#Croatian military

[nocternalrandomness]

A Croatian Air Force Antonov An-32 transport climbing out of Florennes Airbase

[chussy]

if your country is a part of NATO then joining your country's military is fucking psychotic imo. like you could just get sent to die whenever and wherever the americans want you to die in the name of profit. genuinely insane to put yourself in that situation

[auguste-marmonts-only-fan]

PSA:

DO NOT let your children read marmonts memoirs. Their brain will never be at ease ever again ‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️

[goranvisnjicdaily]

Because I'm back from the SAIB 2024 (International Bagotville Airshow 2024) I'm still in the mood for some airshows... and For some reason google thought of sending me these pics in my news Alert... Even though it's nothing new, I had never seen these pics before of Goran from the Croatian Air Force flight.

Goran + Aircrafts = Perfection!

P.S. Been away since Thursday... I did not disappear! Had to rush mom to the ER... Let say, the first week of Chemo is rough for her...

[postcard-from-the-past]

Military barracks in Zagreb, Croatia

Croatian vintage postcard

[barbucomedie]

Spangenhelm Helmet from Dalmatia, Croatia dated to around 500 CE on display at the Weltmuseum in Vienna, Austria

Photographs taken by myself 2022

[military1st]

Croatian Army Soldier during a military advisory team training exercise at the Joint Multinational Readiness Center in Hohenfels, Germany.

The U.S. Army photo by Spc. Tristan Bolden (2012)

[aristotels]

ive started a shitstorm here and im still getting ppl in my inbox and notes absolutely missing the entire point of WHY knowing basic geography is important.

people calling me out for european imperialism are proving it by not even understanding the differences between western and eastern europe and the economic differences and exploitation or understanding what the fuck imperialism itself is and what constitutes it. yall keep arguing with a person from balkans about eurocentrism and this is why you should know where balkans are. i dont care about you knowing that zagreb is the croatian capital, its rly not important, the purpose of this entire discussion is understanding economic contexts of different countries

the actual purpose of this converstation is learning what imperial core is and how usamericans not trying to learn abt the countries theyre exploiting is harmful.

blue countries constitute the imperial core and hold monopoly over market, trade, education, military powers, etc. if you live in them you have some responsibilities. you affect the periphery and semi-periphery countries. your votes, your president, etc, affect them. you have a duty to know about the countries that your country opresses.

i also hope people read at least the wikipedia page on globalism if they wont read marx. and you can actually learn what the fuck global south is too

here's more information on imperial core countries and how that affects the rest. its a newer article, as opposed to the maps from 2000 and 2005.

im srsly done w this whole discussion and unless you want to discuss actual issues about exploitation and neocolonialism instead of asking me to name 50 usa states dont botheeeer im done

[thismustbetheblog]

The Croatian lads had a dream and a E50 voucher for the military surplus shop

[mapsontheweb]

The Habsburg monarchy from 1849 to 1868

“Atlas of European history”, Times Books, 1994

via cartesdhistoire

Having defeated the revolution of 1848 in Hungary, Vienna made substantial changes to Hungarian territory: Transylvania was detached, Croatia was enlarged and the voivodship of Serbia and the Banat of Tamiš was created (November 1849).

This situation continued until the Austrian defeats in Italy in 1859 and against Prussia in 1866. After the abolition of the voivodship of Serbia and the Banat in 1860, Emperor Franz Joseph restored the autonomy of Hungary through the Compromise of 1867 (“Österreichisch-Ungarischer Ausgleich”). Hungary obtained what it demanded in 1848: a government responsible to Parliament and the management of its internal affairs, to the great dismay of the non-Magyar populations who were therefore subject to the centralizing model of Budapest.

The Compromise consists of the Constitutional Statute concerning Austria and its dependencies and the Constitutional Pact concluded between Franz Joseph and the Hungarian Nation. Indeed, the Hungarians have always seen their integration into the Habsburg monarchy as a voluntary act and not as a subjection.

The “Ausgleich” was completed in November 1868 by a Hungarian-Croatian compromise (“Nagoda”) negotiated between Budapest and the Zagreb Diet. Croatia-Slavonia now forms an autonomous kingdom within Hungary with its own administration and its Diet (“Sabor”).

Hungary recovered Transylvania in 1867 and the military borders were placed under civil administration between 1851 and 1881.

