondescript home with beige siding and a somewhat weathered front door. Vaguely, you remember pulling your car into this driveway, remember unpacking boxes from your trunk. Yes, this is your house. Hannibal is much quicker on the uptake, as he gets out of the car and walks around the vehicle. You don’t realize that he’s opening the passenger door for you until you feel him staring at you expectantly. You thank him and get to your feet, a sudden bout of dizziness sending you wobbling. Hannibal is there in a moment, steadying you with a hand on your forearm. You pretend not to notice his hand on the small of your back as you walk up the path to the front porch. When you’re finally situated in front of the entrance, you realize that you have no idea where your keys could be.

“Left pocket of your jacket,” Hannibal murmurs, as if reading your mind. You nearly choke on a breath.

“Thanks,” you respond a bit breathlessly. When you finally manage to unlock the front door and swing it open, you turn back to face him. “Well, thank you for the ride.”

“Of course,” Hannibal responds easily. There’s a regretful smile rising on his face. Everything around you fades to obscurity. “I’m afraid this is goodbye.” That remark sounds strangely ominous. Your heart is in your throat.

“Thank you for keeping me company,” you feel the need to say, regardless of your suspicions about the man. He was the only one to visit you. You don’t want to think about how you would feel if you spent your entire hospital visit without a single familiar face. “...Bye.” Suddenly, there’s a hand on your cheek. Hannibal’s hand cradles your jaw, his thumb gently roving along your skin. He regards you for a moment, his eyes sparkling, before kissing you on the cheek and leaving. You watch him return to his car and drive away, apprehension and adrenaline coursing through you. Somehow, you get the feeling that you’ll never see Hannibal again.

Your doorbell rings about an hour later. You look through your peephole, only to find a somewhat intimidating man with his hands shoved in his pockets. You have to focus on quelling the foolish spike of hope that had risen in your chest when the doorbell rang, and the subsequent disappointment at the unfamiliar figure you found. You take a second glance at the stranger, only to find that he looks somewhat familiar. This vague familiarity convinces you to crack your front door open slightly and ask him, “Who are you?”

The man pulls something out of his pocket. “Jack Crawford, FBI,” he answers, showing you his identification card. You stare at him for another moment. “Your boss.” Crawford supplies, when you can’t seem to get the words out. After a few seconds of awkward silence, you decide to invite him inside.

Before long, the two of you are settled in your living room. The tension that first appeared when you opened your front door has yet to fade. You’re not sure why this man has yet to crop up in your memories—he has a rather powerful aura of authority, not to mention the fact that he’s apparently your superior. You decide not to beat yourself up about it. Your memories will come back in due time; until then, you’ll make do with what little you have.

Crawford—Jack, he tells you to call him—clasps his hands over his knees and levels you with an unreadable gaze. “I need to ask you something,” Jack says, rifling through his other pocket and pulling out a folded piece of paper. He unfolds it slowly, before revealing it to you. “Do you remember this man? Hannibal Lecter?” Jack explains, immune to your growing dread. You feel sick to your stomach as your eyes flit across the black-and-white photograph of the same man who watched over you vigilantly as you recovered, who claimed to be your husband and kissed you on the cheek mere moments ago. “He’s the Chesapeake Ripper—the serial killer who has been evading capture.”

“I-” You stammer, bringing a hand to your temple. Your headache from earlier is returning and your head is spinning from this sudden disclosure. You almost don’t want to believe Jack, but you get the feeling that he’d have no reason to lie to you. If anything, lying would just make his job harder. You take a shuddering breath in, trying to come to terms with the fact that you just narrowly escaped a serial killer’s grasp.

“It’s alright,” Jack tries to reassure you, evidently sensing that you’re growing a bit panicked.

“No, I-” You’re choking on the words. Recent memories are mixing with old, creating a convoluted and murky timeline of events. It’s hard to sort through everything, to find the truths hidden amongst the lies. You’re not sure how long it takes for you to collect your composure and organize your thoughts into a relatively coherent statement. “I saw him. He… visited me in the hospital. He drove me home.”

“What?” Jack asks, utter disbelief written all over his face. You don’t remember your boss very well, but you get the feeling he isn’t usually so expressive. The look on his face would be comical, in a different situation. “What did he say to you?” He implores.

“He said a lot of things… Nothing very important.” You try to recall what you can, but your memories are quickly slipping through your fingertips in granules of sparkling sand. You press a hand to your temple, your headache growing worse as you try to recall what happened. “I tried asking him questions about me, to throw him off, but he knew all the answers.”

Somehow, Jack doesn’t seem surprised by the notion. “You two were… close, before,” your boss evidently settles for saying. There’s a certain suspicion in his voice, as if he suspects you may have been more than “close” with Hannibal. You’re feeling too discombobulated to rise to the bait or bother calling him out on the obvious verbal trap.

“He said ‘goodbye,’” you continue, eyebrows furrowing. Somehow, you get the sense that Hannibal isn’t the type to utter goodbyes. Moreover, a goodbye ushers in a sense of finality, as if you will truly never see him again. You pinch the bridge of your nose, pretending that your exchange with him on your doorstep isn’t replaying in your mind. He kissed me on the cheek, you don’t say to Jack. He said he was my husband. He watched over me in the hospital when no one else did. And it may have been fake, all of it… But that gleam of affection in his eyes didn’t look manufactured—it looked genuine.

Jack looks troubled and somewhat restless. “You’re lucky you made it out alive.” He states. You don’t think you can quite believe his words. For whatever reason, Hannibal Lecter—the Chesapeake Ripper—is interested in you. Whether sick fascination or cloying obsession, you have to face the facts: luck had nothing to do with it. The Ripper kept you alive because, inexplicably, he wants you alive.

And that unnerves you.

hannibal taglist, cause i think y'all would be down with reading this since it's also hannibal: @its-ares @tobbotobbs @xrisdoesntexist @gr1mmac3 @tiredstarcerberuslamb @yourlocalratwriter @kingkoku @kahuunknown @atlas-king1 @pendragon-writes @slipknotcentury @cryinersaved @the-ultimate-librarian @starre-eyes @pendragon-writes @peterparkeeperer @gayschlatt69 @flow33didontsmoke @mrgatotortuga @house-of-1000-corpses-fan

#defectivevillain #hannibal x reader #Hannibal Lecter x reader #hannibal #hannibal nbc #hannibal lecter #Hannibal Lecter x gn reader #hannibal x gn reader #Hannibal Lecter x male reader #Hannibal Lecter x transmasc reader #male reader #transmasc reader #gn reader #ok I think that's enough

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joblrcensus · 3 months

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it’s time for the JOblr census results 🧡🙌

before we start i want to thank everyone who took their time to answer this silly little project, gathering responses from 203 baby boos!! it’s my first time doing this so hopefully i can bring some excitement with the results <3

so buckle up and let’s get into it

general questions

Which continent are you from?

Unsurprisingly, the majority is European with a total of 80.8% but it’s amazing to see that they’ve crossed the continent’s border and we also have 9.9% people from North America, 3.9% from Australia & Oceania, 3.4% from Asia and 2% from South America. No person chose the Africa option.

Which country are you from? (optional)

With this being an optional question, 162 respondents out of 203 opted to answer it. Let’s take a look at the top countries by number of people in JOblr (small note: I counted the few people who wrote England or Scotland as part of the UK answer)

Drumrolls 🥁…..

Finland - 29

UK & USA - 15

Germany - 11

Poland - 9

Italy - 8

Australia - 7

Sweden - 6

Austria, Spain, The Netherlands - 5

Croatia, Slovenia - 4

Czechia, France, Romania - 3

Belgium, Canada, Denmark, Hungary, Lithuania, Norway, Philippines, Portugal, Ukraine - 2

Bolivia, Brazil, China, Estonia, Greece, Iceland, India, Luxembourg, Malta, Mexico, Russia, Switzerland - 1

How old are you?

45.8% of us are between 18-25, following by 23.6% between 26-30, 18.2% between 31-45, 10.8% under 18 and two people who are over 45 years old.

Are you part of the LGBTQ+ community?

Remember when they said Joker Out are for the girls and gays? 🏳️‍🌈

Well that was absolutely not wrong since 77.3% baby boos answered that yes they are part of the community, while 11.8% are questioning and 10.8% have answered no

tumblr activity questions

How do you participate on JOblr?

a majority of 98 people are mostly reblogging posts in the fandom but sometimes making posts of their own, 38 are only reblogging while 36 lurkers have stepped out of the shadow and made themselves known. The least amount of people (31) said to be active posters

Do you post any of the following?

It’s already known this fandom is mad talented and entertaining!! It’s always a joy seeing everyone’s creations and posts no matter the type. And the people who are only enjoying and supporting the content are just as important 🫶

Do you also post about Käärijä?

Since these two fandoms are basically overlapping, sometimes even seen as one fandom, I was curious just how much

50.7% also post about Käärijä outside of Joker Out, while 35% don’t post about him at all (or perhaps very rarely). 14.3% are mainly coming from Käärijä’s fandom

joker out questions

How did you find out about Joker Out?

Another unsurprising result, with 89.7% of us finding out about them through Eurovision. But it was really cool to see that there are people who discovered them differently. Ten people found out about them through Tumblr or other social media, to four they were recommended by someone and one through a music platform. The “other” option was chosen as well and included:

finding out about JO through Käärijä

through a music blog review

on slovenian radio

Who from the current members is your favorite?

One of the hardest questions but it had to be done

So Tumblr’s top favorite members areee:

Bojan - 69 votes

Jan - 42 votes

Kris - 40 votes

Nace - 35 votes

Jure - 17 votes

Have you been to a Joker Out concert?

I did not expect this one to be so balanced but I am pleasantly surprised! 104 people have been to a JO concert, while 99 haven’t. It often feels like you’re the only person who hasn’t seen them live yet but it’s nice to see that you’re not alone, so if anyone feels the same don’t worry our time will come too 🥹

If you answered yes, have you seen them multiple times?

Out of the 104 people who previously answered yes, there’s still a balance between those who have been to only one concert and those who have been to multiple

If you’re into RPF, which one of the most popular ships (according to AO3) is your favorite?

Another optional question where 181 out of 203 opted to respond to.

Oh boy, ooooh boy this was a tough battle. It felt like I was watching a horse race. I can tell you that all three ships have been at some point in the first place, or even equal. Are you ready to see the most interesting result yet?

Drumrolls again 🥁…….

BoJere - 58 votes

BoKris - 57 votes

Jance - 56 votes

The “other” option was also chosen and the following ships were included:

BoMartin

Jan/Jure

Kris/Jure

Nace/Kris

Nace/Jere

poly!JO

aaaand that’s it, you made it to the end 🫶 hope you enjoyed and why not see you on the next census!!

#sorry in advance for any grammar mistakes:))#joker out #bojan cvjetićanin #jan peteh #jure maček #kris guštin #nace jordan

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artsyjedi · 1 year

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Life on its form

Any driver x fem!ooc (only mentioned as she)

WARNINGS: driver dies, there are references to depression (mentions of giving up). HEAVILY ANGST - if you find something else, let me know.

Also there's probably some grammar mistakes here and there.

A/N: it's the saddest thing i've written in a year but I couldn't waste the idea. Hope you enjoy :)

From books to movies, love seems to be this enormous thing that works like missing pieces from a puzzle.

Love is supposed to fulfill the empty spaces.

And is very common to hear people say: “It takes effort, and sometimes it’s tiring. But it’s worth it.”

So, during every single relationship, she tried. She tried her best to make it work – because that’s what it takes, right? To some she was loud, to others she was more of an introverted. Fun but not funny, you know? At one point, to one of her partners, she was just enough. She never got too angry or too sad or too happy.