Hungary (Transleithania) brings together 20,886,000 inhabitants in a territory which is generally that of the Crown of Saint-Etienne. This is also its official name: “Country of the Crown of Saint-Étienne”. Austria (Cisleithania) is the rest of the Habsburg territory, officially named "Kingdoms and countries represented in the Imperial Diet", a more disparate group of 28,275,000 inhabitants - including the Countries of the Crown of Saint Wenceslas: Bohemia, Moravia, Silesia.

[nocternalrandomness]

Croatian Air Force / MiG-21 / Zagreb Airport Croatia

[queer-geordie-nerd]

"As if Croatia and Serbia were competing, desperately wanting to match the level of vulgarity, hateful war-mongering and fascist inclinations of the other side, both sides began spreading rumors, half-lies and panic among their people. Who was to blame for all the troubles? It was crucial to find a culprit. Just as the Albanians were seemingly the chosen guilty party for most Serbian troubles (according to the Serbian media), in Croatia citizens of Serbian descent were quickly singled out as the main historical wrongdoers never to be trusted (according to the Croatian media).

The very fact that someone’s mother happened to be of Serbian ethnicity made that someone automatically suspicious. The second most hated group became the Yugoslav National Army, which the Croatian media portrayed as sympathetic to the Serbian cause (which would soon prove to be tragically true). Suddenly, the families of Yugoslav National Army officials became targets too. In shock, Goran and I realized that his family fulfilled both criteria for being suspicious: a) they were Serbs (since when? I was clueless, as usual) and b) Goran’s father used to be a military officer. I myself had a Serbian biological grandmother. (Would the fact that she had abandoned my mother at birth be an exonerating fact, I asked myself. Does nationalistic blood counting even care for details like this? And what about Jewishness? Was my mother right in advising me not to talk about it?)

I noticed that my Croatian friends and colleagues began speaking to me in a slightly changed tone. So did my Serbian friends. Over and over, I would hear the same exact sentence, spoken with a different accent: “You don’t understand this. You’re not from here.” In Croatia: “You don’t have a right to say anything. You’re not a pure Croat.” Pure? In Serbia: “What do you know about this? You’re not Serbian.” The same verdict would come out in myriad different versions: you don’t belong, you’re not “one of us,” you don’t have the right, you don’t understand, you don’t care about “us,” which side are you on anyway, what are you doing with “them,” why don’t you stay here where you belong, why don’t you go back to where you belong…? The noise was deafening. My mind was boiling.

One thing was clear: I was no longer trusted, in either of the two opposing camps, not even by my friends and colleagues. One of the most effective tactics in the production of hatred is abolishing all contact between opposing sides. This was exactly what both sides were frantically trying to achieve. You could not buy the papers from the other side anymore. You could not listen to the radio from the other side anymore. You could not catch TV programs from the other side anymore. The simple fact of my traveling between the two antagonistic cities was a subversion of the crucial idea of disrupted communication. Very often, in conversations on both sides, I would find myself screaming at the top of my lungs, trying to explain, explain, explain. But nobody was listening anymore.

The other technique in the production of war, an enterprise that was developing daily in front of our eyes, was the rehashing of old World War II wounds on both sides. More and more, the Serbian media began using the word “Ustaše” (the Croatian WWII fascists) to depict the whole Croatian people. The Croatian media, in turn, began using the word “Četnici” (the Serbian WWII monarchists who eventually sided with Hitler) to talk about the Serbian people. What was planted in the media at the time would later become reality. It would become a clear case of self-fulfilling prophecy. The old foes “Ustaše” and “Četnici” would soon rise and take up arms again. Sometimes it would literally be the same arms and the same uniforms that had been hidden away in dusty cellars since 1945.

In Serbia, Milošević, although nominally a Communist, aligned himself tightly with the Serbian Orthodox church. In horror, we were watching processions of Christian Orthodox priests carrying the bones of some important Serbian saint, on national television. The bones of Serbian civilians killed by the Croatian Ustashas during WWII were being diligently dug up from their long-forgotten graves. What was exactly the same on both sides was a harsh and merciless anti-Communism. And a newly discovered religious fever. What was most shocking, on both sides you could feel a deep, intense hatred for the land we had all been taught to love and cherish since our births, our shared country – Yugoslavia. Suddenly, the former loudest, flag-waving Yugoslav patriots became its main vilifiers.

And on both sides, WWII history was being frantically rewritten, picturing the winning anti-Fascists as the bad guys and their foes, the homegrown Fascists, as the good guys. What was inconceivable to me was the absolute readiness of people on both sides to accept the new “truths,” as if they had silently always believed them. The loudest, most enthusiastic revisionists proved to be the former members of the Communist Party. Old uniforms were being quickly replaced by new ones, both physically and metaphorically. As the world around us was crumbling down, my father’s take on things became especially valuable. He knew his history and his politics well. He was an active participant in, and a firsthand witness to a history that was repeating itself before our eyes."