Her partner loved when their friends talked about her. About how good she was, how they wished their own partners were like that. She never complained when he went out with his buddies, wasn't jealous when he got too close to another woman. She was a good girl. His good girl.

It was tiring. But… love requires that. You need to give to receive. And they were good. They were also enough to her. Even when they got mad, like mad-mad, everything was just fine.

For four whole months, they had planned this trip to enjoy the always so beautiful and fun European summer. When the day arrived, they simply said she should go alone, that they weren't on the mood and would be a terrible company. And, on top of all that, they said:

"You should go alone, make friends. It's gonna be good for you. For us, you know? To be apart."

Great. She thought. That clearly meant the relationship wasn't on its best moment. Ups and downs (even though it was more downs than ups). That’s what relationships are made of. No need to think any deeper.

So was right there, on that small country on the northen coast of the Mediterranean Sea, that she learned that love is actually simple and effortless. It comes, stays and requires nothing.

He taught her that. All he wanted from her was sweet nothing.

What was supposed to be a four week trip, became two months. And then three. Between somewhere here and there, she texted her now ex to let them know she wasn't coming back.

All her friends and family thought she had lost it. Who ends a three years relationship because of some random person they just met? They truly thought she had gone mad (to which she responded: yes! Madly in love!).

Was after a great night where they lived, laughed and loved, that he told her he was a Formula 1 driver. She imediatly wanted to cry. Not because of fear of everything being too much, or because he started to ramble about his plans with his ever so excited smile.

She cried because, for the first time in a long time, she felt safe. It didn't matter what would happen, if he was famous, if she would need to deal with all types of people.

He had her. She had him. Nothing else mattered.

When they had to leave the little world they had created during those months and go back to reality, all they felt was deep and raw love.

And then the months became a year. Then a year and a half. And then two years. And then they were living together. What started with a small space on his drawer, became a full section on his closet.

When routine started to catch up, during times where her work demanded more and so did his, with more and more races being add to the calendar, they decided to create a sort of system. Something silly. Something them.

They downloaded some apps for couples, so when they couldn't be together, they could still do things together. Their favourite was one where they could draw. Also, at the end of each day, they would write down to each other those detailed text messages talking about all things.

He also started to leave notes on the pockets of her clothing before leaving. Sometimes he would write poetry, something to make her laugh, or some sort of reminder of how much he loved her. He also loved to leave things with the notes: small gifts, from jewelry to chocolate.

No matter what happened, she knew it would always have something.

But it’s been three months since his accident. Three months she hadn’t found a note, the drawing app widget is nothing more than a white empty board and there is no more detailed messages.

She hadn’t attended the race that weekend, having too much work to do. They did made plans for going to this fancy restaurant he always wanted to try, though. Such a shame they never made it.

Would be a lie to say she remembers much from the days after the news. Actually, she barely remember the day itself. She knows she was the first to get to the hospital, that she was the one to call the family (both hers and his), and then talk with the team.

Some said they were sorry, some tried to find something to blame trying hard to sooth the situation.

But that was life on its form.

Even if it had someone or something to blame, what difference would make? He wasn’t coming back. She wouldn’t hear his laugh anymore, or his tantrums, or his rambling. She would never see again the way he used to lean against every surface he could, or how bad he was at hiding his emotions.

She would never touch him again.

And grief it’s different to every person. There’s no right or wrong way to feel it – as her therapist said. People feel what they feel when they feel and there's nothing you can do to change that.

She accepted easily, better than she thought she would, at least. She did got depressed on the first days, of course, but she kept on going. Always foward.

For first week of her work vacation, she went to her family house. No one dared to say anything. She was laughing, going out with old friends - what was surprising, considering they were sure she would give up.

But that's something she could never do.

She does have something to live for. The memories of every single moment they had together, good or bad, are worth living for.

Now it's been two days since she came back. The apartment is so quiet she allows herself to wonder why she didn't cried yet. From the balcony, she sees the sun making its way towards the line where the sky mets the sea. In a few minutes, it'll also be gone.

She smiles. Once, her therapist asked her "in one word, and just one, describe your love and why"

She answered that their love was just like the ocean. Not because it's unstable or deep, as some people say. She chose the ocean because it's endless and most likely, it won't ever go away. Now thinking better, she should've had chosen waves instead of ocean: always moving, always coming and going but never dissipating completely.

And that’s what their love is: something that will never just go. Now, some days she feels more, some days she feels less. But it’s there.

With this thought, she decides to change her clothes and do something she's been doing her best to avoid: to wear the last cardigan he bought. It was during that week, it came inside of a beautiful box and he had smiled saying, "i have great plans for this one".

Making her way to the small beach in front of their building, she takes a deep breath and fels that stupid feeling again. The one that puts her on the edge of something that never comes no matter how hard she tries. As if there's something waiting right around the corner.

The sky is now a mix of purple, pink and orange. It's beautiful. The wind becomes cold while she just stands there, feeling the sand wrap her feet. The waves crash, coming and going and then coming again.

It's when a bird flies too close to her that she puts her hands on both pockets. A reflex. Something so normal but that means a lot, specially when she feels one of her hands brush against something.

And there it is. She finally went over the edge, finally saw what is around the corner. Her eyes gets watery, she can feel tears falling down her cheeks and sees the wet dots being created on the sand. She laughs. Suddenly life is less heavy.

Her body almost gives in, but she manages to sit properly. With another deep breath, she sees what he left for her.

Two years ago, during a race week on the US, they managed to scape go to Santa Monica. He insisted on going to the photo booth and she hated every single one of the pictures. He told her to chose one to keep, the others could go.

And he carried that one with him everywhere. Either on his wallet or inside of his helmet.

And now the picture is on her hand, wrapped in a small paper. She's sure it was already there when he gave it to her, and when he kissed her goodbye for the last time.

On his crap handwriting, was written: a memory for you to keep until I come back.

Seing the sun finally disappear and the moon rise on the other side, she reliases she created another memory for her to keep on living for.

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moonsunlovers · 8 months

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Hi! Nobody is going to read this probably lol as I’m new in this app (not in Jikook world though). But I just wanted to point out a little detail that not a lot of people is talking about regarding the watch thing.

When we talk about theories I like to try to be the more impartial and clinic possible. I don’t like to get carried by my own desires to see any Jikook manifestation in their little acts because sometimes there’s nothing there, just us missing them and their bond deeply. But sometimes too, there’s some things that you can not explain at all. And this is one of this cases.

When I saw this morning people talking about the watch thing the first thing I thought was “please, don’t be like those shippers outside that are desperate to prove anything, we don’t need that”, but then I stopped and read carefully and objectively the facts that people where putting on the table. And I must say that, after thinking logically at it, it doesn’t make sense that Jimin had his watch with a completely different time zone in his live, a different time that coincidently it’s Junkook’s birth time. On his birthday. Suspicious.

Specially if the obvious justification is automatically discarded. “He must have wear that watch when he traveled to another time zone and did not set the time correctly when he came back”. Yeah, sure, that was my first thought, but then I realized. When you change your time zone you change hours, not minutes. You add or rest hours depending on which country you are traveling, like from Korea to US, that you have to change like 12 hours on the clock, but the minutes stays the same. So how can we explain that when Jimin started the live in Korea was 20.54 but his watch said 15.23??? As I said, it doesn’t make sense, because if it was because of a time zone then it should be 8.54, not 15.23 (and I say 8.54 because is the time that his watch should read in case he has the time zone of NY, -12h).

You can see in the following picture the time zones of my place of reference (European time zone), you add hours in the case of Seoul, or rest hours in the case of New York, but the minutes still the same.

What other theory could it be? The watch doesn’t work properly? It didn’t seam so as it worked perfectly in the live. The watch battery stopped working, he changed it and forgot to change the time? Could be, but isn’t the normal thing to automatically correct the time once you get your watch to work properly again?? I don’t know, call me crazy but Jimin is a person that gives a lot of attention on the details, specially when we are talking about his appearance and complements such as rings, earrings, watches… I would find it really strange that he didn’t have everything on point.

So… the other explanation is that it was on purpose, just a little detail for the ones who know to what you should pay attention to. Jimin and Jungkook have used numerology before. We have seen it in their t-shirt’s, in festa things and interviews, in mentions in their concerts, in tweets posted at specific hours… It’s nothing new, if you follow Jikook closely you must know it.

Another thing that we should take into account is that Jimin didn’t wear the watch in the Dior event. He put it specifically to do the live at home. He told us that after it he was going to wash up, remove his make up and rest, so we suppose he wasn’t going to go anywhere. Why would you put your watch to stay at home, alone, just to do a live? The only logical answer is that he wanted us to see it, otherwise nobody arrives at home changes clothes and decides to put your expensive watch again just to sit on a chair an spend some time on the internet with army.

Is it really unbelievable that Jimin made a little reference to Jungkook’s birth on his birthday? Is it really unbelievable when he just came to Weverse on live just to show us his mood lamp and tell us to wish him a happy birthday? Honestly my friends, they had made more bold and incredible things and still here we are. It wouldn’t be the first nor the last time they do something mind blowing to let us know that something is going on with them, so even if this is just coincidence or it was totally on purpose I must say that I’m here for all of it.

#kookmin #mingukkie #jikook

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odinsblog · 1 month

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“I sometimes hear people say that Russia was forced to attack Ukraine because Ukrainians wanted to join NATO. Those people also often say that NATO promised it would not expand to the East, but later broke this promise. And this, allegedly, is the reason why Russia keeps attacking its neighbors.

If you have ever heard people say something like that, please know that this is not true. And it will take me less than five minutes to prove with facts that both statements are false.

First, let's have a look at the timeline of events.

Russia first invaded Ukraine in February 2014 by occupying the Crimea peninsula. At that moment, Ukraine was a neutral country by law and expressed no intention of joining NATO whatsoever. For instance, during the Revolution of Dignity, the protesters insisted on Ukraine joining the EU, not NATO. It was only in autumn 2014, after many months of war, that Ukraine abandoned neutrality.

So what came first? Russia attacking Ukraine, or Ukraine wanting to join NATO?

The answer is clear.

Had Russia not threatened Ukraine's existence, there would be no reason for our country to seek collective security. So please do not repeat the lie that, I quote, “Russia attacked because Ukraine wanted to join NATO,” end of quote. This does not correspond with the facts.

Now let's have a look at the story of NATO allegedly promising not to expand to the East.

If you ask people who say this, when exactly, such a promise was made and who made it, most of them will not be able to provide a clear answer. Spoiler, because no such promise has ever been made and the whole story is a Russian fairy tale.

Those more sophisticated will tell you that the promise was made to the President of the USSR, Mikhail Gorbachev. They may even refer to the 1990 U.S.-Soviet negotiations on the reunification of Germany. Again, let’s consider the timeline.

In summer 1990, when these talks were held, the Soviet analog of NATO, the Warsaw Pact, still existed. Its dissolution, let alone the Soviet Union's dissolution, was not on the cart. No one even talked about it or imagined it. It was only next year, in 1991 that the Warsaw Pact, and later the USSR, quite unexpectedly ceased to exist.

Now explain to me just how the very issue could be even discussed in the summer of 1990. It is not surprising that Mikhail Gorbachev later himself refuted this falsehood. When asked by a journalist whether any such promise had been made, he said this was a myth.

Now let's look at it from another perspective. How could NATO even promise anything like that?

Initially, it is not NATO that decides which country joins it. Countries themselves need to want it. And actually, the membership criteria are very difficult. It requires a lot of political will and reform. All the NATO members that joined it after 1991, really wanted to be part of it.

Their people wanted this.