- Mira Furlan, Love Me More Than Anything In the World

[mar3ggiata]

professional help, c14. Antamoro.

simon riley x original character.

trigger warnings: violence, sexual assault, mentions of rape, trauma, sexual themes, swearing, use of alcohol and drugs.

song to listen to when reading this: Piazza Grande, Lucio Dalla, Francesco de Gregori.

abstract: hey it's Jude, if you don't like being lied to don't read this because I'm seriously full of shit and these lies will probably bite me in the ass at some point. anyway, spoiler alert, kinda dark ending, but that's what you get having me tell this story. bye.

'You're from Italy?'

'Not exactly', she lied. Put your head in the game, no more information for him. Stay true to your profile. They were walking near a park, she was holding Jinx on a leash. The air was crisp, it wan't windy and the dog was overly excited. She had quickly ran upstairs to leave her bag at her place, put on a scarf and take the dog. When she had gone down the stairs, Simon was waiting for her on the sidewalk. She smiled at him involuntarily, seeing Jinx run towards him to smell his shoes and legs, tail wagging. He slightly bend down to let him sniff his hand. They had been walking in silence for a while, his hands in his pockets, her struggling to keep Jinx from pulling on the leash. He guessed right, she was from Italy. The hand gestures maybe or her fake name, which was Italian. She could't tell him the truth he already knew too much and he was smart enough to come up with the right questions. Thankfully, she was quite good at lying on the spot. 'I was born in Southampton, my dad is from Italy' she said. She was walking a lot slower, Jinx sniffing the grass. 'I heard you speak Italian, though', he noted and she cursed him for being so attentive to details. 'I wouldn't say English is my first language, I only spoke it at school… my mom is Croatian, she met my dad in Italy so I spoke Italian my whole life. I also went to uni in Italy…' she lied. 'What did you study?' he asked. He did have a few questions, some of them less appropriate than others. 'Psychology' she replied, that wasn't a lie. Not a total lie anyway. He wanted to know her life story and he was about to ask her to just tell him about it from her first memories of childhood, but she spoke first. 'I forgot your surname' she said, he told her. 'What's yours?'

'Antamoro.'

He swore that was some kind of witch magic shit, cause he never heard something that sounded like that. Her voice was different when she said it, it was low. She rolled the r on her tongue. Antamoro. It sounded like fucking royalty. It sounded rich and pure, it sounded red and thick like blood. He tried to repeat it in his British accent, and she giggled at the attempt. That made her say it again. Antamoro. It means antidote in Greek. That was his final straw. He was hypnotised. Alba Antamoro. He was thinking about getting it tattooed on his forehead, when she spoke again. 'Why did you join the military?' she asked, and he told her. Some bullshit about serving the country, making a difference. He was young when he joined, he had so much rage. Fighting was all he knew how to do, and he became quite good at it. He even grew to like the paper work, it relaxed him. She sat down on a bench, crossing her legs. He sat beside her while Jinx sniffed and ran around them. Fog had started to set around them. Did she always go to that spooky park? She got a pack of cigarettes out of her pocket. Winston Blue. She took one out and signalled for him to take one as well. He wanted to deny, he felt like he was giving into her. He was letting his guard down. He accepted the cigarette and she noticed he took so long to decide. She chucked and lit her cig. 'How did you end up here?' he finally asked. She wasn't asking him questions about himself, he was the weak one in the situation. He wanted to know her, he was showing interest. So, why the army, why America? She breathed out smoke slowly. 'I took two separate masters degree in clinical psychotherapy and forensic psychology. Both in the UK. Then I came here to get my licence and work cause I didn't want to be in England anymore. That's it' she said, like it was an easy job. Three university degrees, hu? You're smart, Alba, I knew you were smart, he thought. That's how she knew so much and her brain worked so well…She lived all over the place, she must have saw places, visited countries, talked to people, experienced a life he never lived. He thought her parents must have been wealthy, which they were. Alba didn't mention she stole from them to pay her education and had serious debt before she could fully pay it off. Didn't mentioned she worked at Lidl and as a part time waitress for two, miserable years… He looked at her smoke, he rolled up his mask and lit his cigarette. She was calling Jinx who had a stick in his mouth and was running around with it, 'Put it down…' she was saying.