And here comes the most uncomfortable question for Russia: Why were all of the nations that had been part of the Soviet Union or the Socialist bloc so eager and desperate to join NATO?

Well, maybe because in three decades, Russia has invaded or incited war in at least three of its neighbors, Moldova, Georgia and Ukraine. At the same time, Russia has not dared to invade any of its NATO neighbors.

Do you see the pattern?

The only reason for countries in the vicinity of Russia to seek NATO membership has always been and remains the need to protect their people from Russia.

Therefore, Moscow has only itself to blame for the fact that all of the central European and Baltic nations ran away from it and hid under the NATO umbrella as quickly as they could.

Do not let Russian officials or their supporters in the West fool you. Russia attacked Ukraine not because NATO expanded to the East, or because Ukraine wanted to join NATO. Russia attacked because it denies Ukraine's right to exist and wants to conquer our land and kill our people. It is through our shared strength that we can and must stop Russia and put an end to its aggressive plans for the rest of Europe.

For this to happen, keep supporting Ukraine and don't buy Russian lies.”

👉🏿 https://www.brookings.edu/blog/up-front/2014/11/06/did-nato-promise-not-to-enlarge-gorbachev-says-no/

👉🏿 https://www.tumblr.com/odinsblog/686191406300184576/appeasement-does-not-work-appeasement-didnt

👉🏿 https://www.tumblr.com/odinsblog/684530801484922880/believing-putins-reasons-for-invading-ukraine

👉🏿 https://www.tumblr.com/odinsblog/742088177664344064/violated-agreements-1991-russia-cosigns

#politics #ukraine #russia #dmytro kuleba #russian propaganda #nato #russian colonialism #nato expansion #russian imperialism #mikhail gorbachev #russia is a terrorist state #warsaw pact #russian expansion #russian fascism ☭#soviet union #tankies #vladimir putin is a war criminal #baltic states #🇺🇦

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mybworlds · 3 months

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Chapter 1

Pairing: Javier Peña x F!Reader (no use of Y/N)

Summary: Javier Peña and his partner can't stand each other, but to take down an old enemy they are forced to work together and pretend to be a complacent married couple.

Series warnings: language , violence, alcohol use, slow burn, angst, mutual pining, smut (18+ MDNI), creampie, oral sex (m and f), fingering, masturbation (m and f), trauma and SA referencing.

Masterlist

Before to start… so here we are… I am very excited and nervous to write about this story 'cause I really care 'bout it. 🙏 I'm not an expert on these spy agencies, so if I got something wrong, don't get angry or offended. 😬 And maybe some aspects of Peña's character may change, if it's necessary. I don’t know how many chapters the story will have. If you want to follow my new fanfiction, I appreciate it 🙏

Thanks @vase-of-lilies for the banner

If there's one thing you really can't stand it's Monday mornings, not finding coffee on your desk in the office, not being able to catch a criminal after a long investigation that has taken you so much time and energy, you are in the office and you persistently look at the documentation related to Alvaro Monteiro, also known as 'El Diablo,' a drug dealer known in South America but also in half of the European countries, now also infamous for exploitation of prostitution and organ trafficking in countries like Mexico and Argentina.

You shake your head trying to bring order to the few testimonies about his movements, sightings, and the last deals he conducted; those who could really talk are afraid for their relatives and their own lives; those who talk more are found with a bullet in their head somewhere.

You hold your head in your hands watching the faces of all the young women, men and even children caught up in this so far endless trail of blood and death. You don't know when you will arrest Monteiro, but you know one thing for sure, you will not let up until you catch him. They wouldn't call you Bulldog like that.

Everyone whispers this nickname of yours because of your determination at work and then because, if you start pursuing a case, it becomes your priority even over your own life. None of your colleagues, however, has ever dared to openly call you that. With the exception of your insufferable colleague Javier Peña.

Speaking of him, he's a huge pain in the ass, a huge Don Juan who is convinced he can have everyone at his feet with that grin and his dark eyes always ready to look seductively at anyone who comes his way. He even hit on you once, but you told him everything you thought about him, about his absurd ways of getting information about investigations, about how he slept with half the office and all of them, even though they had been dumped by him, kept kissing the ground he walked on!

That's crazy.

By the way, here he comes into the office, agent Peña, hair perfectly coiffed, glasses on his nose, winking smile, and everyone looking at him dreamily, you roll your eyes and shake your head to go back to looking at the Monteiro dossier.

"Good mornin'." he greets you in a detached tone.

By the way, you and Peña can't stand each other. Not because you stood him up, or maybe even because of that, but because both of you were engaged on the Monteiro case a couple of years earlier. You each had your own method of investigation, as you do now for that matter, and you ended up pointing a gun at each other losing your target and then blaming each other in front of your boss. Your boss removed you from the case.

From that moment on, Peña treats you frostily, if he has to spite you he does, if he has to tell you a nasty thing he tells you, he doesn't think twice about it, if he has any news he keeps it to himself and reports it to your superior making you look like an amateur always bent over papers and little in action.

"Good mornin', Agent Peña," you greet him in the same tone.

Within a year of being removed from the case, however, Peña continued to keep his female informants - mostly prostitutes - on the alert about all that might be his movements, you for your part have always kept an eye on money movements and possible strange transfers from American to Mexican banks and vice versa, all of which led your boss to reassign both of you the case, making you promise to cooperate and share any information that either of you might obtain. Collaboration that has not happened so far, however, not entirely, at least.

Peña lays his palms on the documentation you were sifting through forcing you to look up at him, looking at you insistently with his huge dark eyes with the expression of someone who is studying someone intensely.

You sigh, "What do you want?" you ask him.

"Just to inform you," he replies.

You lean your back against the chair and raise your eyebrows as if to invite him to continue, you cross your arms "That would be news!" you exclaim in an icy tone "I'm all ears."

"Monteiro has been spotted in Paloma Beach, France."

You widen your eyes, spreading your lips wide, he smiles in that annoyed grin.

"Peña. Speak up. Now." you tell him, looking him straight in the eye.

He leans against the desk "I'm glad to have your attention," he says crossing his arms in a satisfied expression of someone who got to a race first "I thought you were too focused on staring at the paper…"

"Peña, you have my attention and if you don't talk right now I'm going to kick your ass and throw you out of my office!" you threaten him in an icy tone "So?"

He sighs, "Always in a good mood, I see!"

"Always a stupid and misplaced sarcasm," you retort using the same tone.

"Whatever," he says showing a green folder in his hands "Monteiro has been spotted in France, in Saint - Jean - Cap - Ferrat." he's telling you, because you're too eager to read news about the narco-trafficker, you get up from your chair and make to pull the clipboard away from him, but he's faster than you and pulls it away from your reach. You almost end up against him, you're within an arm's length of his angular nose and those dark pools, you both immediately retreat. He clears his throat and then resumes, "I was saying, Monteiro has been spotted there and according to this informant of mine he will be there for the next few summer months."

"When would the informant have told you these things?" you ask him raising an eyebrow.

"Does it matter?" he asks you raising an eyebrow as well.

No, not really considering how she must have gotten this information. You don't want to hear him say it, you are bothered by this display of how able he's to get his informants to talk and get comfortable and then get them to confess what he wants to know. No, thank you.

"Have you told Diáz yet?" you ask him, furrowing your brow.

"Claro." he answers you raising his eyebrows with a satisfied air.

"Cabrón." you answer him curtly.

You don't speak Spanish, but obviously living in those parts of South America you had to learn and especially you had to learn how to respond in tone to Peña's exclamations who likes to retort punctually in Spanish. In the early days he was doing it on purpose to retort in Spanish having realized you didn't understand Spanish and who knows how many he must have said to you and you didn't even understand them, but from the moment you started studying Spanish, you started responding in tone leaving him surprised in the early days, then it became a habit of yours to retort on each other with Spanish barbs.

"Muy bien, shall we go?" he asks you.

"Where?"

"Diáz of course! Did you have your coffee this morning, agent?" he asks as he gets up from your desk and adjusts his dark pants.

"And did you ever go to sleep?" you ask him making to head for the door. He does before you, however, and opens the door for you, then makes a hand gesture at which you roll your eyes and snort.

"Let it not be said that agent Peña is not a gentleman!" he exclaims.

"You're supposed to be a gentleman with all the poor girls you screw and then quit!" you exclaim. You just can't stand it, you can't help it.

Diáz is your boss, a man of about fifty, sturdy build, graying hair, big eyes with thick lenses on his nose, he wants everything to work perfectly in his department.

"Sir." you say as you enter his office.

"Sir." Peña greets as he enters the office closing the door "You wanted to see us?"

"Yes, thank you for coming, agents. I know you are both involved in the Monteiro case and as we know Monteiro has now become a world class criminal. I am in contact with departments in other countries and it's been confirmed that he is in France." he pauses "Do you speak French?"

You wrinkle your forehead, "Sir?"

"I need two agents - you -" he says pointing at both of you "to go there in the field in Saint - Jean - Cap - Ferrat to investigate undercover."

"Sir, with all due respect," you continue "but this is perhaps a CIA job-- we-- we are just DEA agents." you state externalizing your concern "We don't have the proper training to…"

"Agent," Diáz resumes, "I understand your fear, but the Monteiro case has become important to all of us. Monteiro could be in France today, the day after he disappeared from circulation again, it's too important for us to catch him."

You watch Peña in the hope of getting his support, but you see him thoughtfully "They will find out right away that we are agents, they might-" you are about to say they might kill you right away or torture you to figure out what you know and then kill you, but it's Peña who interrupts your stream of thought "When are we going to get him?"

Diáz smiles, "Have a seat, now I will explain everything."

Diáz explains to you in hand that you will not be completely alone, there will be CIA men who will be ready to intervene if you deem it necessary. He also explains to you that you will change your names, you will be Blanca Torres and Peña will be Diego Torres, and the role you will have to play. Diáz explains to you you will be two newlyweds on honeymoon ready to enjoy the sea, the sun, but your true goal will be to approach Monteiro and try to understand his plans and catch him.

"Todo claro? " asks your superior.

"Si." replies Peña.

"Está bien, aquí están sus pasaportes. Nadie te hará preguntas en el aeropuerto, pero sé discreto." continues Diáz in Spanish.

"¿Cuándo nos iremos?" you ask him not at all enthusiastically.

"In two days, just enough time to get the final paperwork in order. Needless to say, be discreet, don't ask too many questions around and play smart." he tells you again "Remember your roles and you won't fail." he adds taking your leave.

When Peña closes the office door behind him, you throw yourself into your chair with a despondent air "What do we do now?"

"What do you mean?" he asks you crossing his arms and furrowing his brow.

"Peña, you and I can't stand each other and now we have to pretend to be husband and wife, I don't know if you got that!" you exclaim nervously.

"Sure, Blanca. Or would you prefer, amor?" he asks smiling at you with that slapping face of him.

You roll your eyes; you don't know how you're going to stand him! You hope to catch Monteiro in a few days and put an end to that charade as soon as possible.

Taglist: @love-affair-with-fandoms; @pedr0swh0r3; @angel98624 if you want to be added let me know, if you liked this first part, leave a comment, like or reblog, if you didn't like it, it's okay, be kind and move on 🙂

#javier peña #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena narcos #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #javier pena smut #narcos fanfiction #javier x reader #narcos ff #narcos fic #soft! javier pena #dom!javier pena #smut #javier pena fic #javier pena

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sleepynegress · 6 months

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On Greta Danesti...