'I thought you were too young to be a therapist' he said, she turned around to face him with a surprised expression. 'How old you think I am?' she asked, her voice bright and chirpy. '24…3..?' he guessed. She chucked, 'I'll take it was a compliment… I'm 26 Simon, how old are you?' She asked back and he told her he was 32. She stubbed her finished cigarette on the side of the bench and placed it beside her foot, she did not throw it on the ground. 'Your family still in Southampton?' he asked when they stood up and she got the dog back on leash. She waited a tad too much to answer. My family is not in Southampton, my family is in Italy and I haven't talked to them in a very long time, because they do bad things for a living. I left because I didn't want to be associated with them anymore and I'm dead to them now. I left and I risked my life and I can never go back, I changed my name, I have a new life and I will never see my home country again. I will never see my mom again, I will never see my dad again, my sister. I've been fucking alone for seven years. I lived alone, I studied alone, there was no one at my graduation, there was no one at Christmas, for New Years, for my birthdays. I ate alone for seven years, I slept in an empty house, sometimes I went weeks without speaking to anyone. I don't have a home, I don't have anyone to hold me when I cry, to be proud of me, to have dinner with me, to take a walk with me. I am a ghost, I am nobody.

'Yes they still live there.'

He walked her home. She asked him more questions, like where he was from. Near Manchester. If his family still lived there. They passed, to that she replied I'm sorry. All of them? He asked her what she was doing with the ballet school, he remembered she talked about choreographies with Gemma in the car. The Nutcracker. She asked how long he had worked for Price, if he liked his job, which he did. She asked him about the mask, she was specific, Do you wear it even when you go in public? Honey I don't go out often. He didn't say that. 'I like it better when I wear it… even in public.' They were in front of her place. She had this big black scarf on, her oversized jumper which was swallowing her figure. Tiny running shoes. She looked tired. In a good way, relaxed. 'Thanks for the walk' she said. 'No problem.' They had spent a good two hours together… who would have thought. He thought that was his cue to leave but she spoke again. 'Thanks for listening to the crater story. I'm not expecting you to do anything, tell Price or whatever. You're right, it could be a coincidence, I don't think it's worth pursuing.' She sounded sincere. He offered her a small smile that she couldn't see because of the mask. 'Sure.'

'Goodnight Simon. Drive safe.' she said.

'Night Alba. Thanks for dinner'.

When he got back he ran into Johnny on the way to his room. 'Oi, where have you been, did you go out?'

When she got home, Salvo had replied to her message saying she had dinner with the Lieutenant. The message read: 'What the fuck??? call me???'

notes: if you ever lived abroad for a long time you know how it feels to know you don't belong anywhere. the loneliness. the silence. and at the same time, doing what you love, studying or working and feeling like you're achieving so much and all on your own. you came so far and the only person to thank is yourself. I want to tell you through Alba's story how it feels to get out of a small reality in a part of Italy that not very educationally oriented. being able to get away and discover what is actually like to live, to become an adult by yourself. the realisation that you've been doing it all alone is hard to manage.

notes: she thinks she's a Ghost (I love this, the invisible string). also I realised when I was proofreading that I wrote 'I had no one to have dinner with me, to take a walk with me' which she had just done with him… blushing.

notes: i fucking love the surname Antamoro, which I think it's from the Northern part of Italy (where Alba is definitely not from eheheh). also, the fact that it means antidote is fucking perfect to describe her relationship with Simon. btw, you pronounce it exactly how i't written, but you can check google translate.

taglist:

@ghostlythots @sweetfemmefatal @natxpat @chavarriakeren647 @ravenmoore14 @farther-than-pleiades @internallyscreamings @hwromi @atoxicrat @cuti3maddi3 @deafeningkittenblaze @its-celeste @serene-hills @lexidoll12 @poohkie90 @lunatiquess

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[portraitsofsaints]

Blessed Ivan Merz

1896-1928

Feast Day: May 10

Patronage: youth and youth ministers, military personnel, dentists, pulmonologists, philosophers, philologists, students, educators, liturgists, theologians, devotees of the Holy Eucharist, and lay faithful engaged in Christian apostolate.

Blessed Ivan Merz was born in Croatia, fought in WWI, and became a philosophy professor. During this time, he made a vow of chastity, wanting to remain a layperson, devoting himself to the Church, and evangelizing the youth. He promoted liturgical renewal, Catholic Action in Croatia (Croatian Union of Eagles), and Eucharist devotion and crusades. He died of inflammation of his facial cavities and brain.

Prints, plaques & holy cards available for purchase here: (website)