I'm just taking this time to correct a certain anti-Black, (and anti-Romani) sadly typical fandom troll's misogynoir fuckery in the tag and establishing who Greta Danesti is in canon Castlevania animation lore. This is Greta Danesti's official character sheet:

She's the village headwoman of Danesti a few miles away from Alucard's castle. This is what her voice actress, Marsha Thompson looks like:

It's pretty obvious her character design took cues from the actress, who is Afro-British. In show canon, however, her family escaped from the Roman city of Carthage, which today, is located in the African country Tunisia. Alucard correctly speculated where her people are from while conversing with her, here (s4 e5):

Greta then confirms that her people did escape the Romans, but she now fully embraces her "family" in her village who are "from all over" and the responsibility of taking care of them.

This same troll used the g-slur to insist that she is Romani.

She is not. This troll used an early character design here, to make her case.:

And though it does have similarities to Romani clothing... It also looks like it takes cues from Tunisian clothing and likely local and non-local European clothing of the era with "fantasy" elements sprinkled in, as well, which would match the fact of her village's people coming from all over:

There definitely should be more Romani rep in media as it is so often whitewashed, but Greta is not Romani.

FYI, these women actors actually *are* of Romani descent: Fairuza Balk of The Craft, Oona Chaplin who played Robb Stark's wife in GOT (she's also Charlie Chaplin's granddaughter[!]), and Noomi Rapace from the Swedish movie, The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo says her father may have been of Romani descent, as well.

And because I can predict it, as people like to find ways of discounting blackness in every way...

Yes, there are plenty of non-Black indigenous POC in North Africa, including within Tunisia. Another fun fact... Africa has more indigenous human genetic variation among its peoples than every other people on the planet has with everyone else on the planet[!]. All this to say non-white POC AND Black people are indigenous to Tunisia.

I feel I have to say that because there is a lot of anti-Black anthropological fetishization of North Africa. Egypt is a major example of that (see: Rami Malek, an indigenous Coptic Egyptian who self-identifies as African man of color and has likely had to clarify that *often* because people keep wanting to mislabel him as an Arab, but I digress...) And sadly, there is a decidedly anti-black movement to totally disconnect certain North African countries' identities from a continental African one, and to largely see it as mainly a part of the MENA world (it is both kiddies, BOTH). Here is an informative article (linked in the image) about that struggle:

So, this got heavy...but between the post insisting that Greta is NOT Black and the one saying she's not bisexual because that same troll is purposefully and maliciously being obtuse about how words go together... I figured clearing some things up and educating folks might be helpful. BTW, the fact of those issues in the article makes her blackness all the more resonant as rep in pop culture. And hey, poly folks have disagreements, just like the het folks do... -Still bi. I'm gonna end here with two images from the linked article of anti-racist Tunisian protesters (MENA and Black):

P.S. I also side-eye those keen to make her muscular... I mean yeah she wields a big-ass hammer and shortsword/dagger, but the tendency to masculinize black woman characters deserves a hardy eye-squint. Especially, given that the show has *no problem* making muscular women look like that and they DIDN'T for Miss Greta.

See: Zamfir and the Berserk-style sword-carrying Vampire warrior, Striga. Both of whom had that flex going on.

#tumblr gonna tumblr #misogynoir #greta danesti #greta x alucard #castlevania #I hate when wrong-ass trolling info is spread in the tumblr fandom tags about black women characters #and sadly it happens A LOT purposefully #if you don't like black women just stick to the characters you like instead...you really gotta put in effort to actively HATE as a hobby #same ole same ole #meta #one kinda hate ALWAYS comes with another #which is why solidarity makes sense #troll is anti-black & biphobic #so this is becoming a thing?#doing my best to make sure the black girl character tags have GOOD info about the characters #first uhura and now greta #sunday wip procrastination blah #block that “gretasworld” troll #btw the producers say she's not a spin-off Grant Dynasty so...that's why he's not mentioned

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thebrightestwitchofherage · 5 months

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Religion and the conflict- an excuse for antisemitism

Many users seem to use everyone's interest in the conflict to spread misinformation and antisemitic beliefs. Antisemitism today is being rebranded as antizionism.

Zionism is simply the notion that the Jewish people should have a state of their own, in Zion (AKA the historical and religious name for Israel).

Debunking some common musconcepti0ons about Zionism -It's not a new movement- This concept has been around ever since the Jewish people were first expelled from Israel. Jews have tried to immigrate to Israel ever since and were often met with refusal. They were then sent back against their will to nearby territories such as Cyprus.

But I��m not antisemitic, I’m just anti Israeli

-Antisemitic hate crimes rates have gone up globally:

from slurs, genocidal chants and violence in American college campuses, to hate crimes and violence spiking across Europe…

Take London for an example - there’s currently a 1,350% spike in antisemitism.

People are killed for being Jewish. Swastikas are drawn, and the hashtag “Hitler was right” is trending all over social media.

You can’t deny that chanting “gas the Jews” in protests in antisemitic…

It's not like what happened in Canada & the USA -Treatment of Palestinians after the founding of the state of Israel: To better understand the situation, you'll need to understand the difference between Palestinian territories outside of Israel, Palestinian territories inside Israel, and Israeli territories.

-Palestinians living in Palestinian territories Outside of Israel (The Gaza Strip) are governed by Hamas. -Palestinians living in Palestinian territories within Israel are governed by the Palestinian Authority and not Israel. *For further reading, you can read about the differences between A, B, and C zones.

-Arabic Muslims and Arabic Christians living within Israeli territories have the exact same rights as Jewish Israelis. There are many "mixed" cities in which Arabic people and Jewish people live peacefully, it's a nonissue.

Israeli people are European settlers \ white colonizers

Are they all white? I can't believe I have to write this, but contrary to popular belief, not all Jews are white, just like not all Christians are white ... Stop being ignorant: there are Jewish People from Asian, Arab, and African countries. Please stop telling Arabic\African Jews to go back to Europe, You are embarrassing yourself. The reason why there aren't a lot of them in those countries right now is that they were either killed or forced to leave them (often without any of their possessions) after years of discrimination and violence. *Are they collonsiers?

The Jewish people are indigenous to the land of Israel. There is much historical, and archeological evidence for that. There is evidence that supports that the Jewish people have been here for thousands of years. The Jewish people all originated from Israel, and are an Ethnic group that originated from Israel. How can we be colonizers on our own land?

Most of the land of Israel was either given by the British mandate or purchased legally.

Obviously, some land was occupied- but that was during wars that were forced on Israel, after many terror attacks. -Many of the people claiming Israeli people are colonizers, are European, American, or Canadian.... AKA the biggest colonizers in history, who have 0 connection to the land they occupied. While Israel was a British colony until 1948-and Unlike popular belief, the conflict doesn't start there. That's what Hamas wants you to think. Your favorite Maps are a lie

They won't tell you about the Balfour declaration in 1917, the 1936 Peel Commission, or the 1947 UN partition plan which the Palestinian people rejected. Do you know what followed that rejection? Foreign armies from Syria, Iraq, Egypt, Lebanon, and Saudi Arabia attacked.

Many peace accords including the 1993 Oslo Accords (which since then were violated by the Palestinians)- were all initiated by Israel.

Not one of the wars in Israeli history was initiated by Israel. * Besides the occupation of the Golan Heights and the Sinai Peninsula** Most of the lands that make up Israel were either given by the British after their mandate over the country had ended or purchased legally*. *Besides the Golan Heights and the Sinai Peninsula**. **The Sinai peninsula was returned completely to Egypt in 1982. as part of the 1977 peace accords between Egypt and Israel. Further context and more information:

I suggest you read about the Suez Crisis \ The Sinai War of 1956, The Egypt- Israel Peace Accords, the Oslo Accords, the British mandate over Israel (especially the end of it), and different UN decisions made in the years before the founding of Israel.

#israel #israeli #jewish #jewblr #טאמבלר ישראלי #politics #human rights #Gaza #Gaza strip #Hamas is Isis #bring them back #bring them home

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nordickies · 1 year

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Could we have a little more Estonia and Finland? I just love the way you draw them ^v^

Finland and Estonia's relationship is something so special, and any interaction they have makes me full of joy. But maybe it's one of those things only Finns and Estonians understand - these two connect so much more with each other than they do with the rest of the Nordics or Baltics

Some of my random views on their relationship are under the cut

Finland and Estonia have known each other for as long as they can remember. These two cultures have always interacted and traded; after all, they only have 80 km (~50 miles) of sea between them. And I am not opposed to the idea that they're actually related! They have a lifelong bond and have been with each other through some of their worst moments. Sometimes Finland and Estonia feel like only they truly understand one another, and everyone else is an outsider in their world. There is a lot of love, validation, and support between them!

Estonia should be older than Finland, and he has a lot more life experience than him. In their youth, Estonia was the protective one with great skills, who didn't fear other nations around them, while Finland was too young to understand what was happening. I would argue Estonia can be even more intimidating than Finland if he really wanted to be. Even Sweden didn't dare to mess with him (at first). Estonia was a wild one back in the day, never letting go without putting up a fight, but since then, he has become more calculative. Simply put, Estonia is the brain, while Finland is the brawn. You can see it in the way they approach things, too; Estonia is more knowledgeable but careful due to his experiences, making sure to plan things way up ahead and taking a long time to trust others. Meanwhile, Finland is more trusting and stays neutral in many matters. Because of his people-pleasing personality, Fin just doesn't want to be enemies with anyone. Estonia, however, finds it impossible to sustain. These two have been under the same rule twice, but their experiences have been very different

Finland values their relationship highly and spends a lot of time with Estonia, though Estonia sometimes sees Finland as a little too dependent on him. Finland can be tiresome at times and doesn't always understand Estonia's worries, but Estonia knows Finland loves him deeply and would do anything for Estonia, even against orders. There have been times when their leaders haven't approved of their cooperation, yet they have always found sneaky ways to support each other

They're poets, just like the rest of the Baltic Finnic people, and music plays a huge part in their life, especially for Estonia. Estonia has an amazing singing voice and produces music in his free time, but Finland is more skilled with lyrical writing and instruments. Their "alien" status among other Europeans and dying roots have driven them to cooperate more together to preserve their heritage and traditions

They share similar lifestyles and common interests, to the point that they can almost read each other's minds. They both have a great sense of humor and a lot of insider jokes. Estonia and Finland are both silly and curious, constantly getting stupid ideas they just have to try out. Estonia is very clever and a bit of an inventor. These guys have come up with the wildest usages for old vehicles and electric scooters. Speaking of cars, these two are crazy (but skilled) drivers. Both countries are known for their cold-nerved WRC champions, so it's a hobby that they share. They're daredevils who want to go fast on rural forest roads or frozen lakes. To them, it's a ton of fun - for others, it's a nightmare. Estonia and Finland can turn anything into a challenge, like throwing various items, seeing who can stay in the sauna for the longest, or competing about wife-carrying. They have a lot of competitiveness but in a healthy way. Fin and Eesti are happy to compliment and cheer each other on. All they wanna do is have fun! (While Norway and Sweden will argue and diss one another mercilessly over the smallest of wins)

They're both party-loving people who have get-togethers all the time, usually involving alcohol and sauna. When they're intoxicated, they can begin to understand one another, which is freaky. When they hang out together, they speak a weird mixture of each other's languages, switching between Finnish and Estonian and, in some cases mixing some other language in there too. And no one else has any idea what is going on. Finland especially finds Estonia's language hilarious, and they get into some awkward misunderstandings from time to time

THEY'RE INSEPARABLE BEST FRIENDS, END OF DISCUSSION. THE IDEAL AND PURE MASCULINE FRIENDSHIP! Plus, FinEst literally says "finest"! If you ship them, all my love to you <3 But in my opinion, Estonia deserves someone less draining than Finland, hah. And male friendships can be so pure, and I want to see more of them!!

#hws finland #hws estonia #my art #headcanons

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